THE HISTORY
OF THE
NORMAN CONQUEST OF ENGLAND,
ITS CAUSES AND ITS RESULTS.

The appearance of this volume has been delayed for a considerable time in order to obtain for it a special advantage, namely an accurate military ground-plan of the battle-field of Senlac. For this my best thanks are owing to Colonel Sir Henry James, R.E. and to Captain Edward R. James, R.E. I had, on June 2nd, the great advantage of a final examination of the battle-ground in company with Captain James and Mr. Bryce. My account of the battle was then already printed, but I am glad to say that our examination led only to one or two small changes which I have made in the Additions and Corrections. Captain James has had the kindness to put my ideas of the battle, as drawn from the original writers, into scientific military shape. He is not responsible for my historical view of the battle, neither am I responsible for such purely vimilitary points as the extent and arrangement of the palisade. The relative position of the different divisions in the two armies seems beyond doubt, but the extent of ground occupied by each division must be matter of pure conjecture. The one absolutely certain point is the position of the English Standard and the fact that it was against that point that the main attack under William himself was made.

Besides my great obligations to Sir Henry James and Captain James, I am no less indebted to His Grace the Duke of Cleveland for the free and repeated access which he has allowed me to all parts of the battle-field, a large part of which lies within his private grounds at Battle Abbey. Without this kindness on his Grace’s part no satisfactory account of the battle could have been written. I owe deep thanks also to my two companions at Stamfordbridge, Archdeacon Jones and Mr. J. R. Green, of whom Mr. Green also accompanied me on one of my visits to Senlac, as well as to many of the places described in Normandy and Maine. I have also to thank Mr. Dawkins for much valuable advice with regard to the map of the Campaign of Hastings, and M. Le Gost-Clerisse of Caen for his kind and valuable guidance to the field of Varaville. Neither viimust I forget the good-humoured readiness which Mr. H. O. Coxe has so often shown in verifying references in the Bodleian Library, and the benefit of unrestrained resort on all questions to Professor Stubbs may be taken for granted at every stage of every undertaking of mine. And there are others whose names cannot well appear in print to whom I am also indebted for much ready and zealous help in many ways.

p. 6, l. 14. For “boy,” here and in one or two other places, it would be safer to say “young.” On Eadgar’s probable age see p. 766.

p. 37, l. 14, for “among all the Kings whose tombs are gathered together” read “among all the tombs of Kings which are gathered together.”

p. 52, p. 24, and p. 53, note 1. I see that, when I wrote this, I had not fully seen my way to the true history of the two East-Anglian Ralphs. The Staller died soon after Eadward’s death, and his son, the future Earl, was banished. See Appendix LL.

p. 55, note 2, for “amplori” read “ampliori.”

p. 118, l. 13. Bishop Hugh had a son named Roger, “Rogerius Hugonis Episcopi filius.” See the Trinity Cartulary at Rouen, pp. 442, 443.

p. 133, note 1, for “sur” read “tur.”

p. 135, l. 2. On Nithard’s birth and his father’s works at Saint Riquier, see also Nithard’s own History, iv. 5.

p. 136, note 4, add “Ord. Vit. 504 A.”

p. 139, note 2, for “armatura” read “armaturæ.”

p. 156, note 3, after “the war” read “took place.”

p. 179, note 2, for “ut pote” read “utpote.”

p. 183, l. 5, for “we presently find” read “we shall presently find,” and l. 13, for “the” read “their.”

p. 190, note 3, for “Fulko” read “Fulco.”

p. 195, last side-note, for “1061” read “1051.”

p. 224, note 1. Guy had two children, Ivo, who was at Senlac (see p. 499, note 4), and Agnes, wife of Robert of Belesme, who succeeded him. It should be noticed that in the Tapestry, pl. 4, he rides on a mule.

p. 227, l. 12. I now feel very little doubt that Harold’s marriage happened after his coronation, at the time of his journey to York.

p. 234, note 1, for “makes” read “puts.”

p. 244, l. 5 from the bottom. I here meant William of Poitiers, who makes no mention of the marriage in his direct account of the oath, though he afterwards takes it for granted in an incidental allusion. See pp. 687, 701.

p. 247, side-note, for “into breach” read “into a breach.”

p. 264, note 1, put a sign of interrogation after “permittere.”

p. 266, l. 7 from bottom. The case of Ralph of Norfolk as a possible exception is to be borne in mind.

p. 276, l. 7, for “looked upon as, wherever” read “looked upon, as wherever.”

p. 312, l. 6 from bottom. On the relations between William and Eustace see p. 748.

p. 343, l. 4, for “Northern King” read “a Northern King.”

xxvip. 363, l. 11, for “smite” read “strike.”

p. 377, note 1. I ought here to have quoted Orderic’s fuller estimate of William of Poitiers and of Guy of Amiens (503 D); “De cujus [Guillelmi Regis] probitate, et eximiis moribus ac prosperis eventibus et strenuis admirandisque actibus Guillelmus Pictavinus, Lexoviensis Archidiaconus, affluenter tractavit, et librum polito sermone et magni sensûs profunditate præclarum edidit. Ipse siquidem prædicti Regis Capellanus longo tempore exstitit, et ea quæ oculis suis viderit et quibus interfuerit longo relatu vel copioso indubitanter enucleare studuit, quamvis librum usque ad finem Regis adversis casibus impeditus perducere nequiverit. Guido etiam Præsul Ambianensis metricum carmen edidit, quo Maronem et Papinium gesta heroum pangentes imitatus Senlacium bellum descripsit, Heraldum vituperans et condemnans, Guillermum verò collaudans et magnificans.” This is at least as true of the Archdeacon as it is of the Bishop.

p. 383, note 1. The charter of Roger of Montgomery is a grant to the Trinity monastery at Rouen. Another grant of the same date to the same monastery I have mentioned, as bearing on another point in the history, in p. 717. In p. 451, on the same cartulary, we find the donation of a companion of William, who seems to have been mortally wounded or worn out in the campaign; “Eâ tempestate quâ Guillelmus, Dux Normannorum egregius, cum classico apparatu ingentique exercitu Anglorum terram expetiit, quidam miles, nomine Osmundus de Bodes, cum aliis illuc profectus, et languore correptus atque ad extrema perductus, pro animæ suæ remedio, dedit Sanctæ Trinitati omnem decimam terræ suæ in alodio,” &c.

p. 384, l. 8 from bottom. On William’s possible precautions with regard to Maine, see p. 683.

p. 428, note 2, for “mere” read “more.”

p. 433, note 1, for “Chronicles” read “Chronicle.”

p. 445, l. 5, dele “threefold.”

p. 458, note, for “adjuventur congruum,” read “adjuventur, congruum.”

p. 466, note 4. On compater see Earle, Parallel Chronicles, p. 318. What a gap between this use of the word and the Sedition of the Ciompi.

p. 467, note. On the origin of Ælfgifu the wife of Ælfgar, see p. 699, and vol. ii. p. 629.

p. 472, l. 12. On placing the inferior troops in the rear, see the tactics of Eadmund at Sherstone, vol. i. p. 424.

p. 474, note 1, for “συμβουλύοις” read “συμβουλεύοις.”

p. 476, note 2. Cf. vol. i. p. 577.

p. 477, l. 14, read, “at the eastern corner of the hill, where the present road from Hastings enters the town of Battle.”

p. 483, l. 1. Cf. the account of the danger of Severus at the battle of Lyons, Dion. lxxv. 6; αὐτὸς τὸν ἵππον ἀποβαλὼν ἐκινδύνευσεν, ὡς δὲ εἶδε φεύγοντας πάντας τοὺς ἑαυτοῦ, τὴν χλαμύδα περιῥῤηξάμενος καὶ τὸ ξίφος σπασάμενος, ἐς τοὺς φεύγοντας εἰςεπήδησεν ὅπως ἢ αἰσχυνθέντες ὑποστρέψωσιν ἢ καὶ αὐτὸς αὐτοῖς συναπόληται. So Ælius Spartianus, Severus, 11; “Ingens periculum equi casu adiit, ita ut mortuus ictu plumbeæ crederetur.”

p. 486, l. i. On the sword, see p. 749.

xxviip. 491, l. 2 from bottom, dele “with a slight inclination of the ground in their favour.”

p. 511, note 1. I accept this implied statement of Florence that the son of Harold and Ealdgyth was named Ulf, rather than the other statement in the “Genealogia Regum West-Saxonum” (Thorpe, i. 276), which gives him the name of his father; “Haroldus ... de Reginâ Aldgithâ, Comitis Ælfgari filiâ, habuit filium Haroldum;” though this passage is a strong confirmation of my conjecture in p. 764 that Harold’s other sons were children of Eadgyth Swanneshals. I cannot help thinking that the statement of William of Malmesbury (iv. 329) that Magnus of Norway in his expedition to Anglesey was accompanied by a “Haroldus, filius Haroldi Regis quondam Angliæ,” is a confusion, arising perhaps from the description in Florence of Magnus himself, as a grandson of Harold Hardrada. No such person appears in the account in Florence or Orderic (768), and the Chronicle simply calls the invaders “utwikingas.”

p. 527, note 2. On the other hand the Legend of Siward (Chroniques Anglo-Normandes, ii. 111) expressly denies that Waltheof was at Senlac; “Comes Waldevus non interfuit conflictui quum Dux Willelmus Bastardus Anglos oppressit et devicit.” The conflicting authorities are about equally worthless.

p. 533, last line. On the physical changes along this coast, see Earle, Parallel Chronicles, 315–317.

p. 539, note 1. This legend is doubtless the same as the legend of Birnam Wood coming to Dunsinane.

p. 543, note 3. Another provision of the same kind for the Housecarls is found at Dorchester in Dorsetshire, Domesday, 75.

p. 557, last line. Why did William have a new crown made? One would have thought that he would have made a special point of being crowned with the crown which had been worn by Eadward. Was it held to be desecrated by the irregular coronation of Harold?

p. 607, l. 11 from bottom, for “thirteenth” read “twelfth.”

p. 620, l. 11 from bottom, after “takes its place,” add “Harold the First seems to have been crowned at Oxford, Harthacnut at Canterbury; Eadward was crowned at Winchester, perhaps at Canterbury also.”

p. 624, l. 20. See also Depping, Expeditions Maritimes des Normands, i. 216; Pearson, Early and Middle Ages, i. 188. Depping’s speculations are amusing enough, though he does not go quite so deep as Ménard.

p. 641, l. 15. To these German accounts add Annales Wirziburgenses (Pertz, ii. 245), “A. 1066. Cometa videtur; et Anglia a Normannis subjicitur,” and Annales Besuenses (ii. 249), “A. 1066. Stella cometes apparuit, et eo anno Rex Anglorum Haroaldus occiditur.”

p. 660, l. 9 from bottom. See p. 703.

p. 668, l. 4, for “fratuelis” read “fratruelis.”

p. 670, l. 14, for “need” read “accept.”

p. 684, l. 18. It is a charter to Westminster, quoted by Ellis, i. 312.

p. 685, l. 3 from bottom. For another oath taken “supra philacteria reliquiarum,” see Dudo, 126 C.

xxviiip. 694, l. 11 from bottom. Yet compare the strange statement of the Encomiast (see vol. i. p. 454) about the Æthelings Eadward and Ælfred being sent into Normandy for education.

p. 709, l. 9. I ought not to have called “Ordericus Angligena” a “foreign writer,” but he wrote in a foreign country, and from a foreign point of view. For all these purposes he counts as a Norman writer.

p. 714, l. 19. “Ernulfus” or “Arnulfus de Hesding” occurs also as a large landowner in Wiltshire, Domesday, 66, 69 b, and in other counties.

p. 730, l. 24. I know not whether I ought to have added to my list two other Hampshire Thegns of small estate, Eadnoth and Eadwig, who appear in the same page of Domesday; “Sudberie tenuerunt Ednod et Edui in alodius de Rege E. et post mortem ejus ipsi quoque sunt mortui. Quidam vero proximus eorum Cola redemit terram de Willelmo Comite.” This does not positively show that Eadnoth and Eadwig died at Senlac, but the time of their death and the apparent confiscation of their lands look like it.

p. 731, l. 23. Several curious personal details of Godric will be found in Domesday, 57 b, 58, 149.

p. 736, l. 2, for “six” read “twelve.”

p. 738, l. 6, for “in vigiles” read “invigiles.”

p. 745, l. 11. Sir Edward Creasy, in his lately published History of England (i. 208), shows a better understanding of the ground than most modern writers.

p. 748, l. 7 from bottom. One or other of these stories about Eustace, it is hard to see which, seems to be darkly alluded to by William of Malmesbury (iii. 244). After mentioning how William had three horses killed under him (see p. 485, note 2), he adds, “Perstitit tamen magnanimi Ducis et corpus et animus, quamvis familiari susurro a custodibus corporis revocaretur; perstitit, inquam, donec victoriam plenam superveniens nox infunderet.”

p. 750, l. 3 from bottom. Thomas Wikes, in the opening of his history, ingeniously rolls together several accounts, and makes altogether short work of the battle. “In primo conflictu totum pondus prœlii conversum est in Regem, qui coxâ prope nates pene præcisâ, letaliter vulneratus post modicum tempus interiit. Compertâ Regis morte dilapsus est ejus exercitus, fere omnibus qui fugere non poterant interfectis.” This reminds one of a passage of William of Malmesbury, which I ought to have quoted elsewhere. After his description of the battle, which he certainly makes out to have been hard fought enough, he goes on to make his celebrated comparison between the Normans and the English. After speaking of the English love of eating and drinking, he adds (iii. 245), “Sequebantur vitia ebrietatis socia, quæ virorum animos effœminant. Hinc factum est, ut magis temeritate et furore præcipiti quam scientiâ militari Willelmo congressi, uno prœlio, et ipso perfacili, servituti se patriamque pessumdederint.” I believe that some modern writers have inferred from this that the English went drunk into the battle, and have taken this as a text to preach the advantages of temperance.

p. 751, l. 2 from bottom, for “difference” read “differences.”

p. 754, l. 6, for “text” read “notes.”

The central stage of our journey is now reached. We are now on the threshold of the great year, of that year whose effects on all later English, on all later European, 4history can never be wiped out. No one year in later English history can for a moment compare, in lasting importance, with the year which, with some small exaggeration, we may call the year of the Norman Conquest. |No later time in which one year and one day stand out in the same way.| There have indeed been later periods in our history which have been as memorable in their results as the invasion of William itself. The events of the thirteenth, of the sixteenth, of the seventeenth century, are all fully entitled to be set side by side with the events of the eleventh. But in all these cases we have to set the work of a whole generation against the work of a single year. One age is famous for the great struggle against alien domination, and for the final establishment of English freedom in its later form. Another age gave us all the results, for good and for evil, of the great Reformation of religion. A third age confirmed on a surer and more lasting basis those political rights which the thirteenth century had won back, but which the fifteenth and sixteenth had once more brought into jeopardy. But, in all these great periods of change, the work was gradual; there is no single moment, no single year, on which we can place our finger as the moment or the year when the work was actually done. In the eleventh century the work was gradual also. A long series of events prepared the way for William’s enterprise, and, when he began his work, it needed more than a single day or a single year to put him in full possession of the Empire for which he had yearned so long. Still in the eleventh century there is a single year and a single day which stand forth in a way in which no single day or year stands forth in the ages after them. There is no later year to compare to the year in which the Crown 5of England was worn by the last King of the old sacred and immemorial stock, by the first and last King who reigned purely because he was the best and bravest among his people, and by the first and last King who could boast that he held his Kingdom purely of God and his own sword. There is no one day in later times to compare to that memorable morning when Northern and Southern Europe, when England and Normandy, when Harold and William, met face to face in the great wager of battle on the day of Saint Calixtus. For days of equal moment in our history we must go back to far earlier times, to times which are still half shrouded in the mist of legend. For a day like the day when England bowed to her first purely foreign lord, we must go back to the day when the first Englishman was baptized into the faith of Christ, to the day when the first Englishman set foot on the shores of Britain.

§ 1. Sickness and Death of Eadward. December 28, 1065–January 5, 1066.

We left Eadward on his death-bed. His work was over; his newly built minster was hallowed, though he had been himself shut out from taking any part in that great ceremony. The Witan had been gathered, as usual, for the Christmas festival; the special summons to the dedication of Saint Peter’s, and, still more, the pressing urgency of the national affairs, had, we may well believe, called together a greater number than usual of the Thegns and Prelates |National anxiety as to the succession.| of the land. It was plain that the nation would soon be called on to elect a King, and to elect a King under circumstances of which no past age had ever seen the like. Perhaps vague reports may already have found their way into the land, warning men of the dangers which were likely to threaten England alike from her own exiles and from the foreign kinsman of the dying King. But, 6even if no thought of Tostig or of William crossed men’s minds, there was enough to make those days of Eadward’s last sickness days of the deepest anxiety to every patriotic Englishman. From the beginning of Eadward’s sickness, no hope of his recovery seems to have been entertained. The question in every man’s mind must have been, who should fill his place when he was taken from them. The choice of the electors would be perfectly free. Things were not as they had been when Swend and Cnut were in the land, claiming the votes of the Witan at the point of the sword. But |State of the royal line.| things were as they had never been before since the line of Cerdic had ruled over united England. The King who lay at the point of death was, with the single exception of the boy Eadgar and his sisters, the last of his race. The names of Christina and Margaret were most likely never uttered; England had never yet dreamed of giving herself a female ruler. A sentimental interest might gather round Eadgar as the last male of the kingly house, but a sentimental interest was all that he could awaken. His age and, as events proved, his character rendered him wholly unfit for rule. And Eadgar, it should be borne in mind, did not possess that constitutional claim to a preference which was all that, before the actual election, would have belonged even to a son of the dying King. At three earlier times had the royal line been reduced so low as to number none but members of an age too young for personal government. Eadwig, Eadward the Martyr, Æthelred, had all been chosen in their non-age. But the princes so chosen were all of them true Æthelings, Englishmen born, sons of an English King by an English mother. And, in those days, as there was no better qualified candidate in the royal house, so there was no man out of it marked out by the hand of nature as a born King of Men. In those days the greatest of living Englishmen was no Thegn or Ealdorman, but the renowned Primate Dunstan. England had 7therefore, in all those cases, accepted a King in his boyhood or even in his childhood. There was now no such need. |No constitutional preference due to Eadgar.| Eadgar, grandson of Ironside as he was, had no constitutional claim upon the votes of the Witan beyond any other male person in the realm. He was not born in the land; he was not the son of a crowned King and his Lady. |Position of Harold.| And close beside the throne, just beyond the strict limits of the royal house, stood the foremost man in England, already, it may be, associated in some sort to the honours of royalty, already an Under-King who received the oaths and homage of vassal princes, as a sharer in the rule of the Empire of Britain.^[2] Whether he had been marked out by any formal act or not, we cannot doubt that men had long learned to look to Harold the son of Godwine as their future King. And yet, when the day of choice drew near, men might well stop and wonder at the step which they were about to take. The Law justified the act; the needs of the time commanded it; but it was a strange and unwonted |Novelty of an election from beyond the royal house.| act nevertheless. It was something new, something which might well set the minds and tongues of men at work, to be called on, freely and under no fear of the Danish axe, to choose a King who had no royal forefathers, a King who came not of the stock of Ecgberht, Cerdic, and Woden. Men whose office or whose sagacity had taught them to scan the chances of the time might ask how such |Attitude of William and Tostig.| a choice would be looked on by the exile at the court of Baldwin, and by the prince who now, in the height of success and glory, had made the Norman land the wonder of continental Europe. Rumours might already be afloat that the English Earl, soon about to become the English King, had, in some strange and unknown way, already |Possible attitude of Northumberland.| become the man of the Norman Duke. And without going so far afield, men might ask how the great land north of the Humber would look on the choice which to Wessex 8and East-Anglia seemed the only choice possible. The Thegns and Prelates of Northumberland might give their votes with the other Witan, but would the fierce people of that proud and distant province submit, without a blow or a murmur, to the kingship of a West-Saxon, a son of Godwine, a brother of Tostig? The days when thoughts like these were working in men’s minds must have been days of |Importance of Eadward’s dying recommendation.| care and perplexity. There was one source from which light and help might be looked for, light and help which might in some sort seem to come directly from heaven. The words of a dying man have been in all times looked on as solemn and almost prophetic utterances. The words of a dying King were, by the traditional feelings of Englishmen, clothed with an authority second only to that of the Law itself. Eadward was a dying man and a dying King. And he was yet more. Strange as it seems to us, he was already beginning to be looked on with somewhat of the reverence due to a Saint. The will of Eadward had perhaps never been held to be of such moment, his voice had perhaps never been so eagerly listened for in the Councils of his Kingdom, as when he lay, helpless and wellnigh speechless, on his bed at Westminster. Men waited for the voice of the dying man, the dying King, the dying Saint, to confirm once more with his last breath the nomination of the successor on whom, amidst all doubts and dangers, the heart of England still was fixed. In choosing for the first time a King not of the blood of Cerdic, it would be no small strength and comfort if they knew that the step was taken with the full approval and the full bidding of the last King of Cerdic’s house. The King was sick unto death; the Witan were gathered round his palace. The moment the breath was out of his body, it would become their duty to choose his successor. It was doubtless with no small anxiety, with somewhat even of religious awe, that they awaited the last expression of the will of Eadward as to who that successor should be.

9The West Minster was consecrated on Wednesday; the news was brought to the King, who, as his legend says, on hearing it laid his head on his pillow as if to say, It is finished.^[3] For five days his sickness increased, and the public anxiety heightened at every stage of the disorder.^[4] |He becomes speechless. Tuesday, January 3, 1066.| On the sixth day from the consecration, his speech began to fail him; his voice was so feeble that his words could no longer be understood; for two days he lay worn out by the extremity of his sickness.^[5] It was no time to trouble the weary sufferer with questions even as to the |He recovers his speech. Thursday, January 5.| welfare of his Kingdom. At last, on the following Thursday, the eve of the Epiphany, his flagging powers rallied, as the powers of dying men often do rally at the point of death. He awoke from his sleep in the full possession of |The group round his bed.| his senses and of his speech. On either side of his bed stood the two great chiefs of his realm, Harold the Earl and Stigand the Archbishop.^[6] At the bed’s head, in still more immediate personal attendance on his master, stood the Staller, Robert the son of Wymarc, a man of Norman birth, but whom history does not charge with treason towards 10England. On the ground, close by the foot of the bed, sat the Lady Eadgyth, the sister of the great Earl, cherishing the feet of her royal husband in her bosom. Her thoughts wandered perhaps to the brother beyond the sea, the brother on whose behalf she had so deeply sinned, the brother who had so lately held the place nearest to Eadward’s heart, but who was now for ever cut off from all hopes of crowns or earldoms. The tongue of Eadward was loosened, but his first words were words of prayer.^[7] In his long slumber he had seen a vision; if that vision were truly from heaven, he prayed that he might have strength to declare it; if it were but the phantom of a disordered brain, he would that his tongue should rather cleave to the roof of his mouth. He sat up in his bed, supported in the arms of Robert. But the message which he had to declare from heaven called for a larger audience than the four favoured ones who were gathered round him. A few more of his chosen friends—their names are not recorded—were summoned to |He declares his vision.| the bedside of the dying King.^[8] He then, fluently and with energy,^[9] poured forth the awful words of warning. 11“Long ago, when I was a youth in Normandy, I knew two monks, most holy men and most dear to me. Many long years have passed away since they were taken away from the cares and sorrows of this world. But now, in my trance, God hath sent them again to me to speak to me in His holy name. ‘Know,’ said they to me, ‘that they who hold the highest place in thy realm of England, the Earls, the Bishops, the Abbots, the men in holy orders of every rank, are not what they seem to be in the eyes of men. In the eye of God they are but |He foretells the sorrows of England.| ministers of the fiend. Therefore hath God put a curse upon thy land; therefore hath He given thy land over into the hand of the enemy. Within a year and a day from thy death, shall fiends stalk through thy whole land, and shall harry it from one end to another with fire and sword and the hand of plunder.’ Then said I to them, ‘Let me then show these things to my people in the name of God. Haply they will repent, and His loving-kindness will have mercy upon them. For He had mercy on the men of Nineveh, when they heard the voice of His threatening, and repented them of their evil ways.’ But they answered me, ‘They will not repent, neither shall the mercy of God come |Allegory of the green tree.| nigh unto them.’ Then said I, ‘What shall be the time or the way in which we may look for these your threatenings to come to an end?’ ‘In that day,’ they answered, ‘when a green tree shall be cut away from the midst of its trunk, when it shall be carried away for the space of three furlongs from its root, when, without the help of man, it shall join itself again to its trunk, and shall again put forth leaves and bear fruit in its season. Then first shall be the time when the woes of England shall come to an end.’”^[10]

12The King ceased his words of prophecy. Harold, Eadgyth, Robert, all who had been gathered to hear, were struck with awe, and remained speechless. One heart alone, we are |disbelief of Stigand.| told, was hardened. Stigand leaned over the King’s bed, and whispered in the ear of Earl Harold that all this prophetic talk was but the babbling of an old man worn out by sickness.^[11] The Primate, stout-hearted Englishman as we know him, was, we may well believe, a hard and worldly man, and his experience of men of his own calling, his familiarity with what others looked on as miracle and prophecy, may well have made him less inclined to superstition 13than to unbelief. The lay heart was more easily touched; the female heart most easily of all. Eadgyth, and others who were devoutly given, knew well, we are told, the sins of England. They shuddered as they thought how often the warning voice of the Roman Pontiff, how often the voice of Eadward and of Eadgyth herself, had spoken in vain to the guilty nation.^[12] The pious Lady perhaps deemed that the uncanonical appointment of Stigand was more likely to bring down the wrath of God than the murder of Gospatric. At the last Christmas feast, she whose heart was now so deeply stirred at the thought of ecclesiastical corruptions, had in that very palace stretched forth her hand to shed blood which no Law had bidden to be shed, blood which, as far at least as she was concerned, was innocent.

But there was other work to be done that day besides hearkening to foretellings of evil, besides disputing as to the degree of trust to be placed in the words of him who foretold it. The moment was come when the all-important question might be pressed on the mind of the dying King. His friends stood and wept around him; the tears of the 14Lady as she sat at his feet fell faster and more thickly still. He gave orders for his burial. He checked the grief of his friends; he bade them rejoice at his coming deliverance, and he craved the prayers of his people for his soul.^[13] He spoke of the constant love and devotion which had been ever shown him by the wife whom he had once driven away from his hearth and board. She had ever been to him as a loving and dutiful daughter;^[14] God would reward her for her good deeds in this world and in the next. At last Harold and Stigand—nor have we any right to exclude Robert from their counsels—found means of calling Eadward’s mind to the great subject which then filled the whole heart of England. When all was over, when his body was laid in his new minster, when his soul had gone to its reward, who should fill the place which he had so long filled on earth? Who, when he was gone, should wear the royal crown of England, the Imperial |Eadward names Harold as his successor.| diadem of Britain? Eadward, at that last moment, was not wanting to his last duty. He stretched forth his hand towards the Earl of the West-Saxons, and spake the words, “To thee, Harold my brother, I commit my Kingdom.”^[15] He then went on to declare his last wishes to his chosen |Eadward’s last wishes.| successor. For Eadward to give Harold instructions in the art of government was certainly needless, and the dying man doubtless felt it to be so. But there were a few personal wishes which were near to his heart; there were a few personal favourites whom he wished to commend to the 15|He commends to Harold’s care the Lady| favourable care of his successor. First among these was the Lady herself. I need not again enlarge on the mysterious relations between Eadward and Eadgyth; but, in these his last days at least, she is described as enjoying his perfect confidence and affection. But a sister who certainly abetted Tostig, who perhaps abetted William, against the brother who was now called to reign,^[16] might be thought likely to meet with less consideration at the hands of Harold than she had, latterly at least, met with at the hands of Eadward. The King commended her who was so soon to be his widow to the friendly care of his successor. Let him show to her, as a Lady and a sister, all faithful worship and service, and never, while she lived, let her lose |and the Norman favourites.| the honours which he had bestowed upon her.^[17] He commended also to Harold his Norman favourites, those whom, in his simplicity, he spoke of as men who had left their native land for love of him.^[18] Those who were willing to abide in the land as English subjects under Harold’s allegiance he prayed him to keep and to protect. Those who refused to become the men of the new King he prayed him to dismiss under his safe-conduct to their own land, taking with them all the goods which they had acquired by his own favour.^[19]

The King had now done the last act of his kingly office. With this last request to Harold all thought of earthly things passed away from the mind of Eadward. But the man and the saint had still friends to comfort; he had a 16soul for which to request their prayers; he had a body to be committed to the ground with the solemn rites of the Church. He craved that his body might be buried in the minster which he had reared, in a special spot within the hallowed walls which their inmates would point out to |His death not to be concealed, lest he lose the prayers of his people.| those who stood round him.^[20] One faint thought of earth perhaps came back to his mind, when he bade them not to hide his death from his people. At such a moment it might perhaps be convenient to let men believe that Eadward still lived, till every arrangement could be made for the quiet election and consecration of his successor. But Eadward’s care for his own soul made him tremble at such a prospect. “Let my death,” he earnestly prayed, “be at once announced everywhere, that all the faithful may at once call on the mercy of Almighty God for me a sinner.”^[21] Eadgyth meanwhile wept without ceasing. Eadward comforted her with the allegorical words; “Fear not; I shall not die, but by God’s grace, I shall soon arise to better health.”^[22] But the last moment was clearly drawing near; the last comfort of the Church had to be |He communicates and dies. Thursday, January 5, 1066.| given. The dying saint received the Body of his Lord, seemingly at the hands of Stigand; the irregularity of his position as Primate was perhaps not held to affect acts done by him as a simple priest.^[23] Strengthened by this spiritual 17food; Eadward’s soul gently passed away, and the last King of the House of Cerdic was no more. His body lay as in sleep; his cheeks like the rose, his beard like the lily, his white hands falling peacefully by his side; men saw written on the face of the departed saint that he had gone to his Creator.^[24]

The King was dead. The last day of his kingship had been the worthiest. After all the errors and follies of his reign, Eadward died, not only as a saint, but as an Englishman and a patriot. For the last thirteen years of his life Harold had been his guide and guardian; for the last nine years he had been the expectant successor of the Crown. And now the day had come and the word was spoken. Those years of faithful guardianship had not been without their fruit; Eadward, with Harold and Stigand at his side, had become another man from Eadward who had once listened to every lie which rose to the lips of Robert of Jumièges.^[25] The old wayward spirit had again burst forth when revolt overthrew his last favourite;^[26] but his last favourite was at least an Englishman and a son of Godwine. |English spirit of Eadward’s last requests.| And the latest act of all had made up for all that had gone before. Eadward showed on his death-bed that he had at last learned that the Norman could never bear sway in England with the good-will of the English people. The dream of the Norman Duke as the heir of the English Crown had passed away. The dream of England portioned out among Norman Earls, Prelates, and Knights had passed away with it. England was to have an English King, the noblest man of the English people. No stranger 18was to be endured in the land, but such as would plight their homage to the King of England’s choice. For others, however dear to him, all that Eadward now craved was that they might depart, unhurt and unplundered, from the land. Visions of danger may have flitted across his mind, and in the delirium of sickness, in the mere excitement of pious fear, they may have shaped themselves into vague foreshadowings of the wrath to come. But what the last dying wishes of Eadward were we know beyond a doubt. His last wishes, his last hopes, were the same as the wishes and the hopes of every faithful Englishman. His last earthly desire was that Harold should wear his Crown, that Harold should reign over a land freed from the presence of every man whose presence he might find inconsistent with the welfare of England and her King.

And he has had his reward. Far more precious than the vulgar praises of Norman legend-makers, far more precious even than the wrought up panegyric of the courtly chaplain of his widow, is the song in Eadward’s honour preserved in our national Chronicles from the hands of a gleeman of his own time and of his own people.^[27] The English poet sang of Eadward’s early troubles, how he had to seek a foreign land, when Cnut overcame the race of Æthelred, and when Danes wielded the dear realm of England for eight and twenty winters.^[28] He sang of Eadward’s personal virtues; how he was holy, clean, and mild, how the baleless King was ever blithe of mood.^[29] He sang of the glories of his reign; how he guarded his land and people; how renowned 19warriors stood around his throne; how the son of Æthelred ruled over Angles and Saxons, how Welsh and Scots and Britons all obeyed the mighty sway of the noble Eadward.^[30] But before his song ceases, the minstrel has yet to tell of one deed far above all, of one last act which made the name of Eadward truly glorious. Bitter death snatched the noble King from earth; angels bore his truthful soul to |The poet dwells on the nomination of Harold.| heaven. But a truer note of patriotic feeling rings forth in the words which tell us how the wise King made fast his realm to Harold the noble Earl, in the words which, bursting from the poet’s heart, tell us how well the noble Earl deserved the greatest of earthly gifts. He in all time by words and deeds had truly obeyed his lord, and had left nought undone which was needful for the ruler of his people.^[31]

§ 2. The Election and Coronation of Harold. January 5–6, 1066.

The throne of England was now vacant, vacant under circumstances such as England had never seen before. The late King’s dying orders were obeyed, and, as soon as Eadward’s breath was out of his body, the Witan of England knew that their King was dead. But by the Law of England in the eleventh century, the announcement that the King was dead could not be answered by a cry for the long life of the King who still was living.^[32] The 20Witan, not yet departed from their Christmas gathering, heard that the throne was vacant, and they knew that it was for them alone to fill it. And, with the news that they had no longer a King, came the news that the last wish of the King who was gone had pointed out to them whom he wished to fill his kingly seat after him. All scruple was taken from every mind when men knew that the son of Æthelred, the heir of Cerdic, had, as his last act, named as his successor the son of Godwine, the grandson |Meeting of the Witan. January 5, 1066.| of Wulfnoth. It was no time for delay. Men came together as speedily upon the death of Eadward as they had come together to choose Eadward himself upon the death of Harthacnut. The King lay dead in his palace, while Earls and Prelates, Thegns and citizens, came together to choose the King who should reign in his stead. |Doubtful candidature of William and Eadgar.| The choice was speedy and unanimous. Later writers speak of voices being raised for Eadgar, even of voices being raised for William.^[33] And so it may have been. Here and there sentimental feelings may have caused this or that voice to utter the name of the royal boy, even in preference to the noblest of a merely subject house. And, in our land of free debate, some daring Norman may even have ventured to breathe the thought that the King’s kinsman, who had made Normandy so great and flourishing, might make England no less great and flourishing also. But words |No sign of local jealousies.| like these told not on the spirit of the Assembly. Nor do we hear of any expression of those local jealousies which had divided England on more than one earlier vacancy. We hear nothing of any rivalry of the House of Leofric against the House of Godwine; we hear nothing of any murmurs of the fierce Danes of the North against the 21inauguration of a new West-Saxon dynasty. If the sons of Ælfgar dreamed, as they doubtless did, of a divided Kingdom—of the Imperial Crown for one of themselves they hardly could have dreamed—their hopes were doomed to disappointment. Such thoughts, as we shall soon see, still lived in men’s minds, but in that great Gemót of London^[34] they found no open spokesman. It was not only London, ever foremost in every patriotic cause; it was not only Wessex, proud of her illustrious son; it was not only East-Anglia, cherishing the recollections of his earliest rule; it was not only Hereford, rejoicing in her recovered being, safe alike against British foes and Norman governors; it was the Witan, not of this or that shire or ancient |Harold chosen by all England.| Kingdom, but of the whole realm of England, who chose Harold the son of Godwine to fill the vacant throne.^[35] His reign had long been looked for, and now the dying voice of Eadward had marked him out as the worthiest object of their choice. The wise ruler, the unconquered warrior, the bountiful founder,—the shield of the Kingdom, the shelter of the oppressed, the judge of the fatherless and the widow^[36]—the Earl of the West-Saxons, the conqueror of Gruffydd, the pacificator of Northumberland, the founder of Waltham—stood forth before them as the foremost man of England. He, and he alone, stood forth above other men, sprung from no line of Kings, but the son of a father greater than Kings, the man who in long years of rule had shown that there was none like him worthy to fill the throne of the heroes of old time, worthy, as none of royal race were worthy, to wield the sword of Æthelstan and sit upon the judgement-seat of Ælfred. The assembled people of England, in the exercise of their ancient and 22undoubted right, chose with one voice Harold the son of Godwine to be King of the English and Lord of the Isle of Britain. On no day in their annals did the English people win for themselves a higher or a purer fame.

The choice of the Assembly had now to be announced to the King-elect. We know not whether that choice was made in his presence. Possibly he may have deemed that his most fitting place was still with his departed brother-in-law and his widowed sister. But, in any case, two members of the Assembly were sent, in the name of all, to offer the Crown of England, as the gift of the people of England, to the man whom they had chosen as their King. Who discharged that office we know not. None but men of the highest rank would be sent on such an errand. In the pictured record of that day’s acts they appear, not as Prelates but as lay chieftains. One bears the official axe;^[37] the other bears the Crown itself, and points towards the chamber of the dead, whence the Crown had doubtless been brought for the purpose of this symbolic offering.^[38] Who then were the men whom England thus 23trusted to speak such weighty words in her name? Were they the two Northern Earls, perhaps already the brothers-in-law of the elected King, stifling, as they best might, their local and family jealousies, their hopes of a divided kingdom? Or were they rather the two Earls of Eastern England, sons worthy of Godwine, brothers worthy of Harold, who were sent to bear the gift of England to the chief of their own house? That day’s vote had placed that house above the royalties of Gaul and Denmark; it had placed the line of Godwine on a height lower by one step only than the line whose youthful chief now sat on the throne of Augustus. It was for Gyrth and Leofwine, rather than for any other two men in England, to act on |Position of Harold.| that day as the spokesmen of their country. Harold stood, axe in hand, to receive them. The day for which he had looked so long had at last come. The path from which so many obstacles had been so strangely cleared away had at last brought him close to the great object of his life. He had now, not in figure, but in very truth, only to stretch forth his hand, and to grasp the Crown of England, the free gift of the people of England. No surprise could have filled his mind; for years he had been marked out, practically if not by a formal vote, as the man to whom that gorgeous gift must one day come. And yet that moment of realized dreams must have been a moment of anxiety, and even of fear. For him, no son of a kingly father, no scion of legendary heroes and of Gods of the elder faith, to see with his own eyes the diadem of Ecgberht and Cerdic ready for his grasp, was of itself a strange and wondrous feeling, such as few men but him in the world’s history can have felt. He was not like others before and since, who by fraud or violence have risen to royalty or more than royalty. Harold was not a Dionysios, a Cæsar, a Cromwell, or a Buonaparte, whose throne was reared upon the ruins of the freedom of his country. He was not an Eastern Basileus, climbing to 24the seat from which a fortunate battle or a successful conspiracy had hurled a murdered or blinded predecessor. He was not a Pippin, whose elevation, however expedient and rightful, could be brought about only by the displacement of a lawful, though an incompetent, King. He was not even a Rudolf, whose election, free and honourable as it was, came when the royal office had long been discredited in men’s eyes, and when traditional reverence no longer attached to any one ancient royal house. Harold was freely offered the Crown of England in all its glory and greatness, a Crown which had never before been offered to any but men of royal birth,^[39] which had never before been freely offered to any but men of the one Imperial House of Cerdic. |Difficulties of his situation.| He may well have paused as he looked at the glittering gift, through the mere greatness and strangeness of the position in which he stood. And other thoughts may well have pressed upon his mind, before he spoke the word which should change the Earl into a King. Harold knew better than any man the dangers which threatened himself |Double danger from Tostig and William.| and which threatened England. He knew what she had to fear from the vengeance of her own banished son, a vengeance which would be kindled into a sevenfold flame if Harold were King in a land where Tostig might not hold even an Earldom. He knew also, as no man knew, how much more she had to fear from the claims of the mighty and |Effects of the oath to William.| wily Duke beyond the sea. And heavy on his soul may still have pressed the memory of that fatal day when he had become the sworn man of that dangerous rival.^[40] If he had promised more than simple homage, casuistry and more than casuistry, the instinctive feeling of every honest man, 25would declare that an extorted promise, unlawful and impossible to fulfil, was perhaps a crime in him who had plighted it, but could be no crime in him who should obey a higher law by breaking it. But since that day, the heart of Harold could never have beaten so high, his step could never have been so light and joyous, as in the days when his faith was wholly free, when even his enemies could not impeach his truthfulness. And now the full weight of that day’s act must have stared him in the face. Let him accept the Crown now offered him by England, and Normandy |Harold’s anxiety, as expressed in the Tapestry.| would at once declare him a perjurer and a traitor. No wonder then if, as the picture sets him before us, he looked at the Crown at once wistfully and anxiously, and half drew back the hand which was stretched forth to grasp the glittering gift. And yet the risk had to be run. A path of danger opened before him, and yet duty no less than |Greater danger if he declined the Crown.| ambition bade him to enter upon the thorny road. If he declined the Crown, to whom should England offer it? Would the risk be less if the boy Eadgar could win the votes of the Witan, and if to the other dangers of England were to be added all the dangers which beset the land whose King is a child?^[41] What if the young Ætheling failed, as he doubtless would fail, to stand his ground at such a |Danger of a division of the Kingdom.| moment? Could the land hope to be united in any single choice? Would Mercia and Northumberland submit to the rule of some West-Saxon boasting neither the royal blood of Eadgar nor the personal glory of Harold? Would Wessex and East-Anglia, would mighty and growing London, submit to Eadwine or Morkere or to the youthful son of Siward? The dangers of accepting the Crown were great, but the dangers of refusing it were greater. Whoever reigned, Tostig and William would still try their chance, and, if it were not Harold who reigned, they would try their chance with far greater hope of success. The accession 26of Harold would indeed put fresh weapons into the hand of William, but it was not likely that the Duke would wholly cast aside his claims and his projects, simply because he would have some other King, and not Harold, to strive against. The fear indeed was that, if Harold shrank from the burthen, William would find no one single King to resist him. He would win an easy victory over a divided land, a land split asunder as it had been in the days of Harthacnut and the earlier Harold, a land, it might be, already torn in pieces by civil war. Under Harold alone could there be the faintest hope that England would offer an united front to either of the invaders who were sure to attack her. The danger then had to be faced. The call of patriotism distinctly bade Harold not to shrink at the last moment from the post to which he had so long looked forward, and which had at last become his own. The first man in England, first in every gift of war and peace, first in the love of his countrymen, first in renown in other lands, was bound to be first alike in honour and in danger. The gift now lay before him. Ambition bade him seize it. Duty in no way |The Crown accepted by Harold.| held back his hand. The offered gift was accepted. The eve of that great Epiphany, the day on which King Eadward was alive and dead,^[42] saw the Crown pass away for ever from the male line of Cerdic, and the next day saw it solemnly placed upon the brow of Harold. The evening of Eadward’s death must have been spent in preparation for the two great ceremonies of the morrow. On the morning of that short winter’s day, the Earl of the West-Saxons had kept his watch by the dying bed of his King and brother. Before its last hour had passed, he had become, not yet indeed a crowned and anointed King, but one called to kingship by the unanimous voice of his country, a King-elect 27of the English, who on the morrow might claim the sceptre and the diadem as his own.

The morning of the Epiphany dawned. It was the Feast of the Kings, a fitting day for an august rite within the walls of that minster which was reared to be specially the home of Kings alike in life and in death. On that day began that long series of national ceremonies which has gone on uninterruptedly to our own time, and which has made the Abbey of Saint Peter the hearth and Prytaneion of the English nation. The octave of the consecration-day |Necessity for a speedy coronation,| had barely passed, and there was already a King to be buried and a King to be crowned. Earl Harold was King-elect by the choice of the Witan of all England; but he was not “full King” till he and his people had exchanged their mutual promises, till he had been arrayed with the outward badges of his kingly office, till the blessing of the Church and the unction of her highest minister had made the chosen of the people also the Anointed of the Lord. Those were not days when that crowning rite could be delayed for one needless moment. England could not be safely left for a single day without a King. The twofold right of the new Sovereign, as King alike by the election of the people and by the consecration of the Church, must be at once placed beyond all reach of doubt or cavil. The Christmas feast was not yet over, but it was the last day of the holy season; the Witan were still assembled; to have waited for another feast of the Church, for another gathering of the nation, would have been simple madness.^[43] The day of the coronation of Harold must therefore follow at once on the day |and therefore for a speedy burial.| of his election. And the coronation of Harold involved the previous burial of Eadward. England could not see two Kings of the English above ground at the same moment. 28Before then the Crown could be set on the brow of the King-elect, the hallowed soil of Saint Peter’s must close over the King who was no more. The day of the burial of Eadward must therefore follow at once on the day of his death. And never, even in the long history of that venerable Abbey, has there been such another day. Other |Greatness of the occasion.| Kings have been buried and crowned within its walls; but there has been no day like that, which beheld the last of one kingly line borne to his grave in the holy house of his own building, and which beheld the first—could men deem that he would be also the last?—of a newly-chosen race raised to the vacant throne alike by the bequest of his predecessor and by the will of his people. Of all the gorgeous rites celebrated by Kings and Prelates beneath the vaults of the West Minster, the twofold rite of that great Epiphany, which haste and urgency may well have rendered the least gorgeous of them all, is that around which the national memory of Englishmen may well centre most fondly. The first royal burial, the first royal consecration, within the newly-hallowed temple, possess an historic interest and an historic import beyond all those which have followed them.

The body of Eadward had been prepared for burial almost as soon as his soul had passed away. Decked in royal robes, the crown on his head, the pilgrim’s ring, so legend said, upon his hand, the saint lay ready for his last home. Stigand, who had stood by him in his last moments, seems to have stayed to help in paying this last tribute to his departed master.^[44] But the Primate, patriot in the eyes of 29Englishmen, schismatic in the eyes of Rome, was not to |Position of Stigand.| minister in either of the ceremonies of the morrow. As a Prelate of doubtful right, he was deemed unfit to hear the chief part in the consecration of Harold. As a simple priest, he might perhaps have been allowed to officiate at the funeral rites of Eadward. But it may well be that the newly-won privileges of the house of Saint Peter gave to the head of that house the ministration of all rites within its walls which did not need the special powers of a consecrated Bishop to give them sacramental efficacy. And Eadward doubtless sought, above all things, the prayers which the monks of the house which he himself had reared would |Stigand did not officiate at the funeral.| put up to Heaven for the soul of their founder. At all events, the priest who holds the first place in Eadward’s funeral procession is not set before us in our pictured record as adorned with any badge of pontifical rank.^[45] We may perhaps be allowed to guess that the chief ministry in the funeral rites of Eadward was assigned to his friend and bedesman, Abbot Eadwine. Early on the winter’s morning,^[46] perhaps while the minster still needed torchlight within the deep gloom of its massive walls and narrow windows, |Funeral of Eadward.| the King was carried to his grave. The body of Eadward, his form shrouded from sight, was borne on the shoulders of eight of his subjects, laymen all, and doubtless men of high degree. There was no need, as in the case of some later Kings, to assure his people, by the sight of his uncovered body, that he had not come unfairly by his end. Boys ringing bells walked on either side of the bier; behind them followed a crowd of clergy, surrounding the two chief ministers of the funeral ceremony, who walked bearing their 30office-books in their hands. In this guise the procession moved from the palace to the western door of the newly-hallowed minster. They swept along the nave, between the long rows of tall and massive pillars still fresh from the axe and hammer of the craftsman. They passed beneath the mighty arches, which, in all the strength and solidity of those early days of art, bore up the great central tower like a vast canopy over the choir below. They bore their burthen to the spot which Eadward had long before chosen as his place of burial, and there, before the altar of the saint whom he so deeply reverenced, the patron alike of Westminster and of Rome,^[47] the body of the last King of |General sorrow for Eadward.| the olden stock received its last kingly honours. We can well believe that, not only the poor whom he had relieved, the churchmen whom he had enriched, and the strangers on whom he had lavished the wealth of England, but that Englishmen of all ranks might well weep in awe and in sorrow over the grave of the last son of Cerdic and Woden. At such a moment, reversing the poet’s rule, the good that men have done lives after them and the evil is interred with their bones. There, by his grave in his own church, men’s thoughts would dwell on the virtues rather than on |Causes of sorrow and anxiety.| the weaknesses of the King who was taken from them. His faults as a King were great; but men would then think rather of all that was worthy in him as a man, and they might well deem that his last kingly act had covered a multitude of errors. In the crowd which filled the church, there could have been few whom Eadward had personally wronged; there must have been many whom he had personally benefitted. And, more than this, men must have felt that the two great rites of that day placed a great gulf 31between them and a long and honoured past, while a future rose before them, bright indeed with glorious hopes, but around which two dark clouds were gathering in opposite quarters of the heaven. No wonder then that by the grave of Eadward men wept and trembled.^[48] Psalms were sung, masses were said, alms were scattered abroad with a bounteous hand, needless offerings it might seem for a soul which men deemed that angels had already borne to the beatific vision.^[49] For three hundred days, days which stretch beyond the reign of Harold, the masses, the hymns, |Miracles wrought at the tomb.| the alms, continued to be daily offered.^[50] And wonders soon were wrought at the tomb of the royal saint. The blind received their sight, the lame walked, the sick were healed, the sorrowing received comfort.^[51] So thought men of his own day, men who had seen him in the flesh, and who have not shrunk from handing down to us even the less worthy actions of his life. If we deem such a belief and such a worship to be, not only superstitious in itself, but to have been thrown away on an unworthy object, we must remember with how fond a memory men must, ere a year had passed, have looked back to the happy days of the baleless King. We must remember how easily men would forget that the calm of those happy days was due, far less to the crowned monk upon the throne, than to the man of the stout heart and the strong arm who stood beside him. And let us remember too that the canonizing voice of 32|Other causes of popular canonization.| England was not always raised only to commemorate mere monastic virtues like those of Eadward. Foreign Kings and foreign Pontiffs might forbid, but a day came when England looked with no less devout reverence on the true heroes and martyrs of our land. If miracles adorned the tomb of Eadward at Westminster, no less mighty works were soon deemed to be wrought before Waltheof’s tomb in the chapter-house of Crowland, and two ages later, the sick were again healed and the blind again saw, before the tomb where English hearts still revered the relics which were all that the foeman’s sword had left of the mangled form of the martyr of Evesham.^[52]

The funeral rites were over; but the history of Eadward, as the history of a saint, is one which reaches beyond the grave. A King at whose tomb wonders were daily wrought, a King whom two hostile races could unite to look upon with reverence, gradually filled a larger and a larger space in men’s minds. Such a King, already canonized by the popular voice, a King who had done more than any King before him to bring the English Church into close connexion with the Roman See, could not fail, ere long, to obtain, by Papal authority, a formal admission into the register of the saints. But the steps by which he won his saint’s rank were gradual. Six-and-thirty years after 33|Examination of his body by Abbot Gilbert. 1102.| Eadward’s death, a Bishop and an Abbot of Norman birth, who had most likely never seen him in the flesh, were the first whom pious curiosity led to disturb the rest of the departed. It was already whispered that the body of Eadward, the instrument of so many miracles, was itself the subject of miracle. The holy King, men said, had never seen corruption. Abbot Gilbert, one of the great Norman line of Crispin, whom Lanfranc had put in charge of the house of Westminster,^[53] deemed it his duty to see whether the tale that so often met his ears were true. In company with Bishop Gundulf of Rochester, the Prelate to whose skill we owe the White Tower of London and the lowlier keep of Malling, and with other noble and pious persons, he opened the grave of Eadward. A sweet savour filled the minster; they unfolded the garments in which Eadward had been wrapped under the eyes of Stigand; the body lay as in sleep; the powers of nature had failed to do their work; the skin was still white and rosy; the limbs were still flexible; they might deem that he might again arise from his trance and again denounce the sins of England. The Bishop would fain have carried off one hair of his snowy beard to keep as a relic more precious than all the treasures of the earth.^[54] But not a hair could be pulled away from the face of the sleeping saint. The Abbot, with a reverence to which those ages were commonly strangers, checked the attempt; he restored the vestments and the body to their place, and bade that the remains of the man of God should rest in peace.

Thirty-eight years later a vain attempt was made by Osbert, Prior of Westminster, the special trumpeter of 34|Eadward’s canonization. 1140.| Eadward’s renown,^[55] to obtain formal canonization for him from Innocent the Second. But a day came when the House of William had passed away like the House of Cerdic, a day when men had taught themselves to hail a stranger from Anjou as the corner-stone which united Norman |Eadward canonized by Alexander the Third. 1161.| and English royalty. Then, at last, the influence of a King who reigned from the Orkneys to the Pyrenees was able to procure from Rome the decree which placed the predecessor whom all his subjects agreed to reverence among authorized objects of religious honour.^[56] The green tree had now returned to the trunk; it had brought forth its queenly leaves and its kingly fruit, and the day was now come to do special homage to the seer who had foretold that the good time would at last come back again. As one Pope Alexander had given the blessing of Rome to the enterprise of the Norman invader, his next successor of the same name might seem in some sort to undo the wrong by making the last King of the old royal stock of England |First Translation of Eadward. October 13, 1163.| an object of worship to the Church Universal. In the presence of the Angevin King, in whom men now saw the heir of Eadward, in the presence of the Norman Primate whom England learned to love as her champion and martyr, the body of Eadward was translated from his royal tomb to the shrine which was the fitting resting-place of the 35relics of a saint in glory. Things were not now as they were in the days of Abbot Gilbert. Then the body, entitled only to the reverence due to the remains of a departed Christian, was allowed to return unhurt and unplundered to the grave. But now that Eadward claimed the worship due to a canonized saint, whatever had touched the holy corpse became endowed with sanctity and miraculous power. The ring, the subject of so many legends, was drawn from his finger and was preserved as a wonder-working relic. The royal robes in which the body had been enfolded were borne away from the tomb and became vestments for the holiest worship of the sanctuary.^[57] And the anniversary of that day still preserves the memory of Eadward in the Kalendar of the English Church. It was not without a certain fitness that the Feast of the Translation of Saint Eadward should be kept, not on the eve of the Epiphany, but on the eve of the day of Saint Calixtus. It is well that two successive days should remind us of the memory of Eadward and of the memory of him who fell on the morrow of his festival.

Years rolled on, and the spot to which Eadward had been moved on his first translation was now deemed unworthy of a Saint who was already looked upon as the patron of England. A King now sat on the throne of Eadward, who was in many points a reproduction of Eadward himself. The same fervent zeal for God, the same neglect of duty towards man, the same vehemence in speech and weakness in action, the same love for men of foreign lands, the same spiritual bondage to a foreign yoke, the same deep and lavish devotion to the holy house of Saint Peter, appeared in Henry the Third which had already appeared in the predecessor whom he reverenced and resembled. The King who, like Eadward, aroused the feelings of the nation 36by his wasteful preference for strangers of every land, chose as the special objects of his religious devotion two royal saints of English birth. Before all other saints, King Henry’s worship was paid to the East-Anglian Eadmund and the West-Saxon Eadward. By his act those kingly names again found their way into the royal house, and the name of the saint himself became the most glorious in the later history of England.^[58] In honour of |Rebuilding of the West Minster. 1245.| Eadward the work of Eadward was destroyed.^[59] The church which he himself had reared was now deemed unworthy to be the dwelling-place of so great a saint.^[60] The “massive arches, broad and round,”^[61] of the church which so long was the model for all England,^[62] now gave way to 37those slender pillars and soaring arches which, alone among English minsters, go some way to reproduce the boundless height of Amiens and of Beauvais. There, alone among English minsters of its own date,^[63] did the tall apse and its surrounding chapels crown the eastern end of what was now the church of Saint Eadward. But that apse was not reared, as at Amiens and at Le Mans, at Pershore and at Tewkesbury, to form the most glorious of canopies for the |The shrine of Eadward.| altar of the Most High. Not in any subordinate chapel, but in the noblest spot of all, in the spot which elsewhere was reserved for the highest acts of Christian worship, was the new shrine of Eadward reared. And the workmanship of that gorgeous shrine was of a type fit for him who reared it, and for him in whose honour it was reared. Among all the Kings whose tombs are gathered together in that solemn spot, two alone reveal in their style of art the work of craftsmen from beyond the sea and even from beyond the |Comparison of Eadward and Henry the Third.| mountains. The resting-places of the two Kings in whose heart beat no English feeling, the two Kings who loved to be surrounded by men of any nation rather than their own, the two Kings who, more than any other Kings in English history, laid England, of their own act, prostrate at the feet of Rome,^[64] the shrine of Eadward, the tomb of Henry, are fittingly adorned with forms which awake no English associations, the work not of English but of |The Translation. October 13, 1269.| Italian hands. To that shrine, a hundred and three years after its first translation, the body of the saint was borne by a crowd of the noblest of the land.^[65] Among them two 38Kings and two Kings’ sons bowed their shoulders beneath the hallowed weight. The two highest of earthly rulers, the continental and the insular Basileus, Richard of Germany and Henry of England, were foremost to bear the burthen to which it was deemed a holy work to stretch forth a single finger.^[66] With the one English Augustus there joined in the task his nephew, the one Englishman besides himself who ever bore the titles of foreign royalty, Edmund of Lancaster, whose vain pretensions to the Sicilian crown had been already transferred to the stronger hand of the conqueror from Anjou. Fit bearers for the foreign-hearted saint were an English King who hated Englishmen, and English princes who wasted English |Presence of Edward the First.| treasure in seeking after the kingship of other lands. But there was one who shared in their work who might seem sent there expressly to remind us that the object of their worship was, after all, an Englishman. Among those who bent to bear Eadward’s body was the prince who was named after his name, but whose life reproduced, not the life of Eadward the Confessor, but the life of Eadward the Unconquered.^[67] Those who then pressed to win spiritual blessings by touching the corpse of Eadward hardly deemed that among themselves was one who was to make his name more worthy of honour among Englishmen than the royal saint could ever make it. It was then deemed an honour and a privilege to draw near to the body of Eadward. Was it not rather the highest of honours paid to Eadward 39himself, that Harold stood by his side at his first burial, and that in the great rite of his translation a share was borne by him who did in truth live to wield the sceptre of the Isle of Albion, and in whom the Scot and the Briton once more bowed to an Eadward of England as their father and their lord?^[68]

But the posthumous history of Eadward the Confessor did not end even with this crowning triumph. His shrine at Westminster became the centre of a group of royal tombs such as gathered in earlier times in the more ancient seats of royalty at Winchester and Sherborne. Or a closer parallel still might be looked for in that renowned sanctuary of the West, the resting-place of Eadward’s nobler brother, where Briton and Englishman agreed to revere the name of the legendary Arthur, as at Westminster Englishman and Norman agreed to revere the name of the now well-nigh |Burial of Eadgyth, 1074;| legendary Eadward.^[69] Eight years after the burial of Eadward, his widow, the loving sister of Tostig, the loyal subject of William, was laid by his side before the altar of Saint Peter.^[70] The zeal of King Henry thought of her also, and her remains, translated to the chapel of her husband, were laid as near to his side as the remains of an ordinary sinful mortal might lie to those of a wonder-working saint. |of Eadgyth-Matilda, 1118.| To the other side of his shrine was moved the dust of another Eadgyth, disguised in history by her Norman name Matilda, her in whom the green tree first began to return to the trunk, and in whose grandson Normandy and England alike became parts of the dominions of the Angevin.^[71] No legend or effigy marks the graves of these royal Ladies, but soon the choicest skill of the craftsman was lavished on the tombs of Kings and princes which crowded round the 40shrine of their sainted predecessor. To the north King |Henry the Third.| Henry sleeps in his tomb of foreign work, beneath the |Edward and Eleanor.| shadow of the patron whom he had so deeply honoured.^[72] Worthier dust lies east and west of him. No graven figure marks the resting-place of his immortal son, but the loveliest work of all within that mighty charnel-house records the love and grief of the great King for a consort worthy of him. Succeeding ages surrounded the sacred spot with the sculptured forms of succeeding generations of English royalty. There sleeps the victor of Crecy and the victor of |Richard the Second.| Azincourt; there sleeps, beside his nobler Queen, the King from whom the Parliament of England, in the exercise of its |1399.| ancient right, took away the Crown of which he had shown himself unworthy. Thus around the shrine of Eadward were gathered the successors who in life had sworn to keep his fancied Laws, and who deemed it their highest honour to wear his Crown and to sit upon his royal seat. At last a King arose in whose eyes the wealth which earlier Kings had lavished on that spot outweighed the reverence with which so many ages had surrounded Eadward’s name. One Henry had reared alike the shrine and the pile which held it; the word of another Henry went forth to cast to the owls and to the bats all that earlier ages had deemed holy. |The body of Eadward removed under Henry the Eighth,| And yet some remorse seems to have smitten the soul of the destroyer before the shrine of the royal patron and lawgiver of England. Elsewhere the shrines of more ancient saints were levelled with the ground; elsewhere the dust of Kings and heroes was scattered to the winds. The wealth of Eadward’s shrine was indeed borne away to be sported broadcast among the minions of Henry’s court, but the empty casket still stood untouched, and the hallowed remains found another, if a lowlier, resting-place within the 41minster-walls. And the days yet came when one translation |and restored under Philip and Mary.| more restored the corpse of Eadward to its place of honour. And again it was from fitting hands that he received this last act of veneration. The foreign-hearted Eadward had been first placed in that shrine by the foreign-hearted Henry, the King whose foreign marriage proved the curse of England, and whose foreign tastes made England the victim and the bondslave of Rome. Shorn of his honours by a King who, with all his crimes, was at least an Englishman, Eadward was brought back to his shrine by a Queen whose work it was to bend the neck of England beneath the spiritual yoke of the Roman See and the temporal yoke of her Spanish husband.^[73] Translated first by the zeal of Henry and Eleanor, he was again restored to his old honours by the zeal of Philip and Mary. And now, while the dust of Eadmund and Harold is scattered to the winds, Eadward still sleeps in his shrine, unworshipped indeed but undisturbed; and the spot where an Englishman would best love to stand and muse in awe and wonder has become ground from which the votaries of devotion and art and history are bidden to turn away.

But we must come back to the doings of the great Epiphany. The last King of the House of Cerdic was laid in his grave; it was time for the first King of the House of Godwine to be placed upon his throne. Short as the interregnum had been, England could not go a moment 42longer without a crowned and anointed ruler. From the burial of Eadward men turned at once to the coronation of Harold. That great rite was performed with all solemnity, no doubt according to those venerable forms whose substance has been followed in the consecration of every English King down to our own time.^[74] The chief actor in that august ceremony was one not wholly unworthy of so high a function. The Primate of all England, while his canonical right to his see was called in question at home and abroad, could not be allowed to discharge the highest duty belonging to his office. The hands of Stigand might not minister an unction which was held to confer somewhat |The ceremony performed by Ealdred.| of sacramental grace and even of priestly sanctity.^[75] In his stead, the rite was performed by the Primate of Northumberland, his marked adhesion to the new King being perhaps taken as one pledge of the allegiance of his distant province. No living Englishman had seen so much of other lands, none had so often stood face to face with the rulers of other nations, as he who was now called upon to set the English Crown upon the brow of Harold. Ealdred, alone of living English Prelates, had gone, at the bidding of his King or at the call of his own devotion, to the banks of the Rhine, the Tiber, and the Jordan. He alone had stood, as the representative of England, before the thrones of the spiritual and the temporal chiefs of Christendom. He alone had gone, with such worship as none had gone before him,^[76] far beyond the threshold of the Apostles, to the city where the Infidel bore sway over the very spot of 43man’s redemption. He had tarried in the court of Cæsar, he had knelt at the tomb of Christ; but in all his wanderings he had never seen such a day or such a scene as when the Witan of all England came together to choose their Father and their Lord, and the diadem of Ecgberht rested on the lordly brow of the King chosen from his brethren. Could he have deemed that, at the next Christmas Feast, he should be called upon again to repeat that solemn rite on the same spot, under circumstances yet more new and wonderful? In the whole range of history, it is hard to point to a stranger fate than that of him to whose lot it fell to receive, within a single year, the coronation-oath of Harold and the coronation-oath of William.

The rite began. Earl Harold, the King-elect, was led by two Bishops, with hymns and processions, up to the high altar of the minster. Later usage assigned that honourable function to the Prelates of Durham and of Wells.^[77] It may then well be that Gisa, the supposed victim and enemy of Harold, really discharged one of the chief parts in his admission to his kingly office. The hymn sung by the choir in that great procession prayed that the hand of Harold might be strengthened and exalted, that justice and judgement might be the preparation of his seat, that mercy and truth might go before his face.^[78] Before the high altar the Earl of the West-Saxons bowed himself to the ground, and while he lay grovelling, the song of Ambrose, the song of faith and of victory, was sung over one whose sin at Porlock, whose atonement at Waltham, might well make him seem another Theodosius.^[79] The Earl then rose from 44the pavement, and for the last time he looked on the crowd |The Ecclesiastical Election.| around him, the Prelates and Thegns and the whole people of England, as still one of their own number. Their voice had already named him as their King, but a still more solemn election before the altar of God was needed before the Church admitted him to the sacramental unction. Once more the voice of Ealdred demanded of the English people, in ancient form, whether they would that Earl Harold should be crowned as their Lord and King. A loud shout |The Coronation oath.| of assent rang through the minster. Chosen thus by Prelates and people,^[80] the King-elect swore with a loud voice his threefold oath to God and to all his folk. Kings swore in after days that they would observe all the rights and liberties which the glorious Eadward had granted to his clergy and his people. The oath of the prince who had so lately renewed the Laws of Cnut was of a simpler form. Earl Harold swore to preserve peace to the Church of God and to all Christian people. He swore to forbid wrong and robbery to men of every rank within his realm. He swore to enforce justice and mercy in all his judgements, as he would that God should have mercy upon him. And all the people said Amen. The Bishops then prayed for the ruler whom they had chosen, for his guidance by the Spirit of wisdom in the government of his realm, for peace to his Church and people, for his welfare in this world and in the next.^[81] Then a yet more solemn prayer from the lips of Ealdred followed. In that ancient English form, which other nations have been fain to borrow of us,^[82] the God who had wrought His mighty works by the hands of Abraham and Moses and Joshua and David and Solomon was implored to shower down all the gifts and graces of those famous worthies upon him who was that day chosen to be King of the Angles and Saxons. Ealdred prayed that Harold, 45faithful as Abraham, gentle as Moses, brave as Joshua, humble as David, wise as Solomon, might teach and rule and guard the Church and realm of the Angles and Saxons^[83] against all visible and invisible foes. With feelings too deep for words must that prayer have risen from the hearts of all who could already see the gathering storm, which was still but like a little cloud out of the sea. The Primate prayed that their chosen King might never fail the throne and sceptre of the Angles and Saxons, that for long years of life he might reign over a faithful people, in peace and concord, and, if need be, in victory. Christ Himself was prayed to raise him to the throne of His kingdom, and to pour down upon him the unction of the Holy One.

“The oaths were said, the prayers were prayed.”^[84] And now came the sacramental rite itself which changed an Earl into a King, and which gave him, so men then deemed, grace from on high to discharge the duties which were laid upon him. The holy oil was poured by Ealdred upon the head of Earl Harold.^[85] And while the symbolic act was in doing, the choir raised their voices in that glorious strain to which the noblest music of later times has given a still higher majesty. The walls of the West Minster echoed to the anthem which told how Zadok the Priest and Nathan the Prophet anointed Solomon King, and which added the prayer of England that Harold might live for ever.^[86] Again the Primate prayed that, as of old Kings and Priests and Prophets were anointed with oil, so now the oil poured on 46the head of God’s servant might be a true sign of the inner unction of the heart, a means of grace for His glory and the |The Investiture.| welfare of His people.^[87] And now King Harold, the Lord’s Anointed, the chosen of the people, the consecrated of the Church, vested in the robes of royalty and priesthood,^[88] received in due order the insignia of his kingly office. The sword was placed in his hand, with the prayer that he might therewith defend his realm, and smite his enemies and the |The Crowning.| enemies of the Church of God.^[89] The King then bowed his head, and the Imperial diadem of Britain was placed by the hand of Ealdred on the head of the King of the Angles and Saxons, the Emperor of the Isle of Albion.^[90] God was again implored to crown His Anointed with glory and justice and might, and to give him a yet brighter Crown in a more enduring Kingdom. Then the sceptre crowned with the cross, and the rod crowned with the holy dove, were placed, one after the other, in the royal hands. Prayer was again made that the sceptre of Harold’s Kingdom might be a sceptre of righteousness and strength, that he who had been anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows might through all his days be a lover of righteousness and a hater of iniquity.^[91] Further prayers, further blessings, followed; the prayers and merits of all the saints, of the Virgin Mother of God, of the Prince of the Apostles, and of his successor the special Apostle of the English nation,^[92] were 47|“Hic residet Harold Rex Anglorum.”| implored on behalf of the crowned and anointed King. And now King Harold of England sat on his royal throne, the crown upon his brow, in his right hand the sceptre, in his left the orb of Empire,^[93] the proud badge which belonged of right to the Cæsar of another world. Two chiefs, perhaps his faithful brothers, bore the sword at his side; his people stood and gazed upon him with wonder and |Import of the ceremony.| delight.^[94] The day at last had come for which Harold and England had looked so long. The reward of thirteen years of loyal service had been given by the nation to her noblest son. And the die too had been cast; the danger was now to be faced in common; King and people were pledged to stand by one another in the struggle which was to come. And King and people did stand by one another, and, if they both fell, they both fell gloriously. The rite of that great day gave Harold, instead of the long and peaceful reign prayed for by his consecrator, a reign of nine months of little stillness.^[95] Then England was given over to bondage, and the name of Harold was given over to the voice of slander. But in the eye of truth, those nine months of little stillness, spent in the cause of England, were better than long years of inglorious ease and luxury, better than long years of hardly less inglorious sloth and superstition. As the momentary glory of Eadmund follows on the weary years of Æthelred, so the momentary glory of Harold followed on those years of Eadward which Harold alone had saved from being as weary as those of his father. And, in the eye of authentic history, never was crown more lawfully won, more worthily worn, than that which Ealdred placed that day on the head of him whom calumny marked so long as Harold the Usurper. If there ever was a lawful ruler in this world, such of a truth was Harold, King of the 48English and Lord of the Isle of Britain—King, not by the mouldering titles of a worn-out dynasty, not by the gold of the trafficker or the steel of the invader, but by the noblest title by which one man can claim to rule over his fellows, the free choice of a free people.

The rite was over. Earl Harold was now King; but we cannot help asking whether he stood alone in the great ceremony which had made him so. Did the Lady Ealdgyth, once again the wife of a King, share in the consecration of her husband? Her coronation is nowhere distinctly spoken of, but our ancient ritual provides a form for the anointing of the King’s consort, and for her investiture with the ring and crown.^[96] There is no reason to suppose that the wife of Harold, the grand-daughter of Leofric, would be debarred from any honour befitting the wife of a King, the mother of future Æthelings. But, in the absence of direct testimony, I do not venture to affirm the fact. Indeed I must confess that I feel less certain than I did when writing my last chapter, whether the marriage of Harold and Ealdgyth may not have followed his election to the Crown.^[97] Whether then the new King had a consort to share in his honours is a point which I must leave uncertain. But, according to all precedent, on the coronation followed the mass, with prayers and collects appropriate for the great solemnity.^[98] At that mass the King partook of the holiest rite of Christian worship. On the mass followed the banquet, and there, on the last day of the Christmas Festival, we cannot doubt that King Harold, in all the glory of his new dignity, wore his Crown with all kingly state in what was now his Palace of Westminster. The old dynasty had passed away; the new dynasty had taken possession; but not many days had gone before voices of warning came which 49showed that King Harold of England would soon have to do battle for his Crown.

§ 3. The First Days of Harold’s Reign. January 6–April 16, 1066.

Within the bounds of his former Earldom the rule of Harold, King of the English, was simply a continuation of the rule of Harold, Earl of the West-Saxons. It is plain that no other Earl of the great southern Earldom was appointed in his place. In any view of general policy this might be looked on as a backward step. It might be looked on as again uprearing a throne which should be West-Saxon rather than English. It might be looked on as again reducing Mercia and Northumberland from integral parts of the realm into dependent provinces.^[99] But under the circumstances of the moment, it would seem to have been the wiser course. England was threatened by two enemies in different quarters, and even the energy of Harold could not personally provide for the safety of the |Necessity of confidence in Eadwine and Morkere.| land against both. It was absolutely necessary, in Harold’s position, to treat the Earls of the Northumbrians and the Mercians, perhaps already his brothers-in-law, with a degree of confidence which they certainly did not deserve. It was something that they had allowed his election and coronation to take place without any open opposition. It was something that he had received the votes of the Northumbrian Witan, and had been crowned and anointed by the hands of the Northumbrian Primate. Harold could not do otherwise than at least affect to treat Eadwine and Morkere as |Division of labour between them and the King.| loyal subjects or even as loving brothers. He was obliged to trust to them for the defence of Northern England. And, if they could be trusted for anything, they might surely, it would seem, be trusted to keep their personal enemy 50Tostig out of their own Earldoms. While they guarded the North against the English exile, it was Harold’s own work to guard the South against the foreign pretender. In the eastern shires, from the Wash to the Straits of Dover, he had the trustiest of lieutenants in his brothers Gyrth and Leofwine. It was clearly his own business, while not abdicating his duty of general care over the whole Kingdom, to undertake as his special work the defence of the lands which had formed his own Earldom. No one could do that work |No available candidate for the West-Saxon Earldom.| so well as himself. We can hardly see whom Harold, had he been so inclined, could have invested with the West-Saxon Earldom. Every man who could lay claim to so high a dignity on the score either of birth or of merit was already provided for. The King’s remaining brother Wulfnoth was probably a hostage in Normandy; his own sons, his nephew Hakon, were all young and untried. The representatives of the two Northumbrian families, Waltheof and Oswulf, were equally untried, and they were already invested with the government of districts with which they had an ancestral connexion. Nor can we point to the name of any West-Saxon of special personal eminence beyond the |Military policy of keeping Wessex in the King’s own hands.| limits of the great houses. It was clearly the policy of the moment, a moment when military considerations must have been supreme above all others, for the King to keep the immediate administration of the South in his own hands, availing himself only of the co-operation of his brothers the two Eastern Earls. And, after all, though Northumberland and Mercia again became in a sense dependencies on the West-Saxon Crown, the arrangement might very well suit the purposes of Eadwine and Morkere. They might deem that a step was thereby taken towards the division of the Kingdom, when its administration was practically divided between the House of Leofric and the House of Godwine, and when the King took his own share along with his brothers and brothers-in-law. A King who had his own portion of the 51Kingdom in his own hands might seem to be less painfully exalted over their heads, he might seem to remain more nearly on their own level, than a King who acted simply as a central power, equally controlling every portion of the realm. Harold therefore kept the West-Saxon Earldom in his own hands. But it is clear that he kept a watchful eye over his whole Kingdom, and that he was ready to act at a moment’s notice in any part of his Kingdom where his presence might be needed.

On the character of Harold’s government as King there is no need to enlarge. His government as King was, as I have just before said, simply a continuation of his government as Earl. Whatever was the character of the one was |Norman calumnies.| the character of the other. The Norman writers describe his government as stained by frightful crimes. As usual, stories grow and become more definite as they are further removed from the time. The slanderers of Harold’s own age veiled their charges in the most general terms; but the slanderers of the thirteenth century were ready with long stories of rapine and sacrilege and evil doings of every kind, and the slanderers of a still later age knew perfectly well how cruelly Harold enforced the forest laws, and how the husband of Ealdgyth remained without a wife, that he might the more easily carry off the wives and daughters |Asserted general expulsion of Normans.| of the “Barons” of the realm.^[100] A charge which better deserves serious examination is that Harold drove out of the land all the Normans who were settled in it, doubtless confiscating their lands.^[101] Now the dying charge of Eadward himself suggested the banishment, though not the 52spoliation, of any Normans who might refuse to become the men of the new King.^[102] The fact that the charge is brought against Harold may lead us to think that some such cases actually occurred, and that Eadward’s rule was |Some Normans at least remained in England.| put in force with regard to them. But it is quite impossible to believe that all the Frenchmen who were naturalized in England^[103] were now driven out. Some record of such a process would certainly have found its way into Domesday. And we know for certain that some |Bishop William and Robert the son of Wymarc not molested.| Normans of high rank were not driven out. William of London retained his Bishoprick. His name does not actually occur in the history of Harold’s reign, but it is quite certain that, if he had been meddled with, some Norman writer or other would have taken care to record the fact. The wrongs of the living Bishop of London would have made an excellent sequel to the wrongs of the dead Archbishop of Canterbury. And we know distinctly, from the testimony of Norman writers,^[104] that Robert the son of Wymarc was living quietly in England, as a man of wealth and importance, at the time of William’s landing. He clearly retained his lands; there is no evidence whether |Other Stallers.| he did or did not retain his office of Staller. Nor have we any direct evidence as to the position retained in Harold’s reign by Robert’s fellow-Staller Ralph,^[105] or by any other of Eadward’s Norman favourites. We cannot say whether Hugolin the Treasurer and Reginbald the Chancellor^[106] retained their offices in the Court of the English King. We can only say that, among the English Stallers employed by 53Eadward, three at least, Bondig,^[107] Esegar, and Eadnoth, retained their offices. Esegar and Bondig play not unimportant |Eadnoth.| parts in the great struggles of the year.^[108] Eadnoth, who held large possessions in the western shires, was probably a man who had risen by the favour of Harold during his government of Wessex as Earl. We shall hear |1067.| of him again as acting against the son of his benefactor.

In opposition to the slanders of his enemies, Harold appears in the national writers as the model of a patriot King. In the words of the splendid panegyric which became almost a set form among all true Englishmen, “he began to abolish unrighteous laws, to establish righteous ones, to be the patron of churches and monasteries, to reverence Bishops, Abbots, monks, and churchmen of every sort, to show himself pious, lowly, and affable to all good men, and to be the enemy of all evil doers.”^[109] We are told how he bade his Earls, Sheriffs, and magistrates of every kind, and generally all his Thegns, to seize all thieves, robbers, and disturbers of the public peace, while he himself laboured for the defence of the country by sea and land.^[110] That is to say, his government as King was a continuation of his government as Earl. We must not infer from the opening words of the description that Harold appeared at all as a lawgiver. Those few months 54of little stillness were not likely to be largely devoted either to the repeal of old laws or to the enactment of new ones. By good and bad law is meant, as usual,^[111] good and bad government. What we are to understand is that Harold’s rule continued to be as just and as vigorous as it had ever been. It would in truth be more vigorous, now that he could act freely for himself, and had no longer to take the pleasure of the wayward Eadward upon any matter. His strictness against all breaches of the peace is simply his old virtue as Earl;^[112] only we see, what of course naturally follows from the state of things at the time, that this duty was now, more than it had been before, thrown upon the King’s officers and representatives, while the King himself was mainly occupied with his military |His military preparations began early in his reign.| preparations. We see also that those preparations began from the very beginning of his reign, that there is no ground to believe that Harold despised either of his enemies, or that he failed from the first to make ready for anything that might happen. His great difficulty must have been to make others feel the importance of the crisis as he felt it himself, and at the same time to avoid anything which could dishearten men’s minds or chill the warmth of the hopes kindled by a new reign and a new dynasty. The spirit of Harold’s rule is impressed in a striking, and even touching, way on the few material monuments of his |His coinage.| short reign. The new King found time for a new coinage, and the device on Harold’s coin well spoke the longings of a King whose heart yearned for peace, though he knew that peace could be had only through war. On the one side is the simple legend, PAX, on the other side the King wears the Imperial Diadem.^[113] All that man could do for his realm and people King Harold did. The evil 55was that, according to the old Greek saying, even Hêraklês could not struggle with two foes at once.^[114]

As for Harold’s devotion to the Church, which is so strongly insisted on by his panegyrist, we can see that he had every motive at this time to make friends of all classes of men, and to make friends of the clergy more than of any other class. He must have known that something like a holy war was likely to be proclaimed against him. He must have felt that he had, wittingly or unwittingly, done an act which ran counter to the religious feelings of the time. If Harold had really done despite to the bones of the Norman Saints, it was the more needful for him to show to other lands that he enjoyed the confidence of the national Church, and to show to the national Church that he was a King who did not belie the oil of his consecration. |His relations to the monks.| It is quite possible, and it may be implied in the words of the panegyric, that the founder of Waltham, the great patron of the seculars, now found it expedient to extend more of his countenance than before to the religious foundations of his Kingdom. It is certain that the few notices that we have of the reign of Harold show that more of his attention was given to ecclesiastical matters than might have been looked for in a reign so short and so |His further gifts to Waltham.| stormy. He continued his care and bounty to his own foundation at Waltham; what the Earl had loved, the |His writ to Gisa.| King could not love less.^[115] If Bishop Gisa had any fears, they were quieted by a writ securing him in all the rights and possessions of his see.^[116] The construction which we 56put upon this act must depend upon the view which we take of the relations between Harold and Gisa at this moment. We have seen that, according to Gisa’s own account, the King promised to restore the disputed lands, and was hindered only by his death.^[117] At any rate, Harold showed either that he was unconscious of wrong, or that, if he was conscious, he was anxious to make atonement. |His friendship with the Abbots Leofric and Æthelwig;| Among the monastic Prelates, the history will show that he could count on the loyal service, not only of his uncle at the New Minster of Winchester,^[118] but of the member of the rival house who ruled over the Golden Borough.^[119] Peterborough, it should be remembered, is the only monastic foundation of which Harold is distinctly recorded as a benefactor.^[120] The intercourse between Harold and Abbot Leofric was plainly one of mutual confidence and mutual good offices. Æthelwig also, the prudent Abbot of Evesham, stood high in the new King’s favour. The soul of the saintly Mannig had passed away at the same hour as the soul of the saintly Eadward,^[121] and the church of Evesham was now under the sole rule of the Prelate whose wisdom had already commended him to Ealdred and was afterwards still more specially to commend him to William. With Harold the influence of Æthelwig was great; the Abbot, we are told, obtained from the King whatever he asked.^[122] One would like to know more clearly the nature of the requests made by such a Prelate to such a King. |and with Saint Wulfstan.| But among the ranks of monks and Bishops there was one greater than Gisa or Leofric or Æthelwig, one whose prayers and whose counsels Harold had long learned to value. The holy Wulfstan had for years been his tried friend, and it was on the tried friendship of that true man of God that 57Harold chose to lean in the first of the many trials of his short reign.

There can be no doubt that the Witan of Northumberland, no less than the Witan of the rest of England, had concurred in the election of Harold. The expressions of our best authorities declare that the chief men of all England concurred in the choice;^[123] the Primate of the Northumbrians had filled the first place in the work of Harold’s formal admission to his Kingdom, and there is nothing to show that the Earl of the Northumbrians openly dissented. But a little thought will show that the real feelings of Northumberland could not be so easily tested in an Assembly held in London as the real feelings of Wessex and East-Anglia. We cannot suppose that the North was represented in such an Assembly in anything like the same proportion as the districts nearer to the place of meeting. |Working of the Witenagemót as a Primary Assembly.| This is always one of the weak points of a Primary, as distinguished from a Representative, Assembly. In a Representative Assembly, if members are fairly apportioned to districts, a part of the country far away from the place of meeting may be as well represented as one that is close to it. In a Primary Assembly the different parts of the country cannot be put on an equality except by taking the votes, not by heads, but by tribes, cities, or cantons.^[124] Northumberland might, by this means, have had an equal voice with Wessex in the national Councils, though the West-Saxons present might have been counted by hundreds or thousands, and the Northumbrians only by tens or units. But this political subtlety does not seem to have been thought of in the primitive parliamentary system of our forefathers. It follows then that, wherever a Gemót was held, some part of the country was placed at a disadvantage. 58East-Anglia was placed at a disadvantage when the Gemót was held at Gloucester; Western Mercia was placed at a disadvantage when the Gemót was held in London. |Northumberland never fairly represented.| And as no regular Gemót seems to have been held in Eadward’s time at any place north of Gloucester,^[125] Northumberland was always placed at a disadvantage. We may conceive that, in the Gemót which elected Harold, that is, the Gemót assembled for the consecration of the West Minster, Wessex, East-Anglia, and south-eastern Mercia were largely represented. The citizens of London were ready on the spot. But it is not likely that the Northumbrians present would be more than a mere handful. The Archbishop, the Earls, the Bishop of Durham, and a few of the leading Thegns would doubtless obey the royal summons. But it is not likely that many besides these would undertake such a journey in the middle of winter. We can therefore fully understand that the mass of the Northumbrian people might feel that an election had been made to which they had not consented. The election had been made in all due constitutional form. Still a most important step, a step affecting the whole Kingdom, a step likely to be in many ways repugnant to Northumbrian feeling, a step to which Northumberland had practically not been a consenting party, had been taken by a part of England in the name of the whole. By that step the mass of the Northumbrian people refused to be bound.^[126]

That the old provincial jealousy should break out again at this moment was not wonderful. It was something strange and new even for West-Saxons to set over them a King of their own blood, who was not of the royal house. But it was something stranger and newer still for Northumbrians to be called on to acknowledge a King, 59who was neither of their own blood nor of the blood of their old West-Saxon conquerors, but who sprang from a West-Saxon house which, two generations back, had been undistinguished, perhaps ignoble. This feeling on the part of the Northumbrian people was short-sighted and ungenerous, but it was perfectly natural. The question is, how far the sons of Ælfgar, who had not dared to oppose Harold’s election in open Gemót, now stirred up, or took advantage of, the natural feeling of the Northumbrian people. Our evidence is very slight, but the conduct of Eadwine and Morkere a few months later makes it almost impossible to doubt that they saw, in the unwillingness of Northumberland to acknowledge the newly-chosen King, an admirable means towards carrying out their schemes for the division of the Kingdom. We have no distinct details of what actually happened in Northumberland at this moment. The one writer who tells the story wraps |The Northumbrians refuse to acknowledge Harold.| up the minuter facts in a cloud of rhetoric.^[127] It is plain however that the Northumbrians did, in some shape or other, refuse to acknowledge Harold as their King. There is nothing to show that there was any armed resistance, or that any Northumbrian Gemót took upon itself to elect another King. The resistance to Harold’s authority was probably passive, but resistance of some kind there was. |Similar position of Harold in January and of William in December.| Harold, in short, found himself in January in very nearly the same position with regard to the northern part of his Kingdom in which William found himself in December. Each alike had been elected and crowned; each had received the allegiance of the Northumbrian Earl, and had been hallowed as King by the Northumbrian Primate. But Harold and William alike found that the submission of Morkere and the benediction of Ealdred did not necessarily carry with them any practical authority over the old Northumbrian realm. And we cannot doubt that 60|Probable agency of Eadwine and Morkere.| the heart of Morkere went forth as little in his oath to Harold as it went forth in his oath to William. We cannot doubt that Morkere, and Eadwine also, took advantage, in the former case as in the latter, of the natural disposition of the Northumbrian people. The momentary hopes which were roused by the unwillingness of the Danish and Anglian North to acknowledge the West-Saxon King overcame the fear lest Tostig should come to recover his Earldom by force. Weighed against such hopes, the tie of allegiance, the tie of gratitude, the tie of affinity, was not likely to be strong. The claims of a King, a benefactor, perhaps a brother, would seem small compared with a chance of personal exaltation. The duty of keeping England united in the face of her foes would seem as nothing compared with the chance of gratifying a paltry provincial jealousy. I may seem to be passing a harsh judgement on the sons of Ælfgar in a matter in which their names are not directly mentioned. But I am simply supposing that their conduct now was of a piece with their conduct a few months before and a few months after. And it is hard to see what form could be taken by even a passive resistance to Harold’s authority, unless that resistance was fostered by the connivance, to say the least, of the reigning Earl.

Harold then found himself in January, as William found himself in December, King of a realm of which Northumberland constitutionally formed a part, but a King to whom Northumberland presented a front of at least passive resistance. But Harold’s way of bringing in the proud Danes of the North to his obedience was not exactly the same as William’s way. Harold knew how to win back the revolted province without shedding a drop of blood and without harrying a single acre of ground. It is small blame to William, granting his position in England at all, that no such peaceful means were open to him as 61were open to Harold. But, if Harold’s way of recovering rebels differed widely from William’s, it differed no less widely from that of Harthacnut, of Tostig, or of Eadward himself. Three months before, the saintly King had been eager to carry fire and sword into a province which, though it despised his authority, does not seem to have disputed his title. His good genius, in the shape of Harold, had then kept him back from a bootless war against his own people.^[128] That same province was now in revolt against Harold himself; but it was soon shown that the policy of Harold the King was in no way changed from the policy of Harold the Earl. The conqueror of Gruffydd was less eager for war and bloodshed than the King who had never grasped axe or sword except in a peaceful pageant. King Harold showed that the motto on his coin was one which he was ready fully to carry out in practice. He at least knew that, at such a moment, civil war, civil dissension, between |He determines to visit Northumberland in person.| Englishmen, was simple madness. With that noble and generous daring which is sometimes the highest prudence, Harold determined to trust himself in the hands of the people who refused to acknowledge him. Those his enemies who would not that he should reign over them, instead of being brought and slain before him, were to be won over by the magic of his personal presence in their own land. We know not whether Harold had ever before set foot on Northumbrian ground. His vast possessions indeed extended beyond the Humber. The lordship of Coningsburgh, more famous in romance than in history, together with a large surrounding territory, owned Harold as its lord.^[129] A house of Harold’s probably marked the height which is now crowned by the renowned castle of later times; but we know not whether the great Earl ever found leisure to visit a possession so far removed 62both from the scenes of his labours at Gloucester, Winchester, and London, and from the scenes of his pleasure and devotion in his own woods and by his own minster at Waltham. But one thing is certain, that years had |1031. Rarity of royal visits to the North.| passed since Northumberland had seen a King. Thirty-five years earlier Cnut had passed through the land on his victorious march against the Scots.^[130] Whether the first Harold, whose capital seems to have been Oxford, ever found his way to York is uncertain. But there is nothing to lead us to suppose that Harthacnut or Eadward had ever seen any part of their dominions north of Shrewsbury, perhaps not even north of Gloucester.^[131] Thus the mere presence of a King in the North of England would be something strange and exciting, and the mere presence of a King can, as we all know, often work wonders. Harold then set off for Northumberland, to win over the disaffected province, not by arms, but by the power of speech and the magic of royal courtesy. But he went |He takes Bishop Wulfstan with him.| not alone. The companion whom he chose seems to show how important a part of Harold’s policy it was at this moment to show himself as the choice and the friend of the national Church. With the King went the best and holiest Prelate in England, his old and tried friend, the saintly Bishop of Worcester. On the example and the eloquence of Wulfstan Harold relied to win over those in whose ears he might himself charm in vain.

Harold and Wulfstan then set forth on their journey northward. They would probably take with them Housecarls enough for their own personal protection, but it is plain that they took with them no force capable of controlling or overawing the country. The power of speech and of reason, 63the example and the influence of the brightest light of the national priesthood, were the arms to which Harold trusted. |Harold and Wulfstan persuade the Northumbrians to submit.| Our narrative tells us only the result and not the process. The proud Danes, unconquerable by steel,^[132] bowed their necks to the gentle yoke of Harold and Wulfstan, and the authority of the new King was acknowledged throughout Northumberland. One could well wish to know more of the details. The biographer of Wulfstan attributes the happy result wholly to the reverence with which the Saint inspired the fierce spirits of the North. From the merits and the honour of Wulfstan, a true Saint and the chosen friend of Harold, I should be sorry to derogate one jot or one tittle. But I cannot but think that the presence, the arguments, the eloquence, of the hero-King himself must have had some share in winning over his people to his |Harold in the Gemót at York.| allegiance. In the Gemót at York, which was evidently summoned for the purpose,^[133] he might appeal to every feeling of patriotism, and conjure them, as Englishmen, not, at such a moment, to separate the cause of one Earldom from the common cause of England. If England were torn by civil war, even if England were peacefully divided, what assurance was there that Wessex alone could withstand the attacks of William, that Northumberland alone could withstand the attacks of Tostig? But if England were united—and under none but Harold could she be united—she might be able to hold up against both enemies at once. He might appeal to every feeling of personal gratitude; he might remind the Northumbrian people how lately he had sacrificed his brother to their will, how lately he had saved them from a civil war, when King Eadward was eager to march his armies against them. The personal 64pleadings of a King, even when they are far weaker in themselves, are seldom heard in vain; and the voice of reason and prudence, speaking from the lips of such a King as Harold, was still less likely to be without fruit. The Northumbrian Danes had received from Harold a mark of consideration and confidence such as they had hardly |Harold acknowledged in Northumberland.| received from any King since the days of Eadgar.^[134] It is no wonder then that the mission of the King and his saintly companion was successful for the moment. Harold was received as King by Northumberland, as he had already been received as King by the rest of England. Perhaps none of his exploits was more glorious than thus to win for himself a great province, an ancient Kingdom, by the mere force of reason and justice. And there is nothing to show that the Northumbrian people fell away from their loyalty, or showed themselves unworthy of the trust which |Continued dangers from Eadwine and Morkere.| their King had placed in them. But the root of evil was left behind. On the decisive step of removing the sons of Ælfgar from their Earldoms Harold could not venture. He was obliged to leave a portion of the Kingdom stretching at least from the Welland to the Tweed in the hands of rulers who could not be trusted. The very ease with which Harold had won the hearts of the Northumbrian people would be of itself a root of bitterness in the hearts of Eadwine and Morkere. They were now further than ever from any hopes of peaceful kingship. They must either be loyal lieutenants of their brother-in-law^[135] or else open or secret rebels against him. We shall see what was the fate of Northumberland and of England, when so vast a power had to be left in such unworthy hands.

But for the moment King Harold was indeed King over the whole realm. He had won the hearts of the whole 65|over all England.| English people from Wight to Lindisfarne, as perhaps no other King had won them since England had acknowledged a single King. It may be that the holy man whom he had chosen as his guide and partner chose that moment of his highest exaltation to set before him a picture of the sins of England, and to exhort him to devote himself to their reformation.^[136] Or it may be that the warnings of Wulfstan to Harold, like the warnings of Solon to Crœsus, are merely part of a grand dramatic picture, showing how the shadow of the wrath to come was already spreading over the land. But, for the moment, all was brighter than at any other moment of the year. King Harold, full King over all England, came back in peace to his palace at Westminster.

It was there that he kept the Easter Festival, and held his Easter Gemót, the one recorded Festival and the one recorded Gemót of his short reign.^[137] But the reign of Harold, short as it was, marks an important stage in the |Increased importance of London under Harold.| gradual process by which London became the capital of England. Eadward and Harold were both, by widely different motives, drawn to Westminster as their chief dwelling-place. Eadward loved to dwell under the shadow of the church which he was rearing. Harold saw that London was the fittest spot for the ordinary abode of a King who might at any moment be called to the defence |Advantages of the position of London.| of any part of his Kingdom. Less suited than Oxford to be the gathering-place of assemblies from North and South, the great inland haven of the Thames, the city guarded alike by its Roman walls and by the strong hearts of its citizens, was the best centre for operations which might 66have to be carried on by land or by sea, eastward, northward, or southward. Wales was subdued; Ireland was seemingly friendly; at any rate the danger from both those quarters was comparatively trifling, and the western shore and the western frontier might be left to take care of themselves. But the whole southern and eastern coast of England was exposed to the double enemy, and for the defence of the southern and eastern coast London was obviously the best centre. For that part of England which was under the immediate rule of the new royal house, for Harold’s own Wessex, for the Earldoms of Gyrth and Leofwine, the city was almost geographically central. London then became, under Harold, a more constant royal dwelling-place |Four successive festivals at Westminster. Christmas 1065–1066; Easter 1066; Pentecost 1066; Christmas 1066–1067.| than it had ever been before. It had perhaps never before happened that four successive festivals of the Church were kept by an English King on the same spot. But such must have been the case at Westminster during this year of wonders. Gloucester had been forsaken for that great Midwinter Feast at Westminster, in which the Crown was worn by Eadward on the day of the Nativity and by Harold on the day of the Epiphany. Winchester was now forsaken for Harold’s one Paschal festival. For Pentecost Westminster was now the usual place, and if King Harold found time to hold a Whitsun Feast at all, it was doubtless at Westminster that he held it. At the next Midwinter Feast Westminster again beheld another master, and her church and palace became the scene of other crowning rites. Thick and fast indeed came the events which caused the creation of Eadward to become, from its very birth, the hearth and home of the English nation.

It is possible that Harold may have had another, a secondary, motive, which led him to hold his Festival in some other place than the capital of his former Earldom, the resting-place of his father and of his murdered cousin. Harold had faithfully carried out all the dying wishes of 67Eadward. Those of Eadward’s Norman friends who were willing to dwell peaceably in the land were not disturbed. Every day of Harold’s reign saw masses and prayers go up from the altars of the West Minster on behalf of the soul of its founder. And Eadward’s other request, that his widow might keep her royal rank and honours, was carried |Eadgyth at Winchester.| out no less faithfully. Eadgyth, now, in Old-English phrase, the Old Lady, withdrew to that royal dwelling-place at Winchester which seems, in this age, to have been specially reserved for the widows of Kings. There Emma had spent the last days of her life,^[138] and there now Eadgyth |Her apparent disaffection.| dwelt with all the honours of her rank, but in all probability as no faithful subject of her royal brother. Her sisterly affection was set upon Tostig, and it would even seem that, after Tostig’s overthrow, her sympathies were transferred from the brother who had overthrown him to the invader who might be looked on as his avenger.^[139] It is possible that Harold might feel inclined to avoid a city whose chief inhabitant was a sister in such a frame of mind. But it may simply be that he found London the best centre for his councils and operations. And we may add that the mere fact of Winchester being assigned as the place of dowry to the widows of Cnut and Eadward shows of itself that the old West-Saxon capital was fast yielding the first place among the cities of England to the great military and commercial post on the Thames.

At Westminster then King Harold held his one Easter Feast, and there doubtless he wore his Crown in the same kingly state as the Kings who had gone before him. The Feast implies the Gemót, and of the main subjects of debate in a Gemót at such a moment we can have little doubt. It would be the King’s business to obtain from the assembled nation every help that was needed for the defence of the country. It would be his business to 68warn his people alike against unworthy fear, against unreasonable confidence, and against that mere slowness of movement, that shrinking from prolonged and wearying service, which were the besetting sins of Englishmen. It was in short the part of Harold to inspire his people, as far as might be, with that unconquerable energy which was the distinguishing feature of his own character. But of the acts of that Assembly we have no record. All that we can say is that it must have been at that Easter gathering that the two recorded ecclesiastical appointments of Harold’s reign were made. At the time of Eadward’s death the great Abbey of Ely was without an Abbot, and Harold had been only a few weeks on the throne when a vacancy also occurred in the Abbey of Abingdon. To this last house the Earl of the West-Saxons had more than once acted a friendly part, sanctioning and suggesting the benefactions of others, even if he did not directly appear as a benefactor |Death of Ordric, Abbot of Abingdon. January 22.| himself.^[140] Seventeen days after the death of Eadward Abbot Ordric of Abingdon died.^[141] The appointment of his successor, Ealdred, a monk of the house, must have taken place at the Easter Gemót. Of the new Prelate we shall hear again during the troubles of the next reign.^[142]

The appointment to Ely is of more moment, as it plainly sets forth Harold in the character of an ecclesiastical reformer. The last Abbot Wulfric, who is spoken of as |The Abbey held in plurality by Stigand.| a kinsman of King Eadward, had lately died. On his death the Abbey was given to Archbishop Stigand, as an addition to his already large stock of preferment. 69Neither Wulfric nor Stigand is spoken of as a good husband of his church’s worldly wealth. Wulfric had secretly conveyed some of the lands of the Abbey to his brother Guthmund, and he is described as dying of grief and shame for this sin. Stigand now, we are told, suggested to Harold the appointment of an Abbot. But, with Florence’s panegyric before us, we may be inclined to believe that Harold, now at least become the patron of monks and monasteries, was anxious that his reign should be an æra of ecclesiastical reform. It would be a good beginning to put a stop to the scandal of the Archbishop of Canterbury holding the Abbey of Ely in plurality. Possibly the exhortations of Saint Wulfstan may have dwelt upon this evil, as upon so many others. We may therefore be inclined to believe that it was Harold who suggested to Stigand, rather than Stigand who suggested to Harold, the appointment of an independent |Thurstan appointed Abbot. 1066–1076.| Abbot. At any rate an appointment was made by the royal authority, and we cannot doubt that it was duly made by King Harold and his Witan at this Easter Gemót. The new Prelate, Thurstan, whose name proclaims his Danish descent, bears a good character in the local history; he had been brought up in the house from his childhood, and had been well instructed in the learning of |He is blessed by Stigand.| the times. By the King’s order, he received the abbatial benediction from the Archbishop who had made way for him. Stigand had before been deemed fit to bless an Abbot, though not to consecrate a King or a Bishop.^[143] The new Abbot’s reign was a busy and a troubled one. We shall hear again of him and of his house in the course of the great struggle against the Conqueror. At present he had to deal |Lands of Ely detained by Stigand and Guthmund.| with adversaries on a smaller scale. Stigand, like many other Prelates on resigning one preferment for another, and especially on resigning one held in plurality, continued, so 70the local writers tell us, to keep a large share of the lands of Ely in his own hands. He made up however in some measure for this fault by the most splendid gifts to the church of Ely in the way of vessels and ornaments.^[144] With Stigand perhaps it might not have been prudent for the new Abbot to meddle, but he did his best to recover the lands which Wulfric had conveyed to his brother. Guthmund was brought to a compromise not unusual in such cases, by which the lands were to revert to the Abbey at his death. But the coming overthrow of England carried the stolen possessions away alike from Guthmund and from Saint Æthelthryth. In the storms which soon fell upon the monastery of Ely, the lands of which Abbot Wulfric had defrauded his brotherhood came into the hands of the Norman Hugh of Montfort.^[145]

Signs of those no longer distant days were already beginning to show themselves in the heaven above and in the earth beneath. Perhaps at that very Easter Feast, perhaps at some yet earlier moment of Harold’s reign,^[146] came the message which told him to his face, what he had all along known in his heart, that his reign over England would not be undisputed. Harold was King, acknowledged as King by every Earldom and every shire in England. He was King, alike by the will of his predecessor, by the choice of his people, by the consecration of the Church, by the homage of the Thegns and Prelates of England. But now a 71voice came proclaiming aloud to Harold, to England, and to Europe, that another claimed the Crown he wore, and claimed it by an earlier bequest of Eadward, by an earlier homage of Harold himself. The great enemy had at last openly thrown down the gauntlet. Duke William of Normandy had proclaimed himself to all the world as the true heir of Eadward, as the lawful King of the English. The benediction of Thurstan of Ely was the last peaceful event of Harold’s reign. Wars and rumours of wars, challenges and answers between leaders of armies, fill up the six months which still divide us from the last act of the great tragedy.

And, if those days were on earth days of distress of nations and perplexity, days when men’s hearts were failing them for fear, they were days too in which the men of those times were led to deem that the very powers of heaven were shaken. Strange and awful signs, mighty storms, a horror of great darkness at noon-day, are recorded in the chronicles of distant lands among the portents of this memorable year.^[147] But there was one sign above all which struck the hearts of all mankind with awe. Men looked to the sky, and there they saw such a token in the heavens as no man had ever seen before.^[148] Not only over all England, but, as men deemed, over the whole world,^[149] the sky was ablaze with a mighty mass of flame, which no man doubted was sent to kindle a fire upon the earth. The octave of the Easter Feast had barely passed, when, on the evening of the ninth day, the 72hairy star, the comet as some had learned to call it,^[150] shone over the land with a fearful glare. For seven—some say for thirty—nights,^[151] from sunset to dawn,^[152] its bright orb blazed with rays like the noon-tide sun, while the vast train of light streaming behind it seemed to set the whole |Effect of its appearance on men’s minds.| southern quarter of the heavens on fire. Men gazed and wondered in every land. The appearance of that great star is recorded in chronicles written too far from our shores for the fate of Harold or of England to be deemed of any moment. But no man in any land ventured to deem that such a token came without its mission. As of old the stars in their courses fought against Sisera, so now that wondrous star was doubtless sent to fight against some one among the great ones of the earth. And in England, where men’s minds must already have been wrought up to the highest pitch, where a new native dynasty had just arisen, where two foreign invaders were already threatening, the wonder and anxiety must have been even greater than in other lands. The vulgar gazed in silence, lifting up their hands in wonder. The more learned or the more daring took on them to expound the prodigy to their fellows. One such interpreter of the future bore the news of the token to King Harold on his throne.^[153] Holy men, prophets of evil, spoke openly, in the spirit of Kalchas, of Micaiah, or of Eadward himself, of the woes which were coming upon the land. Far away in his cell at Malmesbury, an aged monk, Æthelmær by name, a dabbler in arts and sciences beyond his age,^[154] broke forth into a flood of vague and terrible prediction. 73The star had come to bring tears to many mothers; he had beheld the same sign in former days, but now it had come to bring a far more fearful overthrow upon his native |Comet of 975;| land.^[155] The sign was indeed one of awe and warning. Ninety years before, such another sign had been seen in the heavens, and fast on its appearance had followed the troubles of the reign of the martyred Eadward.^[156] Famines, earthquakes, civil commotions, had followed hard upon the track of the |of 989.| blazing beacon. Only a few years later, so the reckonings of astronomers tell us, the very comet on which men were now gazing must have come to herald in the great renewal |[991–994.]| of the Scandinavian invasions, the terrible invasions of Olaf and Swend, the fight of Maldon and the general ravaging of England.^[157] Still the message of warning was not necessarily a message of despair. Another such token had—not |of 1017.| ushered in but closed—the horrors of the year of strife between Cnut and Eadmund;^[158] it had come as it were to shine over the grave of the English hero, to shine as a beacon lighting the path of glory which opened before the Danish conqueror. So now, some great event was doubtless portended; some mighty ruler was soon to meet with his overthrow; but who could say whether the fiery sword which hung over the world was drawn on behalf of Harold or on behalf of William? But from that day forth no man doubted that the sword of the Lord was drawn; no man 74doubted that that sword could not be quiet, and that it would not return to its scabbard till it had drunk its fill.

We must now turn from that great Easter Feast at Westminster, and from the portent which must have served to light the Witan of England to their homes. We leave King Harold on his throne, the acknowledged chief of his own people, but with his right challenged by the one man among living princes who could stand forth and defy the chosen of England as an equal and worthy rival. The details and the substance of that challenge form the beginning of another portion of my tale. I reserve them therefore till we have traced out the later actions, the wars and the intrigues, of the great enemy beyond the sea. I have now to sketch the events of years neither few nor unimportant in the history of William, and therein to bring to light one page which I would gladly blot out in the history of Harold. I have now to take up the thread of my Norman history, from the day when William, the guest of Eadward, went back to his own land, already deeming himself the heir of England, to the day when, as the open rival of Harold, he put forth before heaven and earth his claim to the Crown which the choice of England had given to another.

We left the Duchy of Normandy in the enjoyment of a short season of unusual peace, after the energy of its great Duke had for a moment quelled all enemies at home and |1051.| abroad. We saw the Duke himself received as a cherished guest at the Court of England, during those gloomy months when England, in the absence of her defenders, seemed to have already become a Norman land. We saw him return to his home, clothed, there can be little doubt, in his own eyes, with the character of the lawful heir of the English Crown. We have now to trace out his history and that of his Duchy from the time of his return from his first English sojourn till he again steps upon the field of English history as an avowed claimant of the Kingdom of England. The intervening time fills a space of fifteen 76|Character of the period in Norman history.| years, years crowded with stirring and memorable events in the history of Normandy. But they are events which, till quite the end of the period, have no direct connexion with the history of England. It is only in the last stage of the present Chapter that the two streams of our narrative must again converge, at the moment when the two great figures of our drama meet face to face in the memorable and fatal visit of Earl Harold to the Norman court. The earlier years of the period are wholly occupied with the affairs of William and his Duchy, his marriage, his ecclesiastical reforms and foundations, his wars against rebellious kinsmen within his Duchy and with French and Angevin enemies beyond its bounds. But these things all form part of our story. No part of the life of the great Conqueror is foreign to the history of the Conquest of England. Every blow dealt by William against his restless neighbours or against his jealous overlord formed part of his military schooling for the greatest day of his military life. Every exercise of that political craft in which he surpassed all men made his hand more skilful for the weaving of that masterpiece of subtlety by which, even more than by his lance and bow, he knew how to make England his own.

The period will fall naturally into four divisions. First |William’s marriage.| comes William’s marriage with Matilda of Flanders, a step which was, in itself, of no small moment in William’s career, and which, as I have already hinted,^[160] supplies some |His French wars. 1050–1058.| most characteristic illustrations of William’s temper. Next come the wars of William with the King of the French and his allies, those allies being not only the ceaseless enemy of Normandy, the Count of Anjou, but also enemies of William’s within his own Duchy and within his own |His war for Maine. 1061–1063.| ducal house. Thirdly comes the later stage of the Angevin war, when it became almost wholly resolved into a struggle for the possession of Maine. Lastly, we come to William’s 77|The Breton War and the oath of Harold.| Breton campaigns, which, in our point of view, necessarily become a mere adjunct to the great question of the visit and the oath of Harold. I have purposely reserved that question for this stage of my history. As the date is uncertain, and as the event is recorded by no contemporary English writer, I could find no fitting place for it in the |The oath a Norman rather than an English question.| course of my purely English narrative. Recorded only by Norman writers, it seems essentially a piece of Norman history, and the question of right or wrong is essentially a Norman question.^[161] It has no bearing on the events narrated and discussed in my last Chapter; it has the closest bearing on the events which will be narrated in later Chapters. |Its bearing on the history.| Any personal obligations towards William, which Harold had contracted or which Harold had broken, formed altogether a personal question between William and Harold. It was a question with which the English nation had in strictness nothing to do.^[162] They might take it into consideration as a matter of prudence; they had nothing to do with it as a matter of right. If any wrong was done to William, it was done, not by England, but by Harold personally. It might be a crime in Harold to accept the Crown to which he was chosen, but that in no way affected the right of the English people to choose him. The question then, up to this point, is a Norman question; it became an English question only when William claimed the English Crown, and put forth the alleged perjury of Harold as one of the grounds of his claim. I have therefore reserved the consideration of the whole story for the present Chapter. It comes in here as a part of the Norman history, which has no direct bearing on the purely English 78events which have gone before, but which has the most direct and important bearing on the combined Norman and English events which are to follow.

§ 1. The Marriage of William and Matilda. 1049–1060.

William, at the time of his visit to Eadward, had reached the age of about twenty-four years. The negotiations for |1049.| his marriage had already begun at least two years before.^[163] A marriage into some princely house was an object of no small moment for one in William’s position. The Bastard, the Tanner’s grandson, had now abundantly made good his position within his own Duchy, and he had shown to his neighbours that he was one whose borders could not be insulted with impunity. The victor of Val-ès-dunes, the avenger of Alençon, the man to whom the impregnable steep of Domfront had yielded in sheer dread of his wrath,^[164] already held no small place among the princes of Gaul and of Europe. The rulers of the lands nearest to his own had had abundant means of judging of his prowess. His royal overlord at Paris had witnessed what William could do as an ally, and his restless rival at Angers had felt yet more keenly what he could do as an enemy. Alike in warfare and in internal government, he had shown himself in every way the peer of Kings and of long-descended Dukes and Counts. It remained now to be seen whether |A princely marriage desirable for him.| the rulers of other European states were ready to receive him as their social peer, and to allow their blood to mingle with the blood of the son of Herleva. His own panegyrist has indeed no doubt on the point. The Duke of the Normans had only to choose his wife at his will from the 79houses of whichever of the neighbouring princes he thought good. Nay, distant Kings would have vied with one another in offering their daughters to such a bridegroom.^[165] Notwithstanding this rhetoric, we may be allowed to suspect that, when the chief men of Normandy urged on their sovereign the prudence of an early marriage, they thought somewhat of the advantage of fixing the position of William in the eyes of the world as well as of the necessity of securing the Norman succession.^[166] This last object |Importance of direct heirs to William.| indeed was a matter of paramount importance. Nothing but the life of the reigning Duke stood between his Duchy and the repetition of such anarchy as his own early years had witnessed. A bastard could, in strict law, have no heirs but heirs of his own body; and, even setting aside William’s bastardy, it was as hard now as it had been at the death of Robert to say who was the lawful presumptive heir to the Norman Duchy. It was before all things necessary that William should, with all speed, raise up sons of his own to |Domestic purity of William’s life.| sit on his ducal chair. And it is to the eternal honour of the young Duke that there was no fear of the rights of William’s lawful sons being interfered with by the claims of any elder but unlawful issue. There was no fear of William’s bride, whoever she might be, having to share her place in his house or in his heart with any unlawful or irregular consort. Alone of all his race, William set an example to all the princes of his time of a domestic life of unsullied purity. He had marked, it may well be, the shame, the sorrow, the anarchy, which had been brought upon 80himself and his country by the youthful error of his own parents, or rather—it might be fairer to say—by the neglect of his father to redeem that youthful error by a later marriage. He was determined that no such evils should ever arise from any such error on his own part. No mistress, no Danish wife, appeared in William’s days in the palace of Rouen; and this virtue, so unusual in one surrounded by all the temptations of youth and power, seems to have become the subject of foolish and brutal jests among the profligate scoffers of his Court.^[167] The private life of William is a bright feature among the varied traits of his strangely mingled character. In this respect the noblest of women would have been no more than an help meet for him. And such an one he found in the wife whom he sought with such characteristic pertinacity, and who, in the end, shared his cares and his glories for more than thirty years.

The counsels of the wise men of Normandy both pressed William to marry, and further suggested the expediency of selecting for his bride the daughter of some neighbouring prince.^[168] The weighty matter was long and anxiously discussed, but at last either the counsels of his advisers or his own inclination disposed William in favour of the daughter of the reigning Count of Flanders. It may be that, if the English Court had been adorned with a princess, he would have sought, by a marriage with a 81daughter of Eadward, to strengthen the hopes which he may have already begun to cherish in the direction of Eadward’s Crown. But no such help was to be looked for in the house of his childless cousin; still, as I have already hinted, it is possible that one of the merits in his eyes of the wife whom he did choose was that she sprang by direct, if only by female descent, from the blood of Ælfred.^[169] It is possible that other princesses might have been found who had the same amount of connexion with English royalty,^[170] but it would have been hard to find one who united a descent of this kind with the great European position which attached to a daughter of Baldwin. The laureate of William taxes his powers to the uttermost to set forth the greatness of the prince who was thought worthy to become the father-in-law |Descent of the Counts of Flanders.| of his hero. No line was so exalted as that of the Count of Flanders, or as, in contempt of the geography of his own time, he wishes rather to call him, the Satrap of the Morini.^[171] The lowly origin of Lyderic the Forester^[172] was forgotten among the splendours of a house which, by successive intermarriages, could boast of a descent from the Kings of Wessex, Italy, and Burgundy, and from the Imperial stock of the Great Charles.^[173] The Flemish Count 82was in name a vassal of the Roman Emperor; in truth he was the stay and glory of his counsels. Rarely did he condescend to visit the Imperial Court; when he stooped so far, Counts, Marquesses, Dukes, the mighty Primates of the German Church, even Kings themselves, looked on him |Their power and dignity.| with wonder and admiration.^[174] Without accepting all this rhetoric, it is certain that, next to a marriage into the house of an anointed King, no connexion could have been found more exalted than that which William sought to form with the prince whom his contemporaries spoke of as the mighty |Importance of their border position.| Marquess.^[175] No description could be more apt. It was to their position as Marquesses in the strict sense of the word, as princes holding a border land between France and Germany,^[176] as vassals of both Crowns, but no very humble subjects of either, that the Counts of Flanders owed their special greatness among European princes. Their land, with its sea-board and its rivers, was marked out by nature as the land where commerce and civic greatness were to take a firmer hold than in any other land north of the Alps.^[177] 83And its hardy, sharp-witted, and industrious inhabitants, |Character of the people.| near kinsmen of our own Nether-Dutch stock, were no less renowned in warfare than they were in the peaceful arts of commerce and manufacture. And we must not forget that, in those days, the Flemish dominion, and, with it, the Low-Dutch speech, reached far to the south of the narrow frontier which is all that successive French aggressions have left to the modern Kingdom of Belgium. The Marquess of Flanders was a near neighbour of the Duke of the Normans. Between them lay only the small Counties of Ponthieu and Boulogne, the representatives of the old disputed land of Herlwin of Montreuil.^[178] On every political ground, no alliance could be more desirable for the young Duke than one which brought him into close and friendly connexion with this mighty house.

Of the reigning Count, Baldwin the Fifth, Baldwin of Lisle or Yssel,^[179] Baldwin the Debonnaire, we have often heard in other parts of our history. We first heard of him as a rebel against his own father, and as being brought to reason by the potent influence of Duke Robert.^[180] We next heard of his constant reception of English and other exiles, and of his wars with the Empire, in which England bore a part against him.^[181] In those wars his Norman panegyrist represents him as invariably successful.^[182] We have seen how far this description departs from the truth of history; |Baldwin’s second rebellion and reconciliation. 1054–1056.| but in after times, when the might of Rome and Germany was represented by a woman and a child, it is said that Baldwin gained concessions which he was not likely to gain at the hands of Henry the Third.^[183] With his other 84overlord, the Parisian King, he had formed the closest tie of affinity; his wife was Adela, the daughter of King |His Regency in France. 1061.| Robert and sister of the reigning King Henry.^[184] In after times, on the death of Henry, Count Baldwin was called on to act as Regent or Protector over the realm of his wife’s young nephew Philip.^[185] His marriage with Adela gave him two sons, Baldwin and Robert, both of whom afterwards reigned over Flanders.^[186] Judith, who a few |1051.| years later became the wife of Tostig the son of Godwine, is often spoken of as his daughter, but she was in truth his sister, the child of his father’s old age,^[187] and probably in years the contemporary of his own children. But, if the sister of Baldwin shared the viceregal seat of Northumberland, his daughter was fated to yet higher honour within |His daughter Matilda.| our island. Matilda, the child of Baldwin and Adela, in after days to be crowned at Westminster as Lady of the English, was the princess whom the advice of William’s wisest counsellors selected as the fittest bride for their young Duke.

One might be curious to know how far this choice was at all prompted in the beginning by personal inclination on William’s part. It is certain that Matilda won and retained William’s deepest affection, that he had to struggle hard to obtain her hand, and that he made her a faithful and loving husband throughout their joint lives. But modern researches have shown that there was a mystery about the marriage which no one would have guessed from the fluent narratives of the Norman writers. They enlarge on 85Matilda’s beauty, on her accomplishments and her virtues.^[188] But, just as the Encomiast of Emma keeps out of sight the fact that his heroine was a widow and a mother at the time of her marriage with Cnut,^[189] so the panegyrists of William keep out of sight the fact, revealed to us by a comparison of several documents and incidental statements, that |Matilda’s former marriage and children.| Matilda was the mother of a son and a daughter of whom William was not the father.^[190] Some of them further conceal, what others have the honesty to allow, that the marriage of the Duke was objected to on canonical grounds, and that an interval of some years took place between the first proposal of marriage and the actual celebration of the rite. The language of William’s laureate would lead us to believe that Count Baldwin brought his daughter across the Norman frontier almost as soon as William’s ambassadors had reached his court with William’s proposal.^[191] A more minute examination reveals the fact that the marriage was first |1049–1053.| thought of before the murder of Beorn, but that the lovers were not joined together by the Church till the year of the death of Godwine.

The scandal of a later age told the tale how one Brihtric, a Thegn of Gloucestershire, was sent as an ambassador from 86the King of the English to the court of Bruges, how the daughter of the Count cast an eye of love on the tall stalwart Englishman, how she offered herself to him in marriage, how he refused her advances, and how in later times Matilda, the Lady of the English, found means of ample revenge for the slight which he had offered to Matilda, the Flemish princess. William, we are told, not considering, it would seem, that such hatred might be deemed to savour of love, easily granted his wife’s prayer for the imprisonment of Brihtric and for the transfer of his lands to herself.^[192] The tale is evidently mythical, but it preserves the kernel of truth that William was not the |Gerbod, first husband of Matilda.| first love, or indeed the first husband, of Matilda. She had been already married to Gerbod, a man of distinction in Flanders, whose title was taken from his hereditary office as Advocate of the great Abbey of Saint Bertin at |Her children, Gerbod and Gundrada.| Saint Omer. To him she had borne two children, a son who bore his father’s name, and who, in after times, when his step-father filled the English throne, held and resigned the great Earldom of Chester, the special home of the house of Leofric.^[193] The other child of Gerbod and Matilda was a daughter, Gundrada by name, who became the wife of William of Warren, and whose tomb and its inscription have long been among the favourite objects of antiquarian research.^[194] That tomb was placed in a minster of her own rearing, which has now vanished from the earth, in that great Priory of Saint Pancras at Lewes, whose walls |1264.| sheltered the King and the enemies of England in the next great struggle for her freedom. For a long while 87Gundrada was looked on as a daughter of William himself,^[195] but there is no doubt that both she and her brother Gerbod were the children of Matilda by her first husband. The question now arises, which I shall discuss elsewhere,^[196] whether the elder Gerbod was dead at the time of William’s first courtship, or whether the delays and difficulties which beset the marriage of William and Matilda were not, partly at least, caused by the necessity of procuring a divorce between the Flemish princess and her first husband. The |Matilda probably a widow.| balance of evidence and of probability seems to me to be decidedly in favour of the belief that Matilda was now a widow. But at any rate it is certain, though no one would have guessed it from any of the writers who record the marriage, that the bride of William was already the mother of two children by another man. The whole story forcibly reminds us of the marriage of Cnut and Emma, except that, while Emma was clearly many years older than Cnut, Matilda, married no doubt to Gerbod when very young, must have been about William’s own age.^[197] Another point is plain that, even if the marriage was first thought of as a matter of policy, William’s affections were soon firmly fixed upon the woman whose hand he was seeking. No otherwise can we explain the desperate pertinacity with which he pursued his object in defiance of difficulties to which a merely political suitor would soon have yielded.

The scheme of the marriage must have been first broached soon after the war of Domfront and Alençon. For in the year following that war the marriage met with the most formidable of all obstacles. It was forbidden by an express 88command of the common Father of Christendom, speaking at the head of an Assembly which had a real claim to command no small share of the reverence of Western |The Council of Rheims. 1049.| Europe. The good Pope Leo had gathered together at Rheims that famous Council of some of whose acts I have had occasion to speak earlier in my history.^[198] For one of those moments which come few and far between in the annals of nations and Churches, the two lights of the Christian firmament shone in friendship side by side; the two swords no longer clashed against each other, but were drawn at the same bidding to chastise the same offenders. At the summons of a Pope and an Emperor each alike worthy of his throne, clerks and laymen had assembled from distant lands, among which England had not been slow to send her representatives.^[199] The abbatial minster of Saint Remigius had been hallowed by the Pope himself; and a number of Princes and Prelates were next called to account by the assembled Fathers for various breaches of the law, canonical and moral. There, as we have seen, a Norman Bishop, a member of the mightiest house in Normandy, had to defend himself on a charge of sacrilegious destruction of his own cathedral.^[200] There a Prelate of the Ducal Burgundy, Hugh of Langres, was deposed from his episcopal office for various acts of cruelty and adultery.^[201] But Pope Leo did not shrink from smiting offenders yet more exalted, and among them he struck the most grievous of personal blows at the Duke of the Normans |Enforcement of the ecclesiastical laws of marriage.| himself. One special object of the Council was the stricter enforcement of the Church’s law of marriage, a point on which the princes and great nobles of Gaul would seem just then to have been specially lax. Among the canons of the Council, two are aimed specially at 89offences of this kind, and the Pope and the assembled Fathers at once proceeded to launch the censures of the Church against offenders of every degree. A whole train of princes were summoned before the Synod, and some of them were actually excommunicated. Among them |Censures pronounced on various French Princes.| were the two princes who held the border lands between Flanders and Normandy, two princes of one of whom we have already heard but too much in our history, and of both of whom we shall hear again. Eustace of Boulogne, the brother-in-law of King Eadward, and Ingelram, seemingly the son of the reigning Count of Ponthieu, were both smitten with excommunication on charges of incest the evidence for which seems to be no longer forthcoming. Theobald of Chartres, the son of Odo the old enemy of Normandy, was also called to account on a charge of putting away his lawful wife without cause.^[202] And it was now that an order went forth which touched the |Baldwin forbidden to give his daughter to William.| two mightier neighbours of all these princes. Count Baldwin of Flanders was forbidden to give his daughter in marriage to William the Norman, and he, William, was forbidden to receive her. Such is the only description vouchsafed to the great Duke. The other princes receive their usual titles of honour, but it would almost seem that any such respectful mention was still looked on as not due of right to the grandson of the Tanner.

90At the date then of the Council of Rheims, the marriage had not yet been celebrated, though William’s first proposals must have been already made to Baldwin, and must have been favourably listened to by him. The Papal prohibition seemingly stopped the marriage for four years. |Alleged consanguinity of William and Matilda.| The ground of objection was, according to all the evidence which we have on the subject, the usual ground of nearness of kin. Yet it is by no means easy, either to trace up the pedigree of William and Matilda to a common ancestor, or to see any reasonable ground for the prohibition on any of the usual ecclesiastical theories of affinity. But it certainly seems more reasonable to suppose the existence of some unrecorded hindrance of this kind than to believe that William sought the hand of Matilda, and that her father favoured his suit, at a time when she was actually the |The marriage delayed.| wife of another man.^[203] At all events, the marriage was delayed, and the moment when it was actually celebrated |Coincidence of its celebration with the captivity of Pope Leo.| coincides so remarkably with one of the most memorable exploits of William’s countrymen in another part of Europe that it is hard to believe that the one event had not some influence on the other. The Normans were now pressing their conquests in the South of Italy, and Pope Leo did |1053–1054.| not deem it inconsistent with his duty to endeavour to check their progress even by force of arms.^[204] His own prowess, tried in earlier warfare, the lofty stature and heavy swords of his German auxiliaries, availed him not.^[205] 91|Leo’s wars with the Normans of Apulia. His defeat and imprisonment.| The Pontiff became a captive in the hands of enemies who knew as well how to make the most of an advantage as if William himself had been their leader. And in truth there was one in their ranks with a head well nigh as cunning to devise, and an arm well nigh as strong to execute, as the head and the arm of William himself. For the Norman host was commanded by the sons of Tancred |Policy of Robert Wiscard.| of Hauteville, and among them, as yet the least renowned among his brethren, stood the man before whom Cæsars as well as Pontiffs were to quail.^[206] There stood the founder of the Apulian Duchy, the remote founder of the Sicilian Kingdom, the man who did less only than William himself to make the Norman name famous and terrible throughout the world. The true spirit of Robert Wiscard appears in the demeanour of conquerors who bowed in the lowliest reverence to their holy captive, and who at the same time knew how to win from him what might pass as a lawful investiture |Origin of the Sicilian Kingdom.| of all their conquests. Such were the beginnings of that Norman Kingdom of the South whose fate forms so striking a contrast to that of their northern conquest. Thus arose that Sicilian realm, whose Crown shone the brightest among the Pleiads which decked the brow of 92the Wonder of the World,^[207] and which, in its lowest depth of degradation, we have seen merged in a realm of happier |1860.| omen at the mere approach of the wonder-worker of our own day.

It was while Leo was thus kept in the power of the Normans of the South that William seems to have thought that the hour was at last come when he might venture to trample under foot the prohibition of the Council of Rheims. It may be that the reverential gaolers of the Pope had contrived to wring from him some concession to the prince whom, if they did not look on as their sovereign, they must at least have honoured as the most renowned of all who bore the Norman name. Or it may be that William and Baldwin deemed that, during such a collapse of the Papal authority, any breach of ecclesiastical discipline might safely be dared, in the hope that an absolution after the fact might be won from some successor less austere than the saintly Leo. At all events the marriage was celebrated while Leo was still in durance. Count Baldwin himself led his daughter through Ponthieu to the Norman frontier. She was there met by the bridegroom who had so long and so patiently waited for her. The marriage ceremony was performed, by what daring priest or Prelate we know not, in the church of the ducal town which stood nearest to the Flemish border. At Eu, under the shadow of the old fortress of Rolf, in the minster which had been lately reared by the bounty of Count William and his half-canonized wife,^[208] Duke William received the hand of the bride whose possession had been forbidden to him by the judgement of Pope and Council. From the border castle the new Duchess was led in all fitting state |Matilda’s reception at Rouen.| to her husband’s capital. The metropolitan city received the Lady of Normandy with every expression of joy. Any doubts as to the canonical validity of the marriage 93were likely to give way before the charm of Matilda’s presence, before the mere novelty of seeing the Court of Rouen, after an interval of perhaps thirty years,^[209] once more adorned by the grace and dignity of a reigning Duchess.

But, in an age and country where the religious spirit was so actively at work as it was in Normandy in the days of William, it was not likely that any breach of canonical law, even on the part of the sovereign, should pass unchallenged. Men were found who feared not, perhaps in the spirit of the Baptist, to rebuke the prince who had dared so direct a breach of the orders of so revered an assembly as the Council of Rheims. And the opposition was led by one from whom, according to all the accounts of his character which have been handed down to us, we should not have looked for any special zeal either for ecclesiastical discipline |Censure pronounced by Archbishop Malger.| or for Christian morality. At the head of the Norman Church now stood William’s uncle Malger, a man who, as I have already said,^[210] is described to us only in the darkest colours. Yet almost the only act recorded of him is one which, in the life of a saint, would undoubtedly have been set down as one of the most striking proofs of his sanctity. The Primate of Normandy did not shrink from reproving his prince, and that prince the Great William, for the breach of canonical law which he had committed in marrying his kinswoman. He at least threatened, if he did not actually publish, a sentence of excommunication against the princely |His probable motives.| offender.^[211] Was his motive in so doing simply disloyalty? 94Was he, as one account seems to imply, in league with his brother the Count of Arques, to overthrow William’s throne?^[212] Or are we to suppose that Malger was really stirred up by a holy zeal to denounce a breach of ecclesiastical law, however exalted the offenders? Such is the equally distinct statement of another of our authorities, less open than those who are hardest upon Malger to the influences |Nature of the charges against Malger.| of flattery or prejudice.^[213] After all, if we come to distinguish the crimes alleged against Malger from the declamation which is used about them, they are not crimes of any enormous dye. They are the follies and vices which could hardly fail to be expected from a young prince thrust into a great ecclesiastical office to which he clearly had no real call. He is allowed not to have been deficient in the learning of the time.^[214] But he was fonder of hunting than became an Archbishop, a charge which seems a little hard in an age when an extravagant devotion to brutal sports was not deemed inconsistent with the highest saintliness.^[215] He kept too splendid a table,^[216] and wasted the wealth, and even the ornaments, of his church in reckless largesses.^[217] All this is likely enough, and the existence of 95his son Michael shows that he was no strict observer of ecclesiastical rule on other points.^[218] And we can well believe that Duke William, most of whose own faults were of a kind exactly opposite to those of his uncle, was diligent in rebuking one who certainly departed widely from his ideal of a Prelate.^[219] But when these intelligible and probable charges are mixed up with vague stories of robbery and other unnamed crimes,^[220] we begin to have our doubts. |His lack of the Pallium.| We are told also that successive Pontiffs had refused him the pallium, as being unworthy of his office,^[221] so that Rouen was now in much the same case as Canterbury. He also neglected to attend more than one Council at Rome to which he was summoned.^[222] All Rouen and all Normandy, we are told, were utterly weary of their Primate and his doings.^[223]

All this may well have been so; yet the excommunication, or threatened excommunication, of the Duke, more especially when we remember that the fact is left out by those who draw the worst picture of Malger, suggests that there may have been another side to the story. 96The excommunication does not read like the act of one who was utterly dead to the duties and decencies of his office. It reads more like the act of one who, conscious that he had greatly neglected those duties and decencies, was anxious to make amends for past offences by an act of saintly zeal and boldness. It is the sort of act which may well have been meant as the first step |William’s indignation at him.| in an amended career. And there is strong ground for believing that it was this over zealous discharge of ecclesiastical duty, quite as much as any of his ecclesiastical or moral offences, which finally brought down on Malger the wrath of his nephew and sovereign. It would be altogether of a piece with William’s conduct in greater matters still, if his personal indignation, and the complaints and entreaties of Matilda, were mixed up with a real |Malger deposed at Council of Lisieux. 1055.| feeling of the unfitness of Malger for his office.^[224] At all events, two years after William’s marriage, long before that marriage was recognized at Rome, Malger was formally deposed from his see by a joint exercise of the ducal and the pontifical authority. Ermenfrid, Bishop of Sitten, a Prelate who seems to have been specially employed to represent the Roman See beyond the Alps, was |1062, 1070.| now sent into Normandy, as he was in after years twice sent into England. William gathered a Council at Lisieux, in which all the Bishops of Normandy, under the presidency of the Papal Legate, sat in judgement on their erring metropolitan. Malger was unanimously condemned, and the Duke decreed his deposition from his see.^[225] He was banished to the Isles of the Côtentin, so 97|His banishment and death.| familiar to us as the Channel Islands.^[226] His life there is said to have still given scandal;^[227] if Malger’s ebullition of zeal against William was really the beginning of his own reformation, nothing was more likely to throw him back in the work of amendment than the consequences which his over diligence had brought upon him. One of the charges against him was that of dealing with a familiar spirit,^[228] a charge which has been ingeniously explained by the supposition that the learning of Malger took in mathematics and astronomy, and that, as in the ease of Gerbert and many others, the reputation of practising magic was the penalty of knowledge beyond his age.^[229] It was his custom to sail about among the islands, and sometimes to visit the mainland of the Côtentin. One day, on 98entering the vessel, his supernatural power enabled him to prophesy that one of the company would die that day. He knew not however who was the doomed person, nor by what means he would perish. His prediction was fulfilled in himself: he fell overboard and was drowned. His body was afterwards found among the rocks, and he was buried at Cherbourg.^[230]

A Prelate of a very different stamp from Malger succeeded him on the metropolitan throne of Rouen. William |His life and character.| had now fully learned that the high places of the Church could not be rightly turned into mere provisions for the younger members of sovereign houses. He determined to give the Norman Church a thoroughly worthy chief pastor, and in his choice he overlooked all prejudices of family and even of nation. This willingness to recognize the claims of merit in strangers from every land has been already spoken of as one of the marked features of the Norman national character.^[231] The new Primate, Maurilius, was a man of foreign birth, one who had seen much of various parts of the world, and who seems to have made choice of Normandy as his adopted country. His |His birth near Rheims, and studies at Lüttich.| career in many respects reminds us of that of Lanfranc, with this difference, that the earlier years of Lanfranc were spent in a character wholly lay, while Maurilius had first entered the ecclesiastical calling as a secular priest. He was a Frenchman by birth, born of a noble house in the neighbourhood of Rheims.^[232] But his higher 99education was Teutonic. He first studied at home at Rheims, then at Lüttich, and lastly, as the reward of his proficiency in learning, he was raised to the dignity of |He becomes “Scholasticus” at Halberstadt.| “Scholasticus,” Chancellor or Lecturer, in the cathedral church of Halberstadt, one of the richest secular foundations in the Saxon Church.^[233] But the zeal of Maurilius soon aspired to a straiter life than that of a secular canon. He |He becomes a monk at Fécamp. 1001–1031.| left his stall at Halberstadt, he betook himself into Normandy, and there became a monk in the Abbey of Fécamp.^[234] That great house, the favourite foundation of Richard the Fearless, and one of the objects of the misapplied bounty of our own Eadward, was now flourishing in all the odour of |Secular Canons at Fécamp. 990.| youthful sanctity.^[235] The secular canons, who had been its first inmates, had, under the rule of Richard the Good, the patron and father of monks, made way for regulars of |Benedictine Monks. 1001.| the Benedictine order, under the rule of their first Abbot, the renowned and holy William, a native of Italy, and of illustrious birth. He it was who received the Chancellor of |Maurilius leaves Fécamp, and| Halberstadt as one of his spiritual household,^[236] till, like Lanfranc,^[237] the neophyte sought for a still more complete 100|becomes a hermit in Italy.| isolation from the world, and, with the leave of his Abbot, Maurilius left Fécamp for some undescribed part of Italy, where he led a hermit’s life, supporting himself by the work of his own hands.^[238] His sanctity at last drew on him |He is made Abbot of Saint Mary’s at Florence by the Marquess Boniface. [1027–1052.]| the attention of the famous Boniface, Marquess of Tuscany, the father of the more famous Countess Matilda. This prince constrained him, much against his will, to undertake the government and the reform of the great monastery of Saint Mary in the city of Florence. He laboured there for some years, and brought his monks into some degree of order and good living. But the elder members of the brotherhood, accustomed to the lax government of former Abbots, proved too much for his powers |He returns to Fécamp.| of reformation.^[239] He resigned his dignity and returned to Fécamp, where he lived for some years as a private monk, |Abbot John. 1031–1080.| under the new Abbot John. This Prelate was another Italian, high in favour alike with the Duke of the Normans and with the King of the English, who, like so many others of his order, found it to his advantage to cross the |Maurilius Archbishop of Rouen. 1055–1069.| sea and visit the saintly Eadward face to face.^[240] Under his rule the ex-Abbot of Florence lived in peace, till he was called by Duke William to the highest place in the Norman Church. He held more than one Council of his Province.^[241] He also finished the rebuilding of the metropolitan 101Church, which had been begun by his predecessor Robert, and had been possibly interrupted during the unthrifty reign of Malger. The church of Maurilius, which has |He completes and consecrates Rouen Cathedral. 1063.| wholly made way for the works of later architects, was consecrated three years before the invasion of England, in the presence of all the Bishops of his Province, and of Duke William himself.^[242] He survived this great ceremony six years, and died in the full odour of sanctity, having seen his sovereign and benefactor for three years on the throne of England.

The deposition of Malger, the succession of Maurilius, and the men to whom the career of the new Primate introduces us, serve well to illustrate that great religious movement which was now going on in Normandy,^[243] and which was beyond doubt greatly fostered by the wise appointments which William had now learned to make to the great ecclesiastical offices in his gift. But the unlucky Archbishop was not the only churchman who felt that it was dangerous to administer rebuke to one of William’s temper. A greater than Malger or Maurilius also took upon him the function of Micaiah, and, strangely enough, he found, through a temporary disgrace, a path to a higher place in the favour of his |His present favour with William.| prince. Lanfranc, now Prior of Bec, already high in the Duke’s favour and a sharer in his inmost counsels,^[244] perhaps took upon him personally to rebuke his sovereign 102for his uncanonical marriage; at all events he was known to have spoken his mind freely and openly on the subject.^[245] |Papal Interdict on Normandy?| The writer whom we have to follow for the share taken by Lanfranc in the affair adds that all Normandy was laid under an interdict by Papal authority as a punishment for the sin of its prince.^[246] The contemporary writers so evidently avoid the whole subject that their silence counts for less than it otherwise would; but it would certainly be strange if so memorable an exercise of Papal authority as the interdiction of divine offices throughout the Duchy found no one to record it except the local chronicler of Bec. But, however this may be, we need not doubt that Lanfranc spoke out on the subject in a way which was far from agreeable to the Duke and probably still less agreeable to the Duchess. The darker side of William’s character now stands forth. He was already stark beyond |William’s incapacity to bear personal insult.| measure to the men who withstood his will.^[247] With all his great qualities, he could not endure anything which savoured of personal insult, least of all when that insult touched his wife as well as himself. The stern executor of justice, the reformer of the Norman Church, is forgotten for a while in the man who mutilated his prisoners at Alençon,^[248] and who, years after, burned Mantes to punish a silly jest of its sovereign. Lanfranc had also enemies at hand, who did not fail to stir up the mind of the Duke against him.^[249] The vengeance taken by William 103was cruel, one might almost add, cowardly. For the fault or virtue of one member he punished the whole society, and, as commonly happened in such cases, the punishment fell more heavily on the dependants of the society than |He orders the banishment of Lanfranc, and burns the “Park” of the Abbey.| on the society itself.^[250] William ordered that Lanfranc should at once be dismissed from the monastery and banished from Normandy. But he also ordered the ravaging and burning of part of the possessions of the Abbey.^[251] He was obeyed in both orders. Lanfranc set forth from Bec, to seek his fortune once more, and he set forth in a guise almost as lowly as that in which he first appeared in the presence of Herlwin. But his journey |Reconciliation of Lanfranc and the Duke.| was not a long one. By chance or by design, he met William on the way;^[252] the visible change in his fortunes, aided by his own ready wit, procured him an audience of the Duke, and in that audience terms of reconciliation were readily agreed on. Lanfranc was again admitted to William’s full favour, confirmed by the kiss of peace.^[253] 104The damage done to the estates of the House of Bec was more than made good.^[254] But Lanfranc was required in return to withdraw his opposition to the Duke’s marriage, |Lanfranc becomes the champion of the marriage.| and even to make himself the champion of his cause. A man of scrupulous honour, according to modern ideas of honour, would not have accepted such an office. But modern ideas of honour differ widely from monastic ideas of conscience. There was nothing in the terms agreed to by Lanfranc at which the most tender and the most formal conscience could be offended.^[255] Lanfranc had denounced the marriage as sinful, and he was not called on to withdraw that denunciation. He might still look upon the act as sinful, but he pledged himself to do his best to procure that the sin should be forgiven. The marriage was at most a breach of a canonical restriction, and it was not beyond the power of the Apostolic See to heal such a breach even after the fact. Lanfranc then was to go to 105Rome, and to use all the power of his learning and eloquence to obtain from the Pontiff a dispensation which would make good the marriage which had been irregularly contracted.^[256]

If these transactions between William and Lanfranc took place soon after the celebration of the marriage, the negotiations with the Roman Court must have been prolonged indeed. William’s anxiety to keep his wife would seem to have proved as fertile a source for canonical disputations as the anxiety of Henry the Eighth to get rid of his. It is at least certain that the matter was not finally settled till the Pontificate of Nicolas the Second, the Pontiff who yielded so readily to the threats of the English Earl Tostig,^[257] and who found it equally expedient to yield to the milder persuasions of the orator of Pavia. |Succession of Popes. [Victor the Second. 1055–1057. Stephen the Ninth. 1057–1058. Benedict the Tenth. 1058–1059. Nicolas the Second. 1059–1061.]| But Nicolas did not ascend the Papal throne till six years after the marriage ceremony at Eu. It is quite possible that stern and resolute Popes like Victor the Second and Stephen the Ninth refused to grant any concession, and it is probable that the scruples of Lanfranc, perhaps those of William himself, would forbid any application to the usurper Benedict.^[258] But, in any case, Nicolas granted the required dispensation. Lanfranc visited Rome, both on the Duke’s errand and on his own. The theological dispute with Berengar of Tours^[259] was still |Second Lateran Council. April 13, 1059.| going on, and in the second Lateran Council, held under the presidency of Nicolas, the heretic publicly retracted his errors.^[260] Lanfranc was again present as the champion |Lanfranc again opposes Berengar;| of orthodoxy,^[261] and his performances in this way may well have inclined Pope and Council to listen favourably to his petitions on other subjects. He pleaded the cause of his 106|and pleads for William and Matilda.| sovereign firmly and effectually, and he seems to have used language nearly as plain-spoken as Tostig did two years later. William, he argued, was determined not to give up his wife;^[262] the Pope would therefore do well to yield, for ecclesiastical censures—the interdict is clearly intended—would fall quite as heavily on the innocent as on the guilty.^[263] Another argument is also put into Lanfranc’s mouth, that the pride of Count Baldwin would not endure to have his daughter returned on his hands—he might have added with a second brood of children, and those too of doubtful legitimacy. War would certainly break out between Normandy and Flanders, and it was the duty of the common Father of Christendom to hinder, as far |Nicholas grants the dispensation. Lanfranc returns to Normandy. 1059–1060.| as in him lay, the shedding of Christian blood. To these various arguments the mind of Pope Nicolas yielded. Lanfranc at last returned with the wished-for dispensation which at last ratified by the highest ecclesiastical authority the marriage which had been, in ecclesiastical eyes, rashly and irregularly entered into six years before.^[264]

So great a favour however was not to be granted, except on condition that the sinners should atone for their fault by worthy works of penance. The Duke and the Duchess were each to rear and endow a monastery for religious persons of their respective sexes.^[265] Another 107account adds that four foundations of still more direct usefulness, hospitals namely for the sick, blind, and aged, were also to be established in four of the chief towns of Normandy, at Rouen, Bayeux, Caen, and Cherbourg.^[266] The discharge of the former part of the Papal command caused the creation of two of the noblest architectural monuments of the Duchy. The two stately Abbeys of Caen arose as at once the monument and the atonement of the irregular marriage of William and Matilda. Each |Character of the buildings.| of those noble piles retains to this day large portions of the original work of its founder, and each exhibits a character of its own, a sort of personality received from |Matilda’s church of the Holy Trinity.| its founder’s hand. The church of Matilda, the Abbey of the Holy Trinity, the first to be begun, the last to be brought to perfection, bears witness, we may say, to the feminine impatience of the Duchess, to her anxiety not 108to delay the work of atonement for her fault. Her church |Its consecration. June 18, 1066.| was so far completed as to be ready for consecration in the year of the great crisis of her husband’s life, and its solemn hallowing forms an incident which will again claim our attention even in the midst of William’s preparations for the invasion of our island.^[267] But the church then hallowed seems to have been a mere fragment, simply so much as was necessary for the devotions of the sisterhood; the greater portion of the present fabric belongs to a somewhat later age. But enough remains of Matilda’s own work to show that the building was carried on in the full spirit of her original design. No contrast between two buildings so nearly alike in plan and style can be more striking than the contrast between the minster of William and the |William’s church of Saint Stephen, begun 1064?| minster of Matilda. William was no more inclined to hurry in this undertaking than in any other undertaking of his life. His wife hastened to consecrate a fragment; but William knew how to bide his time as much in a work |consecrated 1077.| of architecture as in a work of war or politics. Eleven years later,^[268] William and Lanfranc, now promoted to be the 109Cæsar and the Pontiff of another world,^[269] were present at the consecration of the great Abbey of Saint Stephen, perfect from east to west, save only that the addition of |1086.| the western towers was a later work, and was probably |Character of the Conqueror impressed on his building.| celebrated with a second feast of dedication. And that mighty pile, perhaps the noblest and most perfect work of its own date, shows us the spirit of the Conqueror impressed on every stone. The choir has given way to a later creation; but the nave of William and Lanfranc is still there,^[270] precisely such a nave as we should expect to arise at the bidding of William the Great. Erected at the moment when the Romanesque of Normandy had cast aside the earlier leaven of Bernay and Jumièges, and had not yet begun to develope into the more florid style of Bayeux and Saint Gabriel, the church of William, vast in scale, bold and simple in its design, disdaining ornament, but never sinking into rudeness, is indeed a church worthy of its founder. The minster of Matilda, far richer, even in its earliest parts, smaller in size, more delicate in workmanship, has nothing of that simplicity and grandeur of proportion which marks the work of her husband. The one is the expression in stone of the imperial will of the conquering Duke; the other breathes the true spirit of his loving and faithful Duchess.

But, though the completion of William’s minster was delayed till a much later date, yet, according to the custom of the founders of monasteries,^[271] the society itself, furnished no doubt with a temporary church and other temporary buildings, was established as soon as possible after the 110receipt of the Papal rescript. The monks of Saint Stephen already dwelt in their suburb beyond the walls of Caen, and the care of their founder had already given them the most famous man in his dominions for their ruler. In the same year in which the sister church was dedicated, in the same year in which England was invaded, the house was fit for at least the temporary accommodation of its new ruler. |Lanfranc first Abbot. June 15, 1066.| Lanfranc, the Prior of Bec, was called to the office of Abbot of the rising house. It was fitting that the man who had wrought the reconciliation between the Duke and the Holy See should receive the dignity which came into being as the fruit and seal of that reconciliation. Lanfranc long resisted;^[272] he had no wish to encumber himself with the cares and responsibilities of a post which was designed to hold a high place among the Norman Prelacy. His learned retirement at Bec was far more to his taste. But the will of Duke William was not to be withstood, either by those to whom he would give or by those from whom he would take away. Lanfranc became the first Abbot of the great |Anselm, born 1033; Monk of Bec 1060; Prior 1066? Abbot of Bec 1078; Archbishop of Canterbury 1093–1109.| house of Saint Stephen. In the office which he vacated at Bec he was succeeded by one no less renowned than himself. A few years before the foundation of Saint Stephen’s, another wanderer from the South had found his way to the holy shelter of Bec, and had become one of the spiritual household of Abbot Herlwin. Anselm of Aosta, the profoundest of metaphysicians and divines, the father of all Christian theology since his time, had heard of the fame of Lanfranc, and he had left his home and his heritage to sit at his feet as his scholar. He soon, by the counsel of Lanfranc himself and of Archbishop Maurilius, became not only his scholar, but his brother in the monastic profession. He now succeeded him in his office of Prior;^[273] he 111lived to succeed their common father Herlwin in the abbatial chair of Bec, and at last to succeed Lanfranc himself on the |Excellence of William’s ecclesiastical appointments.| throne of Augustine. We have now reached quite another æra in the history of the Norman Church from that when Robert and Malger and Odo were thrust into the highest ranks of the priesthood. Lanfranc, Anselm, Maurilius, the worthiest men of every land—such were now the chief pastors to whom William, in this at least a true nursing father, entrusted the care of the spiritual welfare of his people.

William had thus, after so many troubles and difficulties, won, or rather wrested, the highest ecclesiastical sanction for the marriage which he had so dearly at heart. That marriage proved happy and fruitful. The abiding affection of William and Matilda endured no shock till, in their later days, a subject of difference between them was stirred up by the misconduct of their eldest son.^[274] That son was the first-born of a house as numerous, as flourishing, and well |His sons.| nigh as ill-fated as the House of Godwine himself. Four sons were born to William and Matilda. Two of them seem to have been born before the Papal confirmation of their parents’ marriage,^[275] but we do not read that any objection |Robert, b. 1056? d. 1135.| to their legitimacy was raised on that ground. Of these two, Robert, the eldest, twice failed of the Crown of England, and ruled Normandy to his shame and sorrow. Still the bold Crusader, the generous brother, the chosen friend of the last male of the House of Cerdic, the only one of his own house who had not the opportunity, perhaps had not the will, to be a tyrant over England, may perhaps claim some small sympathy at English hands. The second brother, 112|Richard, b. 1058? d. after 1066. William, b. 1060? d. 1100. Henry, b. 1068, d. 1135.| Richard, was cut off in his youth by that mysterious doom which made the woods of Hampshire fatal to William’s house. The third, William the Red, a man of natural powers perhaps hardly inferior to those of his father, lived to leave behind him a name more detested than any other name in the dark catalogue of royal oppressors. The fourth was the mighty Henry, the Lion of Justice, an Englishman so far as birth on English soil could make him one, the one son of their Conqueror whom Englishmen recognized as a true Ætheling, the child of a crowned King and a crowned Lady. In him we see once more, if not the personal virtues, yet at least the vigorous government, the far-seeing policy, which became a son of William the Great. Deeply as he was stained with crimes and vices, it is not without a certain reverence that we look back to the King in whom the green tree began at last to return to its place, to him of whom our own Chronicler could say that “a good man was he and mickle awe was there of him,” and who won for himself a praise like that of Godwine, of Harold, and of William, the praise that “no man durst hurt other in his days.”^[276]

Such were the sons of the Conqueror. The names and number of his daughters are given with such strange variation that I must examine the different statements more |Adela, wife of Stephen of Blois.| minutely elsewhere.^[277] But among them we see clearly the noble Adela, through whom the once hostile land of Chartres and Blois became a land friendly to Normandy, a land |Cecily, Abbess of Caen.| which gave a King to England. Clearly too we see Cecily, a virgin consecrated to God from her childhood, dedicated at the altar which her mother had reared, and where she was herself so long to bear rule over her holy sisterhood. More |Other daughters, Adeliza, &c.| dimly pass before our eyes the forms of daughters wedded or betrothed to a Duke in neighbouring Britanny and to a King in distant Spain. And one there was to whom 113a higher honour than all was for a moment offered, the betrothed for a day of the one man who could bear himself as the born peer of her mighty father, the bride whose sad betrothal directly led to all the woes which the warfare of those two master spirits was to bring upon the land for which they strove.

§ 2. William’s Wars with France. 1053–1060.

The many points which are suggested by William’s marriage have led us some years away from our strict |Character of the period.| chronological order. But the years which were occupied by these discussions and delays were important and busy years in many ways. William, still young, was now in the full maturity of mind and body, and the renown of his exploits was spreading far beyond the bounds of his own Duchy. But he had still to struggle for its possession |Rebellions within Normandy supported by Anjou and France.| against foes both within and without its borders. Faithless vassals and jealous kinsmen were still constantly rising up against him, nor did they ever fail to find neighbouring potentates ready to abet them against their sovereign. The restless enmity of the Angevin never slept, and now King Henry himself relapsed into that same position of constantly recurring hostility which had marked the earlier days of William’s reign. Henry had acted as a good and faithful overlord at Val-ès-dunes; but William had paid the debt in full by no less good and faithful service against the King’s enemies. It was indeed in the King’s cause that he had drawn upon himself the abiding enmity of the Count of Anjou. But now we see France and Anjou leagued together against Normandy. Every Norman rebel is aided in his revolt and sheltered in his exile. Once at least, King and 114Count pass the Norman frontier together, but only to feel both the strength of the Norman arm and the subtlety of the Norman brain. Henry in short plays the part which he played in the days before Val-ès-dunes, and |France and Normandy naturally hostile.| he now has the power of Anjou to help him. The relapse on the King’s part is not wonderful; the real wonder is that he ever left his course of obvious, though crooked, policy, in order to act for once as a generous and honourable neighbour and suzerain. It was only natural that every advance which was made by the lord of Rouen, whether in the way of external greatness or of internal prosperity, should be felt by the lord of Paris as |Greatness of Normandy even in later times.| a blow dealt against himself and his kingdom. We may perhaps better understand the greatness of Normandy in the days of its independence, if we look at some of the signs of the greatness which it retained after two centuries and a half of subjection, after having long served as the chief battle-ground between England and France. In the days of Lewis the Eleventh, Normandy, far from being a third part in extent, was in wealth and importance a third part of the kingdom into which it had been merged, and it furnished a third part of the revenue of the Parisian Crown. The great object of every enemy of the Parisian Kingdom was to wrest Normandy from its grasp. No blow could be so great as to give even a qualified independence to the great province which cut off the city which was the cradle and kernel of the Kingdom from |Its importance in the English and Burgundian Wars.| all communication with the English seas. There was no object on which the enemies of France, English and Burgundian, were more strongly bent, than on the separation of Normandy from the French Crown. There was no sacrifice which a French King would not make rather than surrender the noblest province of his Kingdom. The last |1421.| dying injunction of the great English conqueror of France was, at all risks, at all sacrifices, to keep Normandy in full 115|1465.| possession.^[278] One main object of the great Burgundian rival of France was to give Normandy a Duke of her own,^[279] even though that Duke was himself a member of |Spirit of Norman independence still remaining in the fifteenth century.| the royal house of France. And, whatever we say of the wish of the Englishman, the wish of the Burgundian was certainly met by a strong vein of local feeling in Normandy itself. Even in those times, Norman patriotism still held that Normandy was too great for simple incorporation with France, and that so great a Duchy ought not to be without its Duke.^[280] On the other hand, there was no sacrifice from which French policy so instinctively shrank. Lewis the Eleventh, who at least knew his own interests, was willing to surrender anything rather than make that one great sacrifice. He would give up Champagne, even Aquitaine, far greater in extent than Normandy, anything rather than the |Independent Normandy threatening to France.| precious dominion itself.^[281] And, if the extended France of the fifteenth century could so little afford to see Normandy separated from its body, even though it was to form an appanage of one of its own princes, how far more threatening must a practically independent, and often hostile, Normandy have been to the infant France of the eleventh century, when Champagne and Anjou were the fiefs 116of princes well nigh as powerful as their overlord, when Aquitaine was, in all save a nominal homage, a foreign land? Independent Normandy, flourishing under its illustrious Duke, was as sharp an eye-sore to Paris as ever Aigina was to Peiraieus.^[282] As he who held Dêmêtrias, Chalkis, and Akrokorinthos was said to hold the fetters of Greece,^[283] so he who held Eu, Cherbourg, Honfleur, and Rouen, might truly be said to hold the fetters of royal France.

The King of the French then, throughout this period, is the arch-disturber, powerfully helped on occasion by his now loyal vassal the Count of Anjou. We shall see both of them advance, step by step, from giving shelter and comfort to Norman rebels to giving them active help in their warfare, and from giving them active help in their warfare to formal invasions of the Norman land at the head of their own armies.

The first revolt against William after the war of Domfront and Alençon is wrapped up in great obscurity. One ancient writer alone records it; among modern writers, some pass it by unnoticed, while others recount it with a singular amount of confusion.^[284] But there seems reason to believe that, at the beginning of this period, at some time after the affair of William of Mortain,^[285] the Duke was disturbed by a revolt of another kinsman of his |The Counts of Eu.| own name at the other end of his Duchy. Duke Richard the Good had granted to his half-brother William the castle and county of Eu, the old border-fortress of Rolf.^[286] |Castle of Eu.| That famous spot, known in modern times as the last home of lawful royalty in France, was marked by a castle, 117every trace of which has given way to a palace of the sixteenth century, but which was long the chief guard of Normandy towards the frontier of Ponthieu. It was no hill-fort, like Domfront or, in another way, like Falaise. |The earlier Norman sites on the coast.| It was a fortress of the older Norman type, a stronghold of the days when the Normans had not yet cast off the feelings of the old Wikings, when to command the sea was their main object, and when princes placed their dwelling-places on points close to the sea or to some navigable river. Placed on comparatively low ground, with hills overlooking town and castle on every side, the fortress of Eu no doubt had its value in the days of Hasting and Rolf. It immediately commands the flats, in those days no doubt not fully reclaimed from the sea, which lie skirted by the hills which end in the cliffs of Tréport. Count William and his wife Lescelina were among the most lavish benefactors of the Church |Church of Eu founded for secular Canons, 1002; changed to regulars, 1177.| among the princes and nobles of Normandy. The church of Eu was built and endowed by Count William as a foundation of secular canons, which, like so many other foundations of the same kind, like Waltham in the very same year, was afterwards changed into an establishment of regulars.^[287] Small, if any, are the traces which remain of the church where the Great William received his bride;^[288] it is to the monastic occupants of Eu that we owe that stately and soaring pile which needs only fitting towers to rank among the noblest |Other ecclesiastical foundations of the family.| minsters of Normandy. Lescelina, the Count’s wife, who herself in her widowhood took the monastic habit, lives in Norman ecclesiastical history as the foundress of the Abbey of Saint Peter on the Dive,^[289] whose noble tower forms the most striking object on the way from the birthplace of the Great William to the place of his 118|Sons of William and Lescelina; Robert Count of Eu;| burial. Two of their sons, the eldest and the youngest, walked in the steps of their parents. Robert succeeded his father in the County of Eu; he lived a loyal and honoured subject of Duke William, one of his chosen counsellors and valiant soldiers, whose name will often occur in this history alike among the defenders of Normandy and the invaders of England. He too was bountiful to ecclesiastical foundations, and at his bidding the Abbey of Tréport^[290] arose on the rocks which bound the view from the now forsaken walks which surround his |Hugh, Bishop of Lisieux. 1050–1077.| dwelling-place. His younger brother, Hugh, mounted the episcopal throne of Lisieux. In that office he is described as showing himself a model of ecclesiastical |His virtues.| perfection of every kind.^[291] Among his other good deeds, his panegyrist records that, when the synod was held in his own church for the trial of his kinsman and metropolitan Malger, he preferred the cause of God to the ties of blood, and was foremost to give his voice against the son of his uncle.^[292] There is no need to doubt the purity of Hugh’s motives; yet an historian who judged Norman Bishops by a rule as uncharitable as that by which his panegyrist judges English Earls might doubt whether it was necessarily a disinterested act when the Bishop of Lisieux pleaded for the condemnation of the Archbishop of Rouen. The eldest and the third son of William and Lescelina were thus memorable and honoured |William Busac.| in their several walks. Their second son, William, called Busac, has left behind him a less worthy name. He is 119|His rebellion.| known in Norman history only for his rebellion, a rebellion of which the exact cause and the exact date are alike uncertain. But it is plain that he asserted a right to the Duchy.^[293] This claim must have been made on much more frivolous grounds than those which had been put forth by some other pretenders; for, to say nothing of his having an elder brother living, the birth of his father was as distinctly illegitimate as the birth of the reigning Duke. William Busac seems to have been at this time, by what means does not appear, in possession of his brother’s fortress of Eu, which he made the centre of his revolt. |Duke William takes Eu.| But he had provoked a foe stronger than himself. Duke William gathered a force, and besieged and took the fortress of his great ancestor.^[294] He acted with the same politic lenity which, at this time of his life, he always showed, except when his passions were specially aroused |William Busac banished. He takes refuge in France, and receives the County of Soissons. 1058.| in the way that they had been at Alençon. He merely required his rebellious kinsman to go into banishment. The castle of Eu was restored to its lawful owner Count Robert. As for William Busac, he distinctly gained by his exile. A younger son in Normandy, he became the founder of a great house in a foreign land. He took shelter in France, where King Henry received him with all honour, and after a while promoted him to a splendid marriage and a great fief. He bestowed on the exile the hand of Adelaide, heiress of Reginald Count of Soissons, sprung from a younger branch of that house of Vermandois which traced its descent from the direct and legitimate male line of Charles the Great.^[295] But the direct line 120of the banished rebel did not flourish. Two sons succeeded Count William in the possession of Soissons, and the heritage then passed away into the hands of descendants in the female line.^[296]

The next revolt against which the Duke had to struggle was of a much more formidable kind. Of no man could it be more truly said than of William that his foes were they of his own household. The rebel was again a kinsman, and the scene of the rebellion was again laid in those lands beyond Seine which had remained loyal during the revolt which ended at Val-ès-dunes.^[297] William, in short, was destined to fight for his crown with every branch of his family, and with the men of every part of his dominions. The kinsman who now revolted was an uncle, another William, a son of Richard the Good by Papia, a brother therefore of Archbishop Malger. The legitimacy of his own birth was perhaps not absolutely beyond doubt,^[298] yet we are told that he, like Guy of Burgundy and others,^[299] as the son of a lawful wife,^[300] despised the Bastard of Herleva, |Wide-spread movement| and asserted his own better right to the Duchy. In this movement against Duke William many conspirators, both 121|against the Duke;| in and out of Normandy, had a share. And at their head stood one, the highest of all in rank, and now again the |share taken by King Henry;| foremost in hatred against the prince by whose side he once had fought, Henry, King of the French. It is also |perhaps by Archbishop Malger.| quite possible that the Primate of Normandy himself had a share in his brother’s intrigues. Acts of distinct treason may thus have been among the causes which led to his deposition, as well as either neglect of ecclesiastical rule in his own person or an intemperate zeal for its observance in |The Duke suspects William of Arques.| the persons of others.^[301] At all events, the Primate’s brother was now strongly, most likely deservedly, suspected by the |His earlier conduct;| Duke. We are told that he had been engaged in secret plots ever since William’s childhood;^[302] but it is certain that |his desertion at Domfront. 1048–1049.| his name has not openly appeared in any of the conspiracies and revolts which we have thus far had to record. We are told also that, at the siege of Domfront, he acted something like the part of a deserter, leaving his post without any |Duke William occupies the castle of Arques.| leave from his sovereign and general.^[303] On these and on other grounds it was that Duke William, as a matter of precaution, without as yet interfering with any other of the rights and possessions of his uncle, took possession of and garrisoned his castle of Arques.^[304]

122Arques, the small capital of the district of Talou,^[305] plays a part in warfare both earlier and later than the days with which we are concerned. Its name is now best known through the victory which was won in its neighbourhood by Henry of Navarre over the forces of the League. |1589.| But Arques had become famous in far earlier times. In the troubled minority of Richard the Fearless, when King |944.| Lewis of Laôn and Count Arnulf of Flanders invaded the Duchy, the Flemish Count, in marching along the Norman coast, had been checked by the resistance of the Norman garrison which defended Arques.^[306] The position then contended for was probably the town of Arques, now sunk to a village, but which was in those days a place of some importance. As an important position according to earlier Norman ideas,^[307] it became an occasional dwelling-place of the Dukes, and it was in its neighbourhood that Duke Richard first made the acquaintance of the famous Gunnor.^[308] Arques had also given its name to a line of Viscounts, themselves descended from another daughter of the lucky forester, and whose names will be found enrolled |Duke William grants the County to his Uncle.| among the conquerors of England.^[309] But the County of Arques or Talou had been granted, seemingly by William himself in the early part of his reign,^[310] to his uncle the son of Papia. Count William now proceeded, after the 123|Count William builds the Castle of Arques.| manner of that time, to secure himself by the erection of a fortress on a new site, a fortress which is undoubtedly one of the earliest and most important in the history of Norman military architecture. The castle of Arques, the work of William’s rebellious uncle and namesake,^[311] is one of the few examples still remaining of the castles which were raised by the turbulent Norman barons in |The later Norman castles on heights.| the stormy days of William’s minority.^[312] In the stage of the military art which now opens, the lower ground is forsaken, and the square donjon is almost always found placed on a height. Such a position at once added to the strength of the castle in case of attack, and enabled it to command the surrounding country like an eagle’s nest perched on a rock. Still, in days before the introduction of artillery, it was no objection to a site, otherwise convenient, that it was commanded by ground higher still. It was not till the days of the English wars that William’s own Falaise had been commanded by the rock on the opposite side of his maternal beck.^[313] An insular or peninsular site was specially preferred; and this is very |Position of Arques.| conspicuously seen in the site of the Castle of Arques. At a distance of about three miles from the haven whose name of Dieppe is but a slight corruption of the old Teutonic deeps, near the point of junction of the river of the same name with the Eaulne and with the northern Varenne, a 124narrow tongue of land immediately commands the low, and in old times marshy, flats which lie between the high ground and the sea. The range of hills which ends in the cliffs of Dieppe rises close to the left; to the right, at a greater distance, lie the heights covered by the Forest of Arques. These heights are separated from the peninsular hill by the town of Arques, with its rich and picturesque church of the latest mediæval work, and by the battle-ground which made Arques famous in later days. In fact both Williams, the founder and the Conqueror alike, seem to be eclipsed even in local memory by the fame of the more modern hero.^[314] It was on the end of this tongue of land that Count William fixed his castle, the outer wall fencing in the greater part of the peninsula, while the donjon itself |Strength of the castle.| was placed on the neck of the isthmus. At Arques no artificial mound was needed; the sides of the hill are naturally of no slight steepness; but, even on such a site as this, a Norman castle-builder was not satisfied with trusting to natural defences only. Between the wall and the slope of the hill Count William dug a fosse of enormous depth, such a fosse as may be seen in our own land at Old Sarum. An enemy who scaled the sides of the hill thus found himself, not under the castle wall, but on a narrow ledge of ground, a mere pathway in short, with a deep and wide ditch between himself and the fortress. This gigantic work still remains; so does the donjon itself, but, stripped as it is of all its smooth stone and of every fragment of architectural detail, it appears to the ordinary eye little more than a shapeless mass. The inner gate and part of the outer wall are perhaps also of the original work; but the castle received large additions and alterations in very late times, some of 125which did not even spare the donjon itself.^[315] Still the site remains untouched, and the huge stern mass of the donjon is still there, at least more fortunate in its decay than Falaise in its “restoration.” There is no spot in Normandy on which the true Norman spirit is more thoroughly impressed.

Such a fortress as this Duke William could not afford to |Duke William puts a garrison in the castle.| leave in the hands of a suspected enemy. He therefore, as I have just said, placed a garrison in the castle of Arques, seemingly thinking that, in so doing, he had done enough to provide for the safety of that quarter of the Duchy. At all events he did not think that his personal presence was |Duke William at Valognes.| needed; for we find him once more in the distant Côtentin, once more, as before the day of Val-ès-dunes, to be summoned from his quarters at Valognes^[316] by the news of a rebellion in the land. This time it was not his personal safety that was threatened, but everything was in jeopardy for which William could deem it worth while to reign or to |The Duke’s garrison at Arques betrays the castle to Count William.| live. The garrison which he had placed on the steep of Arques had proved faithless. Count William had appeared before the gate of the fortress which he had himself raised; threats, gifts, promises, solicitations of every kind, had won over the minds of its unsteady defenders.^[317] The Lord of |Count William openly revolts.| Arques once more stood as master within his own castle, and now, in reliance on the support of their common overlord, he openly defied his nephew and immediate sovereign.^[318]

126The anarchy which had overspread all Normandy in the days of Duke William’s childhood, now broke forth again, |Ravages of the rebels.| no less terrible in kind if greatly narrowed in extent. But it was at least spread over as wide a range as could be commanded from the Castle of Arques. The hill-fortress became a mere nest of robbers, by whom every sort of damage was ceaselessly inflicted on the country around. As ever happened in these wretched conflicts, the blow fell heaviest on those who were least able to bear it. The goods of the churches, the crops and cattle of the peasant, the wares of the travelling merchant, became the prey of Count William and his soldiers. This kind of excess it was ever the great Duke’s boast, as it was his highest glory, to put down with all the weight of his hand. We may well believe his panegyrist when he tells us that it was in answer to the cry of his suffering people, no less than to avenge the insult done to his own authority,^[319] that William set forth in all haste |Duke William’s march from Valognes.| from Valognes. He set forth on a march only less speedy than the headlong ride which had once borne him across the estuary of the Vire and by the minster and the mount of the faithful Hubert.^[320] No longer alone, he again made his way across the ford which he had passed on that memorable night, but now he had no need to slink in by-paths or to fear to present himself before the gates of any city in his dominions. He pressed on by now loyal Bayeux, safe under the episcopal care of his brother, or rather of those who ruled under the name of the youthful Prelate.^[321] He 127passed by Caen, where the anathema had been spoken against evil-doors such as those whom he was hastening to chastise.^[322] There he made a feint of going on towards his capital; but he turned his steps to Pontaudemer, he crossed the Seine at Caudebec, one of the spots where the ancient speech of the Northman still lives in the local name;^[323] he hastened on by Baons-le-Comte, till he found himself, at the head of |He reaches Arques with a small company,| six followers only, at the foot of the hill of Arques.^[324] All the rest of the company at whose head he had set forth from Valognes had broken down on the way beneath the |and meets a reinforcement from Rouen.| haste and weariness of that terrible ride. But a reinforcement was already waiting for him. Some of the Duke’s chiefest and most trusty vassals had deemed that, in such a moment of peril, there was no need to wait for formal orders to do the duty of every loyal subject. They had set forth from Rouen at the head of a troop numbering three hundred knights, meaning to keep the revolters in check and to hinder the carrying of any kind of provisions into the rebellious fortress.^[325] But they found the forces gathered in the castle to be so numerous, and they found the loyalty of some of their own men to be so doubtful, that, on the second day of their adventure, they made up their minds to turn home again before the dawn of the next day. Hard by the castle |William exhorted to delay.| they found the Duke with his small company. They told him the state of affairs; the disaffection was greater than he thought; nearly the whole neighbourhood—that is, we may suppose, the noble portion of its inhabitants—was hostile; it was dangerous to go on further with so small a force. But the victor of Val-ès-dunes and Domfront had learned something like confidence in his star. “The rebels,” 128said the Duke, “if once they see me face to face, will |He hastens on; his successful skirmish before the gates.| never dare to withstand me.”^[326] At once, we are told, he spurred on his horse at full speed. His rebel uncle and his followers, a greater company than his own, were to be seen on the steep, returning, it would seem, from a plundering excursion. They were therefore no doubt disordered and encumbered with booty. The Duke determined on an instant attack. He followed them up to the only accessible point of the hill, by the path leading straight to the gate of the castle. A skirmish followed before the gateway, on the ground now covered by the later defences of the castle. The defenders of the fortress gave way before the impetuous charge of the Duke, and it was only, we are told, through their suddenly shutting the gates that the quarrel failed to be decided on the very day in which William had come in sight of the rebel stronghold.

The castle of Arques might possibly have been taken by such a sudden blow as the Duke had done his best to deal; but he knew well that to attempt to carry his uncle’s fortress by storm while its defenders were on their guard was an undertaking which surpassed even his prowess. Horse and foot could only have pressed up the sides of the peninsula, probably to fall headlong into the deep chasm which yawned between them and the outer walls of the castle.^[327] Duke William was too wary a warrior to waste his strength on such attempts as this; moreover, at this time of his life at least, he had no mind for wanton slaughter, and he wished for the honour of recovering the castle and subduing the rebellion without the shedding of Norman blood.^[328] A blockade was therefore 129|William blockades the castle.| the only course open to him; Arques was to be another Brionne.^[329] The Duke had now been joined by a large following, counting among them some of the best knights of Normandy.^[330] He could therefore afford to divide his forces. One party was left to continue the blockade of the castle. |Walter Giffard commands the blockading party.| Its command was entrusted to Walter Giffard, a loyal knight of the neighbourhood. He was a kinsman of William of Arques, that is, not of the rebel Count, but of the faithful Viscount, and a more distant kinsman of the Duke himself, both owning a common ancestor in the forester of Equiqueville, the father of Gunnor and her sisters.^[331] The chief who now commanded below the steep of Arques lived to refuse to bear the banner of Normandy below the steep of Senlac. He lived to make up for a forced inaction against rebels in his own land, by dealing blows with all the remaining strength of his aged arm against men who were fighting for their homes against an unprovoked invasion. He lived to have his name written in the great record of the Conquest, and to found, like so many others among the baronage of Normandy, a short-lived Earldom in the land which he helped to conquer. The force under Walter now remained to guard the works which the 130Duke raised for the blockade of the castle. A ditch and palisade at the foot of the hill protected a wooden tower,^[332] which was raised, as usual, in order to cut off the besieged from all communication with the neighbourhood. With the other party William himself departed, to keep in check some of the more powerful allies by whom it was likely that supplies or reinforcements would be furnished to the besieged.^[333]

At the head of these was King Henry. It would seem that a scruple of feudal honour made William shrink from meeting his lord face to face in battle, even though his lord was in the act of committing a breach of every feudal tie towards a vassal who had fully discharged every feudal |William’s feudal scruple against meeting the King in arms.| duty. One reason, we are told, for the Duke’s entrusting the blockade to others was that the King was known to be marching to the relief of the castle. Rather than do aught against his oath of homage, William would run all the risk involved in carrying his own arms elsewhere, while he left others to head the resistance against the most dangerous 131of his foes.^[334] And so it happened. The King came and went unhurt in person, but he was far from |Ambush of the Normans at Saint Aubin.| being successful in his enterprise. The besiegers laid an ambush in the way of the French army, near the dwelling of one of the few men in the County of Talou who remained loyal. The scene of this stratagem was the castle of Saint Aubin, a point on the Dieppe at a short |Loyalty of Richard of Hugleville.| distance above Arques. There dwelt a valiant knight of princely descent, Richard of Hugleville, a son of Papia, a daughter of Richard the Good. She had married beyond the limits of Normandy. Her husband was Gulbert, Advocate of Saint Valery in Ponthieu, a name soon to become so famous in Norman history. The Ponthevin dignity continued in the elder branch of the family; but Richard, the second son of Gulbert and Papia, had received an establishment in the land of Talou, and he now stood firmly by his cousin the Duke, while nearly the whole of the surrounding country was hostile.^[335] With him no doubt stood his son, the younger 132|His son Gulbert.| Gulbert, a man whose name we shall again greet with honour, one whom Englishmen at least may look on as the noblest among the chivalry of Normandy.^[336] With Richard too stood his son-in-law Geoffrey, the husband of his daughter Ada, and Geoffrey’s brother Hugh, the sons of Thurcytel who held the lordship of Neufmarché by the famous forest of Lions. Of these, Hugh had already fallen in an earlier |Richard’s son-in-law Geoffrey and his son Bernard of Newmarch.| skirmish with the rebels of Arques.^[337] Geoffrey lived to be father of one who made himself a name in a remote corner of our own island. Bernard of Newmarch, the son of Ada the daughter of Richard of Hugleville, became as terrible an enemy to the central land of the Cymry, as the son of Hamon Dentatus showed himself to the Cymry of the southern coasts.^[338] His fame still |His priory and castle at Brecknock.| lives, far away from the forest of Lions and the hill of Arques, where the minster and the castle of Brecknock look forth on the vale of the Welsh Axe, and on the mountain rampart which, when Arques was beleaguered and defended, still guarded the realm of Gruffydd the son of Rhydderch.^[339]

The King of the French and his comrades must have been strangely ignorant of the state of the country, when they chose a spot for their halting-place so near to the home of such tried and loyal warriors as these. They had brought with them a good stock of provisions of corn and of wine, for the relief of the besieged of Arques. At Saint Aubin they began to make ready a train of sumpter-horses with a military convoy, to carry these good things to their suffering friends, just as if they had been in a country where 133no danger was to be looked for.^[340] But, no doubt by the help of the loyal lord of Saint Aubin,^[341] the besiegers of Arques, in their wooden castle,^[342] soon learned the careless |Success of the Norman ambush.| approach of the French. A plan was speedily devised; an ambush was laid; a smaller party was sent forth to practise that stratagem of pretended flight which Norman craft was to display thirteen years later on a greater scale.^[343] The Normans turned; the French pursued; presently the liers-in-wait were upon them, and the noblest and bravest of the invading host were slaughtered or taken prisoners before |Capture of Hugh Bardulf.| the eyes of their King.^[344] One Norman traitor at least was taken. “Hugh Bardulf himself, that great man,”^[345] was among the captives. The exact nature and measure of Hugh’s greatness does not appear; but his capture is 134spoken of as one of the most important events of the fight. I know of no record of his earlier exploits or of his later fate; but the name of Bardulf occurs repeatedly in the later records both of the Norman and of the English Exchequer, and one at least of his descendants seems to have been as |Death of Count Ingelram of Ponthieu.| little amenable to lawful authority as his ancestor.^[346] By the side of the captive Bardulf died a sovereign prince, a neighbour of Normandy, bound by ties of the closest affinity |The Counts of Ponthieu.| alike to William the Duke and to William the rebel. The house of the Counts of Ponthieu is one whose name will meet us more than once again in the course of the present volume. Sprung of the blood of Herlwin of Montreuil, a name so familiar to us in Norman history a hundred years before,^[347] they held, as he had done, the border land between Normandy and Flanders. But they had held it by various |Hugh the First, Advocate of Saint Riquier.| tenures and under various titles. Hugh, the great-grandfather of the present ruler, a prince, if we may so call him, high in the favour of his namesake the Parisian King, had borne no title but that of Advocate of Saint Riquier.^[348] He was, as the chronicles of the Abbey take care to tell us, enriched at the expense of the great monastery of which he was bound to be the defender.^[349] The house of Saint Riquier was the work of the bounty of the great Charles; it was 135the house where a saintly Abbot and an Emperor’s daughter so strangely became the parents of that famous Nithard, who figures alike as Count and as Abbot, and who is yet more renowned as a lay historian in whose steps neither Æthelweard |Ingelram the First, Count of Ponthieu or Abbeville.| nor Fulk knew how to walk.^[350] The son of Hugh, Ingelram or Enguerrand^[351] the First, was the first to bear the title of Count of Ponthieu, a title sometimes exchanged for that of Count of Abbeville.^[352] The grange stolen away from the house of Saint Riquier grew into the capital of a principality, and the town was in after days adorned with that unfinished minster, which, as it is looked at from the west or from the east, may be called the noblest or the meanest in France. This elder Ingelram has already appeared in our history as a foe of Count Gilbert of Brionne, his antagonist on the field where Herlwin, not yet of Bec, taught the contending chiefs how a Christian soldier had learned to |Hugh the Second. 1046–1052.| return good for evil.^[353] From him the County passed to a second Hugh, and from him, only a year before, it had |Ingelram the Second. 1052–1053.| passed to a second Ingelram. This prince now, whether led by border enmity, by loyalty to his suzerain, or by preference to one domestic tie over another, had joined the call of King |His affinity with both Williams.| Henry to an invasion of the Norman Duchy. The Count of Ponthieu went forth to help the husband of his sister against the brother of his wife. Count Hugh had given 136his daughter in marriage to William of Arques,^[354] but his son was also the husband of a full sister of Duke William.^[355] As such, he was himself the son-in-law of the Tanner’s daughter, and he had therefore no right to join the Lord of Arques in his sneers at the Bastard of Falaise. He now felt the strength of the Norman steel, even in the absence of the Prince against whom he came. He fell in the ambush |Guy, 1053–1100.| of Saint Aubin;^[356] his County passed to his brother Guy, soon again to appear in our story;^[357] but his daughters, |Daughters of Ingelram.| the nieces of Duke William, were treated as members of the ducal family, and one of them, Judith the wife of Waltheof, lived to leave behind her an evil renown in the history of our own land.^[358]

The Count of Ponthieu was thus slain fighting valiantly.^[359] His overlord King Henry escaped the ambush, and pressed on towards the hill of Arques, in the hope of relieving the besieged. But he found Duke William’s wooden castle too strong, and the courage of its defenders too determined, for his attacks upon it to prevail.^[360] He accordingly 137returned home, having done nothing towards the immediate object of his journey, the relief of the besieged Count of Arques.^[361] He had however gained some partizans in Normandy, and one Norman fortress at least was betrayed into his hands. Its position shows that the rebellion must have spread far beyond the immediate neighbourhood of |Moulins betrayed to the King by Wimund.| Arques. One Wimund, who commanded the fortress of Moulins, surrendered it to the King.^[362] The fortress thus gained by Henry lay on the other side of the Seine, in the County of Hiesmes and Diocese of Seez, on the very frontier of the debateable land of the House of Belesme.^[363] |It is garrisoned under Guy of Poitiers or Gascony.| The post was therefore an important one. It received a French garrison, and its command was entrusted to a man of princely rank from a distant quarter of Gaul, whose presence in the royal host is not the least perplexing thing about the story. This was Guy-Geoffrey, Count of Gascony,^[364] son of that William of Aquitaine who bore the title of the Great. He was therefore brother of the prince who had suffered so hardly at the hands of Geoffrey of Anjou; he was brother of the reigning Duke, who, from 138Peter, had changed his name to William,^[365] and brother too of Agnes, the wife of the reigning Emperor, whose name was soon to become famous during the minority of her son.^[366] Guy-Geoffrey himself, on his accession to his brother’s dominions a few years later, also changed his baptismal name |1058–1087.| for that so familiar to his family, and reigned as William |Return of Duke William.| the Eighth of Aquitaine and Sixth of Poitiers.^[367] By this time Duke William had returned to the siege; he had no longer to fear the commission of any feudal offence by |The besieged hard pressed.| fighting personally against his lord. The defenders of Arques were now sorely pressed by hunger. They contrived to send messages to King Henry; but all was in vain; no help came from their royal ally.^[368] At last the sure but slow means to which the Duke had trusted had |The castle surrenders; wretched state of the besieged.| thoroughly done its work; Count William and his garrison surrendered, on the sole condition that the horrors of Alençon were not to be repeated. Safety for life and limb was promised; the gates were opened, and a company came forth in whose sad condition the Norman panegyrist sees at least as much matter for scorn as for pity. Knights of renown throughout France and Normandy came forth with marks of hunger on their faces, and with their necks bowed down alike by hunger and by shame. Some rode on famished horses, whose feeble feet could hardly raise the dust or give forth an audible sound as they crept 139along. Others came forth on foot, booted and spurred, bearing saddles on their backs, seemingly ready for that last symbolical rite of humiliation in which the vanquished offered himself for the victor to mount upon his back.^[369] And, if the proud gentlemen of France and Normandy were brought so low as this, it is not wonderful if the aspect of their more lowly followers, the light-armed troops |Guy of Poitiers surrenders Moulins.| of the garrison, was equally sad.^[370] The news soon reached the fortress of Moulins, which was still held by the French troops under Guy of Aquitaine. The Poitevin prince, the brother-in-law of Cæsar, had no mind to tempt the strength of the Norman. He and his garrison, and the garrisons of such other posts as had been occupied by the royal forces, fled |The Duke’s clemency to his uncle.| out of the land without waiting to be attacked.^[371] Towards his own subjects the Duke more than kept the terms of his capitulation. Count William was not even required to leave Normandy. He was offered licence to remain in the land and to retain possession of a considerable estate, of which however it need hardly be said that his own famous hill-fortress was not to form a part.^[372] But life in his native |Count William of Arques retires to Boulogne.| country had no longer any charms for him. The dispossessed Count and his wife, the sister of the slain Count of Ponthieu, retired to the court of Count Eustace of 140Boulogne.^[373] The fall of one William of Arques led the way to the advancement of the other. The Viscount had had no share in the treasons of the Count. He was not indeed raised to fill a place which the Duke had learned to be |The castle intrusted to William the Viscount.| too dangerous an elevation for any subject. The County of Talou was abolished; the castle of Arques became a ducal possession; but the care of the fortress reared by the William of Arques who figures in Norman history was entrusted to that other William of Arques whose name is written in Domesday.^[374]

Duke William was now allowed a few months of peace, and, having brought one troublesome matter to a happy end, he seems to have thought it a fitting time to bring another matter of no less moment in his eyes to an end no less happy. It was in this year, therefore probably in the short interval between the French invasion which we have thus far followed and the second invasion which followed it in the next year, that William at last won his long-wished-for bride. Count Baldwin now brought his daughter to the frontier castle of Eu, and William led her thence to his palace at Rouen.^[375] I have already discussed the puzzling circumstances of this marriage; I have already spoken of the indignation which it called forth among men so unlike one another as Malger and Lanfranc.^[376] Malger, it must not be forgotten, was a brother of the fallen Count of Arques; he may have been concerned in his treason; his deposition may have been his punishment. But the clemency which William showed towards the uncle who had been actually in arms may make us doubt whether he would have taken this kind of revenge on a kinsman who was at least not more guilty.^[377]

141King Henry had failed to give any help to the defenders of Arques in their last extremity; but hatred towards Normandy was far from being lulled to rest in the breasts |Hatred of the French towards Normandy.| either of the French King or of the French people. We seem to be carried back a hundred years, to the wars waged by Lewis and Hugh and Arnulf against the defenceless childhood of William Longsword. Through the whole extent of the King’s domains, and through the domains of his chief vassals, the feeling of jealousy against Normandy was bitter indeed. The King complained that Normandy, a land which had been part of the immediate possessions of his forefathers, even before they wore a Crown,^[378] had now itself become almost a Kingdom.^[379] He, a crowned King, the overlord of so many Princes, the ally of the Roman Emperor himself,^[380] looked with an evil eye on the one corner of his realm whose master paid him no obedience.^[381] We may doubt whether the vassalage of Flanders or Aquitaine, to say nothing of Barcelona, involved more of practical submission than the vassalage of Normandy; but, as I have explained more than once, there was no other among the great vassals of the Crown whose greatness seemed so directly stolen from that of the Crown itself, no other whose fief, by its very position, seemed |Jealousy of the other Princes against William.| so literally to hold its royal overlord in fetters.^[382] And jealousy of William and his Duchy was by no means confined to the King and his immediate subjects; nearly all 142the Princes of Gaul seem to have been for once ready to abet their suzerain against one whom they all equally |Geoffrey Martel;| dreaded and envied. That the Hammer of Anjou was eagerly waiting for the fitting moment to deal another |Theobald of Blois and Champagne;| blow need hardly be said. And the old hereditary grudge may have rankled in the breast of Theobald of Blois, now rejoicing in the higher dignity of Count of Champagne. He had won that County by driving out his nephew Odo,^[383] and the favourable reception which the dispossessed prince found at the court of William, his marriage with a near kinswoman of the Duke,^[384] may have been either the cause or |William [Peter] of Aquitaine.| the result of his uncle’s enmity. But it is hard to see how the power of Normandy could be threatening to a prince so distant as the Count of Poitiers and Duke of Aquitaine. Nor had William given his southern namesake any offence, unless indeed the Duke of Aquitaine thought it his duty to avenge the ignominious escape of his brother from the dominions of the Duke of the Normans. Yet all these princes, we are told, were eager, in an unusual fit of loyalty, to avenge the wrongs of the King whom they all so faithfully served, but to whom the upstart Bastard at Rouen refused all obedience.^[385] And all, King and Princes, were specially stirred up by certain members of the royal family, whom it is not easy to identify, but who are said to have thought that Normandy, or some part of it, might 143form convenient appanages for themselves.^[386] A joint expedition against Normandy, on a scale which should surpass all former expeditions, was agreed upon.

The panegyrist of William lavishes all his rhetoric and all his powers of classical allusion to set forth the greatness of the danger by which Normandy was now |Danger of Normandy.| threatened. Cæsar himself, the conqueror of the Gauls, or a general greater than Cæsar, if Rome herself had produced a greater, might have felt fear at the approach of such a host as was now poured from every region of Gaul upon the devoted Duchy.^[387] The whole land was stirred even to its remotest corners. The movement reached to the Ducal Burgundy, the most eastern fief of the Parisian Crown. It aroused the Gascon at the foot of the Pyrenees, and the men who dwelt among the volcanic peaks of less distant Auvergne. All these drew the sword; but France and Britanny, as the nearest of all to the Norman land, were the most eager for its destruction.^[388] Through all Normandy, the men of peaceful callings, the priest, the peasant, the burgher, all trembled for their wives, their children, their goods, their very lives. But they thought what a champion they had in their mighty Duke, and their hearts were comforted. Laying aside flourishes like these, and confessing the extreme difficulty of seeing the warriors of Gascony and Auvergne, or even those of Burgundy, there 144is no doubt that a great and unusual effort was made, both by the King and by those of his great vassals who were |Union of several Princes against Normandy.| most immediately open to his influence. An invasion of Normandy was decreed, which really was planned on a greater scale, and carried out in a more systematic way, than any that had ever gone before it. The whole forces of the royal domain—of France, in the language of the time—together |Guy of Ponthieu and Theobald.| with the forces of Count Theobald and of Count Guy of Ponthieu, were assembled for a combined attack |Seeming absence of Geoffrey of Anjou.| on the Duchy. Guy came, naturally enough, to avenge the death of his brother;^[389] what is most to be remarked is the seeming absence of the Prince whom we should have expected to find first at the muster, the restless Hammer of Anjou. Some of his subjects seem indeed to have shared in the expedition, but there is no certain account of Geoffrey himself till the campaign was over.^[390] His absence is not easily to be accounted for. The chronicles of his own country do not supply us with any records of other undertakings which might explain his failure to share in an enterprise which one would have thought would have had every charm for him. But, even in his |Double invasion of Normandy. 1054.| absence, the muster was a great one. The forces of the King and his vassals were divided into two armies for the invasion of Normandy at two distinct points. Our Latin authorities, glad as ever to fall back on the geography of a past age, tell us how the forces both of Celtic and of 145Belgic Gaul were gathered together in two divisions. The Celtic host was to march under the command of the King in person, the forces of the Belgian lands under that of his brother Odo. With Odo was joined in command the King’s special favourite, Reginald of Clermont, not the more famous Clermont in the distant land of Auvergne, but the lowlier Clermont in the nearer land of Beauvais. With them marched two other leaders of the rank of Count, Ralph of Montdidier and he of whom we have already heard, Guy of Ponthieu.^[391] The vernacular poet more kindly helps us to the real names of the districts which are veiled under the obsolete titles delighted in by the Latin writers. Normandy was to be invaded on each side of the Seine, and the Seine was taken as the limit alike of the lands to be invaded and of the hosts which |Forces of “Belgic Gaul” under Odo.| were severally to invade them.^[392] The Northern, the Belgic, host was to enter the elder Normandy, the first home of Rolf, the French-speaking land of Rouen. They were to enter by way of Beauvais, to advance and ravage the land of Caux, the coast-land to the right of the Seine, the land around the minster of Fécamp and the castle of Lillebonne. They were to harry the whole district and diocese of Rouen, and to carry their ravages up to the metropolis 146itself.^[393] To the muster of Odo came the men of primatial Rheims; the men too of Soissons, once the home of Merovingian royalty, and so soon to become the guerdon of a Norman traitor.^[394] There also were the men of Laôn, where the line of the Teutonic Emperor had so long lingered, and the men of Noyons, the city which had beheld the permanent inauguration of the Parisian Kingdom.^[395] There marched the forces of Vermandois, whose Carolingian Lord appeared as the loyal homager of the upstart dynasty.^[396] The promise of Norman spoil drew the men of Amiens, soon to become the flock of the Prelate whose verse was to hand down to us the minutest contemporary record of Norman victory.^[397] Himself, not yet a father of the Church, may well have followed, among the men of his native Ponthieu, to avenge a slaughtered nephew and a self-banished niece.^[398] Thither men came from Meulan on the Seine and from Beaumont on the Oise,^[399] from the corn-fields of Brie and from the rose-gardens^[400] of 147Provins. By twenties, by hundreds, by thousands, the force of all the lands right of the Seine gathered under the banners of Guy and Odo, to carry slaughter and devastation through those parts of Normandy which lay on their own side of the great Norman river. |Forces of “Celtic Gaul” under the King.| The other muster gathered round the standard of the King himself. Thither came the men of those ancient cities of central Gaul, which, now no less than then, which then no less than in the days of Cæsar and in the old time before him, still sit, each one as a lady for ever,^[401] by the banks of their ancient rivers or on the proud crests of their everlasting hills. If their peaceful calling did not keep them by their thrones and altars, the crosses of three Metropolitans might have been borne to the camp of Henry. The men of Bourges and Berry^[402] came from around the steep of old Avaricum, whence Ambigatus had sent forth his swarming colonists to more southern lands,^[403] and where Vercingetorix had bid defiance to the mightiest of southern invaders.^[404] Thither too came the men of Sens, the countrymen of Brennus and his host, the city whose sons had encamped upon the Roman forum and had wound their way round the steep of the Roman capitol.^[405] And from the banks of the rushing Loire, from around the towers of Saint Martin and Saint Gatian, came the men 148of Tours, the fellow-citizens of so many saints, whose land, now crushed beneath the Hammer of Anjou, had once seen |732.| the Hammer of Christendom break in pieces the hosts of the False Prophet. Thither too came the contingents of the other cities by the great boundary stream, the men of Count Theobald’s Blois and of King Henry’s Orleans. There were the men of the border-land of Perche, and of the King’s own towns of Etampes and Montlhery, towns whose fame, such as it is, was reserved for later days. Thither came the men of the bocage and the men of the plain,^[406] the men of the vast cornland which surrounds the hill of Chartres, the hill where Druids had once held their orgies, but where the rites of the heathen had now given way to the learning and holiness of Prelates like Fulbert and like Ivo. Full no doubt of faith in that revered relic before which Rolf and his pirate-host had quailed,^[407] the land of the old enemy of Richard the Fearless^[408] sent forth its forces to wreak a tardy vengeance on the successor alike of Rolf and of Richard.

The host of Celtic Gaul held its trysting-place at a spot doomed to be memorable and fatal above all other spots in the history of the Conqueror. King Henry’s standard was pitched in the border town of Mantes, the town ruled by a grandson of Æthelred, a nephew of Eadward,^[409] a prince whose death was to bring undeserved reproach upon the Conqueror’s name and whose city was to behold the last |Description of the town.| and the least worthy of his exploits. Mantes, the frontier post of France against Normandy, was a spot whose position had made it a favourite haunt of William’s Wiking 149fathers in the days when Rouen was still a post to be won, and when Paris was still a post to be threatened. No other spot lay as a more convenient centre between the two great cities of the Seine. On the left bank, the higher ground on which the town itself stands slopes gently to the river. A range of loftier hills, as all along this part of the course of the Seine, bounds the valley on the other side. But at this point the stream divides, and two large islands, resorts such as the pirates of the North so dearly loved, at once divide and unite by bridges, old and new, the town itself and its suburb of Limay. The islands of the Seine, like the islands of the Loire, had ofttimes seen Rolf and Hasting moor their barks and tell over their plunder; and now it was around those islands that the host assembled which was at last to take vengeance for those old wrongs, and to bring the sons of the Pirates to an utter, if a tardy, submission. The host that gathered at Mantes, the host under the command of the King himself, was to enter and harry the land of Evreux and the land of Rouen; the King of the French would ride by Lisieux to the sea from which the hated intruders could no longer keep him; he would return by Auge, lord of all those lands within the Norman border where the tongue and life of France had taken root, and whose inhabitants had been his brothers-in-arms on the day of Val-ès-dunes.^[410] The Bastard might perhaps still be allowed to reign over his old enemies; the rough Northern blood of Bayeux and Coutances might have him, if they would, for their ruler; but the old grant, wrung in the days of weakness from King Charles and Duke Robert, should be recovered by a prince who united the claims of Laôn and of Paris, and 150who had made up his mind to be no longer kept out of his own Rouen and cut off from the mouth of his own Seine.

The preparations of Duke William were equal to the |He gathers two armies.| great emergency in which he found himself. He called out the whole force of his Duchy. To meet the twofold invasion he gathered a twofold army, each division of which was to defend one side of the Seine against the |His own division is opposed to the King.| approaching enemy. For his own share he took the defence of the lands on the left bank of the river, the lands threatened by the King in person. Had he cast |Question of the feudal scruple.| away the feudal scruple which we have seen acting upon his mind during the siege of Arques? Did he now deem that so many injuries had at last absolved him from every duty of a vassal, and that he might now, without a stain on his honour or his conscience, go forth, and, if need be, meet his lord in battle face to face? Or did he foresee that, as the event proved, no such meeting would be needful? Did he know that the surest way to avoid meeting his lord face to face was to go forth in person to meet him? However this may be, William now took on himself the immediate duty of protecting the lands against which King Henry was marching, the lands between the |William’s muster from Western Normandy.| Seine and the Dive.^[411] For their defence he gathered the forces of the neighbouring districts. The warriors of the hilly land of Auge, where the mouth of the Dive was then a famous haven, came to meet the King who had specially marked out their district as one object of his attack. The men of Falaise and of the whole County of Hiesmes pressed as ever to the standard of the sovereign who was 151more specially their own. Ralph of Tesson, no longer doubtful, no longer hesitating between his loyalty and his plighted oath, came once more to yield that help which had been found so effectual on an earlier day of battle.^[412] All these were men who had fought on William’s side when the French monarch had passed as a deliverer through the lands which he now entered as an enemy. |Loyalty of the Bessin and the Côtentin.| But others came on that day to William’s muster who, at Henry’s former coming, had fought against King and Duke alike. The men of the Bessin were there to atone for the error of the day when they had met their prince in arms. Hamon Dentatus slept in his honoured tomb at Esquay;^[413] Grimbald lay with his fettered limbs in some lowlier grave;^[414] and, since they were gone, no traitor had disturbed the fidelity of the Saxon land. And it is with a special thrill of pride that the island poet tells us how the Barons of the Côtentin^[415] were there too, ready as before to break a lance with the French invader,^[416] but this time to break it not as the rebels but as the loyal subjects of their own prince. And from still more distant corners of his Duchy men pressed to William’s standard. The brother whom he had advanced, Robert the son of Herleva and Herlwin, led the men of his county to |Contingent from Mortain,| the ducal muster. He came from the fortress of which the Duke had deprived, perhaps defrauded, his cousin and namesake, now a wanderer and an adventurer in the most distant field of Norman valour.^[417] The Lord of Mortain had fixed his home in perhaps the most picturesque of all the picturesque sites in which the Norman chiefs seem to have delighted. His castle on the rock has been wantonly destroyed to make way for one of the barbarous official 152buildings of modern France. But the land from which Robert brought his warriors still retains its charm; the cliffs, the winding dells, and, rarest sight of all, the waterfalls, great and small, bounding from one rocky stage to another, are there still; the grand and simple church, of a somewhat later age, still remains, and, yet above town and castle, rise still loftier heights, from which the eye may range as far as the Mount of the Archangel. And, |and Avranches.| more distant still^[418] than the men of Mortain, came the men of the march against the Breton, the men of Avranches, viscounty and city, where the proudest steep in all the Norman land, crowned, alas, no longer by its vanished minster, takes in the Archangel’s Mount as but one point in a landscape where half Normandy and Britanny seem to lie at the beholder’s feet. From the Coesnon to the Dive, from Seez to Cherbourg, all were there, stout of heart and ready of hand, to guard their country and their sovereign against the attacks of their faithless overlord.

The plan of the Duke was to stand wholly on the defensive. All provisions of every kind were to be moved out of the King’s line of march; the cattle were to be driven to the woods, and the peasants to be sent to take care of them there.^[419] He would himself with his division follow the King’s steps; he would encamp near him, and be sure to cut off every man who strayed from the royal camp for forage or plunder.^[420] The like policy was enjoined 153|The leaders beyond the Seine.| on the defenders of the lands beyond the Seine. The men of Caux and of the other districts in that quarter were placed under four of the chief men of their own district. Old Hugh of Gournay, at the head of the men of Braye, came from his frontier town by the minster of Saint Hildebert, the town whose name he was to transfer to more than one spot in conquered England.^[421] Count Robert of Eu came from the other frontier town so lately honoured by the marriage rites of his sovereign. William Crespin came from the less famous Bec of the land of Caux,^[422] whose name is eclipsed by that more honoured namesake which was then the light of Normandy. And Walter Giffard, who had so well kept the wooden castle below the steep of Arques,^[423] was now to take his share in warfare of a freer and a wilder kind. Till the whole force of the land could be got together, the Barons of Eastern Normandy were bidden to watch the foe, to skulk in the woods, and to give the invaders no opportunity for an attack.^[424]

The right division of the French army, the division of Belgic Gaul, seems to have entered Normandy somewhere near the frontier town of Aumale. They passed on, committing every sort of ravage as they went. Saracens, we are told, could not have done worse.^[425] Houses great and small were burned, so were churches and monasteries, moveable 154goods were carried off, among which, as in old Greek warfare, human prey seems to have been thought not the least valuable. The peasants whom they fell in with were seized and carried off;^[426] women were everywhere ravished; children and old men seem to have been dispatched at |They reach Mortemer.| once.^[427] In this way they marched on till they reached Mortemer, not Mortemer by the forest of Lions, but a more northern Mortemer, which draws its whole claim to remembrance from the events of this campaign. The country through which they passed may be called hilly; but the hills have no specially marked or picturesque character. The town of Aumale stands on a comparative height, which slopes away by a gradual descent to the west. A bottom, in no way specially marked by nature, divides this hill from another of the same kind, the road over which leads the traveller to the town of Drincourt on the Dieppe, now known as Neufchâtel-in-Braye. From the neighbourhood of this point the river Eaulne flows down to meet the Dieppe and the Varenne |Description of the place.| by the castle of Arques. In the space between the two hills, a little way from the road, and almost hidden by trees, lie the shell of a round tower on its mound, a church of but small attractions, and a few scattered houses and gardens, so far from forming a town that they are hardly |The town destroyed and not rebuilt.| worthy to be called a village. That spot is Mortemer; and the absence of anything remarkable in the Mortemer of the present day is the best witness of the event which made Mortemer famous in the days of William. In those days Mortemer was evidently a town of some size, according to the standard of the eleventh century. There is no sign that the town was fortified; the tower which still 155remains has doubtless supplanted a donjon of the earlier type; but it was the mere private fortress of the lord and not the defence of the town itself. The change in the condition of the place must have been great. Mortemer could now hardly supply entertainment to a passing traveller; but we are told that the French army took up their head-quarters there, on account of the good and plentiful accommodation which the town afforded.^[428] Mortemer became a centre of systematic plunder. The French devoted the day to pillage; the neighbourhood was harried with fire and sword; stores of cattle and wine were brought in to Mortemer; and the night was given to feasting, drinking, and every sort of excess.^[429]

The Norman leaders had been well served by spies, and they had now found exactly the opportunity for which they had been waiting. One vigorous blow might crush one division of the invaders altogether, and the force of all Normandy might then turn against the other. The four leaders, with Hugh of Montfort, and Roger of Mortemer, the lord of the town in which the enemy had fixed themselves, at the head of the whole levies of the country, made a night march upon the unexpecting invaders. The Norman force reached Mortemer at day-break. They found no preparations for defence; most of the French were still asleep. With the true Norman instinct, fire was the first means of attack resorted to. The Frenchmen were awakened by the burning of the houses in which they were quartered. The confusion was frightful; 156men had to arm themselves in the midst of the flames and with the enemy pressing around them. One man would fain mount his horse, but he could not find his bridle; another, still less lucky, could not find the door of the house in which he was lodged.^[430] The most part strove to cut their way out of the burning town, but they found the head of each street guarded by Norman soldiers.^[431] Yet, according to every account, the French, though taken at such a disadvantage, resisted manfully, and kept up the struggle for several hours, from the dawn of a winter’s day, |Utter discomfiture of the French.| till three hours after noon.^[432] The great mass of the French were cut to pieces; a few escaped to skulk in the woods, but the greater number were cut down either in the town itself or in the attempt to escape. The burned and charred ruins, the dunghills, the fields and paths around the town, were covered with dead and wounded men. Only those were spared who were worth sparing for the sake of their ransom. Many a Norman soldier, down to the meanest serving-man in the ranks, carried off his French prisoner; many an one carried off his two or three goodly steeds with their rich harness. In all Normandy there was not 157a prison that was not full of Frenchmen.^[433] As for the leaders |Fate of the leaders. Escape of Odo and Reginald.| of the expedition, Odo the King’s brother was among the first to escape; Reginald of Clermont was equally lucky.^[434] But the princes of Ponthieu were less fortunate. Waleran, |Death of Waleran of Ponthieu.| the Count’s brother, was slain, fighting valiantly.^[435] Count |Imprisonment of Count Guy.| Guy himself was taken prisoner, and was kept as the Duke’s captive at Bayeux for two years. He was at last |He is released on doing homage to William.| released, but only on doing homage and binding himself to the Duke of the Normans for the yearly service of a hundred knights whenever called upon.^[436] Ralph of Montdidier fell into the hands of Roger of Mortemer, whose castle, perhaps |Roger of Mortemer releases Ralph of Montdidier through a feudal scruple.| the only stone building in the town, remained standing among the flames. By one of those strange feudal complications which we so often meet with in those times, the Lord of Mortemer had become the man of the Count of Montdidier.^[437] Roger remembered his duty to his lord, even when that lord appeared in the guise of an enemy. He tended him friendly in his castle for three days, and then took him to his own house in peace.^[438] But this discharge of feudal duty was held by Duke William to be inconsistent 158with his duty as the vassal and the subject of a greater master. All Roger’s services could not plead against this |Roger banished by the Duke, and his castle confiscated,| ill-timed tenderness to a foe. He was banished from Normandy, and, though after a while he was allowed to return and to receive again the rest of his lands, the castle from which he drew his name was withheld from him. |and bestowed on William of Warren.| That castle the Duke granted to a brave and rising knight, William of Warren,^[439] who took his name from a fortress by the northern Varenne which has since exchanged its name for that of Bellencombre.^[440] He, like his predecessor Roger, and so many others, was the Duke’s kinsman through the forester of Caux;^[441] he lived to become the husband of the Duke’s stepdaughter,^[442] to win for himself an Earldom in England, and to be the forefather of one who, two hundred years later, could appeal, like the Bastard himself, to his own sword as the surest tenure by which he held it.^[443]

The joyful news, we are told, was carried the same night^[444] to the Duke in his quarters on the other side of the Seine. His first impulse was thankfulness to God, who had given him so great a success without any loss, at any rate without any considerable loss, of his own men.^[445] 159His next thought was how to improve the occasion so as to get rid of the other division of the invading army with |His stratagem and message to the King.| even less trouble. He would himself send the news to his royal overlord. We are not told exactly where the two armies were encamped, but it was doubtless somewhere between the Seine and the Dive, and one description places the French army by the side of a river with overhanging cliffs.^[446] The camp of the Duke was not far off. A messenger was at once sent off, to announce in a startling way the loss which had fallen on the royal army on the |Ralph of Toesny.| other side of the Seine. Some make the messenger chosen for his task a man of lofty and famous lineage. He was, we are told, Ralph of Toesny or of Conches, the grandson of the famous Roger, the proud descendant of Malahulc, the man who had sought for a kingdom in Spain, and had been one of the scourges of Normandy in the days of William’s childhood.^[447] Of Ralph we shall hear again at Senlac, how he refused, like Walter Giffard, to discharge any function, however honourable, which kept him back from dealing his blows against the English.^[448] Thus high of birth and of spirit, he and his were connected by marriage with other houses of equal fame. His own wife was of the line of Montfort;^[449] his sister was the wife of the famous William Fitz-Osbern,^[450] and his son, in after 160years, when his house was transferred from Normandy to England, became the husband of one of the daughters |Delivery of the message at midnight.| of our martyred Waltheof.^[451] Ralph of Toesny then, or it may be some lowlier messenger, rode to the French camp; he climbed, some say a tree, some say a lofty rock, which overlooked the tent of the King.^[452] The stillness of the night was broken, the slumbers of the King were disturbed, by a voice, which might seem to come from another world, shouting aloud, “Frenchmen, awake, ye are sleeping too long; go forth and bury your friends who lie dead at Mortemer.” The King and his friends talked together and wondered. But the tidings thus strangely brought to them were soon spread abroad. Some make the Norman Baron reveal himself, and tell in his own person how Odo had fled, how Guy was in bonds, how Waleran was slain.^[453] Others seem to make the news come from some other source, from some fugitive escaped from Mortemer, or from that mere mysterious power of rumour which seems to travel faster than any 161|Panic and retreat of the French army.| post.^[454] At all events we are told that a panic fell on King Henry and his host. Before the sun had well dawned, all was ready for a retreat. Horsemen were mounted, sumpter-horses were loaded, the tents and huts which had formed the royal camp were all burning. All faces were now turned, not towards Rouen or Lisieux, but towards Paris or more distant cities. The retreat was a hasty one; men were glad to get as fast as they could out of so dangerous a land. Their march, or rather their flight, was undisturbed by William; King Henry reached his capital in safety, and his Barons and other followers, the mighty armament of all Celtic Gaul, were scattered every man to his own home.^[455]

There is something half romantic, half grotesque, about the details of this campaign. Yet the substance of the tale comes from contemporary writers, and the whole story is eminently characteristic of William, and indeed of his people. No people of warriors were ever more ready than the Normans to exchange, whenever need called for the exchange, the skin of the lion for that of the fox.^[456] Assuredly neither William the Bastard nor Robert Wiscard was at all lacking in any form of courage; but it was, after all, their 162craft rather than their courage which set them so high |Illustration of William’s character.| above the rest of the world. It is quite possible that seven years may have abated somewhat of that impetuous energy of early youth with which William spurred across the plain of Val-ès-dunes to smite the rebel of Bayeux |His policy.| with his own hand.^[457] He may have learned—perhaps from the teaching of King Henry himself^[458]—that it is not always the duty of a general to thrust himself forward wherever danger happens to be keenest. But it is certain that, twelve years later, William was as ready as he had ever been for deeds of the highest personal prowess, whenever personal prowess was the surest way to success. The difference between William and most men of his age was that he had now learned that it was no mark of wisdom or of courage to run risks which might be avoided, or to jeopard his own life and the lives of his followers, when the same object might be gained by easier means. He had, by this time at least, learned to rise above the follies of mere chivalry, above the mere senseless love of giving and taking blows without an object. Nor had he a spark of that impetuous patriotism which led the nobler soul of Harold to deem no shame so great as the shame of leaving a rood of English ground to be harried by the stranger. We may acquit William of all wanton oppression; we may fully believe that the sufferings of his people roused his indignation.^[459] But he could stifle that indignation; he could stand calmly by and behold their sufferings, if he thought that he could gain his object better by biding his time and letting the |Vein of pleasantry in the Norman character.| enemy for a while work his wicked will. And, mingled with all this, there is a certain element of grim merriment, a delight in a joke spoken or acted, which runs through the whole career of the Conqueror. It needed a ready wit to send Roger of Toesny, or any other man, to the top of a tree or of a rock to announce in the dead of the night that the 163French had been cut to pieces at Mortemer. Here again William is only a representative of his people. A touch of pleasantry, however rough, runs through most Norman sayings and doings. We may be sure that the messenger, whoever he was, thoroughly enjoyed his errand and entered into its spirit. And the policy of William in this campaign, whatever we think of it in any other light, had at least, as his policy commonly had, the merit of success. Most princes of his time would have sought eagerly for a pitched battle. Most of the few princes who might have shrunk from a pitched battle would have been unable to form any intelligible military plan of any other kind. William, evidently seconded by men who understood him, knew how to win victories without fighting. His dominions were invaded by two powerful armies at once. He laid his plans; he bode his time. One army was cut to pieces with hardly the loss of a Norman life. The other was hurried out of the land without so much as striking a blow.

King Henry seems by this time to have had enough of Norman warfare for a while. We hear vaguely of hostilities still going on,^[460] but there is only one act on either side of which we meet with any distinct mention. This is the fortification by the Duke of a post which was intended to check for the future such incursions as his southern march had just undergone. The time had not yet come for William again to demand that fortress of Tillières of which Henry had so unfairly dispossessed him in the early days of his reign.^[461] But he now raised a counter-fortress within his own dominions, which was expressly designed to act as a check on Tillières itself.^[462] This was 164at Breteuil on the Iton, a tributary of the Eure, near the wood of its own name, in the Diocese of Evreux, not far |It is entrusted to William Fitz-Osbern.| from Ralph of Toesny’s castle and abbey of Conches. The castle was built, and was committed to the trusty care of William Fitz-Osbern.^[463]

At last the King sought for peace. His main object was to bring about the redemption of the many French captives who were still lingering in Norman prison-houses. The knights were at last set free on paying their ransoms, but their harness remained as the prey of the victors.^[464] |William authorized to make conquests at the expense of Anjou.| A more remarkable article of the peace was that by which the King engaged not to interfere with any conquests which William had made, or might make, at the expense of the Count of Anjou. Henry indeed seems to have done more, and to have promised William the regular feudal investiture of any such possible conquests.^[465] This agreement seems to amount almost to proof positive that Geoffrey had not had any share in the late invasion of Normandy. It was seemingly as a punishment for his defection that his possessions were now openly offered to the Norman. Before long we shall again find Henry and Geoffrey allied against William, but just at this moment we must look upon King and Duke as once more allies against the Angevin Count.

It was in William’s earlier days of good service to his overlord that he had first carried his arms, and extended 165his dominion, beyond the range of hills which seems to form the natural southern frontier of Western Normandy. In his first campaign against the Angevin he had added or restored to his Duchy the Cenomannian fortress of |Domfront.| Domfront,^[466] a prize which was no unworthy instalment of the nobler and more distant prize in the same region which was, before many years, to fall into his hands. That first campaign, William’s first deed of prowess beyond the bounds of his own Duchy, had made him master of a fortress which men deemed impregnable, and of a district which, as his earliest conquest, he no doubt looked on with special affection. That part of the ancient Cenomannian Diocese and County which surrounds the hill of Domfront has remained to this day an integral portion of the Norman land. The southern bulwark of William’s Duchy was now the proud fortress by the Varenne, the town which, still largely girded by its ancient walls, abides to this day perched on its ancient eyrie, and has not, like so many greater cities, descended into the plain below. The shattered donjon,^[467] reared, like that of his own Falaise, on wild and craggy rocks, looks forth on the wilder and heath-crowned rocks of a rival height, whose distorted strata bear witness to the struggles and revolutions of days before man had yet appeared on earth. The fortress won by the terror of his name, once an outpost threatening the Norman border, was now the surest guard of the Norman heights to the north, the most threatening menace to that boundless plain, broken by gentler hills, which stretched away over the disputed land of Maine towards the home of the hostile Angevin. Around the hill lay the thickly wooded land, rich in the silvan sports so dear to William’s heart, the land which 166the Hammer of Anjou had yielded without a stroke to the youthful lord of Normandy. Lower down the stream stood what was now his furthest outpost, his own creation |Ambrières.| of Ambrières, another donjon on a height, hard by the point where the Varenne joins the greater stream of the Mayenne. The shattered walls of that donjon still bear the impress of William’s age, though the district in which it stands is no longer entitled to the honours of the Norman name.

Domfront then had passed irrevocably into William’s hands, but Ambrières was still, in some way or other, a |Its former occupation by William, [1049];| subject of contention. There seems no doubt that William had occupied and fortified the post in the earlier campaign.^[468] Possibly it had been since that time taken and dismantled by Geoffrey; possibly the post was to be made stronger and more extensive, with a view to further conquests in the same direction. At all events, works of some kind at |its present rebuilding or strengthening.| Ambrières, whether works of mere strengthening or of construction from the ground, were just now an object on which William’s mind was eagerly set. His first act after the conclusion of the peace with France, at the very meeting—was it a meeting with the King in person?—at which the peace was signed, was to summon all the chief military tenants of Normandy to appear within forty days to help in carrying on the needful works at Ambrières.^[469] A message to the same effect was sent to Count Geoffrey. |William’s challenge to Geoffrey Martel.| The Duke of the Normans would, on the fortieth day, appear at Ambrières with his force and take possession of his fortress.^[470] The prospect of so terrible a neighbour 167struck dread into the heart of the nearest vassal of Anjou, |Geoffrey of Mayenne;| Geoffrey, Lord of Mayenne, a town on the lower course of the river from which it takes its name, and which was, a few years later, to be the scene of one of William’s |his counsel to Geoffrey Martel.| boldest exploits.^[471] The Lord of Mayenne poured his forebodings into the ears of his own lord at Angers. If the Normans were allowed to take possession of Ambrières, nothing but ravage and utter destruction would be the fate of the Angevin lands. The heart of Count Geoffrey was lifted up, and he bade his namesake of Mayenne cast him aside as a base and shameful lord, if he allowed the threats of the Norman to be carried |William at Ambrières.| out in act.^[472] The appointed day came; the Duke appeared at Ambrières; the works, of whatever nature, were begun.^[473] News came that Geoffrey Martel was |Geoffrey’s delay.| on his march. William waited a while, but the enemy came not, and provisions began to fail. Great and small began to complain of the lack of food; and no doubt, in Normandy as well as in England, men were much more ready to fight than to remain under arms without fighting.^[474] |William garrisons the castle, and goes away.| The Duke therefore left a garrison in Ambrières, and retired with the remainder of his army, bidding them hold themselves in readiness to assemble again at a moment’s notice.^[475] It would have been foolhardiness indeed 168to have shut himself up without any adequate cause |Geoffrey and his allies come to Ambrières.| within the walls of a border fortress. But, if the Norman historian is to be believed, the Norman Duke’s back was no sooner turned^[476] than the Angevin Count and his allies came hastening to the siege of the stronghold of Ambrières. |William of Aquitaine.| With Count Geoffrey came his lord, as he is called^[477]—at all events his step-son—Peter, now William, Count of Poitou and Duke of Aquitaine.^[478] He came perhaps to avenge the ignominious flight of his brother from Moulins;^[479] but with him came another chief in whose heart many an old enmity must have been choked, many a bitter remembrance must have been handed over to forgetfulness, before he could consent to take service in the same host as Geoffrey. |Odo of Britanny.| Yet so it was; a Breton prince, Odo, the uncle of the reigning Count Conan,^[480] came to fight under the Angevin banner |They besiege Ambrières.| against the common enemy at Rouen. The three princes attacked the castle of Ambrières with all the resources known to the military art of the time. An attempt at a storm was beaten back by the defenders. The archers shot their arrows, the petraria hurled its stones, the ram was dashed against the wall, but all was in vain.^[481] Meanwhile the news of the siege, and of the gallant resistance of the |Return of William.| garrison, was borne to Duke William. He collected his troops with all speed, and hastened, with such haste as he knew how to use when haste was needed,^[482] to the relief of 169|Flight of the besiegers.| Ambrières. At his mere approach, we are told, the three allied Counts took to flight.^[483] The Lord of Mayenne was less lucky; he was carried off as a prisoner into the |Homage of Geoffrey of Mayenne.| furthest parts of Normandy, and he was not released till he had acknowledged himself the man of Duke William.^[484]

The fame of William was no doubt widely spread by this series of successful exploits and stratagems, and his direct influence was distinctly increased by his receiving the homage of the Count of Ponthieu in one direction and |Extension of his frontier towards Anjou.| of the Lord of Mayenne in another. It would seem also that this was the time when William made, in conformity with the licence granted him by King Henry,^[485] a further acquisition of Cenomannian territory at the cost of the Count of Anjou. It was not unimportant to him to extend his power as far as might be in the district through |1049.| which he had, six years before, made his famous night-march from Domfront to Alençon.^[486] At a short distance west of Alençon, and south-west of the episcopal town of Seez, the Sarthon, a small tributary of the Sarthe, was the boundary between Normandy and Maine. The Duke now took possession of a point beyond the frontier stream; a castle and town arose, which were entrusted to the care of Roger of Montgomery. It lay in the near neighbourhood of the hereditary possessions of his wife, and from her the new bulwark of Normandy was honoured or disgraced by the name of the Rock of Mabel.^[487]

170The strength of William’s enemies seems to have been nearly exhausted by their late efforts, or else their courage was chilled by the ill success of their arms. For three years Normandy saw neither rebellion nor foreign war. William thus had time to devote himself either to the prosecution of his vengeance, or to the vindication of ecclesiastical discipline, in the deposition of his uncle the |1055.| Primate Malger.^[488] This took place in the same year as the campaign of Ambrières. After that date, besides the Duke’s quarrel and reconciliation with Lanfranc,^[489] there is nothing to recount till, three years later, we come to another, and the last, invasion of Normandy by the combined |Last French and Angevin invasion. August, 1058.| forces of France and Anjou. Geoffrey, the old enemy, was, we are told, ever ready to strike a blow at Normandy,^[490] and no doubt the memory of his late losses rankled in his mind. Another great expedition was planned and carried out. In August, when the corn was on the ground,^[491] the King and the Count entered Normandy in the quarter most convenient for a junction of French and Angevin forces, in William’s own County of Hiesmes.^[492] Their design was a systematic plundering expedition through all Normandy west of the Seine. They were to pass through the district of Hiesmes into the land of Bayeux and Caen; then they were to cross the Dive and, after harrying Auge and the district of Lisieux, to return 171home with their plunder.^[493] Above all things, they were to reach the sea in the districts both west and east of the Dive, and to show that the upstart Duke of the Pirates could no |William’s scheme of defence. He waits at Falaise till the enemy reach the Dive.| longer keep his liege lord barred up in an inland prison. The scheme was laid, and one half of it was carried out. William determined not to attack the invaders on their entrance into his Duchy. His plan was to wait for a favourable moment when he might smite them on their return, gorged with the plunder of his subjects, and no doubt with their discipline and their energy not a little relaxed. He gathered his knights, not indeed for immediate action; he gave orders for the strengthening of castles and the cleansing of their fosses; and then, leaving the open country exposed to the ravages of the enemy, he waited in his own stronghold of Falaise for the moment which |Advance and ravages of the French.| he knew would not fail soon to come.^[494] The French and Angevin host entered Normandy, and passed through the land burning and plundering in the usual fashion. They took the town of Hiesmes, which gave its name to the County. They then marched on to Saint Peter on the Dive; they occupied the whole town, and the King was lodged at the great Abbey, then in all the freshness of its new foundation by the pious Lescelina of Eu.^[495] They then struck westward, ravaging the whole Bessin; but the city itself, as well as the various castles of the district, seems to have remained untouched. The sea-coast especially, the 172land of William’s faithful Hubert, was harried as far as the mouth of the Seule. The enemy then marched in a |Caen as yet unfortified.| south-easterly direction to Caen. That town was growing in importance, but as yet it neither contained anything which could withstand the attacks of an enemy nor anything which was likely to remain to later days as a memorial of his visit. Caen was as yet undefended by walls or castle;^[496] the foundations of the two great Abbeys which are its chief glory were as yet not laid. Whatever Caen then consisted of, it was certainly sacked, most likely burned. King Henry and Count Geoffrey had now successfully carried out one half of their scheme of ravage. They had now to cross the Dive, and to carry fire and sword into the other half of the doomed region.

The moment for which William had so long been waiting had at last come. His policy had been in some sort a cruel policy for his Duchy; but it now enabled him to strike a vigorous and decisive blow at the retreating enemy. French warfare in Normandy was destined to be successful only when the banners of King and Duke floated side by side. King Henry had shared in the triumph of Val-ès-dunes; his men had been smitten by William’s men in the ambush of Saint Aubin and in the surprise of Mortemer; he had now himself to feel the might of William’s own |They reach the Dive at Varaville.| hand in the second surprise of Varaville. In their march eastward the French had reached the village of that name, the point which had been chosen for their passage across the Dive into the land of Auge. Varaville, now, and probably then, only a small village, lies north-east of Caen, a little way from the left bank of the old frontier stream. It was an old battle-ground of France and Normandy. On that spot, or at least in that neighbourhood, it was that King Harold 173of Denmark and King Lewis of France had met face to face; |945.| it was there that the Karling had found his master in the valiant heathen who came to defend the last planted outpost of his race.^[497] And now another King of the French, of another line, of another speech, and another royal city, came to undergo an overthrow yet more ignominious at the hands of a Norman Duke who could now hold his own independently alike of French and of Danish help. Varaville was seemingly an usual point for crossing into the lands on the right bank |Description of the spot.| of the river. The contrast between the two sides of the Dive is here very striking. On the left, the side of Varaville, the land is flat, and it was in those days doubtless a mere marsh. A causeway, which still exists, and which is maintained as a modern road, leads from the village to a point where the stream has for many ages been crossed by a bridge, but which, in the eleventh century, seems to have been known only as a ford.^[498] Here the French army was to pass over to the opposite side, the land of Auge. There, within the original settlement of Rolf, the country is of quite a different character. The right bank of the Dive is backed at a short distance by a range of hills of height considerable enough to form a very marked 174object in any country not strictly mountainous. They form in fact a bold and picturesque range, stretching right away to the seashore. Over these hills the army had to make its way into the rich land of Lisieux. |The French vanguard crosses the river.| The vanguard, under the command of the King, had already begun to climb the heights, when unexpected sounds from the rearward smote on their ears. From the high ground of Bastebourg,^[499] commanding a view of the whole valley, King Henry turned round only to behold the |William’s march.| utter discomfiture of his host. The Duke of the Normans had laid his plan with all the subtlety of his wily brain, and he was now carrying it out with all the might of his irresistible arm. He had watched the spot, he had watched the hour, which the enemy seem not to have watched, and he came upon them at the very moment when he was able to strike a deadly blow with most effect, and at the same time once more to avoid the necessity of meeting his lord face to face in battle. William knew every movement of the enemy; when the right time was come, he marched forth from Falaise with such troops as he had kept around him, and summoned all the peasantry of the district to join them. They came, armed as they were able to arm themselves, with clubs, darts, anything; no sort of warrior, no sort of weapon, was unfit to bear a part in the enterprise |Battle of Varaville. August, 1058.| which William now designed. He marched in stealth up the valley by Bavent, and reached Varaville in the very nick of time.^[500] The King and his vanguard were, as we 175have seen, far ahead; the long baggage train, rich with Norman spoil, and the whole rear-guard of the army, were still on the left bank. The tide was flowing in, and it soon became impossible to cross. The French stood in perplexity, one half of the army finding itself utterly cut off from the other half.^[501] In a moment Duke William was upon them. Every weapon known to Norman warfare was at once in its fullest activity; the lance and the sword of the knight on his destrier, the club and dart of the peasant on foot, |First mention of the Norman archers.| were all alike plied against the unlucky Frenchmen. And along with these older arms, we now hear for the first time of another weapon, destined to be, above all others, terrible and deadly upon a more awful field. For the first time in our story, the thunder-shower of the Norman arrows^[502] is heard of as carrying dismay and slaughter among the ranks of the enemy. And no enemy could well be more helpless than those on whom knights, archers, clubmen, were now called on to display their prowess. Encumbered as they were with their baggage train, huddled together on the long, narrow, neglected^[503] causeway, resistance |The French rear-guard cut to pieces.| was almost impossible. A desperate effort carried the foremost among them to the banks of the river; but, except to skilful swimmers, the ford was impassable because of the tide. Multitudes fell into the water and were drowned; the surface of the Dive was soon covered 176with floating bodies and harness.^[504] Others strove to escape how they might among the ditches and paths of the marshy shore. They cast away their weapons, and blundered on hopelessly through the unknown and treacherous country. The Normans, knowing the ground, followed, and cut them down without mercy. Of the whole rear-guard of the French army not a man is said to have escaped. All were slain, or taken captive, or swept away by the waters.

It must not be forgotten that all this went on under the eye of the King of the French—and doubtless of his Angevin ally also—who was looking down from the high ground which the vanguard had already reached. Beneath him in full view lay the plain, the causeway, the stream, the marshes, where the work of death was going on. Like Xerxes, Henry beheld his subjects cut in pieces before his eyes; but unlike Xerxes, he was at least eager to go to their help. The Norman poet tells us how the King saw his men speared and shot down, some struggling in the waters, some bound and borne off as captives.^[505] His limbs trembled, his face was hot with rage, he was eager and yet unable to strike a blow or take any step for the rescue of his unfortunate soldiers. In a moment of desperation he proposed to descend the hill, and to seek for some other 177spot where he might cross the river, and do something at least to avenge, if not to rescue, his rear-guard.^[506] But he had men around him who knew the hopelessness of |His retreat.| such an attempt. Their counsels persuaded him to submit to a fate which he could not resist, and to march with all speed out of the Norman land with the half of his army which was still left to him.

The battle, or rather massacre, of Varaville was the last act of the wars between William and Henry. The King was now growing old, and he might well think that he had had enough of Norman warfare. He presently brought himself to ask for peace, and to offer as its price the restoration of the famous fortress of which he had deprived William in his childhood. The terms were accepted; peace was made, and Tillières, so long lost to Normandy, became |Death of Henry. 1060.| once more a bulwark of the Norman frontier.^[507] Henry did not long survive this happy ending of this long struggle. Two years afterwards he died. His death was attributed to poison, seemingly accidentally administered.^[508] He left his Crown to an heir still under age. The mother of the new |His Russian marriage.| King had been brought from a distant land. Henry saw the difficulty of finding any wife among the princely houses of Western Europe who was not related to him within the forbidden degrees; he was specially warned by the troubles 178which his father had undergone through his first uncanonical marriage.^[509] He therefore sought for a bride in a land among whose princes there was little fear of any kindred or affinity with a King of the French. He married Anne, the daughter of the Russian Duke Yaroslaf.^[510] The princes of Russia boasted of a connexion with the Emperors of the East;^[511] and the happy ambiguity of the Macedonian name^[512] had led the great dynasty which was founded by a Slavonian groom to identify itself with the ancient Kings of Pella and Edessa. The Russian princess brought with her into France the ancient Macedonian name of Philip, and her son became the first of a long line of Kings, princes, and nobles, through whom a name hitherto unknown to Western Europe became one of |Coronation and accession of Philip the First. 1059–60.| the most renowned in French history. In the last year of his father’s lifetime, the young Philip was, according to several precedents, crowned at Rheims, and the ceremony was attended by most of the great vassals of his Kingdom.^[513] We do not however hear whether the Duke of the Normans so far honoured his youthful overlord as to make one of the illustrious assemblage. But the ties between Normandy and France were now for a time drawn much more closely than before. Henry had chosen the nearest ally of William as the guardian of his son and as the 179|Baldwin of Flanders Regent of France.| Regent of his Kingdom. During the minority of the young King, the government of the royal domain was placed in the hands of William’s father-in-law, the “mighty Marquess”^[514] of Flanders. Baldwin honourably fulfilled his trust towards France, and we need not say that he kept the peace towards Normandy.^[515]

The same year which beheld the death of King Henry beheld also the death of the most inveterate enemy of Normandy among his great vassals. The Angevin chroniclers significantly cut short the Norman warfare of Geoffrey Martel, a sure sign that, however much Norman vanity may have exaggerated in detail, the general result of the struggle cannot have been greatly misrepresented. |Last days and death of Geoffrey Martel. 1060.| Geoffrey’s last days seem to have been clouded over by ill-success in other quarters. He indeed recovered the city of Nantes from Hoel of Britanny.^[516] But we also read of his 180being besieged by his step-son, Peter or William of Poitiers, in the castle of Saumur, on the steep which looks down, not on the Varenne or on the Mayenne, but on the mighty Loire itself.^[517] The siege was raised through the sudden death of the Aquitanian prince,^[518] and we hear of no further |His dominions divided between his nephews, Geoffrey and Fulk Rechin.| exploit on the part of Geoffrey of the Hammer. On the day before his death he assumed the monastic habit,^[519] and, as he left no sons, he divided his dominions between the two sons of his sister Hermengarde, the wife of Alberic, Count of the Gatinois. To his namesake Geoffrey, surnamed the Bearded, he left Anjou and Saintogne, while Fulk Rechin, already known to us as one of our authorities for Angevin history, received the city and county of Tours.^[520] Normandy was thus delivered from both her enemies. In her next warfare we shall find her seeking, not merely to defend her borders, but to extend them.

It may be worth notice that the great invasion of Normandy which ended, so disastrously for the French, in the rout of Varaville, happened in the very year in which there is every reason to believe that Earl Harold made his remarkable journey to examine into the political state of Gaul.^[521] His inquiries might perhaps lead him to different conclusions, according as his visit happened before or after the utter discomfiture of Henry and Geoffrey. Yet the 181campaign of Varaville could do little more than add one more to the many proofs that William was a foe whom no |Harold’s possible negotiations.| enemy could afford to neglect. I have already hinted that the mysterious words of Eadward’s Biographer^[522] might perhaps be taken as implying that Harold sought the friendship, if not the actual alliance, of the King or of some of his great vassals, as a support in case of any hostile movements on the part of Normandy. If this be so, we may see in the almost contemporary deaths of so many French princes a reason why such negotiations bore |Changes in the aspect of Gaul by the deaths of Geoffrey Martel and King Henry.| no fruit. King Henry, Geoffrey Martel, William of Aquitaine, all died within two years after Harold’s journey. By their deaths the political state of Gaul was altogether changed, and changed in a direction altogether favourable to William of Normandy. William of Aquitaine was the only one of the three who had a successor at all likely to act as a check upon any designs of his Norman namesake. Guy, Geoffrey, or William, whichever we are to call the prince who made so hasty a flight from Moulins,^[523] was not likely to cherish much love for William of Normandy, but he seems to have been mainly occupied by wars with Anjou, and by an expedition into Spain, in which last, by some means or other, he was followed by Norman warriors.^[524] In any case his solitary help could be of little service. If Harold hoped to meet any attack on England on the part of William by a diversion in his rear in the form of a joint attack of his continental neighbours, the chance of organizing such a confederacy died with King Henry and Geoffrey Martel. Under the Regency of Baldwin the Court of Paris became the closest ally of Normandy, and the new Count of Anjou 182seems to have been fully occupied at home. We hear of him chiefly as engaged in asserting certain novel claims over the Abbey of Marmoutiers,^[525] and as having, at the very crisis of the fate of England, to defend his dominions against his brother Fulk.^[526] He was therefore by no means likely to bear a part in any schemes of policy which reached |England’s lack of continental allies.| as far as Britain.^[527] The death of the Emperor Henry a few years earlier had deprived England of another friend. She had in short no continental ally left except Swend of Denmark. I merely throw out these remarks as vague hints on a very obscure subject; but it certainly is striking that the intentionally mystified language of the Biographer should admit of an interpretation which falls in so well with the state of things at the particular moment of Harold’s journey.

§ 3. The War of Maine. 1060–1064.

The main interest of this period of William’s reign gathers round his great conquest of the Cenomannian County and City. But before we enter on the narrative of that campaign, a few events in the internal history of his Duchy may be usefully cleared out of the way.

William was already beginning to show himself, in the words of the English Chronicler, beyond measure stark to all who withstood his will.^[528] The unrestrained exercise 183|Banishment of various Norman nobles.| of power seems to have wrought its usual bad effect. We now begin to find a prince who had hitherto been distinguished for clemency to rebellious enemies meting out, to say the least, somewhat hasty sentences against some of the chief men of his dominions. We presently find him giving ground for suspicions, unfounded as they doubtless were, that he had learned to stoop to the base trade of the poisoner.^[529] Several of his nobles were banished about this time, and every account seems to describe them as banished without just cause, through the false accusations of envious persons. Among these false accusers Roger of Montgomery and his wicked wife Mabel stand pre-eminent.^[530] The first recorded victim was Ralph of Toesny, whom we have seen as, according to one account, the bearer of the news of the defeat of Mortemer to the French King.^[531] He was banished; but he must have returned within a few years, and he had his share in the Conquest of England. We may say the same of Hugh of Grantmesnil, one of the joint founders of Saint Evroul.^[532] The banishment of Arnold of Escalfoy is not wonderful, as both he and his uncle Robert seem to have ventured on open rebellion. They seem even to have taken the Angevin side against their country, either in the wars which have been already described, or in some of the border skirmishes which no doubt still continued. Robert defended his castle against 184|Mysterious death of Robert the son of Geroy. 1060.| the Duke, and he died by a strange and suspicious death in the year which carried off King Henry and Count Geoffrey. He sat one day in a merry mood by his winter fire with his wife Adelaide, a kinswoman of the Duke. She had four apples in her hand; he snatched two from her in jest; he |Adventures and death of Arnold of Escalfoy. 1063.| ate of them and died.^[533] His nephew Arnold succeeded him, and for three years he carried on a devastating warfare in the neighbourhood of Lisieux.^[534] He then made peace with the Duke, on condition of going to the wars in Apulia.^[535] After a while he returned, but only to die by poison administered to him through the plots of the ruthless daughter of William Talvas.^[536]

Another person who now fell under the Duke’s displeasure was Robert of Grantmesnil, brother of Hugh, and co-founder, and now himself Abbot, of Saint Evroul. He was now deposed and banished by William. I forbear to enter on the interminable details of the negotiations for his restoration, from which I shrank at an earlier stage of my Norman history.^[537] But two points are of importance. It is made a distinct charge against William that he ventured to depose a churchman without the sentence of 185any ecclesiastical Synod, and seemingly without any form of trial at all.^[538] One account also distinctly says that the Duke’s motive was hostility to Robert’s family.^[539] It is hard to judge on such slight evidence; but it is to be noticed, on the one hand, that William’s special panegyrist is silent on the whole subject of these banishments, and on the other that William’s ecclesiastical government is the part of his character in which we should least readily look for an unworthy motive.

The fortunes of an Abbot bring us once more within the ecclesiastical circle. In the year after King Henry’s death, in a Synod held at Caen by the Duke’s authority, and attended by Bishops, Abbots, and Barons, it was ordered that a bell should be rung every evening, at hearing of which prayer should be offered, and all people should get within their houses and shut their doors.^[540] This odd mixture of piety and police seems to be the origin of the famous and misrepresented curfew. Whatever was its object, it was at least not ordained as any special hardship on William’s English subjects.

We now come to that great acquisition of William’s arms and policy which ranks in the annals of his reign next to the Conquest of England itself. The various fortunes, the takings and the retakings, of the city of Le Mans and its County, form a constantly recurring subject throughout the remaining history of William and 186of his sons. And the object struggled for was worthy of the |Old Norman claims over Maine.| struggle. The land and city over which William was now about to extend his long dormant claims was a prize which became one of the proudest jewels in his continental coronet. The Duke of the Normans, even the King of the English, thought it no scorn to add to those loftier titles a third which dated from this earlier conquest. |Beginning of Norman aggrandizement on the Continent.| As Prince or Count of the Cenomannians, William began the first of those stages of continental aggrandizement, which, before another century had passed, extended the sway of the sovereign of England and Normandy from the Orkneys to the Pyrenees, and made him master of the mouths of the Loire and the Garonne no less than of those of the Seine and the Thames. The work had been begun by the conquest of Domfront and Ambrières; it was now to be extended over the whole of the land which lies between |History of Maine.| Normandy and Anjou. A long history, princely, municipal, and episcopal, forms the annals of the Cenomannian |The ancient Cenomanni in Gaul and Italy.| state and city. The Cenomannian tribe^[541] was illustrious in the earliest legendary history of Gaul; it shares with the Senones the credit of that ancient colonization in Italy which brought Rome so near to her downfall.^[542] But it had no part in the actual beleaguering of Rome by the Senonian |Their close connexion with Rome.| Brennus. The Cenomanni beyond the Alps were ever found among the faithful allies of Rome, just as their mother state remains to this day proud of the relics of Roman dominion. Even during the storm of the Hannibalian War, the Cenomanni remained faithful to the Republic.^[543] Their metropolis is perhaps less prominent in the pages of Cæsar than we might have looked for; still the name 187|The Cenomanni of Gaul support Vercingetorix.| of the tribe occurs among those who sent their contingents to the host of Vercingetorix.^[544] Under the Roman domination, we are told that Cenomannia was among the first parts of Gaul to receive the Christian faith, and the local |Early preaching of Christianity.| legend traces that line of Bishops which became so famous in after days up to the very days of the Apostles. |Succession of Bishops of Le Mans.| In the days of Nerva and Trajan the Cenomannian Church was founded by Saint Julian, whose name still lives as the patron of the cathedral of Le Mans. Unlike most of his |Legend of Saint Julian.| apostolic brethren, the crown of martyrdom was not destined for him. He died in peace, having fully organized the local Church, and having been aided in all things by his convert the local Prince Defensor.^[545] In this last mythical personage we of course see a personification of the Defensores Civitatis, the local Tribunes, under the later |Special ecclesiastical and popular elements in the history of Maine.| Roman and early Frankish rulers.^[546] This early friendship between the Bishop and the local magistrate not inaptly prefigures a state of things with which William himself had to contend. The vast power of the local Church sometimes combined with the popular element of the city to 188|Maine under the Frankish Kings; a march against Bretons and Northmen.| withstand the more distant sovereign.^[547] I pass lightly over the days of the Merwings and the early Karlings. In those times the name of Cenomannia, city and district, appears over and over again, as a post of importance, an outpost against Breton enemies and afterwards against Scandinavian invaders.^[548] It was not uncommonly placed in the hands of members of the royal house.^[549] But these intermediate times do less to illustrate the events with which we are immediately concerned than the history or legends of the earliest days. These last, mythical as they may be, are at least happily invented to adorn the beginnings of a state which so long remained at once so intensely Roman and so intensely ecclesiastical.

The history of Maine and Le Mans with which we are immediately concerned begins in the tenth century. We have |Alleged grants to Rolf, 924; to Hugh the Great, 924; and to Geoffrey Grisegonelle, 978?| seen^[550] that the Norman Dukes put forward some shadow of a claim to Maine by virtue of a grant in the days of King Rudolf, at the same time that Rolf obtained his second grant, that of the district of Bayeux.^[551] But the chronicler who records this fact records also a grant of earlier date, but within the same year, to Hugh the Great of Paris.^[552] A grant to Geoffrey Grisegonelle of Anjou is also, on no less 189authority than that of Count Fulk Nerra himself, attributed, by some strange confusion of chronology, to King |Maine part of the Duchy of France.| Robert.^[553] On the whole, there can be little doubt that Maine formed a part of the great Duchy of France, and there is still less doubt as to the rivalry and hatred which reigned between the Angevin Counts and the dynasty which we find established in Maine towards the end of |Rivalry of the Counts and Bishops.| the tenth century. There is as little doubt as to the position of the local Bishops, always at variance, sometimes at war, with the local Counts, but keeping up a close connexion both with the King and with the |Count David. 922–970?| Counts of Anjou. I do not presume to decide whether the Hugh, the David, and the Hugh-David, whom we |955–1015?| hear of as reigning in Maine in the course of the tenth century, and as claiming a descent from Charles the Great, were really one prince, or two, or three.^[554] But there is no doubt that a Hugh, whether surnamed after the Hebrew King or not, was reigning late in the tenth and early in the eleventh century, and that he was the father of |Sainfred Bishop of Le Mans. 960–994.| the better known Count Herbert. He had great disputes with Bishop Sainfred of the house of Belesme, a Prelate 190of whom the chronicler of the Cenomanniam Bishops draws |Fulk Nerra overruns Maine. 987–994?| no favourable picture.^[555] He is charged with wasting the revenues of his see in grants to Fulk of Anjou and to Burchard Count of Vendôme, in order to gain their help against the nearer enemy.^[556] It was perhaps through the instigation of the Prelate that Fulk invaded Maine, and brought the land and its ruler into vassalage, if not into |Hugh escapes from Tillières. 996–1015.| actual subjection.^[557] Hugh appears also as an enemy of Normandy, as an ally of Odo of Chartres in an attempt on Tillières, and as escaping only by a mean disguise from the pursuit of its valiant defenders.^[558] This must have been towards the end of his days, as the foundation of Tillières |Herbert Wake-Dog Count 1015–1036.| comes within the reign of Richard the Good. The enmity between the temporal and spiritual chiefs of Maine went on during the reign of Hugh’s famous son Herbert, and |Avesgaud Bishop 994–1036.| during the long episcopate of Avesgaud, the nephew and successor of Sainfred, and like him a member of the border |Herbert wars with the House of Belesme.| house of Belesme.^[559] With that house, a house loyal to neither of its lords and terrible to all its neighbours, Count Herbert had much warfare, and we have come across more than one incidental mention of those wars, 191as affording scope for the valour and faithfulness of the house of Geroy.^[560] The impression given by these stories is that the mighty Lords Marchers found the Cenomannian |He disputes with Bishop Avesgaud.| Count at least their match. The ecclesiastical historian implies that this warfare began by William of Belesme coming to the help of his brother the Bishop. It is certain that Avesgaud had constantly to contend against Count Herbert both by temporal and by spiritual arms, and that he called in against him the help both of spiritual and of temporal allies. At one time we find him defending the stronghold of La Fertè Bernard^[561] against the Count, who could dislodge him only by the help of a Breton |Fulbert of Chartres excommunicates Herbert.| force obtained from Count Alan.^[562] At another time he called in the help of the holy Bishop Fulbert of Chartres, the great letter-writer of the age, who, on what principle of ecclesiastical law it is not easy to see, addressed an epistle of excommunication to the Count of Maine, which brought about a temporary peace.^[563] But Herbert was not afraid to measure himself against a much more dangerous enemy. It was in warfare against Fulk of Anjou, whose authority he cast aside, that he won his surname of 192|His name of Wake-Dog, from his nightly raids against Anjou.| Wake-Dog.^[564] So constant were the nightly raids of Count Herbert that, not only in the open country, in the flat land of Anjou, but in the fortified towns of the province, nay in the city itself, in Black Angers on its steep by the Mayenne, men and dogs were ever on the alert, and ventured not to slumber.^[565] These exploits must belong to the later years of his reign; for, at its beginning, |His share in the battle of Pontlevois. 1016.| we find him acting as an ally or vassal of Anjou at the battle of Pontlevois against Odo of Chartres.^[566] Indeed the Angevin writers allow that the victory on their side was in a great measure owing to the courage and conduct of |Fulk imprisons Herbert at Saintes. 1026–1028.| Herbert and his followers.^[567] Ten years later, we find Fulk, according to the approved custom of his house, dealing with Herbert much as his son dealt with Theobald of Chartres and with William of Aquitaine.^[568] He beguiled him into a visit at Saintes, and there kept him in ward two years till he agreed to the hard conditions on which liberty was offered.^[569] After an active reign of twenty-one 193years, Herbert died. His daughter Biota became the wife of Walter of Mantes, the elder son of Drogo and |Hugh. (1035–1051).| Godgifu, and nephew of King Eadward of England.^[570] His young son Hugh succeeded him in the County of Maine, |Regency of Herbert Bacco.| seemingly under the guardianship of a great uncle, Herbert Bacco.^[571] Bishop Avesgaud died on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and was succeeded in the almost hereditary Bishoprick |Gervase Bishop. 1036–1058.| by his nephew Gervase.^[572] This Prelate was the godfather of the young Count, and he is described as his defender against his faithless uncle as well as the defender |He commends the Bishoprick to Geoffrey of Anjou.| of the rights of his own see.^[573] He took one step however than which none could be more fatal, and one which illustrates the peculiar position of the Bishoprick. It would seem that, after all the grants that had been made of the temporal sovereignty of Maine, the royal rights over the Church of Le Mans were still in the hands of the King. Whether he held them strictly as King, or as Duke of the French, was now no longer a practical question.^[574] In either case the Bishop still held, not of the local Count but of his overlord at Paris. In short, throughout the territories which 194had formed part of the Duchy of France, the surrender of the royal rights, especially in ecclesiastical matters, was by no means so complete as it was in the great Duchies north and south of the royal dominions.^[575] The Count of Anjou or of Maine did not, after all, possess the same undivided and uninterrupted sovereignty within his own states which belonged to the Duke of the Normans. Bishop Gervase, a vassal of the King, unable to defend himself against his neighbour the Count or the Count’s guardian, receiving no help from his own lord, petitioned the King to grant the royal rights over the see, the rights of advocacy and |Herbert Bacco driven out and Hugh restored.| patronage, to the Count of Anjou for life.^[576] The grant was made; greater strife than before arose between the Bishop and the guardian uncle; a popular movement, headed by the Prelate, expelled Herbert Bacco, and restored the young Count Hugh to his lawful rights.^[577] The Prelate’s next business was to seek, like Jehoiada of old, a wife for the prince whom he had taken under his |Marriage of Hugh.| guardianship. He found one in the sister of Count Theobald,^[578] the widow of that Count Alan of Britanny whom we have seen die of poison while besieging a Norman castle.^[579] The marriage was supposed to be in 195some way dangerous to the interests of the Count of Anjou, and Martel now poured forth his whole wrath upon the |Bishop Gervase imprisoned by Geoffrey Martel. 1044–1051.| Bishop who had advised it. By some of his usual tricks, he gained possession of the Bishop’s person, and kept him in prison for seven years. As was usual with the prisoners of an Angevin Count, he had the option of obtaining his liberty by the surrender of some part of his possessions. The ransom demanded by Geoffrey was the surrender of a strong castle which was valiantly defended by the |His liberation demanded by the Council of Rheims. 1049.| Bishop’s soldiers.^[580] A demand of the Council of Rheims for the liberation of the Prelate had no effect on the obdurate mind of Geoffrey.^[581] Gervase seems all this while to have looked forward to deliverance through his godson, we can hardly say his sovereign, the Count of Maine. But at last he heard that Hugh was dead, |Geoffrey Martel occupies Le Mans. 1051–1061.| that Geoffrey had taken possession of Le Mans, that the citizens had received him joyfully, and had driven out the widow and children of Hugh.^[582] Gervase now thought it was time to yield; he gave up his castle, |Release of Gervase; he takes refuge in Normandy. 1061.| but even now he only obtained his freedom on condition of never setting foot in his own city during Geoffrey’s life-time.^[583] Banished in this way, he sought for shelter at the court of the Duke of the Normans.^[584] It does not seem 196that William actively interfered on his behalf, but he gave him an honourable reception, and retained him as his guest, till a prospect was opened to the homeless Prelate of obtaining at once a higher and a more peaceful position |Gervase Archbishop of Rheims.| among the Prelates of Gaul. While Gervase tarried in Normandy, the primatial see of Rheims became vacant by the death of its Archbishop Guy. Gervase now obtained the first place among the Prelates and Princes of the Parisian Kingdom, and it fell to his lot to pour the oil of Remigius and Hlodwig on the head of the youthful Philip.^[585]

The affairs of Normandy and Maine have now become directly connected, and the connexion between the two countries becomes closer at every moment. The death of Geoffrey seemed to open to Herbert a chance of recovering the dominions which he had never possessed.^[586] The years during which Le Mans was occupied by Geoffrey had been spent by the widow and children of Hugh in some part of |Herbert’s three sisters.| Germany.^[587] Besides Herbert, Hugh had three daughters, whose marriages and betrothals are of no small moment in the history. One, Gersendis, was first married to Theobald of Chartres.^[588] By him she was divorced, and this divorce 197|Gersendis, married, 1st, to Theobald of Chartres; 2nd, to Azo of Liguria.| was one of the many irregularities in that way which called down the censures of Pope Leo and the Fathers of Rheims.^[589] She then made a more splendid alliance beyond the Alps. She became the second wife of the famous Azo, Marquess of Este and Liguria, renowned in his own day for his wealth, his good fortune, and for attaining, though not till long after the marriage and the death of Gersendis, the age of a hundred years.^[590] By his first wife Cunegund he became the ancestor of the House of Brunswick, and the children of Gersendis of Maine produced the long line of Lords, Marquesses, and Dukes of Ferrara and Modena. How this marriage affected the history of Maine, of Normandy, and of England, we shall Another sister mother of Helias of La Flèche. |Another sister mother of Helias of La Flèche.| see at a later stage. Another sister married John of La Flèche, and by him became the mother of three sons. One of them bore the familiar Teutonic name of Gilbert; the two others were honoured with the patriarchal appellations of Enoch and Elijah, and the bearer of the last name, under the modified form of Helias or Helie, plays an important |Margaret.| part in the history of the next generation.^[591] Margaret, the other daughter, who must have been many years younger than Gersendis, and of whose beauty and virtues we read rapturous descriptions, was still unmarried.^[592] Herbert now 198|Herbert applies to Duke William. 1061.| addressed himself to the Duke of the Normans. William’s own days of trial and persecution were now over; he had come forth honourably out of all his difficulties; he had smitten all his enemies at home and abroad; he was now well fitted to appear either as a protector or as a conqueror. Moreover he was actually in possession of part of the Cenomannian County; all his conquests up to this time, Domfront, Ambrières, and the Rock of Mabel,^[593] had been made at what might be called the expense of Herbert himself. There was no great chance of recovering them from the prince who had so vigorously clutched the straw at the moment of his birth,^[594] and who in his later days as firmly refused to take off his clothes before he went to bed. But, at any rate, more might be gained by way of submission |He commends himself to William.| than by way of aggression. Herbert therefore commended^[595] himself to William; he became his man; he engaged to hold Maine as a fief of Normandy, according to the ancient grant which Rolf had received from King Rudolf.^[596] Special terms, all favourable to the lord, were attached to the |Terms of the homage; William to have Maine, if Herbert died childless, and Margaret to marry Robert.| homage. If Herbert died childless, Duke William’s lordship was to be converted into immediate sovereignty; the Duke of the Normans was to become the Count of 199the Cenomannians.^[597] But, in order that the principality might still remain to the descendants of its ancient lords, Herbert’s sister Margaret was to be given in marriage to William’s young son Robert.^[598] William himself would thus be the only interloper; Robert would reign in right of his wife, and in the next generation, a descendant, if only in the female line, of Herbert Wake-Dog would again rule upon the steep of Le Mans.^[599]

Whether Herbert ever obtained actual possession of his new fief does not certainly appear. If he did, his enjoyment |Herbert dies childless. 1063.| of it was very short. Within two years he died, and died childless. By the terms of the treaty, Maine now passed to William. According to Norman accounts, Herbert’s last breath was spent in asserting the rights of the Norman Duke, and in exhorting his friends and subjects to seek for no other as their lord. Almost forestalling the words of the English Chronicler, he warned them that the yoke of William would be light to those who accepted |Unwillingness of Maine to submit to William.| it willingly, but heavy indeed to those who dared to withstand him.^[600] But the mass of the people of city and county were of another mind. They doubted the lightness of the Norman yoke in any case.^[601] And the treaty between 200Herbert and William had sacrificed the rights of several members of Herbert’s family. Herbert had, as he hoped, secured the succession to the descendants of one of his sisters. But no such descendants were in being; Robert and Margaret were not married, nor seemingly even betrothed, at the time of his death. There was therefore no sort of security that, if William were once admitted, the County would ever return to the descendants of its ancient lords. Then again, though Herbert had left no male heir, he had kinsfolk in the female line whose rights were as good as those of the unborn posterity of Margaret. We read of no movements at this time on behalf either of the Marquess of Liguria or of the Lord of La Flèche, the claims of both |The patriotic party assert the rights of Walter and Biota.| of whom were pressed in after times. But a strong party, the patriotic party, as it would seem, throughout the province, asserted the rights of Herbert’s aunt Biota and of her husband Walter of Mantes, the nephew of Eadward of England. The city was held for them by several of the chief lords of the country, among whom we hear specially of Hubert of Saint-Susanna, and of Geoffrey of Mayenne, of whom we have already heard in the wars between Anjou and Normandy.^[602] The citizens seem to have been on the same side. Of the Bishop, for once in Cenomannian history, we hear nothing. The line of Bishops of the fierce house of Belesme had come to an end, and the line of eminent Prelates appointed under |Bishop Vulgrin. 1058–1059.| Norman rule had not yet begun. The reigning Bishop Vulgrin was a good, prudent, and peaceful monk, whose monastic virtues had been proved by his reform of the 201Abbey of Saint Sergius without the walls of Angers,^[603] and whose chief object at Le Mans was to rebuild the church of Saint Julian on a greater scale.^[604] In this revolution then the ecclesiastical power seems to have been neutral, while nobles and citizens were united for Count Walter and against the Norman.

A struggle therefore could not be avoided. William was the least likely of all men tamely to give up either a real or a fancied right, or even to pass by a decent pretext for extending his power. Maine was to be conquered. But William was no more disposed to hurry in |His measures at home.| the business of conquest than in any other business. He began by healing a few wounds at home. It was now that he called back from banishment Hugh of Grantmesnil and Ralph of Toesny,^[605] men whose offences were very doubtful, and whose services in the war were likely to be useful. It was now also that he made that agreement with Arnold of Escalfoy, by which that turbulent spirit |His plans for the campaign.| was sent off to the wars in Apulia.^[606] The plan of the campaign was thoroughly characteristic. William saw 202that the prize must be his in the long run. Maine alone could not resist Normandy, and Walter’s chance of finding allies was just now not great. William’s panegyrist tells us—and we have no reason to doubt the fact—that he was anxious to win his conquest with the least possible amount of bloodshed.^[607] It was a policy still more obvious to forbear to destroy or damage a noble city which he designed to be one of the chief jewels of his coronet. And it was only reasonable military foresight to avoid the risk of a rash attack on a strong fortress which might be won in |He determines to harry the country and to keep the attack on the city for the last.| another way.^[608] The city was the main object; we see throughout that the capital was in a special manner the head of the province, that Le Mans was Maine in a sense in which Rouen certainly was not Normandy.^[609] The city then was reserved by William to be the last object of attack. But the city was strongly defended by Geoffrey of Mayenne, whom Walter had made his chief adviser, and who seems to have been equally in the confidence of the citizens.^[610] A hasty attack might have seriously jeoparded the success of William’s plans. His course therefore was to impoverish, and at the same time to frighten, the besiegers by a systematic harrying of the whole country. 203Vineyards, fields, detached houses, were everywhere |The country gradually subdued.| ravaged; the smaller fortified posts of the province were taken one by one; garrisons were left wherever they were called for by the scheme of the campaign;^[611] the capital was left to be devoured the last. This mode of warfare gradually wore out the patience, as it weakened the resources, of the defenders of the city. At last, when well nigh every other fortress of Maine had come into |The city reduced to surrender.| William’s hands,^[612] the citizens were reduced to submit to a surrender, and William found himself in a position to enter the city at whose possession he had been so long aiming, as a conquest won without a battle or a siege.

The city into which William had now to make his triumphal entry was one which might have added fresh lustre even to an Imperial diadem. In his day it was a possession which could hardly be overvalued as a strong military post, as the centre of a rich and flourishing province, as a city itself rich and flourishing, according to the standard of those times. To us it is mainly attractive as a spot on which the history of a long series of ages, before and after the days of William, is still legibly written. Le Mans is one of a type of cities which is spread over a great part of Gaul, but to which England, and even Normandy, can present but feeble approaches. A steep hill rises abruptly above the river Sarthe to the west, and somewhat less abruptly above the lower ground to the east. The ground also falls away in the like sort to the south, while the hill is continued in the higher ground to the north, of which it forms the natural termination. The height, therefore, though washed by the river on one side only, does in effect assume a sort of peninsular shape. Like most elevated sites of towns, the rise of the ground 204is such as would not be remarkable in a hill whose sides were covered with verdure or forest, but it is quite enough to make the post strongly defensible, and to make the streets of the still existing city steep and hard of ascent. |Growth of the Gaulish hill-fort into the Roman, the mediæval, and the modern city.| This point, like so many points of the same kind, had, in unrecorded days, become the site of a Gaulish hill-fort, and the Gaulish hill-fort had, as usual, grown into a Roman city. The name of the universal conquerors still dwells there, and the most ancient quarter of the city is still traditionally known as La vieille Rome. The original Gaulish rampart was, in the later days of the Empire, exchanged, at the bidding of the great Constantine, for a wall of Roman masonry, large portions of which still remain. They show how small a part of the existing town was covered by the famous city of old. The Roman wall still fences in only the higher ground; the fortifications were not brought down to the river till Cenomannia had, in the thirteenth century, been constrained to bow to Paris. Two great monasteries lay, as usual, without the walls. They were placed at the foot of the hill on either side, one of them even lay beyond the river. The growth of the modern city has embraced both, leaving the ancient fortified circuit as a venerable acropolis, retaining its place even now as the ecclesiastical and municipal hearth of the city. To the west the city still presents a stately front to the river. Walls and houses, the dwellings of priests and citizens, still showing, in their rich and early work, the importance of both classes in the Cenomannian state, still rise, stage above stage, up to the highest ridge crowned |The Palace of the Counts.| by the two dominant buildings of the city. To the south-east, on the Roman wall itself, incorporating within itself the very fortifications of the elder Empire, stood, and still stands, the palace of the ancient rulers, the Hughs |The Cathedral.| and the Herberts of Cenomannia. In the north-east corner of the original city, rose the Minster of Saint 205Julian, the cathedral church of that famous Bishoprick. That soaring apse, which the glories even of Beauvais and Amiens can hardly surpass, had not as yet demanded the sacrifice of that portion of the ancient rampart which hindered the full developement of the mighty temple. Even the stately nave, so strangely attached to the later and loftier choir, itself one of the works in which the builders of the twelfth century aimed most successfully at reproducing the gorgeous foliage of Rome and Corinth, had not as yet assumed its present shape. But the earlier temple out of which it was as it were hewn, whose masonry bespeaks, not the deliberate imitation, but the immemorial retention of Roman forms, was a work of William’s age, and its earliest portions were probably slowly rising at the |William’s “Joyeuse Entrée” at Le Mans.| time of William’s conquest.^[613] The stern and massive portal which still forms its principal approach, may well have been the one through which the procession swept, which went forth singing hymns and swinging censers, to welcome the prince who had won the city without shedding the blood of friend or foe.^[614] With equal joy, real or pretended, 206men of all ranks in the city went forth to greet the conqueror; shouts of applause met the ear of William as he entered; men knelt as he drew near, and hailed the Duke of the Normans as the lawful lord of Le Mans. |Walter consents to the surrender.| Walter, putting the best face upon the matter, agreed to the surrender with apparent willingness. William had neither motive nor temptation to further harshness. He took peaceful possession of his conquest, but he took care to guard it after the ordinary fashion of a Norman conqueror. |William builds a castle near the cathedral.| In the north-western angle of the city, near the point where William, advancing from his own Duchy, had doubtless made his triumphal entry, a Norman donjon now rose in dangerous neighbourhood to the minster and to the dwelling of its Prelate. So near were the two buildings that, in later days, the towers which, as at Exeter and Geneva, formed the finish of the transepts were deemed to be a standing menace to the royal fortress. Of these towers the reign of William’s immediate successor has a strange tale to tell.^[615] They have however left more speaking traces behind them than the fortress which was now the outward trophy of William’s victory. While Le Mans can still boast such splendid remains of the works both of earlier and of later days, the politic devastation of the seventeenth century has left only a few shapeless fragments of wall to bear witness to the former being of the castle with which the Conqueror sought to curb the lofty spirit of the city which was as yet his noblest conquest.^[616]

207Le Mans then was won, and with Le Mans the whole Cenomannian land formally passed into the hand of the conqueror.^[617] The rival pretender to the County had given up his claims, for fear, we are told, lest in seeking what was another’s he should lose his own. While the harrying of Maine had been going on, other Norman bands had crossed another part of the frontier, and had carried havoc through Walter’s original possessions of Mantes and Chaumont.^[618] |Death of Walter and Biota.| He and his wife soon disappear from the scene. We have no trustworthy details of their death, but rumour affirmed |William charged with poisoning them.| that both of them died by poison. In the mouths of William’s enemies, rumour further added that the poison was administered to them by William’s order, when they were his guests in his own castle at Falaise. This is one of those occasions on which the remark must be again repeated that the charge of secret poisoning is one which it is easy to bring and hard to disprove. In this case the charge is certainly not brought home to William by any direct evidence. It seems indeed to rest on nothing better than the wild assertions of William’s enemies at a drunken revel.^[619] 208To stoop to a crime of this kind, which admitted of no defence, and which could be cloked by no self-delusion, seems to me to be quite inconsistent with a character like William’s, in which, among all its darker features, a certain regard to the first principles of morality, a distinct element of the fear of God, was never wholly wanting. I venture therefore to dismiss the tale as simply part of that stock of uncertified scandal of which William’s age was so fruitful.

One enemy had however still to be brought into subjection before William could boast that he was undisputed master of the whole Cenomannian land. Geoffrey of Mayenne, the brave defender of Le Mans, seems to have refused to have any share in the surrender of the city; he had withdrawn so as not to be a witness of William’s triumphal entry; he had been often summoned, but he had neglected every summons, to appear and do a vassal’s duty to his new sovereign.^[620] Such an enemy was one of whom it was manifestly fitting to make an example. Call him rebel or patriot as we will, Geoffrey of Mayenne was the sort of man with whom it did not suit William’s purposes to put up with for a moment. If the Duke knew when to 209delay, he also knew when to hasten. He had won Le Mans without a blow; he had gained his point more easily by bringing a gradual process of terror and distress to bear on the minds of its defenders. No such process would answer with a single determined enemy. It was for the new Lord of Maine to show, once for all, that no man in his |William besieges Mayenne. 1063.| new dominion could resist him with impunity. The Duke therefore led his forces at once against Geoffrey’s town and fortress of Mayenne.^[621] The castle was strong, and men deemed an assault to be an hazardous undertaking.^[622] But the prince to whom Domfront and Alençon and Arques had yielded, who had himself carried the bulwarks of his own Falaise by sheer strength of onslaught,^[623] was not to be baffled by works which were at least not stronger than |Description of the place.| those of so many famous fortresses. The position of the castle of Mayenne is one which bears more likeness to that of Alençon^[624] than to that of Falaise or Domfront. It is no Gaulish hill-fortress which has grown by degrees into a Roman and into a modern city. The town of Mayenne stands on both sides of the river from which it takes its name, a river of far greater width than the maternal beck at Falaise or even than the Varenne at Domfront. It may well be that the light craft of the Northmen, who so long harassed the shores and islands of the Loire and its tributaries, may have made their way even to this inland post. At all events, the main point in the fortification of Mayenne was to secure the river. The town covers the steep slopes on either side, and the right^[625] bank of the 210stream still washes the walls of the castle. No buildings now remain which can have witnessed the wars of William and Geoffrey, but the later castle evidently occupies the ancient site. A noble range of bastions rising above the stream, a miniature as it were of the mighty pile of dark and frowning Angers, contrasts well with the steep and narrow streets of the town itself, with the varied and eccentric outline of the great church of Our Lady, and with the thick woods which still overshadow the river close up to the buildings of the town. The greater part of the modern town lies on the right bank, and in William’s time, when Mayenne was less a town than a military post, it was doubtless this part alone, as in the elder Angers, that was encompassed by a wall.^[626] But the date of the church of Saint Martin beyond the river shows that, as at Angers, the opposite shore must, at this time, or soon after, have become the site of a populous suburb. To a modern and non-military eye, the site of Mayenne, which could easily be commanded from the higher ground above, does not seem so formidable as that of other places which had yielded to William’s arms; but it must be remembered that, before the invention of cannon, a fortress did not suffer as it now does by being open to the missiles of the enemy. No more striking instance of this difference can be found than in the long resistance which William himself met with before the river fortress of Brionne.^[627] At all events, Mayenne is spoken of as a post well defended by the river on one side and by both nature and art on the other, and which was looked on as almost hopeless to carry by 211|Difficulties of the siege.| assault. Horse and foot, lances, swords, and arrows, the ram and the catapult themselves, were all, we are told, deemed useless.^[628] Famine alone could be looked to for the reduction of the impregnable fortress.^[629] One only hope of |The Normans fire the town.| immediate success presented itself. Fire at least was at hand, and fire was a weapon with which the Normans were always ready. By the Duke’s order, flaming materials of some sort were hurled over the walls of the town.^[630] As ever happened among the wooden houses of those times, the flames spread fast, and did their work fully as well as the sword.^[631] The defenders of the town walls and town gates left their posts to rescue, as far as might be, their own houses and goods. The Normans rushed in with a loud and joyful shout. The spoils were abundant; horses, arms, household stuff of every kind, were found in plenty. And all was, by |The castle surrenders. Probable absence of Geoffrey.| the liberality of the Duke, given up to his soldiers.^[632] The town was thus taken, and the next day the castle surrendered.^[633] This speedy surrender, as well as some other expressions of our historian, might lead us to think that 212Geoffrey himself was not present in person.^[634] Of his |His later history. 1073–1098.| immediate fate we hear nothing; but, thirty years later, either himself, or perhaps a son of the same name, again played an important part in Cenomannian history.^[635] The town was restored by William;^[636] a garrison was left in the castle; the Duke and his army went home rejoicing,^[637] and the few who still ventured to hold up their heads against him within his new dominions soon submitted.^[638]

The fate of one person has still to be spoken of. The house of the Counts of Maine might seem to have lain under a ban of fate. Herbert, Walter, Biota, had all been swept away.^[639] It may strengthen the belief that William had no hand in their removal when we find that they were soon followed to the grave by a member of the same house whom William had no possible motive to destroy, but rather every possible motive to keep alive. Herbert 213had died before the marriage of his sister with the Duke’s |Margaret brought from Germany.| son could be carried out. William now sent for her from her German shelter, meaning to bring her up in his own land as the bride of its future sovereign. On account of her youth, the actual marriage was put off for a while, and the fair and pious Margaret was entrusted to the care of discreet persons of both sexes.^[640] Before the time for the |Her death.| marriage came, the bride was no more.^[641] The tale is told of her, as it is told of one of William’s own daughters, that she shrank from the prospect of an earthly bridegroom, and prayed to be released from so hard a necessity.^[642] After her death, as in the case of so many saints, a hair-shirt was found on her, with which, young as she was, she had already learned to bring the flesh into subjection.^[643] The body thus early inured to austerity found its last home in the minster of Fécamp, which, along with other churches of her adopted country, she had already learned to love and honour.^[644]

The conquest of Maine is one of the most important events in the life of William. It stands second only to the Conquest of England. It was in truth William’s first great appearance in the character of the Conqueror, it was a sort of prelude to the still greater work which he had to do beyond the sea. The two events indeed have a direct connexion. William’s rival for the possession of Maine 214was, if not an English Ætheling, yet the grandson of an English King, a possible, though not a likely, competitor for the English Crown.^[645] But the conquest of Maine connects itself with the conquest of England in a more instructive way than through the fact that Walter of Mantes was the son of a daughter of Æthelred. The |Analogies between the two.| circumstances of the two conquests are strangely alike, and the earlier and lesser success may well have served both as a happy omen and as an actual school for the later and greater enterprise. In each case, William took possession of a land, at once against the will of its inhabitants, and to the prejudice of members of the reigning family. In each case, William trampled alike on hereditary right and on popular election. But in neither ease was it the mere brute force of the sword which he opposed to them. Those wonderful arts by which he deceived others, by which he most likely deceived even himself, in the matter of England, were practised with almost equal skill, though in a narrower field, in the matter of Maine. In the case of Maine, as in the case of England, William contrived to give his claims an aspect of strict legality. In both cases he could allege a bequest of a reigning sovereign; in both cases he could allege an act of homage done by a rival: in both cases a marriage, which in neither case ever took effect, was designed to connect William’s house with the house of the rival who thus became his vassal. The circumstances indeed differed in the two stories; the parts in the two dramas were differently arranged. In the Cenomannian version, the bequest of Eadward and the homage of Harold are both united in the person of Herbert. The part of Harold is therefore divided between Herbert and Walter, or rather between Herbert and the valiant Geoffrey of Mayenne. Such differences will always occur, for no events in history exactly reproduce one another. But in 215each story we see the bequest, the commendation, the intended marriage. In each the conquest is made to take the shape of a legal claim, which is unavoidably backed by force. In each the conqueror contrives to be received with at least the outward consent of the conquered. The two stories are so like one another that we may be sure that the likeness was present to the keen and busy mind of the hero of both. While winning Maine, William was, beyond all doubt, planning how he might win England. He was feeling his way; he was learning his trade; he was practising his prentice hand in the great arts of diplomacy and invasion. It is therefore not only the mere probable chronological sequence, but a close connexion in the subjects themselves, which leads us directly from William’s Cenomannian conquest to the subject of the last section of the Chapter, to the visit of Earl Harold to the Norman Court, and to the memorable oath, whatever was its exact nature, which he is alleged to have plighted to the Norman Duke.

§ 4. The Visit of Harold and the Breton War. 1064?

The time was now come for the two born leaders of men around whose career our whole history gathers to meet face to face. As yet, for a little while, their meeting was to be friendly; but in that friendly meeting the seeds were sown of their last meeting on the battle-field. The Duke of the Normans and the Earl of the West-Saxons were now each of them at the height of his glory. The most famous exploits of each had happened within a single year. About the time that William had been receiving the submission of Le Mans and Mayenne, Harold had been waging his great campaign against the 216Welsh, and, if he had not been winning crowns for himself, he had been disposing of crowns to others and |William and Harold at the moment the two first men in Western Europe.| receiving the homage of their wearers.^[646] It is not too much to say that, at that moment, William and Harold were the two foremost men of Western Europe. The great Emperor was gone; the great Pope had not yet risen on the world, though Hildebrand the Archdeacon had already begun to guide the policy of the Court of which he was before long to be the avowed as well as the virtual ruler. Among Western crowns, those of France and Germany were worn by children; on what brow the Crown of England rested I need not again set forth. Kings of greater renown than Eadward or Philip reigned in Northern Europe; but the persevering prudence of Swend, the knight-errantry of Harold Hardrada, can hardly be put on a level with the union of every kingly gift alike in the great Englishman and in the great Norman. Few words are needed to show how far, in Gaul and in Britain respectively, the great Duke and the great Earl outshone the sovereigns to whom the accident of birth had given the right to claim the vassal’s homage from the one and the subject’s duty from the other. Among princes not bearing the royal title, Baldwin, Count of Flanders and Regent of France, could alone be compared with them in power. But no one would bring his personal character and personal exploits into rivalry with those of the renowned rulers of Normandy and Wessex. Harold and William then were the first men in Western Christendom, the one the first in continental lands, the other the first within the Island Empire. |The rivalry between them as yet not avowed.| Nothing had as yet happened to make either the avowed enemy of the other, and two such men must have looked admiringly on each other’s great deeds. Yet each must 217have looked on the other as a lion in his path; both were already aiming at the same prize, and each must have known that that prize was not likely to be won without |Their meeting. Question whether it was their first meeting.| a struggle with a worthy rival. It is a striking episode in our story when these two mighty men, so soon to be the deadliest of enemies, could meet yet once, as host and guest, in peace and friendship. Whether they had before seen each other is uncertain. They had not met on English ground, for at the time of William’s visit to Eadward, Harold, I need not say, was a banished man in Ireland. Whether they met on Norman ground in the course of Harold’s earlier continental journey we have no certain evidence. If they had met at any earlier moment, their earlier meeting no doubt taught each of them what manner of man he had to deal with in the other. But in no case had that earlier meeting any such direct results on the events of our history as those which sprang out of the strange accident which now for a while made Earl Harold the guest, the friend, the companion in arms, of the Norman Duke.

I have said a strange accident, because, among all the various statements which are handed down to us as to the occasion of Harold’s visit to Normandy and his alleged oath to William, I am inclined to prefer that version which represents his presence in Normandy as being wholly the result of chance. I need hardly say that there is no portion of our history, perhaps no portion of any history, which is more entangled in the mazes of contradictory, and often impossible, statements than that on which we are now entering. I have already touched incidentally on the |Probable groundwork of truth.| subject in an earlier Chapter.^[647] I there said that, with regard both to the alleged bequest of Eadward to William and to the alleged oath of Harold to William, I could not 218but hold that there is some groundwork of truth in both stories. I held that the absolute silence of the contemporary English writers told, under the circumstances, in favour of a bequest of some kind and an oath of some kind. But the details, as I there said, are told with such an amount of contradiction, many of the statements are so manifestly impossible, it is so hard to fix the date of the event or to piece it on in any way to the undoubted facts of the history, that we can hardly admit anything as certain beyond these bare facts of a bequest of some kind and an oath of some kind. As for the bequest, I trust that I have shown^[648] that the groundwork of William’s claim as testamentary successor to Eadward was, in all probability, a promise of the succession, or at least a promise of a royal recommendation to the Witan, |1051.| made by Eadward to William at the time of the Duke’s visit to England. I trust that I have also shown that that promise was set aside by later arrangements in favour, first of the Ætheling Eadward, and then of Earl Harold.^[649] |Connexion between the bequest of Eadward and the oath of Harold.| With regard to the oath, it is, in the Norman accounts, inextricably mixed up with the bequest. In one version Harold is actually represented as being sent into Normandy to announce the devise of the Crown in favour of William. In all the received versions the intentions of Eadward in favour of his Norman kinsman are taken for granted as the ground on which the oath is demanded. The two questions then must be discussed together. As usual, I shall discuss them at large in another part of this volume.^[650] I shall here do little more than tell the tale itself, in that shape in which it seems to me to have least of improbability about it. But, as I before said, I can look upon nothing in the whole story as absolutely certain, except that Harold made some engagement or other, which 219was capable of being construed as an admission of William’s claim to the Crown, and which made his own later acceptance of the Crown capable of being represented as an act of perjury.

There are three chief statements as to the causes which took Harold into Normandy. According to a version which I have already mentioned, Eadward, perhaps after the death of the Ætheling, determined to make William his heir. He therefore sent Harold over to announce his intention to the Norman Duke, and to confirm the appointment by an oath in his own person. This account I believe to be absolutely fabulous. According to another |2. Harold goes to reclaim the hostages given by Godwine in 1052.| account, Godwine, on his reconciliation with Eadward, gave hostages to the King for his good behaviour, in the persons of his youngest son Wulfnoth and his grandson Hakon the son of Swegen. These hostages were given by the King to the safe keeping of the Duke of the Normans. Now that years had rolled by, now that Godwine was dead, now that Eadward was, as this version of the story implies, on perfectly good and confidential terms with Godwine’s successor Harold, there no longer seemed any reason why a brother and a nephew of the first man in England should linger any longer in foreign banishment. Harold therefore asks the King’s leave to go to the Court of William and ask for their release. The King warns his brother-in-law against so perilous an adventure; he knew William well, and some harm was sure to happen to Harold, if he trusted himself in his power. The impetuous spirit of the Earl refuses to hearken to the warnings of the Saint. He wrings an unwilling permission from the King, and goes on his errand. He is entrapped into an oath binding him in the fullest way to support William’s claims. He returns to England to receive much more of sorrowful reproof and warning from the King who had 220foreseen the future so much more clearly than himself.^[651]

This tale I do not believe any more than the other, but it apparently differs from it as not being pure invention, but as being grounded on a certain basis of fact. Both stories, it will be observed, assume the loyalty of Harold and the confidence placed in him by Eadward, and they thereby at once contradict those other Norman statements which describe Harold as acting with insolence to Eadward, and Eadward as being afraid of Harold’s power.^[652] The former story indeed, by representing Harold as sent to announce and confirm Eadward’s choice, implies that Harold had himself no designs on the Crown, or, at all events, that Eadward had no suspicion that he had any. But the second story distinctly implies that, at the time of the journey, Eadward had no intentions in favour of William, perhaps that he had intentions in favour of Harold. This version therefore comes nearer to the true state of the case than the other. With regard to the hostages, I do not believe the tale, but I still suspect that some small amount of truth lurks under it. No English account of the restoration of Godwine mentions that he gave hostages to the King, still less that any such hostages were entrusted to the keeping of Duke William. Such |Improbability of the story of the hostages; its origin.| a story is most improbable in itself, and it distinctly contradicts the real facts of the case. Hostages were given and exchanged many times in the course of the banishment and return of Godwine, once indeed so late as the day of his return, the day before the famous Mickle Gemót.^[653] But this was because matters were still under debate, and, when hostages were given, they were given on both sides. When the controversy was over, when Godwine was fully restored to his old honours, there was no longer any need 221or any room for hostages. At such a moment as that, when Godwine’s family and the whole patriotic party were in the full swing of triumph, when decrees were being passed for their restoration to all their honours, when other decrees were pronouncing banishment against the leaders of the Norman faction, when every road was thronged with Norman knights and priests fleeing for their lives,—at such a moment as this, it is utterly inconceivable that two members of the House of Godwine, a son and a grandson of the great Earl, should have been sent off into what would be in truth captivity, however honourable captivity, at the Norman Court. Nothing short of the express authority of the English Chronicles could make us accept a statement so utterly incredible. And instead of being supported by their authority, it is implicitly contradicted by it. The banishment of Wulfnoth and Hakon is manifestly inconsistent with the statement that all the members of Godwine’s family were restored to what they had before held.^[654] I therefore altogether disbelieve in the story of the hostages. But I think that it may not be difficult to trace its origin, which I shall accordingly attempt to do elsewhere.^[655] |Third story; Harold’s presence in Normandy accidental, through stress of weather.| I accept then the third version, according to which Harold’s presence in Normandy was purely accidental. According to this account, he was not going to William’s court, either on the King’s errand or on his own. He was sailing elsewhere, to Wales or to Flanders, or simply taking his pleasure in the Channel. I am inclined to think that this last was really the case, and I further suspect that he was accompanied on his pleasure-trip by |Possible presence of other members of his family.| some of the younger members of his family, by his brother Wulfnoth, his nephew Hakon, and possibly his sister Ælfgifu.^[656] At all events, the Earl set forth at the head of a considerable company, enough to fill three of the 222vessels of the time,^[657] and he went accompanied by dogs and hawks, ready to enjoy the sports of the field at any points |They set sail at Bosham.| at which they might land.^[658] The place of embarcation was close by the favourite South-Saxon abode of Godwine and Harold, the land-locked haven of Bosham.^[659] The contemporary record sets them before our eyes as first paying their devotions in that venerable church which still remains as one of the living witnesses of their age,^[660] and then as feasting in the Earl’s hall, before their temporary farewell to their native land.^[661] As for their voyage, nearly all accounts agree that, whatever was their original destination, |They are driven by a storm to the coast of Ponthieu.| Harold’s ships were driven by stress of weather to the coast of Ponthieu. They were there in the dominions of Count Guy, who, since the slaughter of Mortemer, had become, first the prisoner, and then the vassal, of William.^[662] Guy, like the |The right of Wreck. Barbarous treatment of shipwrecked persons.| princes and inhabitants of various parts of Gaul, exercised the right of wreck in all its fulness. Their barbarous and unchristian practice on this head is strongly and justly denounced by the panegyrist of William.^[663] The shipwrecked man, instead of being looked on as an object of humanity and Christian charity, was looked on as a wretch forsaken of God and man, who became the lawful 223spoil of the lord into whose hands he was thrown. Indeed the words used might almost be taken as meaning that they were not even satisfied with those unfortunates whom accident threw in their way. Fraud of some kind, false lights or the like, would seem to have been used to entrap the unwary.^[664] And woeful indeed was the doom of the unlucky wretch who fell into their hands. Imprisonment was his usual fate, and to imprisonment torture was often added. The higher and more illustrious the victim, the harder was his doom, as from such captives more might be wrung in the way of ransom than could be gained from meaner men. Such was now the fate which threatened the foremost man |Harold betrayed to Guy of Ponthieu and seized by him.| of England, the brother-in-law of its King. A fisherman, we are told, who frequented the English coast, knew the person of the Earl of the West-Saxons. He hastened to Count Guy; for twenty pounds he would show him a captive who would gladly pay a hundred pounds for his ransom.^[665] The Count rode in person to the coast, and the |He is imprisoned at Beaurain.| English Earl was seized in his presence.^[666] Harold was now kept in prison, perhaps actually in fetters,^[667] not, as has been sometimes thought, on the sea-shore at Saint Valery, but in the inland fortress of Beaurain near Hesdin.^[668] Some 224|He sends a message to William.| however of the party contrived to escape; an Englishman, charged with a message from Earl Harold, made his way to the palace of Rouen and to the presence of William. The messenger knelt before the Duke, and told him the tale of wrong, how the great English Earl, without any offence on his part, had been seized by a vassal of Normandy, and was at that moment held in bonds at Beaurain.^[669] We can well understand the mingled feelings of William on hearing such a piece of news. The nobler elements of his nature would sincerely abhor the base act of Guy; but his crafty policy would at once discern how great and manifold were the advantages which he |William’s interest in the matter.| might draw out of the crime of his vassal.^[670] His rival, not yet his open enemy, was thrown into his hands by an accident which made generosity at once the surest policy. No greater good fortune could befall William 225than that which made him the benefactor, the liberator, of Harold. He might disarm him by benefits; he might win him over by cajolery; he might entrap him into some engagement, which might be craftily represented as binding the English Earl to something which he had himself perhaps never dreamed of. He could, in any case, establish a claim upon his gratitude; he might perhaps establish a claim upon his honour. Whatever course events might take, some gain, greater or smaller, could hardly fail to accrue to William. His course therefore was clear; Harold was to be set free at any cost. |He sends to Guy and demands Harold’s enlargement.| Messengers were sent, bidden to hasten to Beaurain with the full speed of Norman horsemanship.^[671] They were to ask in the Duke’s name for the enlargement of the illustrious captive; they were, if it proved needful, to demand it with threats.^[672] Guy, himself for two years the captive of William, had no mind to bring on himself the wrath |Guy brings Harold to William at Eu.| of his new overlord a second time. He put the best face on the matter;^[673] the Earl was at once released from prison, and Guy and Harold rode together, hawk on hand, to meet Duke William. The Duke had by this time reached the border fortress of Eu, the castle of the brave and loyal 226Count Robert.^[674] Instead of being the prisoner of Guy, |William’s rewards to Guy.| Harold was now the guest of William. The prompt obedience of the Count of Ponthieu to the bidding of the Duke was rewarded with fitting thanks, with money—no doubt to the amount of Harold’s ransom—and moreover with a large and goodly grant of lands by the banks of the Eaulne.^[675] The price was a heavy one, but it was a price which William could well afford to pay for the great advantage which a freak of fortune had thus unexpectedly thrown into his hands.

Harold was now the honoured guest of William. The Duke of the English, as he appeared in Norman eyes,^[676] accompanied his Norman brother to his palace at Rouen.^[677] There he was entertained with martial exercises;^[678] he received every mark of respect which was due to so illustrious a visitor; he was admitted to the closest intimacy with the Duke and his family. One writer, whose minute knowledge 227of the subject is a little startling, tells us that William used always to go to bed early, and to leave |Blandishments of Matilda.| Harold conversing with Matilda to a later hour.^[679] The winning graces of the Duchess are said to have had no small share in gaining the consent of the English Earl to one part of the engagement which was to be presently |Doubtful date of the events, but before Harold’s marriage with Ealdgyth.| required of him. The date of these events, I need not say, is one of the most puzzling features of the whole story, and it is impossible to do more than approach it by conjecture.^[680] But, if there be any truth at all in the tale, it must have taken place before Harold’s marriage with Ealdgyth, itself |Harold engages to marry a daughter of William.| an event whose date is not a little doubtful.^[681] One feature in Harold’s engagement, one which is insisted on in every account save one,^[682] and one which in many accounts is made the most prominent of all, is his promise to marry a daughter of William. The daughters of William and Matilda were still quite children, while Harold was older than their father;^[683] yet we are told that the renown and lofty bearing of the English Earl made so deep an impression on the heart of one of them, that, when she found herself forsaken by Harold, she shrank from the thought of another, even a royal, bridegroom.^[684] Whatever we may 228think of this tale, it can hardly be doubted that Harold allowed himself to be entangled into some engagement of the kind. Such engagements were often lightly entered into, without much serious thought of their accomplishment. And, in the case of an engagement between Harold and a daughter of William, mere difference of age would |Harold’s sister [Ælfgifu?] to be married to a Norman.| make the chances rather against its fulfilment. At the same time, we are told, it was arranged that Harold’s sister—that is, doubtless, Ælfgifu, who was perhaps then present at Rouen—should be given in marriage to a Norman noble.^[685] Harold, in short, seems to have been for a while altogether fascinated by the splendid reception which he had met |Harold receives knighthood from William, and joins in an expedition against Britanny.| with at the Norman court. He even agreed, like Jehoshaphat on his visit to Ahab, to accompany William in an expedition which he was preparing against the Bretons, and, either before setting forth or after his return, he allowed himself to receive knighthood after the Norman fashion from the Duke’s hand.^[686] It is not hard to understand how Harold may have been beguiled into these certainly unwise compliances. He may well have been dazzled by finding himself an object of the highest honour at the court of the most renowned sovereign in Europe. And he undoubtedly owed William a debt of solid gratitude |Influences brought to bear on Harold’s mind.| for his deliverance from Guy’s dungeon at Beaurain. We can understand too the arts by which William might entrap the conqueror of Gruffydd into taking a share in warfare against an enemy of the same race. An expedition against 229the continental Briton might be pressed in the most flattering and attractive shapes upon the man who had been the first to show how the insular Briton might be effectually subdued. Gratitude, curiosity, love of adventure, personal and national ambition, a half laudable desire to display the might of Harold and of England in the eyes of Norman comrades,^[687] would all work upon his mind. All these motives would unite to lead him to waste time among the fascinations, peaceful and warlike, offered him by his Norman sojourn, time which would undoubtedly have been more wisely spent within his own island and his own Earldom. A speedy return to England was Harold’s wisest policy. But a speedy return would have been uncourteous, |Harold practically a prisoner.| perhaps impossible. Harold was, after all, in William’s power. The palace of Rouen differed in every external aspect from the dungeon of Beaurain. But Harold was perhaps hardly more of a free agent in the hands of William than he had been in the hands of Guy. His fetters were gilded, but he was still in fetters. The guest of William was practically his prisoner; nay, unless Harold walked warily on such dangerous ground, he might, like the guests of Geoffrey of Anjou, exchange the hall of the ducal palace for its prison-house.

Of the Breton war in which Harold was thus induced to take a share, it is very hard to make out anything at all clearly. I can find nothing to throw any light upon it in the Breton or Angevin chronicles, and the Norman accounts are anything but satisfactory or coherent.^[688] The 230|Conan Count of the Bretons. 1040–1066.| reigning Count Conan, son of that Alan who had acted so faithfully as William’s guardian,^[689] was a kinsman of the Duke’s, each of them owning a common ancestor in Richard the Fearless.^[690] It will be remembered that, in the days of William’s childhood, Alan had been looked upon as a possible competitor for the succession of Duke Robert;^[691] but we have hardly heard of him during the later years of |His relations to his uncle Odo.| William. We have seen his uncle and guardian Odo acting against William in the campaign which followed the rout of Mortemer.^[692] But Odo had been, since that |1056.| time, seized and imprisoned by his nephew Conan,^[693] and a war had since gone on between the Count and Odo’s son, Hoel Count of Nantes. That war however seems to have come to an end before the time which seems the least |1062.| improbable date for the joint expedition of William and Harold.^[694] The Norman account represents Conan as rising in rebellion against William, whose somewhat antiquated suzerain rights are set forth in the strongest language.^[695] 231|A Breton party said to be favourable to Normandy.| But it also implies that some at least of the Breton chieftains took the Norman side against Conan. Conan is further described as being aided by Geoffrey of Anjou, no longer of course the famous Martel, but his less terrible nephew, |Alleged alliance between Britanny and Anjou.| Geoffrey the Bearded.^[696] Here again I am unable to confirm the Norman account by any statement to the same effect elsewhere. In fact, the narrative of this campaign, which one would have thought there was no temptation to falsify, is every whit as puzzling as those parts of the story which one may conceive as being misrepresented to the prejudice of Harold.

The panegyrist of William takes this opportunity of setting forth in strong terms the formidable nature of a Breton war, as well as the barbarism and wickedness of the Breton people. Of this subject we have heard something already from other sources.^[697] The land was populous, a fact which is oddly attributed to the polygamous habits of the people. One man had, like the ancient Moors, ten wives or more, and became the father of fifty children.^[698] That such an arrangement must have doomed nine men or more to celibacy, and could therefore be hardly looked on as on 232the whole conducive to population, does not seem to have occurred to the Norman Archdeacon. The land, we are told, was fertile in pasture; it produced vast herds of cattle of all kinds; but tillage was hardly known. Milk—and, one may presume, flesh also—was the chief diet of the people; bread was a rarity.^[699] Delighting in warfare, the Bretons were no mean adversaries, even for Normans; terrible in the attack, they were used to conquer, and with difficulty brought themselves to retreat.^[700] Their intervals of peace were spent in plunder and slaughter of one another.^[701] The whole picture is one deeply coloured by national hatred. But the Breton prince must at least have had the spirit—not to say the follies—of chivalry in him in full measure. |Conan’s challenge to William.| Like William himself, in his warfare with Anjou,^[702] Conan, we are told, sent word to William on what day he purposed to cross the Norman frontier.^[703] To meet this threatened invasion, the Duke of the Normans set forth at the head of his host, with the Duke of the English as his comrade.

The object of Conan’s attack was most likely the castle of Saint James, a border fortress which had been lately raised by William himself some way south of Avranches, in the south-western corner of his dominions.^[704] William however forestalled his assailant, and met him within the 233Breton territory on the day appointed for the invasion of |Dol held for William by Rhiwallon.| Normandy.^[705] William’s immediate object was to relieve one of those Breton chiefs who held for him against their immediate lord. The famous but most unfortunate city of Dol was now held in William’s interest by a leader bearing, it seems, the genuine Celtic name of Rhiwallon.^[706] This, it will be remembered, was the name of one of the brothers to whom Harold had committed the under-kingship of the insular Britons.^[707] |Former history of Dol; ravages of the Northmen. 944. 1013.| No town of Gaul or Britain had suffered more in the days of Scandinavian invasion than the once metropolitan city of Armorica. Once in the days of Richard the Fearless,^[708] once in the days of Richard the Good,^[709] had Dol been seized, plundered, or burned by Northern pirates. It was now, |Dol besieged by Conan; William comes to raise the siege.| by another turn of fortune, besieged by its own sovereign;^[710] and the Norman Duke, accompanied by his English ally, drew near with the purpose of raising the siege.

It would be an interesting question to determine how far the Celtic language has gone back, and how far the Romance language has advanced, along the frontier which now became the seat of war. The country through which William and Harold passed is now wholly French in speech, and in outward appearance it offers hardly any strictly Breton peculiarities.^[711] Into what is still the true Britanny further to the west the line of their campaign |March of William and Harold.| did not reach. Their march led them only through those border-lands of Normandy and Britanny, where the 234trees, the hedges, the rich pastures, the orchards loaded with their autumnal wealth,^[712] might have made the English Earl still deem himself within the fairest regions |Avranches.| of his own Wessex. Their course must have passed by Avranches, the city so lately enlightened by the learning, and made illustrious by the fame, of Lanfranc. From the height where the now vanished minster once crowned the city, the eye of Harold would rest for the first time on that other and far more wondrous minster which crowns the island rock in the distance, the minster which Æthelred in his wrath and pride had feared to injure,^[713] the guardian |Saint Michael’s Mount.| Mount of the Archangel, Saint Michael in Peril of the Sea. That princely Abbey is marked as one of the halting-places of the host, and the rude art of the times still preserves the pictured representation of the Duke and his host passing below the sea-girt sanctuary.^[714] Beneath its walls the army crossed over that vast expanse of sand, where the frontier stream of the Norman and the Breton, |Passage of the Coesnon;| the deep and rushing Coesnon, then no doubt unfettered by dykes and fences, pours its flood into the bay at the foot of the consecrated Mount. In that dangerous passage the |Harold saves the drowning soldiers.| careless traveller might easily be engulfed. Even soldiers of the Norman army were sinking in the sands or were being carried away by the stream, when the strong arm of the English Earl was stretched forth to save them. This feat of Harold’s bodily prowess, the ease with which his single strength raised up the sinking men, made an impression on the minds of his companions which still lives in the truest record of the one campaign in which Harold and 235William fought side by side.^[715] The stream was crossed, and the Norman Duke and his English guest were now landed on Breton ground, where Harold was ready, perhaps eager, to display the same prowess which he had already shown in his own island in warfare against a kindred enemy. |They reach Dol; description of the city.| A short march from the frontier stream brought them to the first important post of eastern Britanny, the city which they came to rescue. The ancient ill luck of Dol has pursued it in all ages, and warfare later than the days of Harold has swept away nearly every trace of the city on which he could have gazed. Its cathedral church, small as compared with the gigantic piles of Amiens and Ely, yields to none in true stateliness and vigour of design, and it draws only greater solemnity from its rugged material, the granite of the neighbouring rock. But that church, even now unfinished, is a work of the thirteenth century, and it owes its origin to a calamity which fell upon the city in the wars of John Lackland. And now Dol has wholly sunk from its old ecclesiastical rank; the church which once aspired to metropolitan honours has lost even its diocesan Bishop; the cathedral has sunk to a parish church; the parish church, the only building which can date from the days of William and Harold, is put to profane uses. The city itself hardly ranks above a village, though, in the varied and curious architecture of its long street, its houses ranging from the twelfth century onwards, we see abundant traces of the greatness which has passed away. Still Dol has features wrought by the hand of nature, and by the hand of man in earlier days, which remain now as they were when Harold and William rode forth to the war |Primæval remains in the neighbourhood.| against Conan. At no great distance to the south of the city stands one of the hugest of those huge stones, which were as mysterious in the days of Harold as they are in 236our own. There it still abides, reared, it may well be, by the hands of men by whose side the Briton himself might stand abashed as a modern intruder. On that rude pillar the zeal of later days has reared the triumphant cross, to crown the vast work of heathen times, the monument, it may well be, of heathen worship. And to the north of the city lies the great natural feature of the district, the Mount |Mount Dol.| of Dol. The elevation of the city itself is small; its walls indeed crown what passes for a height in that vast plain, a height great enough to give the minster yet further stateliness in the view from the lower ground. But Dol is no hill-fortress, like Le Mans, Angers, and Domfront. The spot where one would have almost looked to find the city is the mount itself, which still rises, a huge stern mass of granite, well nigh as wild and untilled as in the days of its first inhabitants. But the presence of man and the dominion of the Christian faith are witnessed by the village, with its rude and ancient church, nestling at the base, by the small chapel and the vast statue of Our Lady which crown the height itself. From that height the eye ranges far and wide over that noble bay, over the shores of Britanny and of the Constantine peninsula, over islands dotted here and there, the proud Mount of the Archangel rising in the foreground as if alike to guard and to sanctify the landscape. From that height the trembling watchers of Dol had gazed in fear, when in earlier days the sails of the heathen pirates were seen in the far horizon. They had gazed, perhaps in hope, when the fleet of Æthelred drew near to ravage the Norman shore. They had gazed again in fear, when Duke Robert, when his hopes of English conquest were dashed to the ground, turned his wrath on neighbours who were at least guiltless of the death of Ælfred or of the banishment of Eadward.^[716] And now from that height, not indeed the men of Dol, but the spies of 237the besieging host of Conan, doubtless looked forth as the Duke of the Normans and his renowned English guest |Union of Normans and English against the Celts on both sides of the Channel.| drew nigh. The men of Britanny might well quake with greater fear than ever as the two mightiest warriors of their age marched against them side by side. The presence of William and Harold in the same host might seem to show that the old strifes of Angle and Saxon and Dane and Frank and Roman were lulled to rest, that the powers of North and South were joined together in one great effort to crush the persecuted Briton in each of his two last homes on either side of his own sea.

The besieging host, we are told, did not dare to meet in the field the enemy whose presence their prince had so unwisely challenged. At the approach of William the Breton Count fled, laying himself open to the jeers and mockeries of his rebellious subject within the besieged city.^[717] Nothing could check his flight, which seems not to have stopped till he found himself safe in his own |Rhiwallon complains of the damage done by the Normans.| capital at Rennes.^[718] Dol was saved; but its commander found his deliverers almost as destructive as his enemies. The Norman host, encamped round the city, was fast eating up the fruits of the ground. Rhiwallon represented to his Norman ally that it mattered little to him and to his neighbours whether it was by Norman or by Breton destroyers that their goods were lost to them.^[719] The flight of Conan, however glorious to William, had as yet done no good to the men of Dol.^[720] In the narrative of the expedition, a 238|William’s return.| narrative by no means easy to follow, we are told that these considerations of prudence or humanity were enough to induce William to withdraw his troops at the end of a month’s campaign.^[721] This retreat however has a strange sound, when we go on to hear that an Angevin host was said to have suddenly appeared in support of Conan.^[722]

On the whole it seems most probable that Harold accompanied William in more than one expedition against Britanny.^[723] It was most likely in another raid, though in one, we may be sure, which followed pretty soon after the earlier one, that William and his English guest made their way somewhat further into the Breton territory, though still without reaching the districts most strongly marked with Breton characteristics. In a campaign of which we have no further account, Conan was driven to take shelter in what was doubtless one of the most important |Siege of Dinan.| strongholds of his dominions. His last stand was made at Dinan, the fortress by the Rance, than which no town in all Gaul better preserves the character, expressed perhaps in its Celtic name, of the old Gaulish |Description of the town.| hill-fort. No remains of castle or minster are there which can have witnessed the approach of the Norman Conqueror and the English hero. The chief church, a building which seems more like the work of Aquitanian than of Breton hands, dates only from the next age, and the noble mass of the castle, the almost perfect circuit of the town-walls, are the work of still later times. The heroic associations of Dinan gather round the name of Bertrand Du Guesclin rather than round those of Conan, William, or Harold. 239Yet, save the heights crowned by the donjons of Domfront and Falaise, few of the spots which figure in our history more thoroughly preserve the general aspect which they must have borne in the eleventh century. The peninsular height looking down on the Rance, the hills, the rocks, the woods, remain doubtless unchanged. The neighbouring group of buildings at Lehon, the monastery in the vale, the castle on the height, though their existing buildings all belong to later times, speak to us of the tastes alike of the monks and of the warriors of William’s day. They tell of times when the armed chief reared his eagle’s nest on the height, and when the peaceful brotherhood below sought for a spot where wood and water would never fail them.^[724] And the town itself, still almost wholly contained within its ancient walls, crowns the main hill exactly as it must have done in the days of William. Unmarked as it is by the soaring spires of Angers, by the spreading apse of Le Mans, or by the twin towers of Exeter and Geneva, no town better sets before us that distinctive feature of early times, the city set on an hill which cannot be hid. The ancient bridge remains, now guarded only by a mere village suburb; it is only the modern viaduct, a work worthy of old Roman days, which speaks at all forcibly of the changes which have passed over the world since William and Harold encamped beneath the height. They crossed the stream, they compassed the town, and doubtless made their attack on the western side, where the fall is gentler, where the later fortifications are stronger, and where the comparatively modern castle no doubt occupies the site of the donjon of Conan.

We have no details of the siege. It must be in a great degree a fancy picture which represents the Norman horsemen as charging with lifted lances against the defenders of the fortress.^[725] But the same representation implies a 240vigorous defence on the part of the besieged, and it shows that the post was at last won by the familiar Norman means, the application of fire.^[726] This seems, as at Mayenne, to have broken the spirits of the defenders, and, |Conan surrenders the town.| in our one representation of the siege, Conan is shown, according to the custom of the time, surrendering the keys of his fortress by offering them on the point of a spear to his conqueror. It is in the like fashion that the conqueror receives his submission.^[727] This is all that we hear of the expedition in which Harold took a part. Whatever may have been its real nature and results, it at least did not lead to any permanent Norman occupation of the country which had been the seat of war. Dol and Dinan both remained Breton. And, at a later period of William’s life, when he could command the whole force of England and not only an occasional English volunteer, we shall |1076.| find him again in arms before Dol, but this time as the besieger of the doomed city, not as its deliverer.^[728]

According to one account, according to that account on which I look with less of distrust than on the others,^[729] |Knighthood of Harold.| Harold’s knighthood and Harold’s oath did not go before, but followed, the Breton campaign, and the knighthood seems to be set forth as taking place within or under the walls of Dinan, immediately after the capture of the town. Such a ceremony, possibly amounting to a tie of sworn brotherhood^[730] between the two companions-in-arms, may very well have followed the capture of a town won by the joint prowess of the Norman Duke and the English |Question of Harold’s oath.| Earl. But the more famous oath, the oath on which so much of the history turns, wherever and whenever it was 241|Contradiction as to time and place. Probably at Bayeux after the Breton War.| taken, was, at any rate, taken on Norman ground. One version, as we have seen, places it before the Breton expedition; the account which I am inclined to follow places it immediately after. From Dinan William returned to Bayeux, and at Bayeux it was that Harold took the fatal engagement upon his soul.^[731] Other accounts place it at Bonneville; others at Rouen, either in the palace, or under |Contradiction as to the nature of the Oath.| an oak near the city. The nature of the oath, is as little certain as its time or place. As I have already said,^[732] nearly every account represents it as containing an engagement to marry one of William’s daughters; some accounts seem to make that engagement and its breach the whole ground of quarrel between the two Princes. Others add that Harold further engaged to give his |Statements as to its terms.| sister in marriage to an unnamed Norman noble. Most accounts add also far more important political stipulations. Harold is to become the man of William; he is to receive him, on Eadward’s death, as his successor on the throne of England; meanwhile he is to be the guardian of William’s interests in England, and to act in some sort as his lieutenant. He is at once to give up the castle of Dover, with its well, to the Duke, and to receive a Norman garrison in it; he is to build other castles at other points of English ground, where the Duke may think good, and there also he is to receive and maintain Norman garrisons. The highest place in William’s favour, when he shall have attained the English Crown, honours, grants, even to the half of the Kingdom, are of course promised to Harold as the reward of faithfully carrying out all these promises.

To all this, or to some part of all this, we are told that Harold swore. He swore, it is said, after some form of more than usual solemnity, something beyond the ordinary oath of homage. He swore upon the relics of the 242|Trick played by William about the relics.| saints.^[733] And one famous version of the tale represents this more solemn form of oath as something into which Harold was unwittingly entrapped by a base trick on the part of William. It is not an English apologist of Harold, but a Norman admirer of William,^[734] who tells us how the Duke filled a chest with all the holiest relics of the saints of Normandy; how Harold swore on the chest, not knowing on what he swore; how William then drew away the covering with which the holy things had been hidden, and bade Harold see how fearful was the oath which he had taken, and how awful was the vengeance which would light on him who failed to keep it. His hand trembled and his flesh quivered^[735] when he laid his hand on the chest, while still unknowing of all that was in it; how much more frightened was he when he knew by how awful a sanction he had unwittingly bound his soul.^[736] This may be history or it may be legend; at any rate it is the honour of the Norman rather than that of the Englishman which is staked on its truth or falsehood.

The oath then, whatever was its nature, being sworn, Harold left, or was allowed to leave, the Norman Court. He returned to England in full outward friendship with the Norman Duke, as his sworn man, his future son-in-law. With Hakon, and with his sister, if she had accompanied him, he sailed back to England. Wulfnoth, it would seem, was left with the Duke as a hostage for his brother’s fidelity.^[737]

243I have told this famous tale in that one of the many shapes which it has taken which seems least widely removed from the probabilities of the case. It is at least not impossible, which is more than can be said of some of the other shapes. But I would not be understood as pledging myself to the accuracy of a single detail. The charge of perjury against Harold is a charge in which there is no statement for the defence, while the witnesses |Negative evidence of the English writers.| for the prosecution contradict one another. To my own mind, as I have before said,^[738] the strongest argument against Harold is that there is no statement for the defence. Had there been a single distinct English contradiction of the story, direct or implied, I should have cast away the whole tale as pure invention. But, while we have such contradictions on almost every other point, on this point we have none. It was clearly a weak point in Harold’s case; it was a subject on which his friends shrank from entering. This to my mind proves a great deal; but we must beware of dealing with it as if it proved more than it really does. It proves that there was something wrong, something about which Harold’s friends could not speak freely. It proves that there was some groundwork for the Norman story; it proves that Harold took some engagement the breach of which could easily be represented as perjury. But it proves no more. The different forms of the Norman story remain as contradictory to one another, as lacking in all corroborative evidence, as they were before. Harold swore. |No certainty as to the time,| But when? All kinds of dates are given; our only means of choosing one date rather than another is by choosing the most vacant year in the English annals. We know that it must have been before Harold’s marriage with Ealdgyth; but the date of that marriage is itself matter of conjecture.^[739] Again, we could fix the date, if we had any 244independent accounts of the campaigns of Dol and Dinan. But no Breton writer mentions those campaigns at all; no Norman writer mentions them except in connexion with the visit and oath of Harold. I have myself placed the event at the point of time which on the whole seemed least unlikely; but I confess to have had all along a lurking feeling that the whole story may have arisen out of something which happened in that earlier French journey of Harold’s, of which we have no details.^[740] Harold then, I admit, swore, but when he swore must remain matter of conjecture.

And, if we are thus left to conjecture as to the time when Harold swore, we are equally left to conjecture as to the place. The scene of such an event might have been expected to be well known. We are told that the oath was taken in the presence of a full assembly of the Norman nobles;^[741] but even contemporary authorities do not agree as to the spot where this great council was gathered together. We have to choose at our pleasure between Bonneville, Bayeux, and Rouen. These glaring contradictions do not indeed affect the belief that there is some groundwork of fact for the story, but they are quite enough to hinder us from putting implicit faith in a single uncorroborated detail.

Still more important than the questions when and where Harold swore, is the question what he swore. Even here the witness of his accusers does not agree together. The engagement to marry William’s daughter, so prominent in most of the accounts, is passed by in one which ought to be the most trustworthy of any. There is an utter uncertainty as to which of William’s many daughters it was that Harold engaged to marry. According to one version, this part at least of the oath, if not kept, was 245at least not broken; one statement, and that put into Harold’s own mouth,^[742] affirms, with whatever truth, that the daughter of William to whom he had plighted himself died before his accession to the Crown. Even the most important engagement of all, the promise to secure William’s succession, or at least to do all that one man could do to secure it, appears in different shapes in the different |Impossibility of some of its alleged terms.| accounts. In most of them it is accompanied by lesser engagements which carry their own confutation with them. Harold is made to promise to do various things on William’s behalf forthwith. The engagements to receive a Norman garrison in Dover Castle, to build other castles elsewhere, and to receive and maintain Norman garrisons in them—these were engagements the fulfilment of which was not to wait till the death of Eadward. They were engagements to be fulfilled at once, as pledges of Harold’s faith, and as means of paving the way for William’s succession when the day should come. But it is certain that these lesser engagements never were fulfilled; it is nowhere stated that any complaint was made during Eadward’s life as to their non-fulfilment. We hear nothing of any complaint, of any message, on the part of William, until after Harold’s election and coronation. They were in truth stipulations the fulfilment of which was simply impossible, and a prince so clear-sighted as William must have seen that it was impossible. Harold might indeed do all that was in one man’s power to secure the election of William whenever the throne should become vacant; but it would have been beyond the power of any man, even of an Earl of the West-Saxons, to surrender English fortresses to William while Eadward still lived. When Eadward was dead, the Witan might of course, if they would, choose William as his successor. But, while 246William was not yet King, it would have been simple treason in an English Earl to surrender to him a fortress which the King and people of England had entrusted to his keeping. It is highly probable that William himself knew the English Constitution much better than the historians who write as his advocates and flatterers. But it called for no special knowledge of the English Constitution, it was little more than a matter of common sense, to see that no subject, however exalted, either could, or ought to, hand over English fortresses to a foreign prince, even though that foreign prince was the destined successor to the English Crown.

Harold then, as I hold, swore, but what he swore is as uncertain as it is when and where he swore it. We are left as completely to conjecture as to the matter of his oath as we are left as to its time and its place. We know only that it was something which gave William a great advantage, something which enabled him, without much difficulty, to represent his rival as guilty of a signal perjury. But we can say no more. If Harold really promised to accept William as King after the death of Eadward, and to use every means in his power to bring about his acceptance by the rest of the nation, such an oath could have been taken only under compulsion. If Harold took such an oath, it could only have been because he felt that his position in the Norman Court, however honourable in appearance, was practically the position of a prisoner. For such an oath was one which he certainly had no intention of keeping. And, however reckless Harold may have been with regard to oaths,^[743] this was an oath which neither Harold nor any other man in his senses would have willingly taken, unless he had meant to keep it. To take such an oath, and then to break it, was to give the enemy the greatest possible advantage. We may therefore feel sure that, if Harold 247did swear to all which the Norman accounts represent him as swearing to, he must have sworn simply because he felt himself in bonds, because he saw no other way of escaping from Normandy and returning to England.^[744]

On the other hand, if William required such an oath, he could have required it only because he knew that it would not be kept. It is quite impossible to believe that, at the time when Harold’s visit is commonly placed, William did not know perfectly well that Harold had designs on the English Crown, even if Harold were not in some sort already recognized as Eadward’s destined successor. William could not be so blind as to think that an extorted oath on the part of Harold would really hinder the English people from electing Harold King, or would even hinder Harold from accepting the election of the English people. A formal oath to receive William as King could have been required with no other object than that of gaining, on some future day, the advantage of representing Harold as a perjured man. Harold, in short, was called on to take an oath, simply in the hope that he might break it. Great as William’s character was in many ways, I fear that this sort of trick to entrap a rival would have seemed to him simply a praiseworthy stratagem. We may be sure that William’s religious feelings, to speak of no other motive, would have kept him back from a wilfully false oath in his own person. But the formal religion of those times would perhaps not have kept him back from throwing an occasion of sin in the way of another, provided his own hands were kept formally clean from all share in it. A more enlightened morality will pronounce that, if William really did thus purposely entrap Harold into the crime of 248perjury, the guilt of William was far blacker than the guilt of Harold.

But perhaps it is not necessary to suppose that Harold really did swear to William’s succession in the full and formal way which the Norman writers assert. It is remarkable how prominent a place is filled in nearly every account by Harold’s promise to marry William’s daughter. And it is further remarkable that this promise is the only part of the story which seems to have reached some writers |An engagement to marry William’s daughter,| in other lands.^[745] I am inclined to suspect that we have here before us the germ of the whole matter. Harold may have promised, promised, as we are told his manner was, too hastily, to marry one of William’s daughters. He may easily have been thus far cajoled by the blandishments of Matilda, and even, as some accounts suggest, by the expressed preference of the princess herself. When once out of the snare, he may have forgotten or laughed at his promise to so youthful a bride, and love, or policy, or both, may have attracted him to the widow of Gruffydd. We must remember how very lightly matrimonial engagements of this sort were both entered into and cancelled. The whole history of the middle ages is full of stories of princesses whose marriage engagements were lightly made and lightly broken, sometimes through the inconstancy of suitors, sometimes through that of fathers. The diplomacy of days a little later than those of Harold and William shows us many a treaty of marriage which became a dead letter almost as soon as it was signed. In the morality of those times, Harold’s breach of his promise to marry Adeliza or Agatha, or whatever the maiden’s name was, would certainly not be set down as a very deadly sin. But, deadly or not deadly, it was manifestly a sin out of which William could reap no small advantage, one which could easily be employed to discredit the cause of his adversary. 249|combined with an act of formal homage.| The case would be still stronger if we could suppose, what is really not unlikely, that either Harold’s knighthood or his engagement to marry William’s daughter was accompanied by some formal act of homage done by Harold to William.^[746] We must remember that Harold owed William a real and deep debt of gratitude for his deliverance from Guy’s dungeon. He consented to serve in William’s army in a quarrel which concerned neither himself nor his country; and, though older than William, he did not scruple to enter into what was in some sort a filial relation |Probability of such homage on Harold’s part.| towards him. It would really not be wonderful if, under this combination of circumstances, Harold consented to become William’s man. We must again bear in mind how lightly engagements of this kind were entered into, |Complications of the feudal relation.| and how perplexing and clashing were the endless complications of feudalism. Men did homage on all kinds of grounds, on the receipt of almost any kind of benefit, and they were often bound by the tie of homage to several lords at the same time. William himself was the man of King Henry; but he seems also to have looked on himself as the man of King Eadward;^[747] it is within the compass of possibility that he did homage to Eadward as his chosen successor at the time of his visit to England. Herbert of Maine might have been claimed as the man of the King of the French, of the Duke of the Normans, and of the Count of Anjou, all at once. Roger of Mortemer was undoubtedly the man of Duke William; but he was also the man of so small a lord as Ralph of Montdidier; and we have seen the difficulties into which he was brought through this divided allegiance.^[748] King Malcolm was the man of Eadward and the sworn brother of Tostig; yet neither of these obligations kept him back from ravaging Northumberland.^[749] In 250short the instances are endless. Most public men of the eleventh century must have been like the English statesman of the seventeenth, who had taken a great many oaths, |Effect of homage done by Harold to William.| and was afraid that he had not kept them all.^[750] In such a state of things it would be nothing amazing if Harold became the man of his benefactor, his future father-in-law, his military commander in the Breton war. Such an act of homage would undoubtedly not bind him, either in its terms or in its spirit, to receive William as Eadward’s |The advantage given by it to William.| successor on the throne of England. But it would give William a great advantage nevertheless. Nothing would be more easy than for William to construe the oath of homage in one way and for Harold to construe it in another. When the man assumed a crown to which the lord laid claim, such conduct might easily be represented as a breach of the man’s duty to his lord. The man had promised to do his lord faithful service, and he had failed to do that faithful service in the matter which, of all others, was nearest the lord’s heart. Here was quite material enough for the craft of William to take advantage of, and to turn to the discredit of his rival. The relations of lord and vassal in those days were in a state somewhat like that in which other relations of life have been at other |Fluctuating public opinion as to the obligations of homage.| times. There must have been few princes or nobles in western Europe who had not, at some time or other, been guilty of some breach of the strict duty of a man to his lord. The fault thus lightly committed was often as lightly pardoned. Yet, as special acts of fidelity called for special admiration, so it was not hard, whenever it was convenient, to insist on and to aggravate the offence of the faithless vassal.^[751] The offence was one which could, almost 251at pleasure, be either passed by as altogether trivial or held up to execration as a sin of the most heinous dye. The latter course, I need not say, was that which would be followed with unrelenting eagerness, when the breach of duty to be held up for scorn and vengeance was one committed by Harold and against William.

And, in the ideas of those days, it would be held as further strengthening the case of William, as further aggravating the crime of Harold, if the oath taken and broken was not merely the common oath of a man to his lord, but an oath of unusual sanctity, an oath taken upon the relics of the saints. We must look at the matter with |General case with regard to oaths.| the feelings of those times. In any enlightened view of morality, one promise is as binding as another; the word of an honest man is as sacred as a thousand oaths. But the fact that oaths are required among all nations and under all religions shows that this is a morality so high that the mass of mankind do not practically act upon it. Every oath is in truth a curse, a religious threat, a calling down of the vengeance of an unseen power on the man who shall break it. A man, under different forms of religion, swears by such a god or by such a saint. If he breaks his oath, he offers a personal insult to the god or the saint by |Personal enmity of the saints incurred by a false oath on their relics.| whom he swears. The power whom he thus offends becomes his personal enemy, and may be expected to mark him out as an object for personal vengeance. If therefore the story of the relics be true, William’s object was to work on Harold’s mind by dint of the extreme of superstitious dread, by pointing to all the saints of Normandy as about to become his personal enemies in case he should break his oath. The strange thing to our minds is that it does not 252seem to have struck any one that the real sinner against |True moral aspect of the case. William more guilty than Harold.| the saints was not Harold but William. If the saints in glory are conceived as being still capable of personal human passions, one would have expected that they would look on no insult as so great, so direct, so unpardonable, as that of profaning their holy relics to a purpose of deliberate fraud. Harold is made to swear; then, after he has sworn, he is told that he has sworn on these awful and wonder-working relics, whose vengeance, in case of breach of faith, will track him like that of the Erinnyes. Strange to say, the author of so base a deception is looked on as a pious worshipper, deserving the highest favour of every holy person of whom a bone or a fragment of clothing lay within the chest. It is the unwitting victim of fraud whom the saints mark out for what, in the intercourse of mortals upon earth, would be looked on as a somewhat unjust vengeance. The reader must judge for himself as to the probability of the tale. The strongest argument in its favour is that Harold’s alleged perjury seems to have aroused greater general indignation than could have been aroused by a mere breach of the common oath of homage. At any rate, the question whether such a tale be true or false is certainly one which comes much more nearly home to the apologist of William than to the apologist of Harold.

As to the bearing of the transaction on Harold’s character, the morality of the question is easily summed up. Whatever was the engagement which Harold broke, whether it was a promise to betray England to the stranger or simply to contract a marriage of absurd disparity in point of years, his sin lay wholly in taking the oath, not in breaking it. He yielded to threats or to blandishments, to a vague sense of danger, to a vague impulse of gratitude or to a momentary inclination, when in strict morality he ought to have stood firm against every temptation and every threat. Through one or other of these 253motives he allowed himself to be cajoled into making a promise which he had no serious intention of fulfilling. He incurred whatever amount of guilt is incurred by thus trifling with what ought to be solemn engagements. No one, I suppose, will argue that he would at all have mended matters, had he fulfilled his promise by any act of treason towards his country. This of course goes on the supposition that his promise really involved any such acts of treason. But it is just as likely that Harold really broke no promise of greater moment than that of marrying, at some unfixed time, a child whose father was younger than himself.

I found the question involved in darkness, and I must leave it in the darkness in which I found it. I have offered some conjectures, but it is simply as conjectures that I have offered them. The tale is so beset with contradictions that it is impossible to attain to anything like certainty on |The oath in no case affected the English people.| any single point of detail. One thing at least is certain. However deeply Harold may have sinned against William, England sinned not at all. No promise or oath of Harold could bind the people of England, or could give William any right over them which he did not possess before. If Harold sinned, his guilt was on his own head. The people of England were guiltless, and William’s invasion of England was none the less an unprovoked attack on a people who had never wronged him. And, if we accept the most famous and most striking part of the story, it is clear that the guilt of the deceiver was far heavier than the guilt of the deceived. The question is therefore a Norman rather than an English question, and as a Norman question I have dealt with it in one of the Norman chapters of my history.

I may seem, in the course of this long chapter, to have wandered far away from Harold and from England. But 254the whole career of the Conqueror is an essential part of my subject. Every step in that career is a step towards the great enterprise of his life. Every event which illustrates his character belongs alike to the history of both the lands over which he ruled. We have now seen him completely establish himself within his own Duchy; we have seen him successful alike against domestic and against foreign enemies; we have seen him extend his dominions by a continental conquest which seemed almost designed as a forestalling of his coming conquest beyond the sea. We again entered on the direct stream of English history, when we reached that obscure and mysterious event, which, in some way or another, placed the hero of England in his power. Our long episode is therefore over. We return to the point where we left the affairs of England. Harold, in Norman eyes the faithless vassal of William, is chosen and consecrated to the Crown which William claimed as his own. We have now to see what steps William took, when the news reached him of what he deemed, or professed to deem, so great a wrong. A few bootless attempts at negotiation alone separate us from actual wars and rumours of wars. A few more pages, and we shall have fairly entered on the central scene of the great tragedy. We shall soon have to look on the last warfare of Teutonic England under the King of her own choice. We shall soon have to behold the twofold invasion, the twofold struggle, the last and greatest victory of Harold, his first and his last defeat.

The people of England had made their choice. They had placed the Crown of England upon the head of the foremost man of their own race. Harold, the son of Godwine, the son of Wulfnoth, sat in the kingly seat which had never before received an occupant of other than kingly birth. The news was not slow in reaching the ears of that mighty rival beyond the sea, who had long marked that kingly seat as his own heritage, and who could now complain to the world that his heritage had been torn from him by his own sworn vassal. We cannot doubt that William had long been watching every breeze which could bring tidings from England. The failing health of Eadward was known at Rouen as well as at Westminster,^[753] and William was doubtless ready to put in his claim at the first moment that the throne should be actually vacant. Even after the homage done by Harold, even if we enlarge that homage to the full extent which it assumes in the statements of William’s own laureate, the Duke could hardly have looked forward with any confidence to a peaceful succession to the English Crown. He might well doubt how far he had really bound Harold, and, if he had bound Harold, he had at least not bound England. 256|Effect on his scheme of the sudden election of Harold.| But William was doubtless ready for every occasion, ready, whatever might happen, with a plausible case to set before the world on his own behalf. His claim was not likely to meet with any acknowledgement in England, but it would at least be a gain for him to be able to say that it had been formally put forth at the right moment. And yet the course which events really took was perhaps, after all, still more to the wily Duke’s advantage. The death, the burial, the coronation, followed so fast upon one another that William had no opportunity of pressing his claim till after the choice of England had been irrevocably made. He might now, if he would, call on the reigning King to descend from an usurped throne; he could not call on the English nation to elect himself to a vacant throne. But he gained thereby an advantage of which the writers in his interest have not been slow to make use, the advantage of being able to represent the reigning King as an intruder. He could speak of him as one placed on the throne by some hasty and irregular act, as one reigning in any case in opposition to William’s own earlier right, perhaps even as reigning without the full and free consent of the English people. It is not to be forgotten that one count which Norman partizans bring against England is that the English people failed in gratitude to the deliverer who came to set them free from a tyrannical usurper.^[754]

§ 1. The Negotiations between William and Harold.

Events had happened so fast at Westminster, on the eve of the Epiphany and on the festival itself, that the Duke of the Normans heard the whole story in a single message.^[755] 257An English ship carried the news to Normandy; whether it was sent specially by any of William’s friends in England, or whether it went simply in the ordinary course of communication between two friendly countries, we are not distinctly told. But, as a special messenger brought the news to the Duke, we may conceive that some of the strangers whom Harold’s clemency had allowed to remain in the land^[756] took the earliest opportunity of sending the news |Reception of the news by William.| to their native sovereign.^[757] A graphic description is given of the reception of the news by the Duke.^[758] He was in his park of Quevilly near Rouen,^[759] with many knights and esquires^[760] around him, going forth to the chase. He had in his hand his bow—the bow which, like that of Odysseus, no other man could bend^[761]—strung and bent and ready for the arrow. He was in the act of giving it to a page to bear after him, when there came to the gate a messenger, a man-at-arms from England. The new comer went straight to the Duke; he greeted him, he took him aside, and told him the news privily and briefly. “King Eadward 258has ended his days and Earl Harold is raised to the Kingdom.”^[762] The message at least acted as a respite for the destined victims of William’s bow, for the Duke had now other matters than hunting to think about. He turned aside from the craft of the woods; he was as a man in anger; ofttimes he laced and ofttimes he unlaced his mantle; he spake to no man and no man dared to speak to him.^[763] He crossed the Seine in a boat; he went to his hall, and entered therein; he sat down on a bench and turned from one side to another. His head rested against a pillar,^[764] and his face was covered with his mantle. Long time he thus sat in thought, no man daring to speak to him, though many asked one another what ailed him. |Dialogue between the Duke and William Fitz-Osbern.| At last one drew near whom long and intimate friendship allowed to deal more freely with his sovereign. The famous Seneschal, William Fitz-Osbern,^[765] of whom we have so often heard, now rode back from the park and entered the hall, humming a tune^[766] as he walked. He passed straight by 259the Duke, and many asked him what the news was which so ailed their sovereign. The Duke, hearing what passed between the Seneschal and the others, looked up. William Fitz-Osbern then told him that it was in vain for him to try to hide the news which he had heard, for that it was already blazed abroad through all the streets of Rouen. Every man in the city knew that Eadward was dead, and that Harold held the Kingdom of England. The Duke answered that that news was indeed the thing which grieved him. No news could grieve him more; he sorrowed alike for the death of Eadward and for the wrong done to him by Harold. Was he simply proving his friend? or were even his stout heart and wily brain cowed and perplexed for a moment by the suddenness of the tidings? At all events it is in the mouth of William Fitz-Osbern—the bold of heart^[767]—that the first exhortation to action is placed in our story. He bids the Duke not mourn, but arise and be doing. Let him begin, let him carry through what he begins; let him, in a word, cross the sea and wrest the Kingdom from the usurper.

The result of William’s deliberations with this trusty counsellor was the sending of an embassy to the King |Contradictory accounts of the nature of William’s message.| of the English. The nature of the message is as diversely told as the rest of the story of which it forms the sequel. Again the contemporary English writers are silent; they make no mention of Norman affairs till later in the year, till the very eve of the Norman invasion. And of the other writers, each naturally throws the message into such a shape as suits his own version of that oath of which the message was necessarily the counterpart. Whatever Harold had sworn, whatever it suited William to give out that Harold had sworn, that of course William now called on 260Harold to perform. But that demand ranges in different versions from a summons to Harold to resign his Kingdom to a simple summons to marry William’s daughter.^[768] We hear of more messages than one, and in one account the tone of the second message is wonderfully lowered from the tone of the first. If Harold will not resign the Kingdom, nor give up the castle of Dover, nor do any of the other things which he has promised, let him at least marry the Duke’s daughter. If he declines to do even that, the Duke will certainly come against him in arms to support his rights. The date of the embassy, and the place of its reception by Harold, are as uncertain as the exact nature of the message or of the oath. It was a matter on which William was not likely to delay, and the number of events and negotiations which were crowded into a few months |Date of the Embassy uncertain.| show that he did not delay. But our only statement as to time is the assertion of a very untrustworthy writer that the message was either sent or received on the tenth day |[January 15, 1066?]| after Eadward’s death.^[769] One would like on many grounds to know whether it was received before or after Harold had set forth on his mission to win the hearts of the malecontents of Northumberland. One would like to know whether Harold received the message of William when surrounded by his own West-Saxons, or whether it reached him, as an earlier embassy from Gaul had reached Glorious Æthelstan,^[770] while he was engaged in arranging the affairs of the most distant and most troublesome portion of his |Possible bearing of the message on the discontents of Northumberland.| Kingdom. The point is interesting, as it is just possible that the Northumbrian opposition to Harold may have been in some degree connected with the challenge brought to him from Normandy. The succession of William was indeed not likely to be looked on with a whit more of favour in Northumberland than it was looked on in Wessex. But 261crafty spirits were at work, who might easily turn the claims of the Norman to their own ends. Such, it might be argued, were the results of the hasty election of Harold; such were the results of binding the free sons of the North by the voices of Wessex and East-Anglia. It would be better for the North again to choose its own King, a King who had never become the man of the stranger, a King whose right could not be challenged by any rival beyond the sea. Such arguments as these seem quite in character with the position of parties at the time, but we can neither affirm nor deny that they were actually used. The exact time of Harold’s northern journey, the exact time, place, and substance of the message which Harold received from the Norman Duke, are among those details of our story which must remain unknown to us.

Whatever was the exact purport of the embassy, there can be no doubt as to its object. It was sent simply in order that William might add another count to his indictment against the English King. It was sent in order that William might be able to say, not only that Harold had neglected to perform his engagements, whatever they were, but that he had formally refused to perform them when formally called upon. Whatever William demanded, we may be sure that he demanded it only in the expectation, and even in the hope, that Harold would refuse it. He could not seriously expect that Harold would, at his bidding, either come down from his throne or consent to hold his Crown in vassalage. William knew the temper both of England and of her King a great deal too well for this. Even the summons to marry William’s daughter could hardly have been seriously meant; if Harold were already married, it could only have been sent in mockery.^[771] 262At all events, the one object of the embassy was to put Harold, according to William’s view of the case, still further in the wrong. Its object was to supply William with fresh topics for argument and for rhetoric in the appeal which he was about to make to Normandy, to Gaul, and to Christendom.

The answer of Harold to the message is of course differently conceived, according as the message is differently conceived. The answer depends on the message, just as the message depends on the oath. But all accounts agree |His answer in any case a distinct refusal.| in describing the answer as a complete refusal. Whatever William summoned Harold to do, Harold refused to do it. And, according to some versions, if mockery was intended by the Norman, it was answered with mockery in return. The English King is called upon to fulfil his promise of giving his sister in marriage to a Norman noble. Harold answers that his sister is dead, and he asks whether the Duke wishes her corpse to be sent to him for the purpose.^[772] When called on himself to marry the Duke’s daughter, he answers, according to one version, that the daughter whom he promised |Constitutional language attributed to Harold. He cannot marry a foreign wife without the consent of the Witan.| to marry is already dead.^[773] According to another account, he takes a high constitutional ground. A King of the English cannot marry a foreign wife without the consent of the Witan of England. Such an act could not be done without doing great damage to his Kingdom.^[774] This answer, whether ever really made or not, is not likely to point to any formal enactment on the subject of royal 263|English feeling with regard to foreign marriages.| marriages. But it expresses the universal feeling of the nation that none but Englishwomen were fit to be wives and mothers of English Kings. England had seen one Norman Lady, and one King who was Norman on his mother’s side. There was no wish among the English people to see such another Lady or such another King. The marriage of Emma, and the Norman connexion which followed it, had well nigh been the undoing of England. That they had not been wholly her undoing was due to the reigning King and his father. Their dynasty at least, the Kings of the House of Godwine, should be for ever kept free from all foreign elements. Harold’s own Danish mother, the kinswoman or ally of the great Cnut, could hardly be looked on as a stranger. Tostig and his foreign wife were in banishment, and England had no wish for their return. The whole nation was no doubt fully purposed that the next brood of Æthelings whom England saw should be no half-caste offspring of Norman or even of German or Flemish mothers, but Englishmen of purely English blood. Against such a feeling as this Harold, even if he had wished, could not have dared to struggle. The answer put into his mouth, whether historically genuine or not, well expresses uncorrupted English feeling on this important point. It well expresses too the necessity under which a King of the English lay, not only to obey the written Law, but to consult in all things the wishes and feelings of the English people.

Another form of the answer put into Harold’s mouth breathes an equally sound and constitutional spirit. William demands the Kingdom of England, which Harold, he alleges, had sworn to make over to him. The English King |The oath null without the consent of the Witan.| answers that such an oath was in itself void; to break it were a less evil than to keep it. The oath was one by which Harold bound himself to transfer to Duke William an heritage which was neither Harold’s nor William’s, 264but which only the voice of the English people could bestow on any man.^[775] The oath or vow which a maiden in her father’s house made without her parents’ knowledge was void by the laws of God and man.^[776] Much more then was the oath void which he, when still a subject, without the knowledge of King or people, had sworn under the pressure of a momentary constraint, on a matter touching the whole realm.^[777] It was not reasonable to ask him to give up a Crown which had been placed on his head by the common voice of his countrymen, and of which their voice alone could lawfully deprive him.^[778] Such is the doctrine which is put into Harold’s mouth by a writer whose divided |Constitutional importance of the answer.| sympathies lean decidedly to the Norman side. It is a doctrine most wholesome and necessary for a constitutional King, a doctrine which the historian himself allows to be true or at least highly plausible.^[779] Valuable, if it be a genuine record of what Harold said, this speech becomes almost more valuable if we look on it as the speech which a writer a generation later deemed most in keeping with Harold’s character and position. The argument, for its own purpose, as an answer to William, is perfect. The 265accession of Harold was not the act of Harold only; it was equally the act of the English people. However guilty Harold might be towards William, the English people were free from all guilt towards William and towards all mankind. And, whatever might be the guilt of Harold, it was a guilt which, as his own argument assumes, lay wholly in taking the oath, not at all in breaking it.

The errand then of the Norman ambassadors was a bootless one. No doubt it was the intention of him who sent them that it should be bootless. Whatever were their demands, whether they came once only or oftener, whether they raised their demands or lowered them, whether they dealt in persuasion only or in threats as well as persuasion,^[780] Harold, evidently speaking the voice of the English people, refused all that was demanded of him. No other course indeed was possible. The point hardly needs to be argued. Harold could not, without the consent of the Witan, either resign the Crown to William or hold it of him in vassalage. And the consent of the Witan would certainly not have been given for any such purpose. The whole question in short was frivolous. The dispute had reached a stage which was past negotiation, and Harold and William alike knew that all negotiation was vain. What William gained by his embassy was again to entangle Harold in the meshes of his subtle craft. Harold could only refuse every demand of William; but Harold’s refusal of William’s demands made another point on William’s side, of which he was not slow to take advantage.

William had now no chance—in truth there had never been a time when he really had a chance—of winning the English Crown except by the sword. But, before he made that last appeal, he had many minds to work upon and to win over to his cause. An enterprise such as he designed was one such as no Norman Duke had ever before attempted. It was one which might seem altogether beyond the power of Normandy to achieve. William’s own father had indeed |1028–1035.| contemplated an English war, and he had actually gathered together a fleet for the invasion of England.^[781] But the enterprise of Robert was undertaken to restore the banished heir of England, driven from his native realm by a foreign invader. Such at least was the colour which Robert would put upon his schemes, and in carrying out such schemes he doubtless reckoned on a certain measure of English support. It was not really likely that Englishmen would have joined a Norman army to drive out Cnut in favour of the sons of Æthelred. But dreams of this kind are ever the food of exiles,^[782] and of princes who take up the cause of exiles. But in William’s case there was |No English party in favor of William.| no room for any delusions of this kind. William had no rights but his own to assert, and those rights, he must have known very well, were not acknowledged by a single native partizan. He might gain somewhat by sowing dissensions within the island, by abetting any schemes on the part of Eadgar or Tostig or the sons of Ælfgar. But his only gain in this way would be the gain of dividing and weakening England. Any English party which was dissatisfied with the election of Harold would assert the claims, not of William but of some English competitor. For direct 267|Difficulties of his enterprise.| help in England William could look only to the Norman settlers whom Harold had allowed to remain in the country. He had, in short, to win the English Crown, if he won it at all, by no means but that of open war. And he had to wage his warfare at a time when England was ruled by a King who was his own peer in the art of war, when the land was defended by an army in the highest state of efficiency, an army which had never known defeat, and which was flushed with the remembrance of hard-won victories. William had in short to make good his rights in the absence of the least hope of native help, and withal in the teeth of King Harold and his Housecarls.

Such an enterprise as this might well seem to be beyond the powers of a Duke of the Normans and of his Duchy. The successes of the Normans in Apulia might indeed make it seem as if no enterprise could be impossible to Norman valour. If private adventurers could thus carve out principalities for themselves, what conquests might not be made by the Duke himself at the head of the whole force of the Duchy? And no doubt the example of the conquests made by his countrymen in the South of Europe was ever present to the mind of William in planning his |Differences between the two cases.| great undertaking in the North. But the mere fact that the warfare was in the one case waged in the South and in the other in the North, was an important element of difference between the Apulian and the English enterprise. The actors indeed in the one case were private adventurers, while in the other it would be a sovereign at the head of his subjects and vassals. Duke William could no doubt command a far greater force than the sons of Tancred of Hauteville, but then he was also obliged to |Greater difficulty of the English enterprise.| wage a wholly different kind of warfare. The Duke of the Normans could not afford to sit down in some corner of England, and to win his way step by step, ever and anon gaining this or that skirmish or taking this or that castle. 268And again, without joining in any ignorant depreciation of Byzantine military prowess, we may doubt whether the sons of Tancred had ever joined battle with enemies who could be at all compared with the enemies with whom Duke William would have to join battle in England. If they had ever met with really equal foes, it was when they |1053.| encountered Pope Leo’s German auxiliaries,^[783] and, by that time, they had risen somewhat above the condition of private adventurers. They had waged a desultory warfare against a town here and a castle there, towns and castles defended for the most part by the mercenaries of a distant Emperor. They had never faced, what William would have to face in England, a native King at the head at once of an armed nation and of a native standing army. |William’s daring the highest prudence.| All ordinary prudence would naturally shrink from such a risk. It is only minds like that of William which can rise above all ordinary prudence, which know their own power as none but themselves can know it, which feel instinctively that undertakings which would be madness in |Necessity of winning public favour for his enterprise.| others are in their hands certain of success. But William himself could not hope for success, unless he could win over others far and near to look with favour upon his schemes, and unless he could inspire them with that confidence in themselves and in their leader without which |First in his own Duchy.| such an undertaking would be simply hopeless. He had first to deal with the chiefs and people of his own Duchy. Without their consent, without their thorough good-will, he could do nothing. To cross the sea to conquer England was quite another matter from putting down Norman rebels, from driving out French and Angevin invaders, or even from annexing neighbouring towns and provinces, like Domfront and Le Mans. William’s men were bound by their feudal tenure to follow his standard on the field of Val-ès-dunes and beneath the walls of Alençon. But it 269might well be doubted whether their feudal tenure bound them to follow his standard beyond the sea in an enterprise in which Normandy had no interest. At all events they were not likely to muster with the like zeal for the more hazardous undertaking. The Cenomannian war had been a war of aggression no less than the English war would be, and the spoils of conquered England would doubtless be far richer than the spoils of conquered Maine. But men would not be so ready to trust themselves in hope of spoil in the unknown land beyond the sea as they were to go on a foray in an adjoining province, from which it was an easy matter to make their way back to their |The Normans to be persuaded, not compelled, to the undertaking.| own homes. To attempt, by any mere stretches of the ducal authority, to carry men across the seas to win crowns for William’s own personal behoof would have been simply hopeless. William knew better than to risk his popularity and his authority by any attempt of the kind. His object was to carry the feelings of his people with him, and to conquer England by the swords of Norman volunteers.

But the feeling to which William was about to appeal was something more than the mere desire of spoil, or even than the higher sentiment of feudal loyalty. Nor did he design to make his appeal to his own Normandy only. It suited William’s purpose and disposition to give his enterprise a |Religious character of the age; specially religious character of William.| far higher character and a far wider range. The age was a religious age; Normandy was an eminently religious country; William professed, and in many respects honestly practised, a devotion to religion beyond that of other men. It is not without real propriety that the panegyrist of William stops at this stage of his narrative to tell us of the flourishing state of Normandy and the Norman Church under a prince equally valiant, just, and devout. William laboured to preserve the peace of his Duchy by keeping down all its disturbers with the strong hand; the Truce of God was nowhere so strictly kept as in the Norman 270land.^[784] William in his own person heard and judged the cause of the poor, the fatherless, and the widow; his justice kept back his courtiers and favourites from deeds of wrong; in his days the mighty man durst not remove the landmark of his poorer neighbour.^[785] An orthodox believer, a diligent student of scripture, a devout worshipper and communicant,^[786] a father careful for the education of his children,^[787] William from his youth up, layman and prince as he was, set a model to priests and prelates. He chose the good among them for his friends and counsellors, and he visited the unjust and neglectful with his severest displeasure. A zealous reformer, he constantly attended in person at ecclesiastical synods,^[788] and he kept a watchful eye over the administration of the episcopal and archidiaconal courts.^[789] Under his government churches rose, 271monasteries were restored to the purity of their rule, Abbots, Bishops, all ranks of the clergy, became models |Influence of Lanfranc on William’s counsels.| of the due discharge of their several duties. Nor is it without reason that, immediately on this panegyric, our author adds his first mention of the great man whom William had now chosen as his special counsellor in all matters touching the Church and religion. The Prior of Bec, the renowned Lanfranc, was now, not indeed in rank but in influence, the first man in the Norman Church.^[790] And it is impossible not to trace the hand of Lanfranc in the course which William now followed. The minds of the Duke and the Prior, exercised as they had been in such different pursuits, had still much in common. In both we see the same wide grasp, the same subtlety, the same daring. In many things Lanfranc would be the teacher, but he would ever find in William a pupil worthy of his teaching. The cosmopolitan traveller, who had migrated from Pavia to Bec—the scholar who had turned from the study of the laws of Cæsar^[791] to the study of the laws of God—the theologian who had refuted the heretic face to face—the diplomatist who had won the consent of the |The religious character of the enterprise| Roman Court to his sovereign’s marriage—he it was, we cannot doubt, who put into William’s hands the surest weapon for his conquest. He it was who taught him to 272|probably due to Lanfranc.| lay his claim, not only before Normandy, but before all Christendom, and to cloke a wrongful aggression under the guise of a Holy War. He it was who taught him to gather round his standard crusaders from well nigh every Western land, and in the end to set foot on English ground, not as an adventurer avenging his private quarrel, but as the champion of the Church, marching forth with the approval and the blessing of the temporal and the spiritual chiefs of Christendom.

Let us then see what was the case against Harold and against England which William thus brought to be judged, as we may say, by the public conscience of Europe. The pleading of William and his advocates, not only in his own Norman Parliament, but at the bar of the Pope, the Emperor, and the whole world, is one of the most memorable instances of human subtlety. It was a wonderful example of the way in which wily men, men like William and Lanfranc, can persuade others, and most likely persuade |No valid claim, either by hereditary right, by bequest, or by election.| themselves also, that the worse cause is the better. I have more than once incidentally shown that William had no valid claim of any kind to the English Crown. He had no claim by hereditary right; for the Crown of England was not hereditary, and, if it had been hereditary, no conceivable theory of succession could make William the heir. He had no claim by bequest; for a King of the English could not bequeath his Kingdom like a private estate, and such power of recommendation as the King did possess had been exercised in favour of another. He had no claim by election; for the people of England, in full Gemót assembled, had chosen another as their |Harold’s oath irrelevant to the question.| King. He had indeed suffered a wrong, whatever was its nature and degree, at the hands of the King whom England had chosen. Harold had sworn to do something, and he had not done what he had sworn to do. That was 273literally all, and, as a claim on the Crown of England, it was nothing. If Harold were to resign the Crown, if Harold were killed in battle or in single combat, William would not thereby gain any right to the Crown which he had not before. Harold had no power, any more than Eadward had, to make over the Crown to another; his resignation or death would simply create a vacancy, which the people of England might fill as they would. The utmost that could be said on William’s side was that Harold’s injury gave William a casus belli, and that a victory over Harold would give William, by right of conquest, all that Harold possessed, the English Crown included. But so odious a straining of the Law of Nations was too clearly unjust for William to venture publicly upon |The right of conquest not put forward. William’s appeal to public opinion a mark of advancing civilization,| it. The right of conquest was a right which he took care never to put prominently forward. He always claimed as a lawful heir defrauded of a lawful possession. And it marks a stage in the growth of European civilization, when William saw that his cause would be strengthened by making his claim, formally and solemnly, in the eyes of all men. The age of mere brute force was clearly past, when a prince claiming a foreign Crown took such infinite pains to win the public opinion of Europe, when he employed so many pens and so many voices on his side. Unjust and delusive as were his claims, it marks a great step in human progress that any man’s claims should be put forward in so solemn a way. It was a distinct |and of the growing power of the Papacy.| tribute to the power of law and right and opinion. But it was a tribute no less distinct to the growing power of the Papacy. The Bishop of Rome was invited, if not to dispose of the Crown of England, at least to determine who was its lawful possessor. Herein, if Lanfranc the Churchman triumphed, William the statesman undoubtedly erred. He did not indeed err as regarded his own personal interests. No crown that William held or won 274could ever be at the disposal of any other mortal. But he erred as regarded the common interest of Kings and |Effect of William’s application to Rome.| of all independent governments. He invited the alliance and interference of a power which he himself knew how to manage, but which proved too strong for smaller men. The blast of the Roman trumpet which declared Harold a perjured usurper, and William the lawful heir of England, was but the forerunner of a still mightier blast which pealed forth ten years later. The power which William now invoked to bless and hallow the schemes of his ambition learned, from the precedent set by William himself, to venture on that crowning act of daring which declared |1076.| how King Henry, the son of Henry the Emperor, stood deprived of the Crowns of Italy and of the Teutonic Kingdom.^[792]

The case then which William laid before Normandy, before Rome, and before all Western Christendom, was, in itself, a pretence utterly weak and fallacious. He claimed a crown which the solemn act of those who alone could dispose of it had, freely and lawfully, given to another. But the craft of William—we must doubtless add, the craft of his monastic ally—knew well how to put a fair colouring on their cause. The Law of England utterly rejected William’s claim; but the Law of England was likely to be known to few beyond the bounds of the island realm. Worthless as were William’s claims, they had a side which to many minds would be more attractive than that great principle of English Law that no man could reign in England save by the will of the English |Mixture of various irrelevant considerations.| people. It was easy to put William’s claims into a taking and rhetorical shape; it was easy to mix them up with 275a whole crowd of considerations, which had no real bearing on the case, but which were admirably fitted to enlist the sympathies of different classes of men. It was easy, by skilful management, to insist now on one point, now on another, with little care as to their logical consistency, provided one point gained one class of supporters and another point gained another.^[793] In a large part of Europe, wherever the ideas of feudalism and chivalry had taken firm hold, the doctrine that the people alone had a right to choose their prince was fast passing |The hereditary principle was gaining strength on the Continent.| out of memory. The doctrine of hereditary right was daily spreading. It was daily taking firmer and firmer root, with regard both to the Crown of France and to the great fiefs which were held of that Crown. The doctrine that the King never dies had indeed not yet arisen; but the Parisian Kings had learned how to avoid the inconveniences of the interregnum and election by having their sons crowned in their own life-time.^[794] That the Empire was other than elective no man had dared to affirm; no man then, or seven hundred years later, would have ventured to deny that the highest place on earth was in theory open to every baptized man. But the moment with which we are dealing was precisely the moment when the Empire was showing the strongest tendency to become practically hereditary. In the Teutonic Kingdom, no less than in Latin France,^[795] the reigning King was at this moment a boy crowned as his father’s successor while his father still lived.^[796] The great fiefs of 276both crowns were fast changing, from great magistracies like English Earldoms, into hereditary principalities. In France indeed they had passed the stage of change; they had been for some time, to all intents and purposes, sovereignties which passed as a matter of course to the heir of the last possessor. Kingdoms, Duchies, Counties, were now looked upon as, wherever strict feudal notions prevail, they cannot fail to be looked upon, as possessions in which the princes invested with them had a personal |Different position of England from other countries.| right. In England, almost alone, an Earldom still kept its character as a great office, for the good administration of which the magistrate entrusted with it was answerable to the power which appointed him, the King and the general Assembly of the Nation. In short, the political constitution, once common to every Teutonic people, still flourished in England, while it had greatly decayed in Germany and |Harold’s claim strange in continental eyes.| had quite died out in France. It follows that, to most continental hearers, the claim of Harold, a man not of kingly blood, to reign solely by the will of the people would already sound something strange and unnatural. The claim of William, a prince, would, simply because he was a prince, be looked on with more favourable eyes. A reigning prince, a kinsman of the late King, would seem far better fitted to reign than a mere subject, possibly the grandson of a churl.^[797] Nor would the repugnance of the English to a King not of their own blood and speech be thoroughly intelligible on the Continent. England had never, except under constraint, chosen a foreign King, and Cnut the Dane was, after all, hardly a foreigner in the eyes of half the Kingdom. But on the Continent, at any rate among the nations of the various Romance tongues, 277princes had freely passed from one kingdom to another, as they could win them by conquest or by inheritance. Hugh of Provence had reigned in Italy;^[798] Odo of Chartres had sought, not without a fair chance of success, for a kingdom in Burgundy;^[799] and, the greatest instance of all, the Crowns of Burgundy and Italy, the Imperial Crown of Rome itself, were now, by the public Law of Europe, held to pass of right to the King of the Teutonic Kingdom. For the Duke of the Normans to grow into the King of the English would therefore seem a change far less strange in |No fixed law of succession anywhere.| continental than it seemed in insular eyes. And again, it was for William’s advantage that, though the doctrine of hereditary right was fast growing, the laws of hereditary succession had not yet been strictly fixed in any country. No one doubted that a son ought to succeed to his father, but it was by no means clear who ought to succeed to a prince who left no son. In fact this point has not to this day been settled by the common consent of Europe; it has followed in each kingdom the local law of that kingdom, and, I need not say, it is a point on which the Law of France and the Law of England have differed for ages. In truth it was only in an age when the law of hereditary succession was still very unsettled, that William the Bastard could have succeeded to anything, |No hereditary right in William.| whether in Normandy or in England. With regard to England, his claims would be at once set aside by a modern lawyer. He and Eadward had indeed a common ancestor in Richard the Fearless, but Richard the Fearless never was sovereign of England, nor was he in any line of succession which could have made him, under any circumstances, sovereign of England. Such a common ancestry |Doctrine of nearness of kin.| could give William no claim on the English Crown. But, till the law is very distinctly settled, the notion of nearness 278of kin is really more intelligible, and awakens more of sympathy, than the technical doctrine of representation. |Mixed nature of William’s claim.| William could therefore easily work on men’s minds by enlarging on his nearness of kin to Eadward, especially when that claim was mingled up with the claim founded on the alleged bequest of Eadward.^[800] He could talk of the kindred by blood between himself and the English King; he could talk of their mutual affection and mutual good offices; he could tell of the promise of the succession made to him by his childless cousin. All this could easily be wrought up into a claim which, in the eyes of men ignorant of the Law of England and knowing no very strict law of succession of their own, might easily seem stronger than the claims of Harold, which rested solely on the election of the English people. As for Eadgar, nearer of kin to Eadward than William was, and born withal of the true kingly stock of England, it best suited William’s purpose to say nothing about him. Out of England his existence was most likely hardly known. Nay, in the unsettled state of men’s minds, William might, if the objection was ever started, argue that Eadward might rightly pass by an incompetent minor, and bequeath his Crown to a kinsman almost as near in blood and so much better fitted to rule.^[801]

We thus see that William’s claim to the Crown, a claim artfully made up of bequest and hereditary right, was one 279|continental opinion at the time.| by no means ill suited to commend itself to many minds at the time. But it was not merely his claim as heir or legatee of Eadward that William now put forth to the world. There never was a more memorable example of the way in which one utterly fallacious argument can sometimes be made to bolster up another argument equally |The wrong done by Harold mixed up with William’s original claim.| fallacious. With William’s supposed original right by kindred or bequest the wrong done to him by Harold was cunningly mixed up. I have already argued that that wrong, whatever was its nature, could not really give William any right which he did not possess already. |Ingenuity and fallaciousness of this argument.| Neither Harold’s oath nor Harold’s breaking of his oath could, in law or morals, make William’s claim to the Crown one jot better or worse. But no tale could be better fitted further to inflame the minds of those who were already disposed to look on the Norman Duke as an injured man. It would indeed be a spirit-stirring tale in which William, and those who pleaded in William’s name, would set forth the wrong-doings of the faithless Englishman. |Aspect of the tale as told by William.| Harold, the sworn man of William, had turned against his lord; he had trodden under foot every duty of a vassal; rescued from the dungeon of Beaurain by William’s bounty, honoured with William’s personal friendship, admitted to the ranks of Norman chivalry by William’s hand, bound to William and his house by the promise of a daughter of Normandy to his wife—he had despised so many and so great favours; he had lifted up his heel against his lord and benefactor; the Kingdom which he had sworn to make over to William he had traitorously seized as his own; he had added, it might be, to his crime the further guilt of abusing the confidence of his own dying sovereign, and of wringing from him in his last moments an unwilling assent to the usurpation which he plotted. This was the light in which the tale of the election of Harold, a tale which seems so glorious in 280English eyes, would look in the eyes of those before whom William pleaded, of those on whom he called on to help him to assert his right and to chastise the wrong-doer. |Appeal to religious feelings.| Nor was this all; William had that to add which would speak at once to the deep religious feelings of his age and |Harold’s perjury no ordinary breach of feudal obligation, but a direct insult to the Norman Saints.| people. This was no common case of a vassal forgetting his duty to his lord. Who in that age could boast that he had always faithfully discharged all the duties arising out of the intricate, and often contradictory, relations of feudalism? On such mere backslidings as these William had never been unduly harsh. He had over and over again forgiven the men who had rebelled against him, and in the moment of victory he had ever kept his hands clean from bloodshed. But here was a wrong which he never could forgive, because a higher duty called on him to avenge it. He might pass by wrongs done against himself; but he would be himself a partaker in the guilt, if he passed by the wrongs done against a mightier power. Normandy had this time been wronged, not only in the person of her mortal sovereign but in the persons of her immortal guardians. Harold had done despite to all the saints of the Norman land; he had arrayed against him the wrath of every patron of every holy place from the stream of Eu to the Mount of the Archangel. The powers of Heaven were ready to fight against their blasphemer, and to bless the arms of him who stood forth as their earthly |The Crusades forestalled in William’s expedition.| avenger. Forestalling the enthusiasm with which, thirty years later, men pressed to wipe out their sins by a Crusade against the Infidel, William now called on all who would to win the favour of Heaven by going forth with him to avenge the insult offered to the saints of Normandy. William, in self-delusion, let us hope, rather than in conscious hypocrisy, called on all who would to aid him in the attack on an independent nation which he cloked under the name of a Holy War.

281Such was in truth the claim by virtue of which William threw down his challenge to England and to the King whom England had chosen. In the eye either of logic or of sound morals, his fabric was but as a house of cards; each fallacy rested on another fallacy as weak as itself, and when one frail support gave way, the fall of the whole must follow. But men are in general but little under the rule either of logic or of morals; they are apt to be guided by impulse rather than by judgement; they find it much less fatiguing to echo some easily repeated formula than to go into the facts or the reason of anything. A case then like William’s, artfully put together, and in which each fallacy fitted ingeniously into another, really told with more effect than the few plain facts which formed the defence of Harold and of England. Instead of being a house of cards, William’s fabric of fallacies, each resting on the other, did, as a matter of practical policy, win for itself the strength of the firmest arch. |Various incentives appealed unto.| And artfully mixed up with his formal claims were incentives of all kinds, adapted to the character and passions of the various kinds of men with whom he had to deal. |The plunder of England promised.| To all, of whatever nation, who would flock to his standard he offered a share in the spoils of England. He would lead them to a land abounding in all manner of good things, a land fruitful in meat and drink and rich in gold and silver.^[802] The wealth of that goodly land should be the guerdon of all who had a share in its conquest. In that spirit of confident boasting which, in men like him, is often the highest wisdom, he promised beforehand all that was Harold’s, while Harold, he said, had not strength 282of mind to promise a single thing that was his.^[803] William here lighted on the true difference between his own position and that of his rival. Harold, content with his own, planning no aggression against William or against any other man, was not likely to promise rewards in Normandy to his Thegns or his Housecarls. And, with his own people, William could appeal to feelings which were at least |Appeal to Norman patriotism.| higher than the mere love of plunder. It was possible to appeal to a certain vein of Norman patriotism, and to represent, not only the English King, but the English |Norman grudges against England.| nation, as laden with a heavy weight of offences against the Norman Duchy. The English invasion in Æthelred’s time^[804] was perhaps forgotten—some critics may perhaps say that it never happened—at any rate it does not seem to have been prominently put forward. But William took care to announce himself as the true successor of his father in the expedition which his father undertook against England to support the rights of his cousins, |The murder of Ælfred.| the banished Æthelings.^[805] He, the chosen heir of Eadward, went forth, among other high and righteous purposes, to avenge the blood of Ælfred, shed by the father of the reigning King, who was himself—so it was given out—art and part in his father’s deed.^[806] The blood of a prince, partly Norman by birth, and endeared to Normandy 283by long residence in childhood and youth, might well call for vengeance at the hands of loyal Normans. |Expulsion of the Normans in 1052.| Then there was the wrong done, fourteen years back, to so many Normans, friends and guests of the late venerated King. Norman Knights and Prelates had had to flee for their lives before a lawless crowd of English rebels, hounded on against their own sovereign by the traitor Harold and |Special case of Archbishop Robert.| his traitor father. Chief among the victims was one whose wrongs, wrongs done against the Church and all godliness, were but the fit forerunners of the fouler wrong which had since been done directly against the saints in glory. The blasphemer of the Norman saints had been the despoiler of the Norman Primate. Robert of Jumièges, driven from the throne of Augustine, had come back to spend the remnant of his days in his own land, and to lay his bones beneath the slender towers and massive arches of the mighty minster which he himself had reared.^[807] That the murder of Ælfred was a crime in which Harold could have had no share, that the flight of Robert was his own act, that his deprivation was a righteous process of English Law, that, even had Harold been the murderer of Ælfred and the unrighteous despoiler of Robert, neither count could in any way strengthen William’s claim to the English Crown—all these were points on which few minds in Normandy were likely to dwell. All these irrelevant matters could easily be made use of to stir up the mind of Normandy against Harold and against England. And, if this was done, no matter how logically weak were the arguments by which it was done, the aim of William was gained.

But William, in the course of this great argument, showed himself emphatically all things to all men. There were other minds than those of his own Normans to be persuaded, there were ears in which another line of argument 284|The invasion represented as a missionary enterprise.| would sound more convincing. No diplomacy short of that of William and Lanfranc could have contrived to represent the invasion of England as an undertaking designed for the spiritual welfare of England. No brains less subtle than theirs could have converted William and his host into armed missionaries, eager to reform at the sword’s point the evil lives and the ecclesiastical abuses of |Charges brought against the English Church.| the ungodly islanders.^[808] A land which had not lost its ancient character of the Isle of Saints—a land which had so lately boasted of a King like Eadward and an Earl like Leofric—a land which was still illustrated by the virtues of the holy Wulfstan—a land where so many minsters were rising in increased stateliness, and where the wealth of the Church was daily added to—a land whose Earls and Bishops and sons of every degree pressed, year after year, to worship and to offer at the tombs of the Apostles—a land like this was branded as a land which needed to be again gathered |The Crusade preached against England.| in to the true fold, and the Crusade which had not yet been preached against Turks or Prussians or Albigenses was prematurely preached against the people of England. It was indeed easy to gather together, in England or in any other land, tales which showed that the Church had fallen from her first love. It was easy to tell of breaches of discipline and breaches of morals, to tell of the vast pluralities of Stigand and of the deeds of sacrilege wrought at Berkeley and Leominster. The orators of William may well have set forth tales like these before the Roman Court, alongside of the tale of the perjury of Harold and of the wrong done to their own master. But these were not the |Real crime of England its independence of Rome.| real crimes of England. Her crime in the eyes of Rome, the crime to punish which the Crusade of William was approved and blessed, was the independence still retained 285by the island Church and nation. A land where the Church and the nation were but different names for the same community, a land where Priests and Prelates were subject to the Law like other men, a land where the King and his Witan gave and took away the staff of the Bishop, was a land which in the eyes of Rome was more dangerous than a land of Jews or Saracens. Rome, ever watchful, ever mindful, had not forgotten the note of insular defiance when the heart of England spoke by the mouth of Tostig, and threatened the Pontiff on his throne.^[809] Even under Eadward, England had been no unresisting bond-slave, and her independence, so boldly asserted by one son of Godwine, was likely to be as boldly maintained by another. The opportunity which Rome had doubtless long looked for now offered itself. A sword was put into her hand by which the rebellious islanders might be brought under her full obedience. It was a policy worthy of William to send to the threshold of the Apostles to crave their blessing on his |William outwitted by Hildebrand.| intended work of reducing the rebellious land. And it was a policy worthy of one greater than William himself to make even William, for once in his life, the instrument of purposes yet more daring, yet more far-sighted, than his own. On the steps of the Papal chair, and there alone, had William and Lanfranc to cope with an intellect loftier and more subtle than even theirs. The counsellor of so many Pontiffs, so soon to be himself the most renowned of Pontiffs, knew with whom he had to deal, and knew how to bide his time as well as William himself. William was sent on an errand which none but William could perform, but of which William himself knew not the full bearing. Under his rule no man could doubt that England would be subject to none but him. With William for her King, she was as little likely to be the unresisting slave of Rome as if Harold himself should continue to guard her. But a seed 286was sown which was to bear fruit in other times and under weaker rulers. When Rome once took upon her to adjudge the Crown of England, the path was opened for that day of |1213.| shame and sorrow when a descendant of William stooped to receive the Crown of England as a fief of Rome.

§ 3. The Norman Council and the Assembly of Lillebonne.

The case of William had thus to be brought to bear on the minds of his own people, on the minds of the neighbouring countries whence he invited and looked for volunteers, on the minds of the foreign princes whose help or at least whose neutrality he asked for, and, above all, on the minds of the Roman Pontiff and his advisers. The order of these various negotiations is not very clear,^[810] and in all probability all |He first consults a select Council of his own Duchy.| were being carried on at once. But there is little doubt that William’s first step, on receiving the refusal of Harold to surrender his Crown—or whatever else was the exact purport of the English King’s answer—was to lay the matter before a select body of his most trusty counsellors. The names of most of the men whom William thus honoured with his special confidence are already familiar to us. They were the men of his own blood, the friends of his youth, the faithful vassals who had fought at his side against French |Names and characters of the men assembled by William.| invaders and Norman rebels. There was his brother, Robert Count of Mortain, the lord of the castle by the waterfalls,^[811] the spoil of the banished Warling.^[812] And there was one closer than a brother, the proud William the son of Osbern, the son of the faithful guardian of his childhood.^[813] There, perhaps the only priest in that gathering of warriors, was his other brother, Odo of Bayeux, soon to prove himself a warrior as stout of heart and as strong of arm as any of his 287race.^[814] There too, not otherwise renowned, was Iwun-al-Chapel, the husband of the sister of William, Robert, and Odo.^[815] There was a kinsman, nearer in legitimate succession to the stock of Rolf than William himself, Richard of Evreux, the son of Robert the Archbishop, the grandson of Richard the Fearless.^[816] There was the true kinsman and vassal who guarded the frontier fortress of Eu,^[817] the brother of the traitor Busac and of the holy Prelate of Lisieux.^[818] There was Roger of Beaumont, who rid the world of Roger of Toesny,^[819] and Ralph, the worthier grandson of that old foe of Normandy and mankind.^[820] There was Ralph’s companion in banishment, Hugh of Grantmesnil,^[821] and Roger of Montgomery, the loyal son-in-law of him who cursed the Bastard in his cradle.^[822] There too were the other worthies of the day of Mortemer, Walter Giffard^[823] and Hugh of Montfort,^[824] and William of Warren, the valiant youth who had received the chiefest guerdon of that memorable ambush.^[825] These men, chiefs of the great houses of Normandy, founders, some of them, of greater houses in England, were gathered together at their sovereign’s bidding. They were to be the first to share his counsels in the enterprise which he was planning, an enterprise planned against the land which, with so many in that assembly, was to become a second home, a home perhaps all the more cherished that it was won by the might of their own right hands.

To this select Council the Duke made his first appeal. He told them, what some of them at least knew well already, of the wrongs which he had suffered from Harold 288of England.^[826] It was his purpose to cross the sea, in order to assert his rights and to chastise the wrong-doer. With the help of God and with the loyal service of his faithful Normans, he doubted not his power to do what he purposed.^[827] He had gathered them together to know their minds upon the matter. Did they approve of his purpose? Did they deem the enterprise within his power? Were they ready themselves to help him to the uttermost to |Answer of the Council.| recover his right? The answer of the Norman leaders, the personal kinsmen and friends of their sovereign, was wise and constitutional. They approved his purpose; they deemed that the enterprise was not beyond the power of Normandy to accomplish. The valour of the Norman knighthood, the wealth of the Norman Church,^[828] was fully enough to put their Duke in possession of all that he |They pledge their own service, but recommend the calling of a larger assembly.| claimed. Their own personal service they pledged at once; they would follow him to the war; they would pledge, they would sell, their lands to cover the costs of the expedition. But they would not answer for others. Where all were to share in the work, all ought to share in the counsel.^[829] Those whom the Duke had gathered together 289were not the whole baronage of Normandy. There were other wise and brave men in the Duchy, whose arms were as strong, and whose counsel would be as sage, as those of the chosen party to whom he spoke. Let the Duke call a larger meeting of all the Barons of his Duchy, and lay his designs before them.

The Duke hearkened to this advice, and he at once sent forth a summons for the gathering of a larger Assembly. This is the only time when we come across any details of |Difference between Norman and English Assemblies.| the proceedings of a Norman Parliament. And we at once see how widely the political condition of Normandy differed from that of England. We see how much further England had advanced, or, more truly, how much further Normandy had gone back, in the path of political freedom. The Norman Assembly which assembled to discuss the war against England was a widely different body from the Great Gemót which had voted for the restoration of Godwine. Godwine had made his speech before the King and all the people of the land.^[830] That people had met under the canopy of heaven, beneath the walls of the greatest city of |No Clergy or Commons in the Norman Assembly.| the realm. But in William’s Assembly we hear of none but Barons. The old Teutonic constitution had wholly died away from the memories of the descendants of the men who followed Rolf and Harold Blaatand. The immemorial democracy had passed away, and the later constitution of the mediæval States had not yet arisen. There was no Third Estate, because the personal right of every freeman to attend had altogether vanished, while the idea of the representation of particular privileged towns had not yet been heard of. And, if the Third Order was wanting, the First Order was at least less prominent than it was in other lands. The wealth of the Church had been already pointed out as an important element in the Duke’s ways and means, and both the wealth and the personal prowess 290of the Norman Clergy were, when the day came, freely placed at William’s disposal. The peculiar tradition of Norman Assemblies,^[831] which shut out the Clergy from all share in the national deliberations, seems now to have been relaxed. It is implied, rather than asserted,^[832] that the Bishops of Normandy were present in the Assembly which now met; but it is clear that the main stress of the debates fell on the lay Barons, and that the spirit of the Assembly was a spirit which was especially theirs.

And, if the constitution of the Assembly differed widely from that of an English Gemót, the place of its meeting differed no less characteristically from the places of meeting most familiar to Englishmen. The law or custom of Eadward’s reign had chosen three of the chief cities of England to be, each in turn, the place of meeting for English national assemblies. The Norman Assembly met in a ducal dwelling far away from any of the great cities of the Duchy. It was gathered on a spot which had been a post of strength in far earlier times, and which, after ages of neglect, had been once more called into importance by |Juliobona or Lillebonne; its Roman remains.| William himself. The old Roman town of Juliobona stood at no great distance from the right bank of the Seine, and its representative, the modern Lillebonne, is familiar to travellers and students as one of the spots in Northern Gaul which are most rich in antiquities of Roman date.^[833] Within the present century a Roman theatre has been brought to light, where the main arrangements of the building are still perfectly preserved. Its solid arches and vast masses of walls still attest that matchless skill of 291the ancient conquerors in the constructive art of the builder which has made their works survive those of so many later ages. So it has been at Lillebonne; the works of the Roman Cæsars have proved more permanent than |Decay of the place.| the works of the Norman Dukes. Juliobona seems to have sunk into insignificance during the later days of Roman sway. It seems that, before the Imperial dominion had fully ceased, while the land was wasted alike by the Teutonic invasions and by the disputes of contending Emperors or Tyrants, the ancient buildings of the city had been largely destroyed of set purpose, in order to employ their materials in the construction of defences to shelter what was allowed to remain. Juliobona dwindled away, and the town makes no figure in history, until William called it again into being, as if expressly to become the scene of |The castle built by William.| this memorable meeting.^[834] On a slight elevation alike above the modern town and above the old Roman relic, William had reared a fortress which has now given way, partly to the military reconstructions of later ages, partly to the sheer barbarism of times which are almost our own. The site was a noble one. The theatre below, if it was not already hidden, might have seemed but a feeble reproduction by the hand of man of the glorious amphitheatre in which Lillebonne has been placed by the hand of nature. |Present state of Lillebonne.| From the top of a lofty tower of later days the eye looks down on the theatre on one side, on the other side on the modern town, with the graceful spire of its church, a work of the latest days of mediæval art. But the eye may almost pass by both to gaze on the wooded hills which, save at one point alone, shut in the view on every side. At that point, immediately above the Roman ruin, the hills, like the 292walls of the theatre, leave a gap which opens a view of the Seine glistening in the distance, and of the higher hills of the land between the Seine and the Dive which form the distant horizon. But no portion of the work of the great Duke now remains on that noble site. His donjon has given way to a grand round tower of later times, and to a taller one of octagonal shape, whose shattered walls still rise as the loftiest point of town or fortress. These changes were doubtless due to the fair requirements of the military art of later ages. But William’s noblest work has yielded to baser agents of destruction. Within his fortress, immediately above the theatre, as if to put the skill of his own age in direct competition with that of the old masters |William’s hall; its destruction.| of the world, William had built a noble hall, every stone of which has been destroyed in utter wantonness, but of whose general aspect a sufficient record has been preserved.^[835] Like most halls of that and of the two immediately succeeding ages—like that noble episcopal hall at Angers which we may take as the best representative of the ducal hall at Lillebonne—a vaulted undercroft supported the hall itself. A lower range of doorways, above them a range of the small coupled windows of the age, marked the two stages, and produced the effect, at once rich and solid, so characteristic of the best works of Norman skill. Within that stately hall, divided, no doubt, by ranges of pillars and arches which were then fresh from the hand of the craftsman, William now, as on more than one other occasion,^[836] gathered together the wisdom and valour of his Duchy, to hear and to ponder the mighty scheme on which his heart was bent.

Narrow as was the constitution of the Assembly, it showed, when it met, no lack either of political foresight or of parliamentary boldness. In a society so aristocratically 293constituted as that of Normandy was, the nobles are in truth, in a political sense, the people, and we must expect to find in any gathering of nobles both the virtues and the vices of a real popular assembly.^[837] William had already consulted his Senate; he had now to bring his resolution, fortified by their approval, before the body which came as near as any body in Normandy could come to the character of an Assembly of the Norman People. The valiant gentlemen of Normandy, as wary as they were valiant, proved good guardians of the public purse, trusty keepers of what one knows not whether to call the rights of the nation or the |William’s opening speech; he assumes the willingness of the Assembly, and asks only what amount they will contribute.| privileges of their order. The Duke laid his case before them. He told once more the tale of his own rights and of the wrong which Harold had done him. He said that his own mind was to assert his rights by force of arms. He would fain enter England in the course of the year on which they had entered.^[838] But without their help he could do nothing. Of his own he had neither ships enough nor men enough for such an enterprise. He would not ask whether they would help him in such a cause. He took their zeal and loyalty for granted; he asked only how many ships, how many men, each of his hearers would bring as a free-will offering.^[839]

A Norman Assembly was not a body to be surprised into a hasty assent, even when the craft and the eloquence 294|Mingled feelings of the Assembly.| of William was brought to bear upon it. The Barons asked for time to consider of their answer. They would debate among themselves, and they would let him know the conclusion to which they came.^[840] William was obliged to consent to this delay, and the Assembly broke up into knots, greater or smaller, each eagerly discussing the great question. Parties of fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, sixty, a hundred, gathered round this or that energetic speaker.^[841] Some professed their readiness to follow the Duke; others were in debt, and were too poor to venture on such hazards.^[842] |Strong opposition to the enterprise.| Other speakers set forth the dangers and difficulties of the enterprise. Normandy could not conquer England; their fair and flourishing land would be ruined by the attempt.^[843] The conquest of England was an undertaking beyond the power of a Roman Emperor.^[844] Harold and his land were rich; they had wealth to take foreign Kings and Dukes into their service;^[845] their own forces were in mere numbers such as Normandy could not hope to strive against.^[846] They had abundance of tried soldiers, and, above all, they had a mighty fleet, with crews skilled beyond other men 295in all that pertained to the warfare of the sea.^[847] How could a fleet be raised, how could the sailors be gathered together, how could they be taught, within a year’s space, to cope with such an enemy?^[848] The feeling of the Assembly was distinctly against so desperate an enterprise as the invasion of England. It seemed as if the hopes and schemes of William were about to be shattered in their beginning through the opposition of his own subjects.

A daring, though cunning, attempt was now made by William Fitz-Osbern, the Duke’s nearest personal friend, to cajole the Assembly into an assent to his master’s will. He appealed to their sense of feudal honour; they owed the Duke service for their fiefs; let them come forward and do with a good heart all, and more than all, that their tenure of their fiefs bound them to. Let not their sovereign be driven to implore the services of his subjects. |He points out the danger of opposition.| Let them rather forestal his will; let them win his favour by ready offerings even beyond their power to fulfil.^[849] He enlarged on the character of the lord with whom they had to deal. William’s jealous temper would not brook disappointment at their hands. It would be the worse for them in the end, if the Duke should ever have to say that he had failed in his enterprise because they had failed in readiness to support him.^[850]

The language of William Fitz-Osbern seems to have startled and perplexed even the stout hearts with whom 296|the name of the Assembly.| he had to deal. The Barons prayed him to be their spokesman with the Duke. He knew their minds and could speak for them all, and they would be bound by what he said.^[851] But they gave him no direct commission to bind them to any consent to the Duke’s demand. Their words indeed tended ominously the other way; they feared the sea—so changed was the race which had once manned the ships of Rolf and Harold Blaatand—and they were not bound to serve beyond it.^[852]

A point seemed to have been gained by the seeming licence given by the Assembly to the Duke’s most intimate friend to speak as he would in the name of the whole baronage. William Fitz-Osbern now spoke to the Duke. He began with an exordium of almost cringing loyalty, setting forth how great was the zeal and affection of the Normans for their prince, and how there was no danger which they would not willingly undergo in his service.^[853] |his large offers| But the orator soon overshot his mark. He promised, in the name of the whole Assembly, that every man would not only cross the sea with the Duke, but would bring with him double the contingent to which his holding bound him. The lord of twenty knights’ fees would serve with forty knights, and the lord of a hundred with two hundred.^[854] He himself, of his love and zeal, would furnish 297sixty ships, well equipped, and filled with fighting men.^[855]

The Barons now felt themselves taken in a snare. They were in nearly the same case as the King against whom they were called on to march. They had indeed promised; they had commissioned William Fitz-Osbern to speak in their names. But their commission had been stretched beyond all reasonable construction; their spokesman had pledged them to engagements which had never entered into their minds.^[856] Loud shouts of dissent rose through the hall. The mention of serving with double the regular |Fears and confusion of the Assembly.| contingent awakened special indignation. With a true parliamentary instinct, the Norman Barons feared lest a consent to this demand should be drawn into a precedent, and lest their fiefs should be for ever burthened with this double service.^[857] The shouts grew louder; the whole hall was in confusion; no speaker could be heard; no man would hearken to reason or render a reason for himself.^[858]

The rash speech of William Fitz-Osbern had thus destroyed all hope of a regular parliamentary consent on the part of the Assembly. But it is possible that the Duke gained in the end by the hazardous experiment of 298|won over by the Duke.| his Seneschal. It is even possible that the manœuvre may have been concerted beforehand between him and his master. It was not likely that any persuasion could have brought the Assembly as a body to agree to the lavish offer of volunteer service which was put into its mouth by William Fitz-Osbern. There was no hope of carrying any such vote on a formal division. But the confusion which followed the speech of the Seneschal hindered any formal division from being taken. The Assembly, in short, as an assembly, was broken up. The fagot was unloosed, and the sticks could now be broken one by one. The baronage of Normandy had lost all the strength of union; they were brought, one by one, within the reach of the personal fascinations of their sovereign. William conferred with each man apart;^[859] he employed all his arts on minds which, when no longer strengthened by the sympathy of a crowd, could not refuse anything that he asked. He pledged himself that the doubling of their services should not become a precedent; no man’s fief should be burthened with any charge beyond what it had borne from time immemorial.^[860] Men thus personally appealed to, brought in this way within the magic sphere of princely influence, were no longer slack to promise, and having once promised, they were not slack to fulfil. William had more than gained his point. If he had not gained the formal sanction of the Norman baronage to his expedition, he had won over each individual Norman Baron to serve him as a volunteer. And, wary as ever, William took heed that no man who had promised should 299draw back from his promise. His scribes and clerks were at hand, and the number of ships and soldiers promised by each Baron was at once set down in a book.^[861] A Domesday of the conquerors was in short drawn up in the ducal hall at Lillebonne, a forerunner of the greater Domesday of the conquered, which, twenty years later, was brought to King William of England in his royal palace at Winchester.

§ 4. William’s Alliance with Tostig.

William had thus, by a characteristic effort of his craft, won over his own Duchy to support him in his enterprise. He had now to seek for allies beyond his own borders. And, first and foremost, it concerned him to know whether he could look for any support in the land to whose dominion he aspired. There is not a shadow of evidence to show that William had a single native partizan within the four |confined to the Normans settled there.| seas of Britain.^[862]He may have carried on intrigues with the Normans whom Harold had allowed to remain in England. But even on this head we have no distinct evidence. A single notice some months later seems to show that, even at the time of William’s landing, the Normans in England, however eagerly they may have wished for his success, looked on his enterprise as hopeless.^[863] But it is certain that one, perhaps two,^[864] native Englishmen 300|William’s cause embraced by the banished Tostig.| were zealous on William’s behalf. At what stage of his negotiations we know not, but seemingly early in the year, one Englishman at least came to William’s court, to excite him to war against England and to offer his own services for the cause. But that Englishman was no discontented noble at Harold’s court, no leader of a powerful faction within his realm. He was an exile, buoyed up by an exile’s proverbially desperate hopes. The first foreign volunteer who answered to William’s summons was Tostig the son of Godwine.^[865]

In the banished brother of the English King, William found an ally willing to help him in all his schemes, an ally far more impetuous than himself, far more eager to strike a blow at once and at all hazards. The fallen Earl of the Northumbrians had sunk from bad to worse. He had now thrown off every feeling of an Englishman and a brother of the English King. He had once perhaps dreamed of the Kingdom for himself; he now found himself shut out from all hopes of his Earldom, or indeed of restoration in any shape. Harold, as Earl, at the Northampton conference, had done all that he could do for his brother; but he had agreed to the sentence of outlawry which the national voice had called for, and he had not as King done anything to recall Tostig to his country. In fact the restoration of Tostig was in every way impossible. |His hopelessness of restoration.| He had shown his thorough unfitness to rule, and it is absurd to suppose that he would have been satisfied to sit down and live peaceably in England as a private man. Harold could have had neither the will nor the power to break the Oxford compact, to dispossess Morkere of the Earldom which had been so solemnly confirmed to him, and to set his brother to rule once more over the unwilling people of Northumberland. Nor could he be asked to depose in favour of a pardoned outlaw either of his two 301loyal brothers who ruled in Kent and in East-Anglia. Nor could Tostig reasonably hope that Harold would put him in a still closer relation to himself by restoring the West-Saxon Earldom in his favour. In short, no banished man ever seemed doomed to a more hopeless banishment. It is not wonderful then that the heart of Tostig was turned to an exceeding bitterness against the country which had cast him out, and against the brother who had refused to sacrifice the public weal to his interests. If he still retained the consciousness of originally right intentions, such a consciousness would only add fuel to the fire. It is quite possible that the murderer of Gamel and Ulf may have looked on himself as a martyr to the cause of good order among the barbarous Northumbrians. At all events, he looked on himself as absolved from all ties either to his |He determines on a restoration by force.| brother or to his country. An attempt at an armed return on the part of Tostig was no more than was to be expected. It was what any banished man of that age was sure to attempt, if he could only collect the needful force in any quarter. Osgod Clapa, Godwine, Ælfgar, Harold himself, had all set him the example. The practice was so common that it could hardly be looked upon as specially blameworthy. If we blame Harold severely for the slaughter at Porlock, it is really because he pays the penalty of his greatness, because we cannot help judging him by a severer standard than that by which we judge smaller |Difference between the case of Tostig and the cases of other returning exiles.| men.^[866] But there are very marked degrees in a course which, however usual at the time, must be set down as being in every case contrary to ideal loyalty and patriotism. The case of Godwine needs no defence; it is covered by the general right of insurrection against mis-government. If Godwine came to restore himself, he came also to deliver England. Harold, like Osgod Clapa, tried to effect his return by the help of mercenaries hired in a foreign land. 302But he did not ally himself with any enemies of the King or Kingdom. Ælfgar, on his first banishment, went a step further by leaguing himself with a rebellious vassal, if not within the Kingdom of England, at least within the Empire of Britain.^[867] On the occasion of his second banishment, he did not scruple to employ the help of a fleet of Wikings, who must have been cruising on the shores of England with no friendly intent.^[868] All these are steps in a descending scale. But neither Osgod nor Harold nor Ælfgar sank to the wickedness of roaming over the world in search of any foreign potentate who would restore him by force, even at the expense of the utter subjugation of England. Tostig alone did not scruple at this depth of treason. He stands before us as acting more distinctly as the enemy of his country than any Englishman whom we have come across since the days of Ælfric and Eadric.

Tostig, we have seen, on his banishment from England, took refuge with his brother-in-law Count Baldwin, and spent the winter at his court.^[869] But, early in the next year, perhaps not very long after the election of Harold, most likely as soon as the news of the messages which passed between William and Harold had found its way to Bruges, Tostig was at the Court of William, urging him to the invasion of England. He eagerly asked the Duke how he could suffer the perjurer to reign,^[870] and promised his own |Relations between William and Tostig.| vigorous help in promoting all his plans.^[871] It would seem that he reached Normandy before the Assembly at Lillebonne, and it is even implied that the exhortations of Tostig 303were among the inducements which led William to summon that Assembly.^[872] But Tostig’s exhortations could have been only a very secondary inducement, serving at most to strengthen and hasten a resolution which William had already formed. It would be an insult to William to suppose that he really needed Tostig as a counsellor. The relations between the two men are perfectly easy to understand; the small man was likely to be useful as a momentary tool in the hands of the great man. Though Tostig left his wife at the court of her brother, the family connexion between Judith and Matilda would secure him a brotherly reception at the Court of Rouen; indeed we are told that, on the strength of that connexion, Tostig and William had long been intimate friends.^[873] And now each of the two friends was in a position to be useful to the other. Tostig, driven from England, was in search of foreign help, and the Court of Normandy was the natural place for him to seek for it in the first instance. As soon as he knew of William’s designs on the English Crown, he would hail in him the very man for his purpose. And the prince who already contemplated the invasion of England would rejoice at an alliance with the banished and hostile brother of the English King. Tostig had doubtless, after the manner of exiles, persuaded himself that all England was ready to welcome, not only himself, but any stranger who might appear under the pretext of restoring him. William was too wise to believe tales of this kind, but he might well look on Tostig as likely to prove an useful tool, as one whose incursions might serve to harass the King of the English, and to distract his attention from the main danger. Tostig’s impetuous temper would naturally call for earlier and more effective support 304than the prudence of William would be inclined to give, or indeed than, at that early stage of his preparations, he was able to give. It was undesirable utterly to thwart Tostig, or to make an enemy of him; it was perhaps becoming |Tostig attacks England with William’s sanction. May, 1066.| desirable to get rid of him. He was therefore allowed to make an incursion on the English coasts. At his own risk, but with the Duke’s sanction, he set sail from the Côtentin at the head of such a naval force as he could get together. This force would doubtless consist of Flemish and Norman mercenaries and volunteers. The Norman account tells us that King Harold’s fleet was so vigorously on the alert that Tostig was unable to land in England, while contrary winds hindered his return to Normandy.^[874] We know however that he did land in England, and that he committed considerable ravages. ^[875] But, from this point, the career of Tostig and that of William become altogether distinct, and the story of Tostig’s later doings will join itself to another thread of my narrative. Tostig probably chafed under the restraints of William’s prudence; perhaps he thought himself forsaken, or even betrayed, by an ally whose support was so slowly and grudgingly given. It is certain that he soon threw up his alliance with the Norman Duke, and sought for more ready aid elsewhere.

The alliance with Tostig was a mere episode. The banished Earl could only be useful so far as he was likely to make a diversion of which William might take advantage. The Duke’s serious business lay on the continent. He invited soldiers from every quarter; the spoils of England were promised as their reward, and that promise brought abundance of volunteers from all parts of Gaul, from the royal domains, from Britanny, from Poitou and Aquitaine, and from the more distant land of Burgundy.^[876] Some accounts even bring men to William’s muster from the Norman colonies in Southern Italy.^[877] The presence of large bodies of these mercenaries or volunteers from all parts of Romance-speaking Europe is an undoubted fact, and it is |The Conquest not a national Norman enterprise.| one which it is most important to bear in mind. There can be no greater mistake than to look on William’s invasion as a national Norman undertaking, or on his army as consisting wholly of native Normans. We have just seen that it was only as volunteers that William’s own subjects followed him, and as volunteers men of any nation who chose to join him followed him equally. But it is a speaking witness, alike to William’s personal capacity for rule and to the inherent superiority of the Norman national character, that all this mixed multitude 306should have received a thoroughly Norman impress. The |Norman character impressed on the whole.| spoils of England were offered to all who would come, and from a large part of Europe men flocked eagerly to share them. But the head and the heart of the whole enterprise was Norman. The leaders of the enterprise, the Duke himself and most of the chief commanders, |Few foreign princes served; the mass of the foreign troops mere adventurers.| were Norman. A few princes or men of princely houses, like Eustace of Boulogne and Alan of Britanny, commanded their contingents in person. But the mass of the foreigners were mere adventurers, and we shall find that, when the day of battle came, they served under a Norman commander. We are indeed told that men came from all lands, not only for the sake of plunder, but to maintain the righteous cause of William.^[878] It is likely enough that, when the Papal approval was once given to the enterprise, men pressed, as they did in after years to the Crusade, to atone for past acts of robbery and slaughter by renewing them with the Church’s blessing. But all that redeemed William’s enterprise from being an enterprise of mere brigandage came from the presence of his own subjects. The instinct of mankind is right, after all, in looking on the Conquest as a Norman Conquest. It was the native Normans who were really foremost in the strife, and it was the native Normans who took the firmest root in the conquered land. William’s true strength lay, after all, in the gallant men who could at least boast of the comparatively ennobling motive that they were supporting their native sovereign in the pursuit of his fancied rights.

The share then, numerically a very important share, taken in the expedition by foreign adventurers is beyond all doubt. But the negotiations between William and the 307neighbouring potentates are involved in no small obscurity and contradiction.^[879] It was William’s manifest interest to obtain, if not the active alliance, at any rate the neutrality of all his neighbours. It was necessary for his purpose to feel as secure as he could make himself that no French or Angevin or Breton invasion of Normandy would take place during his absence. It was also an important subsidiary object to obtain from the neighbouring princes full licence for their subjects to take a share in the enterprise. For these |His embassy to King Henry. Condition of Germany and the Empire. 1056–1066.| objects he sent embassies as far as Germany and Denmark. The great Emperor Henry the Third had been, as I need hardly repeat, the constant ally of England. But he had now been dead ten years, and the childhood and youth of his son, the young King Henry, was a time of distress and confusion for the Teutonic Kingdom. The minority |Comparison between the minorities of William and of Henry the Fourth.| of Henry had been, in many points, a repetition of the minority of William. But there was one marked difference between the German and the Norman period of chaos. William had been constantly exposed to the attacks of traitors, and of foreign enemies who sought to deprive him of his coronet and his life. Henry had not as yet had to fear either foreign invaders or home-bred rebels; he was simply passed to and fro between the hands of several ambitious men who sought to reign in his name. And it is an instructive mark of the difference between the political systems of Germany and Normandy that the men who sought to rule in Henry’s name were almost wholly the great spiritual Princes of the Empire. While still a child, he had been, by |1062.| a mixture of craft and violence, transferred from the care of his mother to that of Hanno Archbishop of Köln,^[880] and |1063.| from the hands of Hanno he had passed into those of another princely churchman, the famous Adalbert of 308Bremen.^[881] The young King was now perhaps just beginning in some degree to exercise a will of his own. |1065.| He had, in the course of the last year, been girded with |1066.| the sword of knighthood;^[882] and this very year had witnessed the fall of Adalbert and the partial restoration of the power |No mention of the Norman embassy in German writers.| of Hanno.^[883] But, full as the German writers are as to the reign of Henry the Third and the minority of Henry the Fourth, they tell us absolutely nothing as to any relations between the Empire and Normandy.^[884] William is not spoken of by them till after he had obtained the Crown of England.^[885] From Norman sources we seem to hear both of an alliance with the great Emperor himself and of a later alliance entered into during his son’s minority.^[886] Such an alliance in the Emperor’s life-time, ten years or more back, need not have been in any way directed against England. 309|Possible influence of the Empress Agnes in favour of Normandy.| And an alliance with Normandy during the earliest years of King Henry, while he was still under his mother’s guardianship, might seem no unlikely object of his mother’s policy. The Empress Agnes, it must be remembered, was a member of that house of Poitiers which had suffered so deeply at the hands of Geoffrey of Anjou,^[887] and she might very naturally seek to maintain or to renew a connexion with a power which was the strongest enemy of the enemy of her own family. But, at the time which we have now reached, the power of Agnes had wholly passed away; alliance with Normandy moreover now meant hostility to England; and it is utterly impossible to see what interest either the young King or his successive archiepiscopal advisers could have in supporting the claims of William against the claims of |German help said to be promised to William.| Harold. Our Norman informant however describes Henry as, in high-sounding but somewhat vague terms, committing his Kingdom to an active support to the Norman side.^[888] This again, strange as it sounds, can hardly be sheer invention, though we instinctively suspect exaggeration |Probable state of the case.| in no small degree. It may be enough if we suppose that Henry or his counsellors agreed to put no hindrance in the way of such subjects of the Empire as might choose to join the Norman standard as volunteers.

The negotiations with Swend of Denmark again rest wholly on Norman authority. We are told that the Danish King promised help to William, which promise he was so far from keeping that he sent a large body of troops to the support of Harold.^[889] With this latter statement 310I shall deal in its proper place. As for negotiations between William and Swend, they are perfectly possible. |Position and interests of Swend.| But it is hard to see what interest Swend could have had in supporting William. Swend was the cousin of Harold, and, though Godwine had resisted his claims on the English Crown, alliance with him as King of the Danes had always formed part of the Earl’s policy.^[890] If Swend at this time cherished any hopes of the English Crown, the succession of William stood far more directly in the way of those hopes than the succession of Harold. Nothing could be a more complete hindrance to any schemes of the kind than the transfer of the Crown to a wholly alien invader. On the other hand, Swend’s chances were distinctly bettered by the transfer of the Crown to a dynasty of which he might almost count as a member. If then Swend had really determined to interfere in English affairs, we may be sure that his intervention would have been on the side of Harold and not on the side of William. But it is far more probable that the wariest prince in Europe promised neutrality and kept it.

Even the negotiations of William with princes much nearer home are wrapped up in no small obscurity. One manifest object was to insure the safety of his frontier in the direction of Paris. William’s close connexion with Baldwin of Flanders, and the guardianship exercised by Baldwin over the young King Philip, might seem enough to make matters tolerably safe on that side. If Baldwin’s affinity with William did not absolutely secure the co-operation both of France and Flanders, it would at any rate, it might be thought, secure Normandy against all fear of attack from either quarter while her sovereign was engaged in his great enterprise. But, in the only account that we have, Baldwin is not introduced as acting 311at all in his character of guardian. William goes as |Interview between Philip and William.| his own ambassador to King Philip. The two princes meet at the great Abbey of Saint Germer in the district of Beauvais, a spot within the royal dominions, but only a few miles from the border Norman town of Gournay.^[891] |William offers to hold England as a fief of the French Crown.| William asks for his overlord’s help in his enterprise, and offers, in return for such help, to hold England, no less than Normandy, as a fief of the French Crown.^[892] Philip consults his nobles, who argue, naturally enough, that nothing can be more dangerous to the French Kingdom than any increase of the strength of the Norman Duchy. The offer to hold England in fief does not blind them; William’s vassalage for England will be still more nominal than his |Philip hostile to the enterprise.| vassalage for Normandy.^[893] The answer given is therefore unfavourable; and William leaves the presence of his suzerain with very high words on his lips. Whether this story be literally true or not, it shows how familiar to men’s minds the notion of Commendation, even on the greatest scale,^[894] still was. It shows how little of indignity attached to the vassal’s position, and of how little practical value was the oath of homage. We are presently told that Philip in no way promoted William’s object, but that he rather did all that he 312|Negotiations with Baldwin of Flanders.| could to hinder it.^[895] Instead of any distinct account of William’s negotiations with his father-in-law, we get only an unintelligible romance.^[896] But the practical issue of both the French and the Flemish negotiations seems plain. Neither Philip nor Baldwin, in their character as sovereigns, gave William any help. It is even probable that Philip, so far as he either had a will of his own or was guided by French counsellors, discouraged William’s enterprise rather than |French and Flemish volunteers in William’s army.| promoted it. But abundance of volunteers from both France and Flanders took service in William’s army. The Flemings, above all, the countrymen of Matilda, pressed eagerly to his standard, and they formed an important element in the Conquest and in the settlement which followed it. Matilda’s son Gerbod,^[897] Gilbert of Ghent,^[898] and Walter of Flanders,^[899] are all names which occur among the conquerors of England, and those of Gerbod and Gilbert will again appear in our history.

In the region intermediate between Normandy and Flanders, the cause of William was eagerly taken up by Count Eustace of Boulogne, the brother-in-law of King Eadward. He had, of all men, wrongs, as he would deem them, to avenge on Harold and on England. The chastisement which Godwine had refused to work on the insolent burghers of Dover^[900] might now at last be wrought on them 313and on their whole race, with the usurping son of the old traitor at their head. Eustace probably needed no invitation to take his share in the enterprise. He came himself, and he induced others to follow the same course. An incidental notice of one of his followers throws some light on the class of men who flocked to William’s banners, and on |Story of Arnold of Ardres.| the rewards which they received. One Geoffrey, an officer of the Abbey of Saint Bertin at Saint Omer, who had the charge of its possessions in the County of Guisnes, sent his sons Arnold and Geoffrey to the war. A daily pay and various gifts from the Duke were their immediate reward, and in the end they received an establishment of lands both in Essex and in the border shires of Mercia and East-Anglia, under the superiority of their patron Count Eustace.^[901]

But the country from which, next to his own Duchy, William drew most support in his enterprise, was undoubtedly the neighbouring, the nominally vassal, land of Britanny. When we remember the internal dissensions of |State of the country; war against England probably popular in Britanny.| that country, and the way in which a party among the Bretons had supported William against their own sovereign,^[902] this is in no way wonderful. And, though loyalty to a Norman overlord is not likely to have counted for much, another motive may well have worked to fill the Norman host with Breton recruits. The Celtic race has a long memory, and the prospect of waging war in the insular Britain against the Saxon intruder may not have been without charms for the descendants of the Armorican exiles. |Services of Alan Fergant.| Certain it is that the Breton auxiliaries, under Alan Fergant, a cousin of the reigning Count Conan, one of the many sons of his uncle Odo,^[903] played an important 314part in the conquest of England. Even Dinan, so lately besieged by William, now sent its lord to swell William’s muster.^[904] Helpers came also from more southern regions; Hamon, Viscount of Thouars in the land of Poitou, came at the head of his force, and, as we shall hereafter see, |Volunteers from Anjou, Touraine, &c.; Geoffrey of Chaumont.| was admitted to William’s most intimate counsels.^[905] Angevin auxiliaries we should have been less inclined to look for; but they too are mentioned in our lists.^[906] We find also a warrior from the marchland of Tours and Blois, Geoffrey of Chaumont, a homager of Count Stephen of Chartres. He, as we read in the annals of his house, gave up all his fiefs to Sulpicius of Amboise the husband of his niece, and himself went forth to win new fortunes in England.^[907] |State of Anjou.| Yet one would have thought that the condition of that part of Gaul would just now have afforded scope enough |War between Geoffrey and Fulk Rechin.| for the energies of the most warlike. The two successors of Geoffrey Martel, Geoffrey the Bearded and our historian Fulk Rechin, were now engaged in a war of brother against brother.^[908] It was in this very year that 315the city of Angers was betrayed^[909] to Fulk, and that Count |Geoffrey betrayed to Fulk. 1066.| Geoffrey was led away as a captive to Chinon,^[910] the fortress overhanging the Vienne, the fortress so famous in the days when Counts of Anjou were also Kings of England, and so famous again when Capetian royalty, banished from its own Paris, found shelter in the lands which had once |Conan of Britanny; his war against Anjou and death. 1066.| been Angevin. In this same year too Conan of Britanny met with his death, and met it, as some said, by the machinations of William.^[911] Strange to say, this suspicion reaches us only from the Norman side. Other authorities, Breton and Angevin, speak only of a war which Conan waged against Anjou, and in which, by whatever means, |Legend of Conan’s death.| he lost his life. It is a Norman writer^[912] who tells us how, when William was preparing for the invasion of England, Conan sent to wish him good luck in his enterprise, but at the same time to demand the cession of Normandy to himself. He, Conan, was the lawful heir of the Duchy; the Bastard could have no right; the Bastard too, with his accomplices, had poisoned Conan’s father Alan, and had, up to that day, usurped the possession of a land which should have been his. If Normandy was not at once surrendered to its lawful prince, Conan would at once assert his rights with his whole force. William, we are told, was somewhat frightened, but God delivered him out of his danger. There was a Breton noble, a chamberlain of Conan, who had sworn fealty to William and to Conan alike, and who had borne the message to William as Conan’s ambassador. He undertook—at 316whose bidding or from what motive we are not told—to rid the world of his Breton master. He anointed the gloves, the bridle, and the hunting-horn of Conan with poison. The Count was engaged in his Angevin campaign, and was besieging the fortress of Château-Gontier, not far from the Cenomannian border. The defenders had capitulated, and Conan seems to have been in the very act of making his triumphal entry into the town. The Count put on his gloves, he grasped the bridle, and unwittingly raised his hand to his mouth. The poison took effect, and before long Conan was a corpse. The murderer left the Breton army, and brought the news to William. The Duke was now at leisure to give his whole mind to the expedition against England.

If such a tale as this was current, it is not wonderful that rumour went on to charge William with having instigated a crime by which he so greatly profited. As to the probabilities of the case, I might almost repeat what I have already said when the same charge was brought against William in the matter of Walter and Biota.^[913] The whole tale, from the threat of Conan onwards, reads like a romance. Did we find it in a hostile Breton or Angevin writer, we should at once set it down as an invention of hostile spite. And does the romance really gain any further authority, because it has found its way into a Norman chronicle? The silence of the hostile writers surely tells more on the other side. Conan, it seems plain, died suddenly during his Angevin expedition; it was easy to attribute the deed to William; it was no less easy to deck out the story with romantic details. That William was a secret poisoner I, for one, do not believe; but an English writer can hardly avoid the remembrance that, while the deaths of Walter and Conan were attributed to William, perhaps in the eleventh, certainly 317in the twelfth century, it was reserved for the nineteenth century to attribute the death of the Ætheling Eadward to Harold.^[914]

The exact order of all these proceedings it is hopeless to try to fix, and it is equally hopeless to try to fix their relations to the great embassy of all. Negotiations with Counts and Kings were, in the age which was just opening, of less moment than negotiations with the Apostolic throne. And indeed it marks a distinct epoch in the history of European politics, when, for the first time, the occupant of the Apostolic throne was called on to adjudge |Alexander the Second. 1061–1073.| a disputed diadem.^[915] The reigning Pontiff was Anselm of Lucca, who, under the title of Alexander the Second, had succeeded Nicolas; and, after a violent struggle with the |1064.| Anti-pope Cadalous of Parma, he was now in full possession |Influence of Hildebrand.| of the Holy See.^[916] But the ruling genius of the Papacy was already the Archdeacon Hildebrand. He it was who discerned how much the Roman Church might |William’s embassy.| gain by identifying itself with the cause of William. The ambassador of William, Gilbert, Archdeacon of Lisieux,^[917] 318came and pleaded his master’s cause. He told the tale which had been so often told before, the rights of William, the usurpation and perjury of Harold, the despite done |He asks the Papal approval of his enterprise.| by him to the holy relics. William craved the blessing of the Holy See upon his righteous cause; he offered, we are told, but in vague and ambiguous language, to hold of God and of the Apostle the Kingdom which he hoped |Debate in the Conclave. No advocate sent by Harold.| to win.^[918] The cause was debated in the Conclave, but it was debated after the hearing of one side only. No advocate of England appeared at the bar of Alexander to defend the right of Harold to the Crown which England had given him. It is needless to seek for the English King’s reasons for not appearing to answer the accusation |A defence on Harold’s side would have compromised the rights of his Crown.| of William.^[919] It is enough that, however ready Harold, as a loyal son of the Church, might be to seek spiritual benefits at the threshold of the Apostles, he could not, as a King of the English, allow that any power to give or take away the English Crown was vested anywhere save in the Assembly of the English people. To plead before Alexander would have been to recognize his jurisdiction; it would have been to acknowledge that the Emperor of Britain had a superior |No summons probably sent to Harold.| upon earth. But, before we ask why Harold did not appear, we might perhaps ask whether he was ever summoned to appear, and whether the Roman judgement was not pronounced without so much as an opportunity for defence being allowed to the accused. No writer speaks of any summons as being addressed to the English King; one writer alone hints at the possibility of any hearing 319|William’s cause opposed by many of the Cardinals.| of the defence.^[920] But the cause of justice did not lack advocates even in the Roman Conclave. When Hildebrand dwelt on the benefits which the Church would gain by accepting the jurisdiction thus laid at its feet, many of the Cardinals rejected his arguments with horror. It was not for the Church to become a partaker in deeds of blood, and to sanction claims which could only be enforced by the slaughter of so many men.^[921] But in the end the worse reason prevailed. Even in ordinary times, it would have been no more than sound policy to welcome, as far as might be, the advances of a prince like William, who, pious as he might be, had not always shown himself the obedient servant of Rome. His uncanonical marriage,^[922] and one or two other exercises of independence on William’s part,^[923] would not be forgotten. But, far above all these 320|Policy of Hildebrand.| lesser questions, Rome was already beginning to practise her characteristic arts under their greatest master. Slaughter, robbery, devastation, all the horrors of an unprovoked war against an unoffending nation, were to be held as nothing when the interest of the Roman See was in the other scale. Never before had such an opportunity been offered to the successor of the Fisherman. It was not merely to win greater authority over a single island. The appeal of William to the Papal Court created a precedent by which the Papal Court might claim the disposal of all the Crowns in Christendom. The voice of |Alexander issues a Bull in favour of William.| Hildebrand conquered. The decree went forth which declared Harold to be an usurper and William to be the lawful claimant of the English Crown. It would even seem that it declared the English King and all his followers to be cut off from the communion of the faithful.^[924] William was sent forth as an avenger, to chastise the wrong and perjury of his faithless vassal. But he was also sent forth as a missionary, to guide the erring English into the true path, to teach them due obedience to Christ’s Vicar, and to secure a more punctual payment of the temporal dues of his Apostle.^[925] The cause of the invasion was blessed, and precious gifts were sent as the |His gifts to William.| visible exponents of the blessing. A costly ring was sent containing a relic holier, it may be, than any on which 321Harold had sworn, a hair of the Prince of the Apostles.^[926] |The consecrated banner.| And with the ring came a consecrated banner, to hallow the cause of fraud and usurpation.^[927] Every help that the |Perversion of the religious sentiment against England.| religious arts of the age could give was bestowed on the man who craved a blessing on the removal of his neighbour’s landmark. Every terror that those religious arts kept in store for the blasphemer and the heretic was hurled against the King whose axe was lifted only to defend his own rights and the rights of his people. The |A Crusade preached against England.| name had not yet been heard; but in truth it was now that the first Crusade was preached, and it was preached by the voice of Rome against the liberties of England.

The diplomacy of William and Lanfranc had thus completely triumphed. The great fabric of deception by which their subtle wits had cheated both themselves and others was now brought to perfection. The cause of William was accepted by the voice of his own Duchy; it was accepted by the public voice of Europe; it was hallowed by the judgement of the common Father of Christendom. At whatever stage in William’s negotiations the final answer from Alexander came, there can be no doubt that, from that moment, his own preparations were more vigorously pressed on, and that recruits pressed more eagerly to his standard. His own hopes and the hopes of his followers now rose higher. It was now not only booty 322and lands and lordships, English Earldoms for Norman knights and English Bishopricks for Norman priests, that William could offer to those who followed him. To every man, from whatever quarter of the earth, who came to serve under the consecrated banner he could now offer the blessing of the Roman Pontiff and every spiritual gift that the Pontiff’s hand could bestow. Never surely did the world see a more perfect triumph of unrighteous craft than when the invasion of England was undertaken in the name of religion.

The first part then of William’s work was done. We must now return to our own island, threatened as she was by the Norman Duke from the South, threatened, as we shall presently see her, by an enemy hardly less terrible from the quarter whence her older enemies had come. It was the fate of England in this memorable year to be exposed to two invasions at the same moment, and against two invasions at the same moment the heart and arm of Harold himself could not prevail.

The clouds were thus gathering in the direction of Normandy, but it was not from Normandy that the first storm was to break upon England. Or rather it was Normandy which sent forth those first few drops which were the forerunners of the tempest to come. The first drop of English blood that was shed, the first rood of English ground that was harried, during this memorable year, was the work of men, not indeed fighting under William’s banner, but acting at least with William’s connivance, perhaps under his direct commission. But that first scene of the drama was the mere prelude to two acts as stirring and wonderful as any to be found in the whole range of history. Of the two enemies of England, the first was last and the last was first, and the more haste was emphatically not the better speed. The fortune of William changed a mighty rival into an useful pioneer, and changed an invasion which might have destroyed him into a mere 324diversion in his favour. While the wary Norman was, as ever, biding his time, another more impetuous enemy was to make his venture and to fail in it. Before we come to the fall of Harold of England, we have yet to see him raised to the highest pitch of his glory. Before we tell of the voyage of William and of the campaign of Hastings, we have to tell of the voyage of Harold Hardrada and of the campaign of Stamfordbridge.

§ 1. The First Expedition of Tostig. May, 1066.

We left King Harold of England undisputed master of his whole Kingdom. He had won over the malecontents of Northumberland; he had held his Easter Feast and Gemót at Westminster; and the hearts of England and of the world had been stirred and affrighted by the awful token which shone over them in the heavens. It was about the beginning of May, perhaps before the warning star had ceased blazing, that the misfortunes of this terrible |May, 1066.| year began. The first blow came from the traitor Tostig. |Tostig lands in Wight.| He came from beyond sea—that is, as we have seen, from Normandy with the licence of William—and, at the head of his ships manned with Flemish or Norman adventurers, he sailed first to the Isle of Wight. The inhabitants, willingly or unwillingly—far more probably the latter—supplied him with money and provisions.^[929] He then sailed along the 325|His ravages in Sussex and Kent.| South Saxon and Kentish coast, the coast along which, fourteen years before, he had sailed with his father in his glorious return. He thus passed on as far as Sandwich, marking his course, wherever he went, by ceaseless and wanton ravage; he did harm everywhere where he might.^[930] |Great preparations of Harold. May–September.| But King Harold was now making ready for the great struggle. No view of his position can be more false than that which describes him as making light of the danger from Normandy, and as making no preparation for defence except with a view to the expected invasion from Norway.^[931] The truth is exactly opposite. The King was busily engaged in preparations for the defence of his Kingdom against the Norman before there was any reason to look forward to any sort of danger from the Northman. To Harold at least his great rival’s purpose was known from the beginning. He was already, as his panegyrist tells us, labouring by land and by sea for the defence of his country.^[932] He was gathering such a land-force and such a sea-force as no King |He hastens from London to Sandwich.| had ever before gathered in this land.^[933] He was still in London^[934]—that is probably at Westminster—when he heard 326the news of his brother’s appearance at Sandwich. He therefore hastened his preparations, and leaving London, probably under the command of Leofwine, as Earl of the neighbouring shires, he himself hastened to Sandwich. |Tostig sails from Sandwich,| But before the King reached Sandwich, Tostig had sailed from thence, taking with him a body of the sailors of that haven, some by their own consent and some by force.^[935] It is only among professional sailors, who might be tempted by promises of pay and plunder, that the rebel Earl seems to have found any English followers. The cruise of Tostig along these shores must have struck him as a sad contrast to those days of hope when the whole population of the maritime shires came flocking to the coast ready to live and die with Earl Godwine.^[936] With his force thus increased to |and ravages Lindesey.| sixty ships, Tostig sailed northwards; he then entered the Humber and ravaged the coast of Lindesey in the Earldom of his enemy Eadwine.^[937] Here he acted like Swend himself, or like the earlier destroyers of the days of Ælfred. He burned |He is driven from Lindesey by Eadwine and Morkere,| towns and slew many good men. The two Northern Earls were not wanting to their duty on this occasion. Indeed their interest and their duty too exactly coincided to allow of any remissness. They had no chance of finding their own profit in treason, like the traitors of an earlier time. Eadwine and Morkere hastened to the suffering districts with the levies of the country, and drove away Tostig and his plunderers.^[938] The sailors who had followed him, 327willingly and unwillingly, from Sandwich, now forsook him.^[939] The one class saw no further chance of pay or plunder; the others were doubtless glad of the opportunity to escape |and takes refuge in Scotland.| from a service which they disliked. Tostig, with twelve small vessels,^[940] now sailed for Scotland and sought shelter with his sworn brother King Malcolm. The tie of brotherhood had not preserved Northumberland from ravage while Tostig was still discharging his duty as an English Earl;^[941] but his position of hostility to his country now earned him a hearty welcome at the Scottish court. Malcolm received his brother, and supplied his force with provisions; and Tostig remained under his protection during the whole summer.

§ 2. Tostig’s applications to Swend and Harold Hardrada.

We have now reached a most fascinating, and at the same time a most difficult, part of our story. We are landed in the famous and magnificent Saga of Harold Hardrada. The tale, as it appears in Norwegian legendary history, is so complete, and it is told with such thoroughly poetic spirit, that it goes deeply against the grain to have to suggest that nearly every detail must be mythical. It is painful to have to turn from the glowing strains of the Norwegian prose epic to the meagre entries of our own Chronicles, and to pronounce that all that is not distinctly confirmed by English testimony is, to say the least, untrustworthy. A void is left which history cannot fill, and which it is forbidden to the historian to fill up from 328the resources of his own imagination. My only course will be to follow the story in the Saga, so far as it is recommended either by intrinsic probability or by its conformity to our own annals, and at the same time to point out those particulars in which authentic evidence shows that the details must be fabulous.

The renowned Norwegian King was just now enjoying, or, what to his mind it more likely seemed, suffering under, an unusual state of quiet. The greater part of his reign had been spent in a constant struggle with Swend of Denmark. The details of their warfare do not concern English history. Yet an English historian must feel a certain satisfaction in recording the gallantry and perseverance with which a man so closely connected with England as Swend was had, for a long series of years, withstood, and at last |Peace between them. 1064.| successfully withstood, so formidable an enemy. Two years earlier than the time which we have now reached, a peace had been concluded between the two Kings on perfectly equal terms.^[942] Now the war had been wholly defensive on the part of Swend, while Harold had been seeking to annex Denmark to his own dominions. It was therefore a distinct triumph on the part of the prudent Danish King, when Harold acknowledged his title and engaged to cease from all further attacks on his Kingdom. Harold thus had his hands free; disputes with his own subjects, arising out of the harshness of his government, were constantly occurring,^[943] but they did not seriously weaken his power. The whole force of Norway, under the most valiant and adventurous of her Kings, a force practised rather than weakened by the long war with Denmark, stood ready for some new enterprise, and such an enterprise was before long suggested by the banished English Earl.

329That Harold Hardrada invaded England in partnership with Tostig is certain; but the circumstances of their agreement are involved in much difficulty and contradiction. The authentic English narrative says nothing of any personal application to Harold on the part of Tostig before they met on the Scottish coast. And it is by no means easy to make the alleged voyages of Tostig to Denmark and Norway fit in with the English chronology. Indeed the English account might rather suggest that Harold Hardrada had planned his invasion of England quite independently of Tostig, and that the junction of their forces happened quite incidentally, after the Norwegian King had already set sail. On the other hand, the voyage of Tostig to Norway is asserted in the Norman version, and it is the very soul of the Norwegian Saga. I shall discuss the details of these different versions elsewhere.^[944] It is perhaps not absolutely impossible to reconcile Tostig’s voyage with the English narrative, but it can be done only by wholly giving up the chronology, and perhaps some other details, of the Saga. The English account at least shows that, if Tostig made any application to Harold at all, it must have been made after he had taken shelter in Scotland, and it would suggest that it was made by messengers rather than personally. With these cautions, I tell the tale as I find it in the Saga, warning the reader that I do not pledge myself to a single detail.

The Norwegian story makes Tostig, on his banishment, which, it must be remembered, is placed after his brother’s election to the Kingdom,^[945] take the course so familiar to banished Englishmen a few years earlier.^[946] He goes first to Flanders, and thence to Denmark, by way of Friesland.^[947] His object was to get help from his cousin King Swend to 330enable him to recover his Earldom. The prudent King offered him an Earldom in Denmark instead. For this Tostig had no mind; he wished to recover Northumberland at all hazards. If Swend would not give him forces for that purpose, he was ready to go a step further. He proposed to Swend to revive his old claim to the Crown of England, and to undertake the conquest of the country. He, Tostig, would help him in such an enterprise with all the force that he could command. Swend could not fail to succeed in an attempt which had been so successfully accomplished by his uncle Cnut. But the Danish King had learned to distrust his own power for such an achievement, and he had seen enough of the world to put little faith in an exile’s estimate of his own influence in the country from which he has been driven. Cnut was a great man and a lucky man; he, Swend, laid no claim to either the greatness or the good luck of his uncle. Cnut had inherited Denmark;^[948] he had won Norway without striking a blow; but in order to win England he had to strike many blows and to put his life in great jeopardy. Swend, on the other hand, found it a hard matter to keep Denmark safe from the attacks of the Norwegian King. He would therefore stay at home and would not run any desperate risks. Tostig left him with an expression of contempt for his lack of enterprise and his neglect of the interests of a kinsman. Swend might have answered that Harold of England was a kinsman no less than his brother, and that the gratitude which he himself undoubtedly owed to the memory of Godwine passed much more naturally to the head of the family than to one engaged in treason against his house and country.

331From Denmark Tostig, so the story says, went on to Norway to seek help from its King Harold Hardrada. He found him in Viken, the south-eastern corner of the Norwegian Kingdom. He opened his errand to Harold in the |His first proposal: Help to recover his Earldom.| same order in which he had opened it to Swend. That is to say, he at first simply asked for help to recover his Earldom. |Harold’s refusal.| This proposal found as little favour from Harold as it had found from Swend. The Northmen, so said their King, would have no mind for a war in England under an English leader; common report said that the English were not men in whom it was safe to put much trust.^[949] The massacre of Saint Brice, the deposition of Harthacnut, the refusal to hearken to the claims which Magnus had founded on his agreement with Harthacnut, may all have passed across the mind of Harold Hardrada. He had little mind for an undertaking which promised so much danger, and |Tostig’s second proposal; Harold to be King over all England, and Tostig Under-king over Northumberland.| so little profit in case of success. Tostig had therefore to tempt him by the same bait which he had before offered to Swend. Let the King of the Northmen enter England, not merely to restore an English Earl, but to place the Imperial Crown of Britain upon his own head. Let Harold be King over the whole land; Tostig would ask only to be Under-king of half England, no doubt of its northern half. He would become King Harold’s man, and would serve him faithfully all the days of his life.^[950] He then set himself to answer the objections to the enterprise which had been raised by the Norwegian King. Tostig seems really to have believed that, after all that happened, he still reigned in the hearts of his faithful Thegns in Northumberland. 332|Arguments of Tostig.| The expedition, he argued, would be one of a widely different nature from the expedition of Magnus against England or the expeditions of Harold himself against Denmark. The main obstacle to success in those undertakings would not be present in that which Tostig now counselled. Why was the agreement between Harthacnut and Magnus set aside? Why did not Magnus venture to make good his claims on England against Eadward? Why had Magnus overcome Denmark with ease, while Harold himself had failed in the same attempt? Success or failure in such attempts depended wholly on the disposition of the chiefs and the people of the invaded land. Magnus had succeeded in Denmark, because the chief men of Denmark were on his side: Harold had failed, because the whole Danish nation had been against him.^[951] So Magnus had shrunk from asserting his claims against Eadward, because Eadward was the King whom the whole people of England had chosen to reign over them. But now the state of things was changed. He, Tostig, deemed himself the equal of his brother in all but his kingly title. He would support the cause of Harold of Norway, and his support—so the exile said, and perhaps thought—would bring with it the allegiance of all the chief men of the land. Harold Hardrada, so all men allowed, was the first warrior of 333northern lands; he had spent fifteen years in an attempt to seize on Denmark; would he refuse to seize on England, now that England lay ready for him, only waiting for him to take possession?

The arguments of Tostig, we are told, gradually carried conviction to the mind of Harold. The proposed expedition was novel and distant; it bade fair to be successful, and, if successful, it would bring unbounded glory. As such, it had every attraction for a prince, who now, at the age of fifty, had lost nothing of the spirit of his Wiking youth. The expedition was determined on, and it was ordered to |No mention of the consultation of any Thing by Harold Hardrada.| take place in the course of the summer. It may be merely the omission of our Saga-maker, but it is worth noting that we hear nothing of the consultation of any Thing or other Assembly by Harold Hardrada. In England it came within the constitutional functions of the Witan to approve or to forbid any interference in the concerns of another country. Twice had it been proposed in an English Gemót to take a part in the wars of Swend and Magnus, and twice had the majority of the Assembly rejected the proposal.^[952] Even in Normandy, whether as a matter of constitutional right or of personal prudence, William had thought it needful to consult an Assembly of his Duchy before he determined on the invasion of England.^[953] But in Norway we find no mention of any power which had to decide upon such questions, except the arbitrary will of King Harold himself. There can be no doubt that Harold reigned in Norway as the despot which his surname implies, and the utmost that his panegyrist can say for him is that his heavy hand pressed equally upon all.^[954] But 334the proposed scheme was at least freely discussed by the |Different opinions in Norway: estimate of the English Housecarls.| public opinion of Norway. Some deemed that the valour and good luck of Harold the son of Sigurd must be successful in every land and over every enemy. Others shrank from an encounter with Harold the son of Godwine and with the resources of the land over which he reigned. England was a land perilous to attack; it was a land fertile in warriors; there, above all, were the Thingmen, the Housecarls, men ever strong in battle, men ever ready of heart and hand, men any one of whom was a match for two of the choicest warriors of Norway.^[955] This is indeed a speaking witness to the efficiency of the force which had been called into being by the wisdom of Cnut, and which had lost nothing in strength or in reputation under the government of Harold. The fame of the conqueror of Gruffydd had no doubt been sounded throughout the North, and men shrank from the prospect of meeting a chief and an army so ready to adapt themselves to every requirement which the accidents of war might suggest. Whether the details of the story are true or false, this traditional estimate of the English Housecarls must at least be genuine. Nothing however is described as taking place to hinder the expedition, or to cause any relaxation in the levies and preparations of Harold Hardrada. Tostig, it is added, sailed in the spring to Flanders, to collect forces both from that country and from England. We here at once see the confusion of the Norwegian chronology. If we can suppose these visits of Tostig to Swend and Harold to be true in their main outlines, they are at least altogether moved from their right place.

It is not clear how far the danger which threatened him from the North was known to King Harold of England. It is certain that the appearance of the Norwegian fleet was unlooked for at the actual moment of its coming.^[956] But this need not imply that no hint whatever of the great preparations of Harold of Norway had reached England. It is certain that the attention of the King of the English was at that moment altogether concentrated on his preparations to withstand a nearer and really more formidable enemy. The fleet, the news of whose approach had driven away Tostig from Sandwich, was part of a vast system of preparation for the defence of southern England. The probability is that, when England was thus threatened by two enemies at once, the King, together with his brothers, undertook the immediate defence of Wessex and |The North probably left to its own Earls.| East-Anglia, and that he entrusted the defence of the North to its own Earls. Harold himself could not be everywhere at once; if he had to choose between one part of his Kingdom and another, his first duty clearly was to that part which was more specially his own, more immediately under his personal government. It might surely seem safe to leave Northumberland and Mercia to the defence of their own Earls, the men who, of all men in the island, were the most concerned to keep Tostig out of it. Eadwine might pass in Mercia almost for an hereditary prince; Morkere was the special choice of the Northumbrian people. To trust them to fight for their own was surely no mark of neglect on the King’s part, but rather a sign of the confidence which he placed in his loyal and affectionate 336|The King’s measures for the defence of southern England.| brothers-in-law. At all events, King Harold was doing all that mortal man could do for the defence of southern England. For he knew well that William Bastard, King Eadward’s kinsman, sought to come and win this land.^[957] And he knew better than any other man in England with what a foe he had to deal in him, and how the strongest efforts of every man in the land were needed to keep the |Difficulty of the defence, arising from the nature of the Fyrd.| land from being won by the Norman. No story better illustrates the difficulties which in those days attended the general who had not merely to fight a battle, but to plan a campaign, and a defensive campaign above all. Harold had no standing army except the Housecarls; still, as having the Housecarls, he was so far better off than Æthelred, who had no standing army at all. But the efficiency of the Housecarls was almost wholly confined to the day of battle. Face to face with an enemy, each of them might be equal to two other men; but neither the numbers nor the nature of the force made them at all fit to guard the whole coast of Wessex and East-Anglia. For that purpose Harold had of course to trust to the landfyrd, the militia of the shires. What the nature of this force was we have often seen before. Harold, or Eadmund, or any other chief in whom men had confidence, could easily raise an army of this kind, an army patriotic and brave after its own fashion, an army perfectly ready to fight a battle, but which, after either winning or losing a battle, insisted on going home again. We have seen that, after all the battles of Eadmund, with one exception,^[958] his army disbanded, and he had to gather a fresh army to fight the next battle. Harold had a still more difficult task before him. He had to gather his militia, and to keep them under arms for an indefinite time, without fighting any battle, and when the main object of their being in arms was to hinder any battle 337from being fought. We do not read of any earlier King even attempting such a scheme of general defence. Harold got together such a fleet and army^[959] as no King had ever got together before, and he kept them together during four months of inaction. The fleet cruised in the Channel; the land-force was placed at various fitting posts along |Harold in the Isle of Wight.| the coast. The King first sailed to the Isle of Wight, and then spent the summer in simply waiting for the approach of William. No kind of service could have been so irksome for an unprofessional, and seemingly unpaid, force. There was absolutely nothing to do but to watch; the excitement of battle, the attraction of plunder, all the usual motives for which men left their homes and families and private affairs, were denied to men who had simply to guard the shores of their own island. Then they were to be fed, not, as in a hostile country, at the expense of the neighbourhood in which each division was quartered, but by some means which to the imperfect finance and imperfect commissariat of that age must have been difficult indeed. It is no small proof of Harold’s skill and forethought, and of the influence which he must have had over the nation generally, that he was able to keep and feed a greater army for a greater time than any King had ever done before him. There is certainly no other record of such a host being kept so long under arms without either fighting or plundering. At last, at the end of 338|The army disbanded. September 8.| four months, the strain was too great to be any longer borne. Food for so great a multitude was no longer forthcoming. If the crop was early, it may have already suffered from the absence of so many of those who were accustomed to gather it in. If the crop was late, men were probably eagerly clamouring to go home and reap each man his own field. At all events, early in September, it was found impossible to keep them together any longer.^[960] The authority and influence of Harold broke down before the |Harold returns to London with the fleet.| stronger force of necessity. The army was disbanded; the King rode back to London, for which haven the fleet also was ordered to make. Many of the ships were unluckily lost or damaged on the voyage.^[961] The English account would seem to imply that they returned without having |Question of naval operations against the Normans.| seen any actual service at all. But some expressions of the Chronicles, and some remarkable entries in the Norman Survey, might be taken to imply that some naval engagement between English and Norman ships did take place at some stage or other of this wonderful year. If so, it is hard to find any later stage of the war to which such an event will so well fit in as to the days when Harold’s fleet was cruising in the Channel.^[962]

No vexation can be conceived greater than Harold’s must have been at seeing his whole labour thus thrown away. He must have turned away from the coast with a heavy heart, with a feeling that the land now lay open to the stranger. The King had most assuredly not failed his 339people, and we cannot fairly say that the people had failed their King. The force of circumstances had been too strong for King and people alike. A few weeks more of endurance, and the Norman fleet might have never reached the English shore. But those few weeks more of endurance were seemingly too much to ask of human nature. The south coast of England was left undefended. It does not indeed follow that every fort and every watch-tower was left absolutely without guardians. We shall find that such was not the case. But there was no longer any force by land or by sea which could offer any effectual resistance to the landing of the Norman invader.

Harold had ridden to London, a fact which again marks the growing importance of the city. I have already^[963] pointed out how marked was the influence of the events of Harold’s reign on the process which gradually made London, what we may now almost begin to call it, the capital of the Kingdom. So far as Harold, during his reign of little stillness, could be said to have any special dwelling-place, that special dwelling-place seems to have been Westminster. But it was hardly in search of repose that he now came thither. Threatened as he was by two enemies, London was a central point from which he could march northwards or southwards, as his presence might be called for in either quarter. The wealth and loyalty of its citizens made the city an excellent point for the collecting and provisioning of armies. And, as a port lying far inland, it was a point no less suited to be the centre of operations which were to take in land and sea alike. But Harold’s sojourn in London now was not a |Harold Hardrada sets sail.| long one. Before he had left the southern coast, his namesake of Norway was afloat. Whether his voyage took place at the instigation of Tostig or not, there is no doubt either as to the fact of the voyage or as to the greatness of 340the preparations which had been made for it. Harold Hardrada is said to have called out a levy of half the fighting men of his Kingdom.^[964] His fleet is variously reckoned at two hundred, three hundred, five hundred, and even a thousand ships,^[965] and the numbers of the host were increased at almost every point where the fleet touched. He set sail from the Solen Isles at the mouth of Sogne |He designs to reign in England.| Fiord, near Bergen on the west coast of Norway. It would seem that he had resolved to transfer the seat of his government to the land which he looked forward to conquer.^[966] His expedition bore the character, if not of a national, at least of a domestic migration. Harold Hardrada, like the Merwings in Gaul,^[967] allowed himself a kind of open polygamy, which he may possibly have learned in the Mussulman lands which he had visited as |His wives and children.| a warrior and as a pilgrim. Besides his Queen, the Russian princess Elizabeth, who was neither dead nor divorced, one Thora, the daughter of Thorberg, is also spoken of as his wife.^[968] Elizabeth was the mother of his daughters Mary and Ingigerd; Thora was the mother of his sons Magnus and Olaf. Thora was left in Norway with her son Magnus, who received the title of King.^[969] 341|Comparison with Cnut.| In this Harold might seem to follow the precedent set by Cnut with regard to Ælfgifu of Northampton and her son Swend.^[970] Norway was again to be ruled by an Under-king subordinate to a Northern Emperor reigning in England. The rest of his family, Queen Elizabeth and her daughters, and Olaf the son of Thora, accompanied Harold in the fleet, no doubt to receive establishments in |Harold’s treasures.| the realm which was to be won. Among other treasures, he is said to have brought with him a vast mass of solid gold, part of the plunder or the reward of his campaigns in the Imperial service. This huge ingot, which twelve strong youths could hardly carry, passed from one conqueror to another till it formed part of the boundless wealth of William the Bastard.^[971]

Such a fleet had not for years gone forth from any Scandinavian haven. Cnut had kept the Northern world in comparative peace beneath his Imperial sceptre. Since his death, the strength of the Scandinavian powers had been frittered away in the endless bickerings between Denmark and Norway. But now, as in the days of Swend and Olaf, a royal fleet, manned with the whole strength of a kingdom, sailed forth once more to bring the Isle of Britain into subjection to a Northern master. The fleet was commanded by a warrior whose fame was spread from Africa to Iceland. It sailed forth to attack a realm which was no longer under the rule of an Æthelred, but under that of a King whose renown in arms, within his own narrower |Chances of the two invaders.| sphere, sounded as high as that of Hardrada himself. And in the far distance, beyond the defender of the land, lay its 342other assailant. We can hardly believe either that the preparations of the King of the Northmen were utterly unknown at Rouen,^[972] or that the preparations of the Duke of the Normans were utterly unknown at Trondhjem. William must have set sail, hardly knowing which of the two Harolds he would meet on the South-Saxon hills, and Harold Hardrada must have set sail, hardly knowing whether he would find the shores of Northumberland guarded by the axes of England or the lances of Normandy. |The expedition of Harold the last Scandinavian attack on England.| It was the last and greatest of those great enterprises of the Scandinavian powers under which England had suffered for so many ages. The Raven of Denmark was yet to float more than once over the stream of Humber, and the |1069–1071.| Land-waster itself was to float over the shores of Anglesey.^[973] |1098.| But the ensign once so terrible to Englishmen had then become an ensign of promised deliverance; under the yoke of utter strangers the old foe was felt to be a brother. But now the Land-waster of Norway came, for the last time, purely and avowedly on its old errand of devastation and conquest.