A Tale of Two Warlords

William the Great’s Claim to England – The Race for the Throne – 

The Thunderbolt of the North – The Battle of Stamford Bridge – William Lands at Pevensey – The Battle of Hastings – The Burning of Southwark – The Capitulation of London – The Dawn of a New Era

Harold II of England

Historian George Garnett remarked that the Norman Conquest was the “swiftest, most brutal, and far-reaching transformation in English history.” And it began with a claim by William, the Duke of Normandy, to the English throne. His claim had two main tenets: first, that the aging and ill Edward the Confessor had promised him the throne when he died, and second, that Harold Godwine, who had gathered political control over much of England by the time of the Confessor’s death, had promised William that he would not only uphold William’s claim but vouch for him before the Witan. When the Confessor died and Harold claimed the throne for himself, William propagandized his upcoming invasion not only as a move to take what he viewed as rightly his but also as a way to avenge the wrong done to him by Harold Godwine. This, at least, is how William’s claim was viewed in the aftermath of the Conquest; but as George Garnett notes, “Control of the past was intrinsic to control of the present.” Taken at face value, William’s claims make sense; but when one dives deeper into his claims, they become muddled and contradictory. Some historians believe that, in truth, William had no claim, neither from the Confessor nor Harold, and that he fabricated these stories to justify an invasion preempted by the lucrative draw of a weakened England. 

Before launching his invasion, William had to gain credibility with the papacy, and after much back-and-forth wrangling, the Papal Curia, under Pope Alexander II, decreed that William was the legitimate heir and Harold the usurper. It’s unlikely that Alexander II paid close attention to the intricacies of the matter; the real motivation in his approval of William’s quest may have been a desire to get the English church “back on track” with the papacy. When a fellow named Stigand became Archbishop of Canterbury in 1052, the papacy feared that the English church had “fallen from the truth.” Perhaps Alexander II hoped that William would bring it back in line; that William spent quite a bit of money appeasing the papacy and (literally) rebuilding the English church after his conquest (in styles deemed fit by Rome) hints that William and the Pope may have been in cahoots. Now William could march into battle with the banner of St. Peter at the vanguard, a not-so-subtle declaration that the Church—and salvation—lie with him rather than with Harold. But regardless of the backroom deals securing papal support, that support was vital in courting international opinion: by this point in time the papacy was becoming the key political power in western Europe, so much so that popes viewed states and nations as “vassals” of Rome. It’s worth noting, however, that papal support didn’t last forever: by 1080 a good number of people on the Continent didn’t view the Conquest with rose-colored lenses; yet by the 12th century, people accepted “Norman England” as a fact of life. 

But “Norman England” wasn’t a guarantee in 1066.

England could very well have remained Anglo-Saxon.
Or, too, it could have become an extension of Norway.

The fate of England rested in the unfolding events of the late summer and fall of 1066, when Harold II (known as “the Second” because the intrepid son of Cnut, Harold Harefoot, had briefly claimed to be “the first” Harold) was forced to contend with two different men, with different armies, intent on seizing the throne. As William raced against the clock to get a fleet together for an invasion of England— extorting the consent of reluctant barons, gathering an army from the numerous duchies of France, and building a fleet—Harold Sigurdson, known as “Harold the Hard-Ruler” (or Hardrada) and as “The Thunderbolt of the North,” was preparing his own invasion of England. 

Harold Hardrada of Norway

Harold Hardrada had become a legend not only in Scandinavia but in the Byzantine Empire as well. Born around 1015, and half-brother to King Olaf II of Norway, Harold had been forced to seek exile from Norway as a teenager. He found sanctuary in the court of the Russian king Yaroslav the Wise. From Russia he made his way south to Constantinople, the headquarters of the Byzantine Empire, and pledged his military skill to a series of Byzantine emperors. Through his service in the Verangian Guard he reached the title of spatharocandidate, just three levels below the Byzantine emperor himself. Having secured a solid reputation across continental Europe, around 1040 he returned to Scandinavia and managed to take the throne of Norway. Because he executed his rivals and warred against his neighbors, Norse historians dubbed him “the Hard Ruler”—or Hardrada. His ambition for the English throne didn’t come from a vacuum, but was precipitated by the machinations of Harold II’s brother, Tostig, who had formerly been the Earl of Northumbria. 

In the years before the Confessor’s death, Tostig had engaged in the difficult task of securing peace with Scotland. Tostig and the Confessor had a falling out, and before he died the Confessor managed to exile Tostig from England. Tostig fled to Flanders embittered, and after gathering a force of warriors, he sailed back across the Channel and raided the southern and eastern English coasts. He found sanctuary in the court of King Malcolm in Scotland, still fuming over his rough (and humiliating) treatment by the Confessor. Because the raids hadn’t satiated his desire for vengeance, he traveled north to try and win support from the Scandinavian countries. King Swein of Denmark had no interest in Tostig’s plans for an English takeover, but Tostig found traction with King Harold in Norway. He reminded Harold of his shady claim to the English throne (the former Norwegian king Magnus had made a deal with the late Harthacnut that should either die, the other would inherit; and since Harold of Norway had succeeded Magnus, and since Harthacnut was indeed dead, one could argue Harold Hardrada had a rightful claim to the throne). Tostig was able to win Harold over to his cause, but historians aren’t sure what it was, exactly, that motivated Harold to throw in with the exiled earl. Surely Harold didn’t expect his flimsy claim to hold up before the English Witan. Historians have speculated that, in his old age and with his glory days behind him, Harold may have yearned to relive his Golden Days in the East. Or, maybe, the ageing Harold hoped for one last adventure in which he might win even more renown as a ruler like the old King Cnut? Perhaps the Norse king was going through a mid-life crises and, since red Corvettes had yet to be invented, thought winning yet more glory and renown on the battlefield was the best way to reassert his virility. Tostig certainly assuaged some of his fears by promising the support of English nobles still loyal to him; and, besides, much of northeast England was home to a number of Scandinavian bloodlines. Would Harold be viewed as a conqueror or as a liberator? These are no doubt thoughts Tostig broached. 

Though the Confessor was dead, Tostig didn’t give up his plans—not even for his brother, Harold, who was now king of England. Harold Hardrada, as a monarch in a country familiar with Channel crossings and warfare against Britain, had an easier time assembling his forces than William did far to the south. Though he got a later start than the Norman duke in preparing for the invasion, the winds favored him: they blew south, perfect for his fleet to sail down the Northumbrian coast, while William’s forces, finally ready, were bottled up in southern France waiting for the wind to change so they could sail north against England. Hardrada’s fleet of around 200 ships, consisting mostly of refitted fishing vessels, sailed for England with around 8000 soldiers. The nucleus of Hardrada’s forces was his hardened huscarls, but the rest was comprised of the inexperienced land-fyrd. These men weren’t the cream of the crop: they were fishermen, craftsmen, tradesmen, and farmers who had been called upon by their king to do their duty. Hardrada’s forces met up with Tostig at the River Tyne, and then they sailed further on and landed at Ricall, about ten miles south of the city of York. They beached their ships and marched to war. Hardrada’s invasion had begun.

Hardrada and Tostig had combined forces, but Hardrada’s thousands of Norse warriors far outweighed anything Tostig could bring to the field. News of the landing spread far and wide, and the earls of Northumbria and Mercia—Eadwine and Morcar—moved their forces to intercept the Norse. The first conflict came on 20 September 1066, and the Anglo-Saxons suffered much slaughter and were routed. The victorious Norse marched on York, and the city surrendered without a fight. Such a peaceful submission wasn’t extraordinary, since York’s Anglo-Danish aristocracy’s union with southern England was precarious at best. Forced to choose between loyalty to the Earl of Wessex or Norse overlords, they went with the latter. Tostig had vouched for compliance in Northumbria, and so far—despite the murderous scuffle with Eadwine and Morcar—his predictions had come true. Hardrada’s spirits must have been high when he and Tostig left York to receive more Northumbrian submissions at Stamford Bridge; but when they reached the Bridge they didn’t find bowing Northumbrian thegns but Harold and his army. 

The Battle of Stamford Bridge, 1066

Hearing of the capitulation of York, Harold had marched on the city only to find that Hardrada and Tostig had left. Harold decided to leave York in his wake and made a swift course to intercept the invaders, whose forces had been weakened by the garrison left at York. On 25 September 1066 Harold’s forces got the surprise on the Norse, and Harold arrayed his royal army on the opposite side of the bridge spanning the River Derwent. Buoyed by their victory against the earls just five days earlier, and encouraged by the ease of their invasion so far, Hardrada and Tostig believed they could make quick work of Harold. If they were able to rout the English king’s armies—or, even better, kill or capture the king himself—then Hardrada would be on the doorstep of a Norwegian kingdom bigger than ever before. Harold ordered his soldiers across the bridge, and for a while the fighting on the bridge was fierce, and the English were unable to supplant the Norse foothold. Legend has it that a single Norse warrior donned in a mail shirt and wielding a massive battleaxe kept the English from crossing the bridge, at least until a clever Englishman snuck under the bridge and speared him in the groin. This, it’s been told, was the moment the tide turned against the Norse: the English streamed over the bridge, charged the shocked Norwegians, and utterly slaughtered them. Whether the lonely and defiant stand of the lone Norseman ever happened, or if it’s a fabrication of history, who can say? What we know for certain is that Harold took the field, and in the process he slaughtered both Harold Hardrada and his brother Tostig (the death of Tostig would weigh heavy on his heart). News of the Norse defeat reached York, and the remaining invaders abandoned the city, intent on reaching their ships—but Harold’s army, drunk in victory, nipped their heels all the way to their beached ships at Ricall. Most didn’t make it to their boats, and those who did were allowed to leave only on the condition of swearing an oath never to return to England. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle reports that it took only twenty-four boats (out of 200!) to ferry the Norse survivors back home, a testament to the tragedy that befell many Norwegian families during the battle and aftermath of Stamford Bridge. Those who were killed on the field of battle were left to rot, and fifty years later the battle site could still be identified by the vast numbers of dismembered skeletons left to bleach in the sun. 

Harold II could celebrate triumph, but his war wasn’t yet over. As events unfolded in England, William had gathered more than twice the number of ships as Hardrada and filled them with horses, victuals, knights, and soldiers. On the 12th of September he launched his fleet from the port of Dives, hoping to cross the Channel and disembark. A strong storm blew up, battering his fleet in the Channel. On a calm day with favorable winds, the Channel could be crossed in a day; but autumn was notorious for hard gales and strong storms. Ships built for rivers or cruising the coast could be easily overturned in the Channel’s winds, and any crossing after September was a gamble. But time was of the essence, and William was willing to throw the dice. It seemed the dice rolled unfavorably, for the storm beat his fleet northeast along the coast of France before they found shelter in the harbor of St. Valery; in hindsight, however, the dice had rolled well, and William’s anchorage on the French coast—though disheartening and frustrating—made sure that Harold had time to weaken and exhaust his royal forces against Hardrada. On the 27th of September the seas calmed, and the next day William’s Norman fleet left St. Valery bound for England. 

William of Normandy Lands in England

He landed his army at the English town of Pevensey. The town was protected by an old Roman fort that had been constructed to guard against Frankish and Saxon pirates centuries before, but the garrison was overawed by the thousands of soldiers landing on the beachhead and fled. Legend has it that after William clambered onto the beachhead, he tripped and fell and got a bloody nose. The men around him took it as a bad omen, but William beamed ear-to-ear and claimed that the land itself desired him. He took the old Roman fort and sent a contingent of Norman knights to the town of Hastings, just a dozen miles east along the English coast. Those knights entrenched themselves at the site of a rundown Iron Age fort built on the cliffs above the town, and they dug ditches around the fort and raised ramparts to create a motte, turning the ancient fort into a French-style castle. William then ordered his men to pillage the countryside. They razed towns and villages and stripped the countryside clean, slaughtering anyone who stood in their way. William hoped to provoke Harold to battle, for he knew that if his invading army was left to itself, it would be forced to spread out not only to forage but also to prevent the spread of disease (a common bane to assembled armies). The future had to be decided, and soon. 

Harold heard not only of the Norman invasion but also of the scorched earth tactics in the area around Pevensey. His rage demanded that he ride out to face William man-to-man, but his mother Gyrtha tried to dissuade him from such rash action. “You have just returned worn out after the war against the Norwegians,” she reportedly said. “Are you now hastening to move against the Normans?” Harold’s brother Gyrth, overcome with bravado, offered to lead the royal army against William; he, after all, had sworn no oath to William. At the reminder of his broken promise, Harold’s tempers flared, and after hauling his mother and brother over the coals, he hurried off to put William in his place. He called for the Anglo-Saxon fyrd to gather and his nobles to assemble, but he decided against waiting and marched before he was ready, leaving London and hoping to surprise the Duke. If he waited for all his forces to assemble, he feared, then William would be able to choose the spot of battle—and whoever had the best terrain had an upper hand. The decision to move with haste would be fatal: Harold marched with few (if any) archers, and most of his force was comprised of militia armed with agricultural equipment. Only a third of his force consisted of the trained veteran huscarls armed with swords and spears. 

Harold left London on 11 October and two days later reached a hill seven miles northwest of Hastings, where the outer fringes of William’s forces had gathered. The place didn’t have a name, though it was marked by a “gray apple tree.” Orderic Vitalis, a monastic historian writing in the 1120s, called the place “Senlac Hill,” and an English historian in the 18th century followed Orderic’s lead. Up until that point the place was known simple as “Battle,” in lieu of what would transpire—and forever change European history—on the 14th of October 1066. Harold entrenched his troops on the low spur of the Sussex downs, with his rear protected by heavy forest and his flanks protected by steep ravines. 

Harold’s position blocked the route to London, so if William had any intentions on that important city, he would have to sweep Harold out of the way. Harold was convinced he had the jump on William, but in truth he was playing into William’s hands—but that didn’t mean the Norman duke would have any easy go of it. The Norman soldiers knew it would be no easy task, as well, and they weren’t encouraged when William put his hauberk on backwards—a bad omen. William laughed it off, trying to stifle the smallest fears that could corrode an army’s morale. He strengthened their resolve by carrying the papacy’s banner of St. Peter, reminding his men that they fought on the side of God, and around his neck he wore the holy relics upon which Harold had sworn his oath to uphold the Duke’s claim to the crown. The battle was personal. Precise numbers of the soldiers on either side are unknown (as is the trend with medieval battles), but estimates range from anywhere between 20,000 to 7,000 per army; medieval historians report that whatever the numbers, both armies came to the field with equal weight. The medieval historian William of Poitiers tells us that the duke arranged his army in three lines: the first line, positioned at the front, consisted of foot soldiers “armed with arrows and crossbows” (i.e. the archers); the second line was comprised of foot soldiers “but more powerful and wearing hauberks” (i.e. men-at-arms who likely carried swords); and the third line consisted of “the squadrons of mounted knights” (i.e. the cavalry). The Bretons (from Brittany) were placed on the Norman left, the French allies were placed on the right, and William took position with the Normans in the center. William mounted his horse in the midst of the cavalry “so he could direct operations on all sides with hand and voice.” William’s three lines stood several paces from the foot of the slope leading up to Harold’s shield wall stretching from one side of the hill to the other, the flanks protected from cavalry charges by the steep and wooded ravines. The only way to dislodge the English would be to break their shield wall, and to this effect the first line of the Norman army—the archers—opened the battle with a gruesome salvo.

The Battle of Hastings

In his haste Harold hadn’t gathered reputable archers, so his shield wall was forced to endure a maelstrom of Norman arrows without the capability of firing back. The arrows struck and dismantled English shields, killing and wounding many. Numerous volleys lashed through the English ranks, but Harold’s men held firm. William ordered his second line to advance uphill, to meet the English face-to-face in the bloodletting of the shield wall. The Norman heavy infantry trudged uphill, formed a shield wall, and marched towards the English. As the Normans neared, the English “threw javelins and missiles of various kinds, murderous axes and stones tied to sticks.” Then the two shield walls collided, and the fierce combat of the shield wall began. The Normans used their swords and the Anglo-Saxons their spears, and the English huscarls wielded massive battleaxes that could split shields, helmets, and skulls. William of Poitiers reports that “the loud shouting, here Norman, there foreign, was drowned by the clash of weapons and the groans of the dying.” Some hours into the battle a rumor began to spread through the beleaguered Norman ranks that the duke had been slain. Panic, a worse enemy than any material weapon, began to infect the Normans. The Norman shield wall began to break, and the English militia surged forward, intent on pushing the Normans back into the sea from whence they had come. The veteran huscarls refused to give chase, knowing full well the potential cost of breaking the shield wall, and as they remained solid in the center of Harold’s force they called out to the jubilant militiamen to stand their ground—but to no effect. William rode towards the Norman fugitives, tore off his helmet, and shouted, “Look at me! I am alive, and with God’s help I will conquer! What madness is persuading you to flee? What way is open to escape?” The Normans rediscovered their nerve, wheeled around, and slashed into the ragged English militia who had given chase downhill. 

It was shield wall versus shield wall yet again, but the Normans hadn’t failed to notice that English organization had crumbled during the earlier panic. Orders spread through the Norman ranks, a desperate gambit to finally turn the tables on the English, and then the Normans began to fall back yet again—but this time only pretending to flee. Some historians have questioned the legitimacy of the feigned flight, but it’s worth noting that it was not only a common French tactic but also one employed by the Normans in 1053 in France. As the Normans rushed downhill, pretending to run for their lives, the English shield wall began to disintegrate as the English gave chase. The Norman archers, positioned at the bottom of the hill, fired into the exposed English ranks, and the Normans wheeled about once more, surprising the over-eager Englishmen, and cut a swathe through them. The English shield wall reformed, but it was tattered. Normans and English hacked at each other’s shields, thrust swords and spears into flesh and leather, and climbed over the bodies of the dead and dying. The grass grew slick with blood. William of Poitiers reports that “The dead, by falling, seemed to move more than the living… It was not possible for the lightly wounded to escape, for they were crushed to death by the serried ranks of their companions.” Dusk approached, and the battle raged on. Both sides were exhausted and weakening quickly, but the English broke first. The straw that broke the back of their resistance was the death of the last Saxon king, Harold II.

The Bayeux Tapestry—a medieval tapestry commemorating William’s triumphant conquest of England—implies that Harold II was killed by an arrow in the eye, but the Song of the Battle of Hastings—an 835-line-long poem written for William sometime around 1086—tells us that Harold II was pierced with a lance, beheaded with a sword, and disemboweled with a spear. But it gets worse: his manly parts were cut from his body. Regardless of how he died, dead he was beneath his twin banners, and as the news of his death spread through the English ranks, resistance broke. The English survivors fled into the woods, masked by the thick trees and the dusk’s shadows. The Battle of Hastings was a victory for the duke and a tragedy for the House of Godwine: not only had the king been slain, but his brothers Gyrth and Leofwine had died as well. All that remained of the Saxon royal line was a young boy named Eadgar, and though the boy would be chosen as king, he wouldn’t be able to stand against William. William of Poitiers, in dire poetic imagery, speaks of the battle’s finale: “Far and wide the earth was covered with the flower of the English nobility and youth, drenched in blood.” 

William had not only defeated Harold II but killed him, and he moved fast to complete his conquest. He secured Romney and Dover and marched by Canterbury for London. At the news of Harold’s death, Eadgar was made king, but he would rely on the support of Eadwine and Morcar, the earls of Northumbria and Mercia who had already tasted defeat at the hands of the late Hardrada. Edward the Confessor’s widow submitted to William, opening the gates of Winchester, and the English bishops present in London were leaning towards submitting to the duke. The tragedy at Hastings had sapped English strength, and they knew they didn’t have the power to make a solid stand against him. William reached London and passed by the city’s old Roman walls, but rather than assaulting the city he torched Southwark on the south bank of the River Thames. Knowing that Eadgar could hold out only so long as he was backed by the northern earls, William crossed the Thames and bypassed London, making as if to cut off the route to northern England. The ruse worked: though William made it appear that he wanted to bottle up London and keep it from receiving reinforcements, perhaps in anticipation of a siege, in truth he wanted Eadwine and Morcar to abandon the city. The two northern earls did what William hoped they would do, and Eadgar’s ability to withstand the panicked cries of submission from the city’s bishops crumbled. Eadgar himself, just a boy, led the royal entourage out of London’s gates and handed William the crowd of England. It was a submission borne out of necessity, a submission not unlike the earlier submissions to the Danes. But this time the yoke wouldn’t be thrown off. As William took the crown in hand, the future of England—and of the world—was dramatically altered.