Hardrada's Invasion
Part Fifteen
The Same Day
NORMANDY:
"Your fleet is rigged for immediate war, sire." Gilbert
waved his right arm across the horizon, "Your control of this sea
is absolute, better even than your father's." He did not flatter his
Overlord, but boasted. The fleet of longships under his command
was always ready. They all hated the life of landlords, and dreamt
of going to sea like their ancestors had, to take war to distant lands,
and earn legendary glory for themselves. Gilbert de Neville had
been playing at being admiral of an invasion fleet all his life, and
now the only gift he ever wanted from life had dropped in his lap.
His own warships would strike colours and sail for war on Britain.
Duke William took this all for granted. It were his own
responsibilities on English soil which concerned him.
"Godwin'son has that English infantry, de Neville. His line
of Saxons are many, and trained in the venerable roman skills of
shield." He was baiting his admiral, hoping to confound him
before demonstrating his own grasp of their profession. "What
strategy do you propose?"
Gilbert thought, but could not imagine a sound enough tactic
to suggest at this moment. He could never deliver enough men to
the beaches of England to overwhelm the Saxons. "Tactics will be
everything, but I can't say what they must be."
"No," agreed William. "You just get us there. I've got our
tactics." Then he laid out his secret plan.
He calculated the English would falter under the withering
onslaught of his cavalry. But first, in order for his light horsemen
to pick them off man to man, his troops would have to disperse the
impenetrable defensive phalanx of large overlapping shields and
struck spears, which the Saxons used to perfect advantage.
William planned a ruse. He would attack using infantry, without
success. But then he would gauge the moment for a convincing
fall back, a mock disorderly retreat.
"When the Saxons see my men in headlong flight", he
gloated, "they will find it an irresistible target. They will break
ranks themselves in headlong pursuit of my frightened rear guard.
Then, we can turn on them. I will unleash Algernon, and in open
field, man to man, we can fight as we want. What say you, de
Neville? Will Harold lose his head?"
"Yes, m'Lord."
Algernon strutted up and pointed into the east. "Look at that
cursed sky. We won't be able to see the comet tonight. What does
your priest say now? And the Britons old wiccan is going around
spooking the men. She told me it is our death... De Vere paid her
to shut up, but the priest must have her burned, by Thunder."
Turning conspiratorially to De Neville, he whispered "or I'll kill
her myself!"
Gilbert didn t doubt that he would, but for now he ignored
the unsettling rant and studied the eastern horizon carefully. It
looked as though a huge storm system was rising in the sky. He
may have spoken too soon.
Three Days Later
THE HUMBER COAST:
The Norse allies gathered in the Humber, southeast of York.
The Norwegian invasion was borne in on three hundred
ships altogether, once the Orkney fleet and Tostig's fleet met with
Hardrada's own. It had been a difficult passage for all of them
across the North Sea. Even now, the shelter was minimal, and they
tossed outrageously as they beached. However, in the bad weather,
they had achieved the advantage of surprise. No English army met
them on the shore.
As they disembarked, Tostig felt some new dizziness sweep
over him. It was not just the routine persistence of the searolling
that accompanies the sailor ashore. This was an additional
malfunction, Tostig sensed. He ran one hand through his hair and
pulled at the roots to liven his mind. While disorientation unsettled
him, the presence of his homeland comforted him, and he stood
awhile looking round.
Still dizzy, he sat down while others spoke around him.
He watched the Swedish mercenaries eagerly group up for
the march ahead, and considered momentarily that, if he could
now choose his fate, he would be well away from them in the
English camp to the south. He then received word that his son was
amongst the arrivals, and sent a runner to locate the young lord, but
never heard back. Hardrada had convened a council of war, but
it now broke up. The order came to them: attack inland. A horse
was assigned to him, out of the few they had brought, and he
mounted it. Without vigor, he followed the lead of the Swedes.
YORK
It never crossed his mind that he had failed to kill anybody.
He was, at heart, an Englishman who would have lived well as a
townsman. But at York, Tostigson had accepted his battle orders
with resignation.
He would be in the first assault on the town's main gate. He
was familiar with Earl Morcar's defenses, and viewing the men
beside him, held out no hope of surviving the day. Worse, he had
no quarrel with Morcar, nor with the men of York. His quarrel
was with Harold, who was not even in the field yet.
He was not a natural fighter, and had until now never
known mortal danger outside of illness. In the army, he'd done
well as an officer of the peace. Now he knew there was no
honorable retreat and no possible victory for him. In the way of
our species, Tostig's son went through with it purely to save face.
There was no reason not to regard his death as a ritual suicide.
As they stood to, awaiting the order to attack, his mind
fought with panic and his nervous body lost control of itself. His
mouth went as dry as if he'd stuck it full of wheat flour. He tried
to wet his throat by swallowing, but nothing went down. He
realized that he was shaking at the knees. He willed his legs to
show dignity, but they could not obey, so he began nervously
stamping his feet, and made a show of impatience, as his courage
battled with his fear.
When the order was given, he channeled the energy of his
rising panic into an all out effort forward, but the attack was not
well planned. Kept outside the wall of the city, they were repelled
in the melee with the Yorkshiremen. He fought furiously and with
skill, as the others did, but he lacked their physical strength, and so
he soon took two fatal injuries through his walrus hide and mail
vest without delivering any. He bled quickly. Weakened, he was
easily knocked off his feet. He lay there in shock, and as he died
he had several impressions. The first was regret for dying childless.
The second was increasingly unbearable thirst. Then came
gratitude for having no more earthly cares. He suddenly wondered
why God had led him so far for nothing. When a struggling
infantryman stumbled into him and kicked his head sharply, he felt
punished. He realized then that he died under his father s
punishment. It was not his fault. At the last, as his oxygen starved
mind failed, he recalled Gunnora, and believing her to be with him,
he felt his longing for her once again rise in his breast. He tried to
call her, but he could not even speak. He began to weep just as he
lost consciousness.
His fancy sword was found under him, and kept as booty by
the happy thegn directing the successful defense along that quarter.
When he was himself killed later in the seige of York, the sword was
claimed by Sigurd, as his share of the booty. Tostigson's corpse was
gathered up by the english prisoners assigned to undertaker's duty.
His body was thrown into a mass grave with the rest of the dead
Vikings.
Five Days Later
STAMFORD BRIDGE:
Hardrada was now entirely depending upon the nervous
energy of his men.
They had marched out of York, after
securing the fallen city, when they realized the English King Harold
was on the march. They had no chance to take him by surprise
now, but they could meet him on the road.
The two armies, well matched, hiked grimly on.
Even more than the others, Tostig found himself tiring badly
with the passing miles. Having fought very well at Gate Fulford,
the stamina which had supported his boldness all his life seemed
to have finally abandoned him. Of course, he had no way of
knowing that he had suffered a mild stroke at sea and another just
the day before.
By the time they reached Stamford Bridge, he was
exhausted. Now, here came the English army led by his brother
Earl Harold. They looked ready to meet at once with Hardrada's
forces.
Hardrada offered the English a truce in exchange for all the
land of northern England.
Harold replied: "I will grant you seven feet of English
ground, or as much more as you are taller than other men."
Tostig was baffled by the exchange of insults. The fatigue
suffered from the forced march left him shaking and weak. He
never had a chance to rest.
He looked for some direction from the Swedish Carls.
Without hesitation, it appeared they were attacking. Swept up in
the march of infantry, he walked listlessly into the battle. At the
last, he attempted ferocity, and raised his broadsword with both
hands on the hilt. He stepped towards an English infantryman and
he yelled loudly. Another man, a Swede, blundered in front of
him, and then away again, causing him to halt momentarily. The
English infantryman looked past him towards something.
Tostig felt only a dull ache from the axe which found the
back of his head, but the crack from his own skull was the loudest
noise he had ever heard in his life. All went black and silent. The
last Tostig knew of this life was the great smell of a lot of blood.
It seemed to be inside his head.
Part Fifteen
The Same Day
NORMANDY:
"Your fleet is rigged for immediate war, sire." Gilbert
waved his right arm across the horizon, "Your control of this sea
is absolute, better even than your father's." He did not flatter his
Overlord, but boasted. The fleet of longships under his command
was always ready. They all hated the life of landlords, and dreamt
of going to sea like their ancestors had, to take war to distant lands,
and earn legendary glory for themselves. Gilbert de Neville had
been playing at being admiral of an invasion fleet all his life, and
now the only gift he ever wanted from life had dropped in his lap.
His own warships would strike colours and sail for war on Britain.
Duke William took this all for granted. It were his own
responsibilities on English soil which concerned him.
"Godwin'son has that English infantry, de Neville. His line
of Saxons are many, and trained in the venerable roman skills of
shield." He was baiting his admiral, hoping to confound him
before demonstrating his own grasp of their profession. "What
strategy do you propose?"
Gilbert thought, but could not imagine a sound enough tactic
to suggest at this moment. He could never deliver enough men to
the beaches of England to overwhelm the Saxons. "Tactics will be
everything, but I can't say what they must be."
"No," agreed William. "You just get us there. I've got our
tactics." Then he laid out his secret plan.
He calculated the English would falter under the withering
onslaught of his cavalry. But first, in order for his light horsemen
to pick them off man to man, his troops would have to disperse the
impenetrable defensive phalanx of large overlapping shields and
struck spears, which the Saxons used to perfect advantage.
William planned a ruse. He would attack using infantry, without
success. But then he would gauge the moment for a convincing
fall back, a mock disorderly retreat.
"When the Saxons see my men in headlong flight", he
gloated, "they will find it an irresistible target. They will break
ranks themselves in headlong pursuit of my frightened rear guard.
Then, we can turn on them. I will unleash Algernon, and in open
field, man to man, we can fight as we want. What say you, de
Neville? Will Harold lose his head?"
"Yes, m'Lord."
Algernon strutted up and pointed into the east. "Look at that
cursed sky. We won't be able to see the comet tonight. What does
your priest say now? And the Britons old wiccan is going around
spooking the men. She told me it is our death... De Vere paid her
to shut up, but the priest must have her burned, by Thunder."
Turning conspiratorially to De Neville, he whispered "or I'll kill
her myself!"
Gilbert didn t doubt that he would, but for now he ignored
the unsettling rant and studied the eastern horizon carefully. It
looked as though a huge storm system was rising in the sky. He
may have spoken too soon.
Three Days Later
THE HUMBER COAST:
The Norse allies gathered in the Humber, southeast of York.
The Norwegian invasion was borne in on three hundred
ships altogether, once the Orkney fleet and Tostig's fleet met with
Hardrada's own. It had been a difficult passage for all of them
across the North Sea. Even now, the shelter was minimal, and they
tossed outrageously as they beached. However, in the bad weather,
they had achieved the advantage of surprise. No English army met
them on the shore.
As they disembarked, Tostig felt some new dizziness sweep
over him. It was not just the routine persistence of the searolling
that accompanies the sailor ashore. This was an additional
malfunction, Tostig sensed. He ran one hand through his hair and
pulled at the roots to liven his mind. While disorientation unsettled
him, the presence of his homeland comforted him, and he stood
awhile looking round.
Still dizzy, he sat down while others spoke around him.
He watched the Swedish mercenaries eagerly group up for
the march ahead, and considered momentarily that, if he could
now choose his fate, he would be well away from them in the
English camp to the south. He then received word that his son was
amongst the arrivals, and sent a runner to locate the young lord, but
never heard back. Hardrada had convened a council of war, but
it now broke up. The order came to them: attack inland. A horse
was assigned to him, out of the few they had brought, and he
mounted it. Without vigor, he followed the lead of the Swedes.
YORK
It never crossed his mind that he had failed to kill anybody.
He was, at heart, an Englishman who would have lived well as a
townsman. But at York, Tostigson had accepted his battle orders
with resignation.
He would be in the first assault on the town's main gate. He
was familiar with Earl Morcar's defenses, and viewing the men
beside him, held out no hope of surviving the day. Worse, he had
no quarrel with Morcar, nor with the men of York. His quarrel
was with Harold, who was not even in the field yet.
He was not a natural fighter, and had until now never
known mortal danger outside of illness. In the army, he'd done
well as an officer of the peace. Now he knew there was no
honorable retreat and no possible victory for him. In the way of
our species, Tostig's son went through with it purely to save face.
There was no reason not to regard his death as a ritual suicide.
As they stood to, awaiting the order to attack, his mind
fought with panic and his nervous body lost control of itself. His
mouth went as dry as if he'd stuck it full of wheat flour. He tried
to wet his throat by swallowing, but nothing went down. He
realized that he was shaking at the knees. He willed his legs to
show dignity, but they could not obey, so he began nervously
stamping his feet, and made a show of impatience, as his courage
battled with his fear.
When the order was given, he channeled the energy of his
rising panic into an all out effort forward, but the attack was not
well planned. Kept outside the wall of the city, they were repelled
in the melee with the Yorkshiremen. He fought furiously and with
skill, as the others did, but he lacked their physical strength, and so
he soon took two fatal injuries through his walrus hide and mail
vest without delivering any. He bled quickly. Weakened, he was
easily knocked off his feet. He lay there in shock, and as he died
he had several impressions. The first was regret for dying childless.
The second was increasingly unbearable thirst. Then came
gratitude for having no more earthly cares. He suddenly wondered
why God had led him so far for nothing. When a struggling
infantryman stumbled into him and kicked his head sharply, he felt
punished. He realized then that he died under his father s
punishment. It was not his fault. At the last, as his oxygen starved
mind failed, he recalled Gunnora, and believing her to be with him,
he felt his longing for her once again rise in his breast. He tried to
call her, but he could not even speak. He began to weep just as he
lost consciousness.
His fancy sword was found under him, and kept as booty by
the happy thegn directing the successful defense along that quarter.
When he was himself killed later in the seige of York, the sword was
claimed by Sigurd, as his share of the booty. Tostigson's corpse was
gathered up by the english prisoners assigned to undertaker's duty.
His body was thrown into a mass grave with the rest of the dead
Vikings.
Five Days Later
STAMFORD BRIDGE:
Hardrada was now entirely depending upon the nervous
energy of his men.
They had marched out of York, after
securing the fallen city, when they realized the English King Harold
was on the march. They had no chance to take him by surprise
now, but they could meet him on the road.
The two armies, well matched, hiked grimly on.
Even more than the others, Tostig found himself tiring badly
with the passing miles. Having fought very well at Gate Fulford,
the stamina which had supported his boldness all his life seemed
to have finally abandoned him. Of course, he had no way of
knowing that he had suffered a mild stroke at sea and another just
the day before.
By the time they reached Stamford Bridge, he was
exhausted. Now, here came the English army led by his brother
Earl Harold. They looked ready to meet at once with Hardrada's
forces.
Hardrada offered the English a truce in exchange for all the
land of northern England.
Harold replied: "I will grant you seven feet of English
ground, or as much more as you are taller than other men."
Tostig was baffled by the exchange of insults. The fatigue
suffered from the forced march left him shaking and weak. He
never had a chance to rest.
He looked for some direction from the Swedish Carls.
Without hesitation, it appeared they were attacking. Swept up in
the march of infantry, he walked listlessly into the battle. At the
last, he attempted ferocity, and raised his broadsword with both
hands on the hilt. He stepped towards an English infantryman and
he yelled loudly. Another man, a Swede, blundered in front of
him, and then away again, causing him to halt momentarily. The
English infantryman looked past him towards something.
Tostig felt only a dull ache from the axe which found the
back of his head, but the crack from his own skull was the loudest
noise he had ever heard in his life. All went black and silent. The
last Tostig knew of this life was the great smell of a lot of blood.
It seemed to be inside his head.
NORMANDY:
"Your fleet is rigged for immediate war, sire." Gilbert waved his right arm across the horizon, "Your control of this sea is absolute, better even than your father's." He did not flatter his Overlord, but boasted. The fleet of longships under his command was always ready. They all hated the life of landlords, and dreamt of going to sea like their ancestors had, to take war to distant lands, and earn legendary glory for themselves. Gilbert de Neville had been playing at being admiral of an invasion fleet all his life, and now the only gift he ever wanted from life had dropped in his lap. His own warships would strike colours and sail for war on Britain.
Duke William took this all for granted. It were his own responsibilities on English soil which concerned him. "Godwin'son has that English infantry, de Neville. His line of Saxons are many, and trained in the venerable roman skills of shield." He was baiting his admiral, hoping to confound him before demonstrating his own grasp of their profession. "What strategy do you propose?"
Gilbert thought, but could not imagine a sound enough tactic to suggest at this moment. He could never deliver enough men to the beaches of England to overwhelm the Saxons. "Tactics will be everything, but I can't say what they must be."
"No," agreed William. "You just get us there. I've got our tactics." Then he laid out his secret plan. He calculated the English would falter under the withering onslaught of his cavalry. But first, in order for his light horsemen to pick them off man to man, his troops would have to disperse the impenetrable defensive phalanx of large overlapping shields and struck spears, which the Saxons used to perfect advantage. William planned a ruse. He would attack using infantry, without success. But then he would gauge the moment for a convincing fall back, a mock disorderly retreat.
"When the Saxons see my men in headlong flight", he gloated, "they will find it an irresistible target. They will break ranks themselves in headlong pursuit of my frightened rear guard. Then, we can turn on them. I will unleash Algernon, and in open field, man to man, we can fight as we want. What say you, de Neville? Will Harold lose his head?"
"Yes, m'Lord."
Algernon strutted up and pointed into the east. "Look at that cursed sky. We won't be able to see the comet tonight. What does your priest say now? And the Britons old wiccan is going around spooking the men. She told me it is our death... De Vere paid her to shut up, but the priest must have her burned, by Thunder." Turning conspiratorially to De Neville, he whispered "or I'll kill her myself!"
Gilbert didn t doubt that he would, but for now he ignored the unsettling rant and studied the eastern horizon carefully. It looked as though a huge storm system was rising in the sky. He may have spoken too soon.
Three Days Later
THE HUMBER COAST:
The Norse allies gathered in the Humber, southeast of York. The Norwegian invasion was borne in on three hundred ships altogether, once the Orkney fleet and Tostig's fleet met with Hardrada's own. It had been a difficult passage for all of them across the North Sea. Even now, the shelter was minimal, and they tossed outrageously as they beached. However, in the bad weather, they had achieved the advantage of surprise. No English army met them on the shore.
As they disembarked, Tostig felt some new dizziness sweep over him. It was not just the routine persistence of the searolling that accompanies the sailor ashore. This was an additional malfunction, Tostig sensed. He ran one hand through his hair and pulled at the roots to liven his mind. While disorientation unsettled him, the presence of his homeland comforted him, and he stood awhile looking round.
Still dizzy, he sat down while others spoke around him. He watched the Swedish mercenaries eagerly group up for the march ahead, and considered momentarily that, if he could now choose his fate, he would be well away from them in the English camp to the south. He then received word that his son was amongst the arrivals, and sent a runner to locate the young lord, but never heard back. Hardrada had convened a council of war, but it now broke up. The order came to them: attack inland. A horse was assigned to him, out of the few they had brought, and he mounted it. Without vigor, he followed the lead of the Swedes.
YORK
It never crossed his mind that he had failed to kill anybody. He was, at heart, an Englishman who would have lived well as a townsman. But at York, Tostigson had accepted his battle orders with resignation.
He would be in the first assault on the town's main gate. He was familiar with Earl Morcar's defenses, and viewing the men beside him, held out no hope of surviving the day. Worse, he had no quarrel with Morcar, nor with the men of York. His quarrel was with Harold, who was not even in the field yet.
He was not a natural fighter, and had until now never known mortal danger outside of illness. In the army, he'd done well as an officer of the peace. Now he knew there was no honorable retreat and no possible victory for him. In the way of our species, Tostig's son went through with it purely to save face. There was no reason not to regard his death as a ritual suicide.
As they stood to, awaiting the order to attack, his mind fought with panic and his nervous body lost control of itself. His mouth went as dry as if he'd stuck it full of wheat flour. He tried to wet his throat by swallowing, but nothing went down. He realized that he was shaking at the knees. He willed his legs to show dignity, but they could not obey, so he began nervously stamping his feet, and made a show of impatience, as his courage battled with his fear.
When the order was given, he channeled the energy of his rising panic into an all out effort forward, but the attack was not well planned. Kept outside the wall of the city, they were repelled in the melee with the Yorkshiremen. He fought furiously and with skill, as the others did, but he lacked their physical strength, and so he soon took two fatal injuries through his walrus hide and mail vest without delivering any. He bled quickly. Weakened, he was easily knocked off his feet. He lay there in shock, and as he died he had several impressions. The first was regret for dying childless. The second was increasingly unbearable thirst. Then came gratitude for having no more earthly cares. He suddenly wondered why God had led him so far for nothing. When a struggling infantryman stumbled into him and kicked his head sharply, he felt punished. He realized then that he died under his father s punishment. It was not his fault. At the last, as his oxygen starved mind failed, he recalled Gunnora, and believing her to be with him, he felt his longing for her once again rise in his breast. He tried to call her, but he could not even speak. He began to weep just as he lost consciousness.
His fancy sword was found under him, and kept as booty by the happy thegn directing the successful defense along that quarter. When he was himself killed later in the seige of York, the sword was claimed by Sigurd, as his share of the booty. Tostigson's corpse was gathered up by the english prisoners assigned to undertaker's duty. His body was thrown into a mass grave with the rest of the dead Vikings.
Five Days Later
STAMFORD BRIDGE:
Hardrada was now entirely depending upon the nervous energy of his men.
They had marched out of York, after securing the fallen city, when they realized the English King Harold was on the march. They had no chance to take him by surprise now, but they could meet him on the road.
The two armies, well matched, hiked grimly on.
Even more than the others, Tostig found himself tiring badly with the passing miles. Having fought very well at Gate Fulford, the stamina which had supported his boldness all his life seemed to have finally abandoned him. Of course, he had no way of knowing that he had suffered a mild stroke at sea and another just the day before.
By the time they reached Stamford Bridge, he was exhausted. Now, here came the English army led by his brother Earl Harold. They looked ready to meet at once with Hardrada's forces.
Hardrada offered the English a truce in exchange for all the land of northern England.
Harold replied: "I will grant you seven feet of English ground, or as much more as you are taller than other men."
Tostig was baffled by the exchange of insults. The fatigue suffered from the forced march left him shaking and weak. He never had a chance to rest.
He looked for some direction from the Swedish Carls. Without hesitation, it appeared they were attacking. Swept up in the march of infantry, he walked listlessly into the battle. At the last, he attempted ferocity, and raised his broadsword with both hands on the hilt. He stepped towards an English infantryman and he yelled loudly. Another man, a Swede, blundered in front of him, and then away again, causing him to halt momentarily. The English infantryman looked past him towards something.
Tostig felt only a dull ache from the axe which found the back of his head, but the crack from his own skull was the loudest noise he had ever heard in his life. All went black and silent. The last Tostig knew of this life was the great smell of a lot of blood. It seemed to be inside his head.