CALDBEC HILL OCTOBER 1066
On 7th October a messenger rode in for Duke William from Robert fitzWymarc, a distant relative of the duke who had long lived in England after being given land by King Edward. FitzWymarc advised of Harold’s incredible march from London to York, his crushing victory over the Norwegians at Stamford Bridge and his rapid march back to London where both the professional troops who had been victorious at Stamford Bridge and the thegns and fyrd of East Anglia and Hertfordshire were being raised against William’s army- together with the men from Harold’s own lands of Kent, Middlesex and the lands of the West Saxons. Harold would soon possess an army of crushing strength.
“We can’t sit here, that’s for sure,” commented Alan on hearing this latest news. “Harold is coming, as we always knew he would. We’re penned up in a tiny pocket of land, where we’ll soon be starving. There’s no way we can winter here.”
“And Harold’s ships will soon be cutting off what little supplies and reinforcements we receive by sea,” agreed Robert morosely. “Why do you think that William has ordered a harrying of the land around here? It’s been stripped pretty bare anyway but that’s just what happens when you have a hungry army with time on its hands, particularly when at least a third of the men are mercenaries. Now he wants everything torching except the abbey’s lands.”
Alan shook his head in mystification. “Harold seems to be able to move his army fifty or sixty miles a day. If he was in London two days ago, he could be here today.”
“But not in force,” replied Robert. “The longer he waits the stronger he will be when he arrives.”
“What of the pope’s threat of excommunication to any who oppose William? What effect do you think that will have?” asked Alan.
Hugh de Berniers, who had been listening, laughed sardonically. “I think it’ll mean little to the English. If Harold wins and we’re defeated, I’m sure that Harold will convince the pope that it’s all a mistake and no sentence of excommunication should be proclaimed. If he loses this battle and there’s a prolonged campaign, perhaps it’ll affect the English morale in the long term. Don’t forget they’re fighting for their homes against us foreign invaders. What another foreigner, however influential, says is likely to be of little consequence to them. After all, ‘The Bastard’ was in trouble with Pope Leo over his marriage to Matilda and that didn’t prevent him from getting what he wanted eventually- it just took some time and cost a lot of money to bribe the pope. I understand the cost was the building and endowment of two new abbeys. Stigand, the Archbishop of Canterbury, has been under anathema of excommunication for years- excommunicated by five successive Popes, and both Edward the Confessor and Harold retained him in the most influential ecclesiastical position in the land for political reasons. To me that indicates the English pay scant attention to the interdictions issued by the Holy Fathers in Rome.”
“Anyway, who’s to say the English even know of the interdict?” commented Robert. “We received news only a few weeks ago and few ships will have been able to sail against the wind to England in that time. I’m more interested in how many of the English huscarles and thegns were killed or wounded at Fulford Gate and Stamford Bridge, and how many march against us. One thing is for certain, it’s been a difficult few weeks for Harold and the English.”
“How did the duke get Pope Alexander’s Blessing for the expedition?” queried Alan.
“Politics!” replied Hugh. “The pope is Italian. We Normans are very influential in Italy and Sicily these days. There are a lot of us down there- and no Englishmen! Alexander received the duke’s embassy and didn’t even bother to send for the English to hear their side of the argument. William claimed Harold is an adulterer and forsworn. If that’s the worst he could come up with then Harold must have led a fairly blameless life!
“What Bishop Lanfranc offered the pope was a chance to bring the English church to heel. It’s been quite independent, even having the scriptures translated into English and Mass spoken in the local language- which most churchmen find offensive. The churchmen of Normandy and France claim the English church is full of corruption, with offices bought and sold or given as bribes- the crime of simony. Considering the situation of Odo, the Duke William’s half-brother and now Bishop of Bayeux, the pope must have found it hard to control his mirth on hearing that argument! Odo was appointed as bishop when he was still a child, has no learning and no knowledge of the scriptures. How many bishops put on armour and ride into battle as part of their religious duties? Several of the Norman bishops do!
“What tipped the balance was that Lanfranc offered that Duke William promised to hold England as the pope’s vassal, expanding the power of the Holy See. I’m sure that’s one promise that will be quietly forgotten! Still, it means that the duke has received a papal ring, the flag of St Peter and a written edict blessing him as king of England- and promising excommunication to all who oppose him. These are quite considerable weapons in the duke’s armoury!”
Nothing happened for several days, to the frustration of the Norman army. Then an English monk rode out of the trees and was taken to William’s camp. A few hours later scouts rode in and word passed around the camp that a large English army had been seen amongst the trees of the Andreswald some ten miles to the north. Matters appeared finally to be moving to some sort of a conclusion. The English monk, accompanied by a French monk and with several knights as an escort, rode out early the following day- Friday 13th October.
Although without formal instructions and little to go on other than gossip, the Normans spent the day in camp in final preparations for battle, many attending the several large outdoor Masses that were being celebrated, hoping to increase their chances of Redemption if matters went against them in the coming battle.
That night Alan sat with Robert and Hugh near a camp-fire. “There’s plenty of firewood, and the horses can crop the grass. It’s a pity that we don't have much to eat- we can’t eat grass! Thanks for providing the hare, Hugh,” commented Robert, as he carefully broke a small stale loaf of bread into three and handed a piece to Alan and to Hugh.
Hugh used his knife to turn the carcass of a small hare that was roasting on the fire. “There’s going to be barely a mouthful of meat each, and the damn thing cost me a denier! Praise be to God that one way or the other something will happen soon, otherwise next week we'll have to start eating the horses! Turning an expensive destrier into stew is not a good use of resources!”
“What do you think is going to happen?” asked Alan.
Hugh shrugged. “If Harold has moved south we have to go to meet him. The land nearby here isn’t suitable for the sort of battle we Normans prefer- we need space to manoeuvre. Hopefully we’ll find a suitable battlefield somewhere, although from what I hear the land is thick woods most of the way to London. In the end we’ll fight where we must- and we must fight soon! If Harold is clever he’ll simply sit between wherever we are and London and refuse battle. We're getting weaker, while his army will be getting stronger. Still, that’s for the nobles to resolve- we just carry our lance wherever we're told!”
The following morning there was a waning moon in the sky as dawn broke and instructions were given that the army would march at sunrise, which that day was at seven in the morning. Other than the nobles, the army marched dressed for battle in full armour and with lances held aloft.
From Hastings to Caldbec Hill was a distance of seven miles along a winding and rutted track. William’s army stretched for three miles along the track, with the Normans at the rear. Hugh de Berniers’s squadron was located about four-fifths of the way along the column. Their view ahead was obscured by Telham Hill and the dust raised by thousands of feet. The column suddenly halted and word flashed back that the English army was on the next hill, Caldbec Hill- just 800 yards from the Norman vanguard. The Norman army was deploying for battle.
The time was a little after eight in the morning.
The Norman forces inched forward, first to the top of Telham Hill, where Alan could make out something of the next major rise in the ground, in front of which the Norman army appeared to be deploying. However, the dust and the intervening small rise of Starr’s Green made it difficult to make out details. When they eventually reached the rise of Starr’s Green the battlefield was suddenly revealed and the reason for the slow deployment became obvious.
“Sweet Jesus!” muttered Hugh de Berniers “I’ve never seen such a battlefield. There’ll be many dead before the end of this day! This isn’t a battlefield, it’s a killing field!”
The terrain was shaped like the letter ‘T’ with the top formed by a nearly level hill on which the English were deployed in a shield-wall. The hill was perhaps 800 yards wide with both flanks protected by steep ground falling away from the ends of the line, and also with a thick forest on the west flank. The English had formed a shield-wall below the brow of the hill just above the ground that had been cultivated. They were there in their thousands. There were perhaps 800 or 1,000 men in the shield-wall, but with the ranks eight or ten deep behind them there were probably 8,000 armed men in all, slightly more than William’s army.
The leg of the ‘T’ was a low ridge along which the road ran towards the position occupied by the English. What had caused Hugh de Berniers’s comment, and the delay in deployment, was the fact that the ridge on which the road was located acted as a water-shed. Streams ran south-west and north-east away from the road and parallel to the hill occupied by the English. The low-lying land at the foot of the hill was soft and marshy, particularly to the west, with the streams only some 150 to 200 paces from the English line.
Usually an army would deploy from column to line at least 500 paces from the enemy. Had William done so, the bulk of his army would then have to cross the marshes as they assaulted the hill. Instead he had taken the risk of passing beyond the streams and then had the Bretons deploy to the left and the French and Flemish deploy to the right, with the Normans occupying the higher ground in the centre of the Norman line. This was done little more than 150 paces from the English line.
The slope uphill from the position where the Norman army had deployed to that where the English shield-wall stood varied across the battlefield, from a moderate slope of one in thirty on the western end and centre, becoming much more steep on the eastern flank up which the French and Flemings must attack- there perhaps as much as one in six. The lower slopes, even above the marshy ground near the streams, would be difficult to traverse even on foot. For cavalry to use that ground risked the horses becoming mired in mud and potentially suffering injury to their legs. To make matters worse the first part of the land across which the invaders would be attacking had recently been ploughed. Rain had made the ground wet- even on the more level land the slope of the hill in the ploughed field would make the approach a hard slog for the infantry and a proper coordinated charge by the cavalry very difficult.
Remarkably, the English allowed the Norman deployment to take place without interference. Had an attack been made when William’s army was only half-deployed, with part on one side of the marshland deployed in line and the other part still in column on the road, the result could hardly have been anything but a crushing defeat for the Normans. But the English simply stood and watched, apparently satisfied to wait on the Norman army to assault the strong position held by them.
Alan wiped a cloth across his face, leaving the material wet and dirty from sweat and dust. Neither he nor Robert had fought in earnest before, and even the more experienced Hugh had never fought in a large battle. “Why are they just standing there?” Alan asked.
Hugh replied, “Harold has fought with Duke William in Normandy. He knows the way we fight. Here he has superb professional infantry- but with a large militia force of the fyrd, no cavalry and few archers. Perhaps he’s not confident his men, particularly the fyrd, can defeat knights on the open field. Perhaps he simply sees no need to take a risk and believes a defensive battle to be the better option. Attacking across that ground and up that hill is going to be a real bastard! If he forces us back and then sends his men down the hill they’ll squash us like cockroaches in the marsh near the streams. I think that St Peter will be a very busy man this day! May Jesus, Mary and Joseph protect us all!”
“Duke William has never lost a battle!” objected Robert.
“True. Neither has Harold!” replied Hugh. “Robert, turn around and I’ll check the buckles on your harness. Then you do the same for Alan. The battle will start shortly.”
The Red Dragon banner of Wessex, the nearest thing that the English had to a royal banner fluttered from the highest point of the English line, very near the centre. Alongside flew Harold’s personal banner of ‘The Fighting Man’, the silhouette in green of a helmeted man wielding sword and shield on a white flag.
Geoffrey de Mandeville’s cavalry were amongst the last to move into position. They were just on the west side of the middle of the leg of the ‘T’, level with the head of the stream that ran to the west. They covered the right flank of the men from Brittany, Anjou, Poitou and Maine, commanded by Alan Fergant of Brittany; their left flank required no cavalry support, being firmly anchored in dense trees and bushes.
Positioned on the left of the Norman section of the line, just to the left of the centre of Duke William’s army, Hugh de Berniers’ squadron was in the middle of the third line of de Mandeville’s cavalry, which was drawn up four ranks deep. Geoffrey de Mandeville’s men kept a close eye on the forces to the left, as the Bretons were not held in high regard by the Normans either for fighting ability or trustworthiness.
Alan saw three things that were notable about the battlefield, apart from the proximity of the opponents. One was its small size, less than 1,000 paces wide and between 200 and 300 paces deep. The second was the total lack of opportunity for manoeuvre, with both English flanks protected by terrain or trees. Like the English, the Normans were drawn up in ranks. Had they charged knee to knee there would have been room for perhaps 500 of the over 2,000 armoured horsemen to engage the enemy. The final item of note was the silence, except for the occasional shout of abuse or challenge from the English which the Normans ignored largely because they couldn’t understand the Saxon tongue.
The silence changed when, next to William’s personal standard of a gold leopard on a red background, was unfurled the large banner of St Peter with its two crossed gold keys on a white background, blessed by Pope Alexander and brought from Rome. At that moment came a roar from the throats of 6,000 Normans, Bretons, French and Flemings.
Those of the English who had not heard the rumour over the previous days were now aware that William fought with the approval and blessing of the pope. William’s men now felt less like wolves ripping at the living body of England and more like crusaders.
The English responded with the load drumming of sword and spear on shields and their ancestral battle chant of, “Out! Out! Out!”
After the papal banner was carried back to a position of safety the Norman assault began. As usual with armies from the continent, the Norman army was comprised of archers, armoured foot-soldiers carrying sword or spear and armoured cavalry. As usual with armies of Norse descent, the English fought solely on foot as infantry with sword, axe and spear.
Alan noticed one more thing. William had kept back no reserve of troops to either exploit a breakthrough or provide protection in case of a retreat. Clearly William saw this as a ‘win at all costs’ battle that would decide the fate of the invasion once and for all.
“Crunch time! May God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost protect us all! Let us place our trust in the Lord!” said Hugh piously.
“Now we earn our half-crown a day!” replied Alan with a nod, crossing himself and bending his head as he made a personal supplication to God for his safety in the coming battle.
“My pay is in arrears! Can I be excused now?” quipped Robert, to ease the tension they were all feeling. The others laughed at the jest and clapped him on the shoulders before standing next to the shoulders of their horses, ready to mount on order. They stood unmounted to avoid unnecessarily tiring their mounts, in what was likely to be a long day for both man and beast.
The Norman archers, mainly bowmen but with a sprinkling of crossbowmen, cautiously approached the English shield-wall and began to fire at close range. Some were over-confident and approached too close. They received a hail of spears, thrown hand-axes and rocks tied to wooden handles, causing some casualties before the Normans bowmen quickly retreated out of range of such thrown missiles, at a distance of 90 to 100 paces.
At close range it was nearly impossible to miss if the archer had a clear target- but few Englishmen were hit by the arrows as the flat trajectory of the shots and the fact that the bowmen were shooting uphill from positions lower than the Englishmen, meant that nearly every arrow fired hit a shield. The crossbowmen proved slightly more effective as some of the bolts were able to penetrate the shields and cause injury to those sheltering behind. The barrage proved to be much shorter in duration than was usual. Each archer carried three sheaves, each of twenty-four arrows; they ran out of missiles after ten to twelve minutes. Their usual method of obtaining reloads was to collect the arrows their enemies had fired in return, but they were denied this by the total lack of return bow-fire.
Behind the archers moved the Norman heavy infantry. Most were wearing chain-mail but a few wore jerkins of boiled leather and padded gambesons. All wore helmets and were armed with sword and spear. The Normans were carrying long kite-shaped shields, those of the infantry somewhat longer than those carried by the cavalry. The Anglo-Saxons carried a mix of similar kite-shields, and also round or even oblong shields- all locked tightly together in the shield-wall.
The Norman infantry plodded up the hill, gasping under the weight of their arms and armour as they struggled firstly across first the low-lying marshy ground, then uphill over the ploughed field and finally up the steep slope as they neared the top of the hill.
On the right flank the French and Fleming infantry were almost having to climb up the hill to the English, so steep was the slope of the land.
At a range of twenty paces the English line suddenly opened and a veritable storm of short-range missiles, javelins, throwing-axes, rocks and a few arrows struck the Normans. This caused them to reel backwards for a moment before regaining their momentum and resume moving forward.
Shield met shield with a clash and the ring of sword on sword could be heard. Spears were thrust on both sides, some finding targets and others not. Here and there the English shield-wall would open and one or two thegns or huscarles carrying massive Danish battle-axes, with a haft five feet long and a razor-sharp blade over twelve inches across, would leap into the open and swing their weapons with both hands. When they hit a shield it was smashed to pieces, and often carried on to cause serious injury to the target. When they hit a man they would cleanly chop off a limb or hack the man in twain. After several blows the axe-men would retreat back behind the shield-wall.
Although with better training and discipline and equal equipment, the infantry of the Normans and their allies were simply unable to force the mass of the English line back or create any gaps that the waiting cavalry could exploit. Chanting, shouts and screams rent the air. In places the men were pressed so close together that the dead could not fall to the ground and the wounded could not withdraw.
“Well, Plan ‘A’ isn't working. I suppose now it's time for Plan ‘B’. Hopefully the duke knows what he's doing,” commented Hugh as they watched from their vantage point. Alan grunted in reply.
William ordered his cavalry forward to support the hard-pressed infantry. The first two ranks of de Mandeville’s cavalry dutifully trotted forward over the difficult ground. The knights spurred their horses up the already blood-stained hill, their speed slowed by the slope, the slipperiness of the surface and the need of the horses to avoid tripping over obstacles such as bodies, rocks and discarded shields. The cavalry also was met by a hail of missiles that brought some men or beasts to the ground. Then the cavalry either threw their lances and wheeled away, stopped and prodded at the English line with their lances- or swept sideways this way and that seeking a gap in the English line. Norman horses were brought down by spears or javelins and the stunned horsemen killed, usually before they could regain their feet. The Normans found that the axe-men could, with a single well-aimed blow, cleave through shield, man and horse together.
Alan, Robert and Hugh de Berniers stood beside their destriers and watched as spectators from a distance of about 250 paces, becoming more and more morose as the battle wore on. A change-over in the Norman cavalry in the centre was about to take place, with the third rank readying to take their turn.
The banners of both Duke William and Count Geoffrey indicated they were engaged in the attack on the English centre, when suddenly the situation changed completely in almost a moment.
The Bretons and the other allies on the left flank suddenly collapsed. Their commander had asked too much for too long. At first the infantry broke and ran, disorganising the horsemen behind them, who soon joined in the general flight. Many of the right, or western, flank of the Englishmen, who had now for several hours suffered continuous assault, were overcome with bloodlust and anger and believed that victory was close. They boiled past the shield-wall and down the hill. Here the stream and marshy ground was only 250 paces away from the English line, and the English fyrdmen and thegns hit the struggling and floundering Breton infantry and horsemen, hacking, cutting and slashing as they killed every Breton they caught.
Alan and the rest of de Mandeville’s men mounted immediately without needing any order.
“Fucking Bretons! I knew we couldn’t rely on them!” swore Robert.
No instructions came. Alan looked to Hugh de Berniers, who in turn was looking frantically to the north for de Mandeville.
Taking the situation into his own hands Alan raised his lance and bellowed what he saw as the obvious order. “Squadron advance left at the canter!” he roared as he spurred Odin forward. His squadron and the two on each side, glad that an order had been given, advanced at first at a trot and then a canter, heading west- parallel to the English shield-wall and on reasonably firm ground. The fifty horsemen rode stirrup to stirrup over a front about 100 yards wide.
At first they encountered stray Englishmen who were only looking towards the Bretons. Then, at a full gallop, they smashed into the unprotected flank of the large disorganised mass of Englishmen who had followed the Bretons down the hill.
Trying to keep a level head in his first major engagement, Alan was nearly unseated when Odin swerved to run down a thegn carrying an axe and who was looking the other way. He then used his lance to quickly spear one after the other three unarmoured fyrdmen, two of whom were spearmen, before his lance shattered in the third and was wrenched from his grasp. Drawing his sword he angled towards the next horseman in line, shouting to the other cavalrymen to form an arrow-head formation and trying to recover control of the charge, which had now progressed about 300 yards in distance to be level with a small hillock behind the Bretons’ starting position.
They had compressed the English on the western flank to the point that continued progress by the cavalry would be foolhardy. The charge had taken the pressure off the Bretons, whose own cavalry now rejoined the fray from the swamp to the south. At the same time Duke William’s half-brother Bishop Odo of Bayeux, who ostensibly for religious reasons had not so far taken part in the battle, had gathered de Mandeville’s final rank of cavalry who had not followed Alan’s charge, his own bodyguard and whatever other loose horsemen he could find, and had begun to press along the stream to the south closer to the marshy ground than Alan had led his charge.
In the meantime the Norman centre had disengaged and fallen back to its start-line, the left flank of the Normans angled to protect its now vulnerable flank. On the right flank, the Flemish and French commanded by William fitzOsbern, a cousin of the duke, also disengaged and moved back out of missile range of the English line.
Alan’s men returned to their starting position, where they saw Duke William. The duke had removed his helmet and was galloping around proclaiming he was alive. Eustace of Boulogne had seized the papal banner and was carrying it as close to William as he could. Alan gathered that a rumour had arisen that William had been killed, and the duke was in the process of overcoming that rumour. William gathered what cavalry was available on the Norman left flank, including Alan and the men of de Mandeville that Alan had just led, and then led them back into the English still below the shield-wall. There some of the English were making a forlorn last stand on the hillock near the stream, some 200 yards from the main English shield-wall at the top of Caldbec Hill. Hacking and slashing, the Norman horsemen cut them down and stabilized the line.
A protracted break in hostilities then occurred while the English moved troops to their now weakened right flank. At the same time the Normans and their allies re-established their lines, watered their horses at the streams and sat to eat whatever food they had thought to bring with them. In Alan’s case it was a piece of bread and some jerked beef, washed down by clean water he carried in a water-skin tied to Odin’s saddle.
Hugh de Berniers walked up to Alan and handed him a replacement lance before sitting down next to him and clapping him on the shoulder. “That was warm work! By God’s grace we suffered few casualties,” he said as he accepted a swallow of Alan’s water. “It was quick of you to size up the situation and take control over what had to be done. I’ll see that Count Geoffrey hears of it. I’d better get moving, as we’ll be back at it again soon!”
Hugh was correct. After a break of about an hour and a half the Norman infantry and cavalry followed the archers up the now blood-soaked and churned ground of the hill. New supplies of arrows had arrived and this time the bowmen aimed higher, allowing the arrows to fall on the lesser-protected fyrdmen in the rear ranks. The crossbowmen were more effective, with their bolts smashing through shields and into the men beyond.
The infantry struggled past dead and dying men and horses from the previous attacks. Again the English war chants rang out, increasing in volume as the foreigners reached the shield-wall and once again the bitter hand-to-hand fighting resumed. Again the Norman infantry were unsuccessful and were repulsed. Again the Norman cavalry were sent up the hill, but still the Normans couldn’t force the English off the hill or force a way through the shield-wall.
The Normans had noticed that the banners of Harold’s brothers, the earls Leofric and Gyrth, had both disappeared- but still the Dragon Standard and the banner of ‘The Fighting Man’ flew over the centre of the English line. Time and again the Norman horsemen battered against the English line, each time falling back and allowing the hail of Norman arrows and crossbow bolts to resume.
Alan participated in two of these charges. Odin snorted and cavorted as he rolled his eyes in a mixture of fear and excitement resulting from the smell of blood, the constant shouting- and empathy with Alan’s own feelings of fear. Labouring up the hill, slipping on the spilled blood and stumbling over the fallen bodies of the dead and living, Odin pressed gamely up to the shield-wall to allow Alan to prod with his lance at whatever target presented itself beyond.
In the next charge Alan saw Hugh de Berniers fall from his horse, hit in the thigh by a throwing-axe. Alan forced Odin over to where Hugh stood gamely on one leg, offered him a hand and pulled him onto the pommel of the saddle before turning to trot back to the Norman lines. There, as Hugh was assisted to the ground he slapped Alan’s hand in thanks for saving his life, saying nothing as he was hit by a wave of pain as his injured leg touched the ground.
By now any precision in the Norman attacks, always hampered by the terrain, was a thing of the past. Duke William appeared to have given up on the Norman heavy-infantry, accepting they were not up to the task of forcing their way uphill and through the shield-wall. Instead he was relying on waves of the heavy cavalry that had won him each of his previous victories, supporting them with archers and cross-bowmen.
The horsemen were no longer organised into their original squadrons, and attacks were mounted sporadically as sufficient knights and men-at-arms at the base of the hill felt that they and their mounts were ready for another tilt at the enemy. Blown and exhausted horses were led to the streams to be watered. Some men, on foot and on horseback, could be seen going up Telham Hill on their way back to Hastings. Others were shuttling backwards and forwards to the large tents that been erected on the level ground near Starr’s Green, where the injured were being treated.
Alan watched the flow of battle for nearly an hour, having watered Odin and allowing him time to recover his strength. The Norman right flank, where fitzOsbern commanded the Flemings and French, had twice successfully lured overconfident Englishmen into following by pretending flight, with the ‘fleeing’ cavalry and others from the Norman centre then cutting the pursuing Englishmen to pieces.
In the late afternoon Alan lined up for another attack on the English centre. As he had often done during the day, Duke William joined the line. His personal leopard banner waved in the air, carried by the standard-bearer next to him. Riding up the hill was a re-occurring nightmare, except that by now the English had run out of missiles to throw as the constant attacks by the Norman archers kept the English within their lines and unable to retrieve their missiles.
The Normans were now walking their tired horses up the hill, only rising to a canter over the last few yards where the shield-wall was partially protected by a virtual breast-work comprised of the bodies of Norman men and horses.
As he turned for his third run of the current attack Alan saw a group of a dozen men suddenly spring from the English line, most carrying the two-handed battle-axe, and attack a group of an approximately equal number of Norman knights. The axes cleaved through shield and armour as, taken by surprise, the knights were swarmed under.
The standard of the golden leopard fell, as quickly did those around the central figure of the group. The last-standing axe-man smashed his axe into the neck of Duke William’s horse. As the horse fell atop its rider the Saxon raised the axe for another blow. Before it could fall Alan delivered a back-handed blow with his sword that saw the axe-man’s head rolling away. Alan leaped out of his saddle, put his hands under the duke’s armpits and started to try to pull him out from under the horse, as he was in deadly danger just yards from the English line.
Duke William’s dark brown eyes looked up into Alan’s face. Both men were covered in blood, grime and sweat. Moments later another dozen men were assisting and the duke was freed. Alan noted a deep cut on William’s forearm, probably from a horseshoe of his fallen mount, and swiftly but expertly applied a somewhat dirty cloth as a bandage. Odin had not taken the opportunity to bolt, but instead did as he had been trained and bravely stood between his rider and the enemy. Alan patted his mount’s shoulder and lifted the small saddlebag from the horse before turning back to William and handed him the reins. He shouted above the din of battle, “Take him. His name is Odin and he’s a good horse, although I think even his big heart only has one more charge in it!”
William nodded, clapped Alan on the shoulder and as he levered himself tiredly up into the saddle he said, “Come and see me after the battle. What is your name, Sir?”
“Alan de Gauville,” answered Alan as he turned to walk away down the hill, slinging his saddlebag across his left shoulder.
A shout of relief arose from the Norman ranks as the golden leopard standard was raised again and William lifted his helm to allow his face to be seen by his men.
As Alan bent to clean his sword on the clothing of a dead man, he received a stunning blow to the back of his head and dropped to his knees; he’d been struck by a rock tied to a stick and hurled from the English ranks. He shook his head carefully and then pushed himself to his feet, using his sword for support and started to stagger off down the hill.
Watching where he was putting his feet, Alan saw a sword, one of the thousands of weapons now lying discarded on the battlefield. It was of a one-and-a-half hand design, plain of appearance and made of polished steel with a sharkskin hand-grip. On picking it up he found that the 31 inch blade had perfect balance. It was a pattern-forged sword of the highest quality, its acid-etched blade revealing the distinctive pattern which both resulted from its complicated manufacture and resulted in the name from which it was made. The sword was of such quality that only the most wealthy noble could commission its making, a sword that would require a master sword-smith a month to create. This was a blade that was forged from five-sheets of steel and iron, then twisted into a bar and re-forged and tempered time after time to a perfection of strength and flexibility. Looking carefully at the steel-blue pattern created by the forging Alan immediately dubbed the sword with the name Blue Fire, which came unbidden to his mind. Finding an unused scabbard was as easy as checking two or three bodies for a scabbard the correct size. After cleaning the sword and sheathing it, Alan tucked it under his arm and continued to walk down the hill.
He was exhausted and the blow to the head had made him dizzy and nauseous. As he now had no horse, and had no intention of struggling in full armour on foot back up the hill to engage the English line through the ploughed field that had now turned into a muddy morass, he walked up the hill towards Starr’s Green, dropped his saddlebag tiredly to the ground and used it as a seat as he sat and watched.
After a long while, as the sun was setting and the confused mass of men continued to surge and push on Caldbec Hill, Alan walked to the large tent that he recognised as belonging to Geoffrey de Mandeville. As he expected, it was overflowing with wounded. Roger of Caen, de Mandeville’s private churgeon, together with a monk and several assistants, were working on the wounded. The medical staff were all covered from head to foot in blood. Alan noticed Hugh de Berniers in the line awaiting attention, the small axe still buried in his thigh.
Removing his helm, mail hauberk and gambeson Alan stood in his sweat-drenched and rust-stained tunic. Placing his equipment where he could see it, including his shield and the two swords he now possessed, he poured a bucket of clean water over his head to refresh himself before moving to one of the tables to provide what assistance he could. Roger of Caen noticed him and nodded his appreciation for the assistance.
It was soon dark and they continued work by the light of rush torches. Word was brought to the tent that Harold had been killed, leaving the English leaderless- but still the thegns and huscarles fought on and refused to surrender or run. Later came news that the English line had been destroyed, but a band still stood firm around the body of their dead king.
The churgeon and his assistants were still working steadily through the range of wounds and cases of trauma when there was a stir at the entrance to the tent near midnight. Duke William walked in, striding alongside a blanket on which the recumbent Eustace of Boulogne was being carried. Alan called them over, “Vacant table here, this poor fellow just gave up the Ghost as Roger was removing his leg. What’s the problem?” he asked as he washed the blood off his hands.
“Blow to the back of the head, bleeding from the mouth and nose- and he hasn’t recovered consciousness,” said William, who then looked more carefully at Alan. “You again!”
“Yes, I thought that after I’d lost my horse I’d do better helping here,” said Alan as Eustace was deposited on the table. “I think you got your half-shilling’s worth from me today!”
After a few minutes of examination of the back of Eustace’s head, pupils and pulse Roger said, “Well, obviously he’s suffered blunt trauma to the head. The skull is probably fractured, but certainly isn’t crushed. He’s likely to be in a coma for some time, perhaps two or three days. After that his wits are likely to be muddled for some days, but he should recover from that well enough, in time. Firstly, he needs to lie quietly abed for a few days.”
William nodded solemnly and said to Alan, “Come and see me tomorrow at Sext at the abbey at Hastings. I’m likely to be busy so it may be some time during the afternoon before I can see you. I’ll have Eustace sent back to Hastings now.”
After William departed Alan decided that he’d also had enough, collected his gear and found his tent, which Gillard had pitched nearby. Robert de Aumale was asleep inside, wrapped up in his cloak. Hugh was lying unconscious on a straw mattress, his leg thickly bandaged. Gillard was just leaving the tent and admitted that he was dropping off a load of goods that he’d looted from the battlefield and asked Alan if he wanted to join him. Although somewhat repelled by the idea, Alan did have to admit that his purse was empty and as Gillard had urged, ‘if he didn’t do it somebody else would’.
A pale moon was rising as they walked back to the battlefield, Alan wearing his new sword. There were hundreds of men walking the battlefield, many working in pairs to strip the coats of mail off the dead. Gillard was disappointed that Alan wouldn’t help him remove coats of mail, but Alan pointed out the amount of time required and the weight of the resulting booty. Gillard was quite happy to rob any body, Norman, French, allied or English.
Alan restricted his activities to the English bodies and, working along the line of the shield-wall, was surprised at how many coins the English thegns and Royal Huscarles carried in their purses and how much gold jewellery they wore. Most wore gold torques, gold brooches to close their cloaks, gold belt buckles, gold arm rings and gold and jewel rings. Within half an hour Alan had collected a small sack of coins and jewellery and, feeling discouraged by his own wickedness, he decided that enough was enough and returned back to the tent where he then hid his hoard.
The next day hundreds thronged the battlefield. Edith Swan-Neck, Harold’s lover, had requested permission to inspect the battlefield near where Harold’s banner had flown, to locate and identify his body. Harold had fought in a hauberk of plain chain-mail and the many bodies around where the banner of ‘The Fighting Man’ had flown were much hacked-about- to the extent that Duke William had been unable to identify the body of his former friend.
Those Englishmen or women who came to the battlefield were allowed to take away their dead, most of whom by now had been stripped naked. Gytha, Harold’s mother, offered Duke William the weight of the body in gold for its return. William declined and after the body was located he handed it over to William Malet, a half-English knight, for burial- although much later William agreed with Gytha for her to receive the body for no payment and to bury it at Harold’s own church of Holy Cross at Waltham in Essex.
Alan spent part of the morning walking the battlefield picking up twenty swords and scabbards which lay around discarded by the dead and wounded in their hundreds, if not thousands.
The Norman dead were being placed in piles for honourable burial. The English dead lay where they had fallen, although William was allowing access by the families of the English warriors to the battlefield to collect and bury their dead. Dozens of English women and unarmed servants roamed the battlefield looking for lost loved ones.
Already the crows were busily picking at the corpses and the stench of corruption hung over the battlefield. At midmorning Alan took his bundle of weapons, armour, goods and possessions and loaded his mule. As he now had no riding horse, he walked beside the mule to Hastings along the dirt track that was busy with traffic proceeding in both directions.