Conquest

Praying that Hereward would survive another long journey, his three companions bought a cart and oxen, loaded it with whatever supplies they could buy, and departed north-west for Glastonbury. They estimated they could be there by the eve of All Hallows, the agreed date set for their rendezvous. The roads and tracks were deserted, as people, paralysed by fright, ceased trading and sought refuge wherever they could find it. Winter would soon make it difficult for the Normans to rampage across the land; in the meantime, everyone hoped that they would be the fortunate ones and escape the ravenous eye of the new regime.

Torfida, Ingigerd and Maria had been sorely tempted to rush to London with their girls when news of the terrible defeat reached Glastonbury. The report said that all but a tiny handful had perished with the King. They were even more inclined to go when they heard that Earls Edwin and Morcar had belatedly arrived in London with a large contingent of housecarls. As England’s only surviving senior earls, they had called a Witan at which Edgar the Atheling had been elected King in succession to the slain Harold.

However, the three women had decided to wait until the date of their agreed rendezvous had passed before making any journey. All logic suggested that their men were with Harold, lying dead on the battlefield, mutilated and stripped of anything worth stealing. Torfida was certain that Hereward would have fallen next to the King and also suffered whatever ghastly fate had befallen him.

The wisdom of their decision was confirmed only days later by the news that, two days after the Witan and the promotion of Edgar as King, Edwin and Morcar, whose treachery seemed to know no bounds, had decided that London could not be defended and had retreated to their realms in the North.

William had shown just one small mercy on Senlac Ridge.

Late in the afternoon, on the day following the slaughter, Edith Swan-Neck had arrived on the battlefield. She was accompanied by two housecarls and a monk from Bosham Abbey, Harold’s private chapel. Dressed in the sombre black of mourning, her dignified beauty shone like a beacon amid the lifeless flesh of the battlefield.

Immediately recognizing her status, William nodded politely as she approached.

‘How may I help you, my Lady?’

‘My Lord Duke, I am Edith Swan-Neck and I have come to collect that which is rightfully mine — the body of my beloved, the King of England, Harold Godwinson.’

William’s response was firm. ‘You may not have him, madam. I will not have him become a martyr to his people.’

‘He is already a martyr, no matter what you do with his body. I just want a Christian burial for my husband.’

‘But you are not his wife. His Queen is Ealdgyth; she awaits in London.’

‘She is his Queen in name only. By ancient custom, I am his wife and the mother of his children. You have no right to deny me this.’ She flashed a look of defiance at the Duke, sufficient for him to vacillate.

He turned to Odo, Bishop of Bayeux. ‘What is your advice?’

‘It is not a spiritual issue, my brother; it is a matter of common sense. You have to rule these people from now on, so it would be wise at least to allow their dead King a Christian burial.’

William thought for some time about Edith’s request. Like the English men he had just defeated on the battlefield, here was one of their womenfolk with the same stubborn resolve.

A gust of wind blew off the Channel, a breeze that had the chill of winter in it.

The Duke shivered. ‘Madam, if you can find it up there, you may take the body. My trusted friend William of Malet will accompany you. Harold must be buried in an unmarked grave on the shore he so dismally failed to protect. It will be done this night, in darkness, in a secret place, so that no one may return to dig his body up and make a sacred tomb for him elsewhere. See that it is done.’

The Duke would make no further concessions.

When she reached the place where William of Malet suggested the King had fallen, Edith took off her shoes, pulled her dress up to her thighs, tied it in a knot and strode into the heap of bodies. In the fading light, aided by a single lantern, it took them nearly an hour to find Harold’s body. Her mind set on her purpose, Edith paid almost no attention to the remnants of men beneath her feet. All weapons, hauberks and valuables had already been removed, so it was difficult to tell one corpse from another, but Harold bore a telltale mark that only a few had seen, an emblem that Edith knew intimately.