Count Guy meets his scribes:
Upon arriving at the cell which had been reserved for his dictation, his last thought was largely dispelled. The faces of the monks he saw collected there were anything but long: Brother Orderic and Cousin Walter were there of course, but of the other three monks, two were even younger than they, and the third was so unusual that Guy stared. The monk was around fifty years of age and he was a dwarf. His body where he stood on the far side of the table was hidden below his waist. He extended a long, muscular arm and gripped the Count's forearm warmly.
"Brother Turold," said the dwarf, with the fine and well-modulated voice of an orator or jongleur. "I can see from your face, Count Guy, that you do not remember me."
"No, no," said the Count shaking his head and smiling with pleasure. "I admit that for a moment I was stuck for your name, which you have now supplied. But you injure yourself, Turold, to think that I could forget you, even after all these years. No one who had ever heard you perform could forget that voice of yours."
"You are most kind to say so, Count Guy. I am nothing but a retired soldier and sometime-poet and singer of songs. I've mummed and sung my way around Europe all my life since we parted company, while you are a great lord and have surely seen many mummers with my physique. I could not expect that you would remember one from among so many and from so long ago."
"Well, I remember everything. And even had you not given me your name, I should have very soon recalled that too, and I will tell you why. A few years ago I made a journey to Bayeux, to bring my daughter home from the nunnery there where she had been staying since the birth of my grandson. While I was there, I chanced to enter the great church, and there in the annex they have that most extraordinary embroidery, the one the Bishop had made years back, hanging along three of the walls. The priests said that Bishop Odo had had it made to celebrate the crowning of his brother as King of England. That wasn't quite how I recalled hearing of it years before; you may remember that you told me somewhat of it at the time, because you were somehow involved in its production: you said something about how that embroidery was going to teach the English why their Harold Godwinson was struck dead in battle, and why God allowed that the Bastard was their rightful king after all. Anyway, in one scene, where William Bastard sent to me and commanded me to release Earl Harold, there was a little figure of yourself, holding the horses of the Duke's messengers by their noses while they threatened me in my own hall. Your name was clearly stitched over your head; the little beard you sported back then was faithfully rendered as well. So I have recently been reminded of you, and this meeting caps it."
The dwarf smiled as Count Guy talked, pleased with what he was saying.
"Yes, yes!" he said, becoming animated. "I know all about that. You see, I once served Bishop Odo in his household. I was Taillefer's squire, you recall? Yes. And after the battle, I carried his body over to Bayeux for burial. While at Bayeux, the Bishop sent to us that he wished to have a great embroidery made that told the whole story, of how it came to pass that Harold Godwinson had taken the crown that rightfully belonged to William of Normandy, and how it came to pass that God gave to the Duke his kingdom. Careful instructions were given. All the Bishop's seamstresses and artisans in cloth were employed, and some even came from the Bishop's new earldom of Kent. He shipped them over to Bayeux to engage them in the work. Wadard, Vitalis and I were told to hasten but not be shoddy. We were eye-witnesses to the battle, and between the three of us, I believe we got the story down more or less the way it happened."
"I remember seeing their names on the embroidery too," said the Count, "now that you mention them. Vitalis I recall: He commanded at Odo's castle on Blackhorse Hill. My son was in the garrison."
The monk continued:
"We all three of us had little likenesses of ourselves put on the embroidery, rather like signing our names to the work, for our parts in the creation of the whole thing. I chose to show myself on that night when Taillefer came to your hall with the Duke's ultimatum. You do remember that night, I am sure."
"Of course," said the Count. "Who could ever forget a night of song by the incomparable Taillefer?"
"He was the master," agreed Turold.
"But your own great gift, Turold, is second only to Taillefer's. And since he is no more, that makes you the best singer of songs I know."
"You are most kind to say so, Count Guy," said the monk and bowed his head humbly.
Count Guy then said:
"But I have to take exception with you, when you say that between the three of you the story was told more or less the way it happened."
"How so?"
"King Harold Godwinson did not die by arrow."
What Turold said surprised the Count.
"Of course not. But that was the way Odo said William wanted the story of Harold's death portrayed, and that was the way we stitched it. Surely you're not going to let such a little detail stand in the way? Harold met his end at Hastings and the Norman duke became King of England. What more should be said?"
"Well, that's fine with me. I will tell all that I know of that day later on when we get to that point. For now, my fine scribes, let's get to work at the beginning, shall we? I have a few ghosts I would like to lay to rest."
The rolls of parchment, the ink and quills and pencils were arranged and then the monks waited for the Count to speak.
He went to the open window and looked out with his hands clasped behind his back. The abbey yard was well-tended and provided a setting that encouraged peace. Hawthorns grew in straight rows to define the paths, and a variety of manicured fruit and nut trees grew in tasteful clusters for shade at the corners of the buildings. The entire enclosure was a busy haven of quiet industry.
Confession was good for the soul, so all the ancient fathers had said. Count Guy turned now to face his scribes, ready to confess what was in his heart after so many long years. They could do with his words what they wished afterward, and he would not enquire into it.
While he spoke, the monks kept pace in clerical shorthand. He was soon very deeply into his own memories, and the room faded from his mind. He paced back and forth, and stood leaning at the window looking out. Sometimes he leaned with his palms upon the table. The scribbling monks bent to their task without a break, until the singing of Vespers brought an end to that first day's labors.
Count Guy is captured at the battle of Mortemer 1054:
The King and Anjou had put together a huge army. They divided it into two great columns, hammers to pound Rouen from east and west.
From Mantes the King and Anjou led the main force down the left bank of the Seine.
Eudes commanded the second force, which merged with ours south of Amiens. With Eudes came Count Rainald of Clairmont. He was an experienced veteran, sent by the King to advise his untried brother. Since it was assumed that all the effectives of the Norman army were with their duke south of Rouen, ready to oppose King Henry and Count Geoffrey, we expected little resistance to our westward advance on the capital of the duchy.
Our army entered Bray and the troops at once began to pillage the countryside. There was no serious council of war. Eudes simply met us in his tent at the beginning of the march and mouthed a few platitudes about our responsibility to meet his brother's forces in a week's time at Rouen. Had we done so, perhaps the folk of Bray and the Vexin would not have opposed us. But the troops in the royal army were soon out of control and any concerted advance became impossible. I had no thought save to get over the Seine and into battle with William Bastard. But my men joined the looting, burning and raping begun by Eudes' and Rainald's disaffected gregarii. None of the troops were eager for the discomforts of the winter campaign. Their desires were to get indoors with food drink, fire and women.
By the time we had arrived in the vicinity of Mortemer, our army had disintegrated across the countryside, all discipline gone. The loot piled up in our camp until we looked like a caravan of chaotic merchants and slavers. The cries of the violated smote my ears day and night. The men of Ponthieu were not a whit less guilty. I could not speak sense to more than a handful at a time, and then, there was the bad example of the King's own brother. His behavior was no better than the meanest soldier's.
In a desperation of impatience I went to Count Rainald.
"We are not moving at all," I said needlessly. "The King is going to meet William Bastard and we won't be there. Do something, you're the chief officer."
Rainald looked disgusted enough. But he shook his head and said that he could not order the King's brother about. He had already tried to get Eudes to punish the worst violators. But Eudes had only laughed at him and waved a mutton chop in his face, while his skinny arm hung around the shoulders of a comely peasant girl who had taken his fancy. "Later, Rainald," he had said. "Tomorrow is soon enough to start gathering the lads. We set out a few days early anyway. My brother will hardly have reached Normandy by the end of the week."
I threatened to take my troops alone to Rouen. I received nothing more than sympathy from Count Rainald.
Waleran helped me get a core together. Then we rode about looking for our Ponthievins. They were all intermixed with the French and busy burning and raping where the opportunity offered. I could not get my people to leave off until I killed some of them and threatened like treatment of the rest. Even at that, I could not be everywhere at once, and as I rode on to reestablish discipline, most of the troops I had collected together and commanded back to the camp simply deserted again.
I had collected some two hundred-plus by the day's end. And all that night I kept a vigilant watch over them.
In the morning, our numbers had increased rather than diminished. Many of my knights looked ashamed. My words had sunk deep into their hearts during the night and they were ready to follow me. But they were in a sorry state, drunken and ill with many only partially armed.
The sun had not been long in the sky when the first intimations of danger came to us in the form of fleeing soldiers, who passed through the camp shouting that the Duke was upon them at Mortemer and all was lost.
The rumor quickly spread that King Henry had been vanquished and slain.
I got my men mounted up and in their ranks. We were the only force organized at all that I could see.
Eudes came out of his tent, all bleary and blinking at the light like an owl. His hair was sticking up like mottled feathers. He wanted to know what the fuss was all about. I told him and he sent me north to investigate the news.
We rode past increasing mobs of our men, who had by then thrown down their arms and were streaming south to escape their own destruction. As yet, there had been no sign of an enemy.
I tried to stop the rout, but it was useless. The revelry of the last few days had utterly sapped the military heart of the army.
Then soon afterward, as we came upon the outskirts of the town, we saw a body of horsemen cutting up the fugitives. I recognized the banner of Count Robert of Eu, and with him rode men from Bray, the Caux and the Vexin. But they were not numbered in thousands as the craven souls had claimed. My own forces were not greatly inferior to theirs.
I urged my men to the battle. The feeling I received back from them was not good. But I insisted and they followed me.
We engaged the Normans man for man and the little battle went on for a time without any victory. Then more of the men of Eu came upon us and joined the fight.
I sounded the withdrawal then and we pulled off toward our camp.
The Normans did not pursue us, but instead turned aside to slaughter the routing French.
The weather had turned foul. The sun had gone and low clouds threatened snow.
We rode back to where Eudes was being stuffed into his armor. His casual mein had been replaced by a frown of worry. He sat upon an over-turned barrel while a footman tried to pull up his mail breeches.
"The Normans will be here soon," I said. "We rode hard to get here ahead of them. They are in no hurry. There is plenty of work where they are."
"Are any of our troops holding?" asked Eudes hopefully. He looked like a sick man.
"None that I could see," said I. "It looks like a general rout."
"How many of them are there?" asked Count Rainald. He was fully armed and mounted beside his king's brother. Few others were similarly ready for battle. The camp was a maelstrom of hastening men, half armed or not at all, and of horses stamping about squealing at the chaos which alarmed their mettlesome brains.
"I only saw a few hundreds," I told Rainald. "But who can tell. I don't think William Bastard is here though."
"Well, that's good news at least," said Eudes. "Sound the muster from here, Rainald. We shall presently have more than enough of our men recovered to meet these rebels."
The Count argued the point.
"No, sound the retreat. We are too scattered. They will fight us by bits and cut us all to pieces."
Eudes was suddenly livid. He stood up in his armor, the untied ends flapping about as he swore at the Count of Clairmont.
"We shall never run away from such vermin! They have rebelled with the Bastard and we shall teach them a lesson they shall not soon forget."
Before we had even collected together all who were in the camp, Eudes had his standard brought forward and we rode to meet the men of Mortemer, Eu and Bray. Rainald stayed behind to organize another band and then ride after us.
The snow began to fall thickly as we retraced our steps toward Mortemer. Our charge was met by knights angry and vengeful over the pillaging and rapine. Though at first we were more numerous, our men were weakened by debauchery and by the fear that comes to all warriors when they know in their hearts that they are in the wrong. We withdrew and the Normans pursued us. Then the men of the Vexin came up and we withdrew again. Eudes fled and managed to escape back to Mantes. He took Rainald with him and such men as he had gotten together.
Our tiny core of Ponthievins grew ever smaller as the day drew on, until our horses were so exhausted that they could do no more than put one hoof before another. The enemy kept finding us, no matter where we rode. At some point, Waleran had disappeared from my side. Finally I ordered the last few score of knights around me to dismount and take shelter in the hovels of a small village. The peasants had long ago fled the place. We braced the door and waited. In the cottage I had a dozen or so of my own troops and a few men from Beauvais. It was nearly night.
The knights of Mortemer came upon us. The wet thatch kept them from burning us out. But the cottage was destitute of all food, and by morning the water too had failed us.
Half my men were dead or wounded out of the fight. No one of us remained but bore wounds. I could not stand for fatigue, and my hands were lacerated and useless. A low wall of the enemy lay before the doorway and we had dragged as many more inside and shoved them out of our way against the walls. The low-ceilinged room reeked of blood and waste and defeat. I leaned upon the up-ended table we had placed in the doorway and propped my sword blade on the wood, the point angled toward the outside. The bodies that clustered around the opening were covered in a blanket of snow and frozen blood.
The voice of Robert of Eu came, asking for our surrender. I was helped outside by two of my knights. I gave Count Robert my sword.
He was kind and gave me drink from his own hand. Then he had me taken and placed under guard alone in another house which had been cleansed of the dead. I slept like the dead until the following day.
I was awakened by the men of Eu, and led to where our slain had been laid out on the frozen ground. The rows were very long. I helped identify as many as I could. I saw many friends there, knights who had been sworn men of my brother and then had followed me for revenge upon his slayers.
My brother Waleran was there. I recognized the corpse by his rings, and the token he wore still under his armor - the heavy chain of silver from the patronage of the Duke. I took that.
Our captors conveyed us to Rouen.
William Bastard returned to the city on the same day. He had sent Rodulf the constable to King Henry with the news of our defeat. The King was so dismayed that even the bellicose Anjou could not persuade him to remain longer in Normandy. The royal army was commanded to withdraw to Mantes where it was disbanded for the winter.
All of William Bastard's prisoners were sent to various castles around the duchy for safe keeping. I was kept at Rouen for almost two years.
Count Guy recalls the telling of the battle at Stamford bridge, by his friend Toki Wigotson:
On the far side of the river, the English could see the Viking main body, which had been marshaled into a great shieldring; and in its open center stood a battle flag: a raven with claws and beak of red, Hardrada's famed Land-ravager.
A Huge man on a fat black horse went slowly around the shieldring, inspecting its solidity. As the giant rode, his thick, long legs dangled loose and his feet nearly touched the grass. The black stumbled and pitched his rider upon the ground. But he rolled nimbly to his feet and resumed his ride.
Some of the Norsemen were heard to laugh as the giant rode by them. He waved merrily.
King Harold turned to one of his housecarles, a Norseman, and asked:
"That man who just fell from his horse, he is the King then?"
"Yes, that is 'Hard Bargainer' himself," said the housecarle.
"He is a great man," said Harold, "judging by his stately appearance, as men have said, but I believe his luck has left him."
Then King Harold called a number of his companions to accompany him. Toki was one. They rode with their king, over to the river's edge, downstream from the Viking shieldwall on the near side. From there, King Harold called out to the main Viking host across the river.
"Is Earl Tosti with this army?"
And Tosti called back, saying, "It cannot be denied that he is to be found here."
Then King Harold said:
"Your brother, the King, sends his salutations, and says that you can have Northumbria back in full earldom again. And so that you will not have to submit to him, he also offers you the earldom of Mercia. Thus you will rule over a third part of the realm with him."
Tosti replied:
"This is something different from the enmity and scorn he offered me last summer. If he had said as much then, it would have spared many lives. But I accept his offer. What will he give Harald King of Norway?"
"A seven foot span of good English soil, or as much more as he might require above a normal man," replied the King.
Tosti answered his brother:
"Then go and tell your king that he must prepare for battle. It shall never be said of Earl Tosti, that he left King Harald Sigurdson to fight with his enemies, after inviting him to take England by right. We shall either die with honor or conquer."
Sorrowing, Harold turned away and rejoined his waiting army. They all readied themselves and the main part dismounted and sent their horses to the rear.
The best-mounted kept their horses, a force about two thousands strong. The King told them to ride downstream to the ford there and cross over. While he had drawn closer to the Vikings, during the palaver with Tosti, he had noticed that few of the Northmen appeared to have brought their byrnies with them from the ships. They had been caught unprepared for battle. The King told the mounted force to harass the Vikings on the east side of the river, but to avoid closing with them until the main English army had destroyed the Vikings before them. Once they had moved across the footbridge and were in battle array, then all would attack Hardrada and Tosti together.
Toki and Herfrid went with the mounted troops, under the command of Earl Gyrth, and rode southward until they came to the shallows and made the crossing on their horses. As they came out and reformed, they saw three Northmen riding at full speed away toward the fleet.
"Those men will be summoning the ship guard," said Earl Gyrth. "Let them go. We could not catch them up before they arrived at the ships anyway."
He led his men back toward the battlefield, and as they drew nearer they could hear sounds of conflict.
Arriving within sight of the field, they could see King Harold's men pressing on the shieldwall over the Derwent. The Vikings there were sorely out-classed and being killed off slowly; the bridge held few men at a time and a mere trickle of retreating Vikings could escape to the main force gathered round the Land-ravager. Some essayed to swim.
Gyrth led the housecarles around the great shieldring, to the right so that they could take arrows upon their own shields. The Vikings had many archers, and they wounded and killed many horses and housecarles as the day wore on. But betimes, Gyrth would lead them in a gallop toward the shieldring, and the housecarles would cast javelins and arrows before whirling away out of range of the Norse archers. Always, as they broke away, they left more of their men and horses dead upon the scorched grass.
At one point, Toki was sitting his horse not far from the river, resting. By then, all the Norse on the west side of the river were slain. But there was a lone berserker, standing in the center of the footbridge, defying the host of King Harold to kill him. He was the last survivor of the battle on the west bank. The Norse champion wielded a great axe with both hands, and he wore a long coat of good mail. Arrows hung from it. But he was himself only lightly wounded, and he laughed at the men of King Harold.
As Toki turned in the saddle to watch, two housecarles came out from the ranks to fight with the berserker. He swept both their heads off with two practiced sweeps of his dripping axe, and then he rested and laughed. This happened a number of times more, until finally the fighting stopped and the whole of both hosts were watching the spectacle. The berserker was buying time for the ship guard to arrive to the aid of their King and countrymen. The English would have slaughtered that man if they could, but no more than two of their number could arrive within weapon stroke of him at a time.
Toki chanced to see a small skiff, a flat-bottomed river boat, tied amongst the reeds at the east bank behind them.
"Take my horse," Toki said to Herfrid, and then he slipped down and went crouched low to the reeds and unfastened the rope. As he got aboard and used his spear to pole the craft to midstream, Toki saw his king appear at the end of the bridge. Toki's heart was in his throat as he poled closer to the bridge. The King ducked and dodged the berserker's axe, escaping death by hair's-breadths. Both axes sundered the wooden rails on either hand. Finally, King Harold withdrew to the safety of his own people, grinning at his own foolishness.
The banks of the river covered his approach, as Toki drifted to the bridge. Even as he went under it, the berserker slew two more of the King's men, whose decapitated bodies slithered down to join the small piles of dead already there at the water's edge. By the bridge, the water was red as the blood which mingled with it. The bridge dripped with gore, like water drops, and Toki had to wipe at his eyes as he rose up and steadied himself with his hand on the bridge over his head. With his free hand he angled his spear upwards and thrust it through the gaps in the boards, until the point pierced the berserker under his mail. The housecarle who faced him then was enabled to cut him down and soon King Harold's men were crossing the river and forming up beside the mounted troops.
Toki was not alone in thinking that King Harold had been very foolish to risk himself like a common warrior. He had nothing to prove before anyone: His prowess and bravery were unquestioned. It was just another example of how things were not right anymore, since Harold had broken all the oaths he had made to Duke William. He was not thinking rightly as he had in former times. Although Gyrth, Herfrid and the others of his companions slapped Toki on the back and congratulated him on his cleverness, he felt no joy at their praise. He only wanted his King to behave with wisdom, so that all men could have confidence in his rule. As the English foot were forming up, Toki and his comrades renewed their riding round the shieldring, and slowly the dead horses and men thickened upon the trampled grass all around the Vikings.
Then the housecarles and thegns were in their own shieldwall, facing Hardrada's and Tosti's men just outside of bowshot. They did not move, but watched their horsemen plaguing the invaders with javelins and arrows.
Toki was then beginning to get angry, wondering what was taking King Harold so long to sound the attack. At the slow rate the Norse were dying off, the mounted housecarles would achieve nothing definite before nightfall. Few men had fallen in the shieldring. But their arrow fire had diminished considerably also, as the Norse archers had run short of missiles.
After what felt like an impossible waiting period, it finally ended abruptly. The horns within the shieldring suddenly blared and quavered across the meadow, and then the Viking ring broke outward from the far side and became wings, and the whole of the shieldring became a phalanx of advancing spears, axes and swords thrusting between the packed shields. As they quickly closed the distance, the Norse set up a deep chant. At their head came Hardrada, with the Land-ravager at his back. His men formed a column behind him in the very center, which drove straight upon the waiting banners of the King, called the Dragon of Wessex and the Fighting Man.
Toki and the rest of the mounted housecarles went in then, upon the Viking rear, and threw away the last of their javelins. And then they dismounted and went on foot with their spears and axes playing upon the rear ranks of the Viking phalanx.
The Northmen turned and fought like wolves. They were heedless of their wounds. And in their berserker fury they cut down many armored Englishmen as though their mail was made of parchment. But in the place of any armor at all, the Northmen had only their bare skins. Slowly, the armored host gained the edge, and the vicious counterattack was stayed. It was the hardest fight of Toki's life, even counting the field at Hastings later, where he was sorely wounded.
The struggle went on for a while still, then the Vikings pulled back and there was a lull in the fighting. They were again facing outward, though from a much smaller ring, and all around the Vikings the English stood greatly outnumbering them now. Toki was as yet unhurt, not counting minor injuries.
King Harold came forward from the ranks across the way, and Toki heard him call out:
"Does my brother yet live?"
"Aye, he is here," said Tosti. He stood beside the Land-ravager, for they had born it out of the press when Hardrada was slain from a random arrow shot.
"Tosti, my offer still stands. Lay down your arms, and come here, and I will forgive all."
No sound came from the Viking shieldring, save the coughs and the breathes of tired and sore hurt men.
"I promise all of you," said King Harold, "that you may go to your ships now in peace. Your king is dead and you have no further cause to be here."
But the Vikings shouted together:
"We will never surrender to Englishmen or accept quarter."
The battle resumed with fury on both sides. Toki received his wounding and fell out of the fight to bind up his thigh.
Before he was done, he heard shouting coming from behind them. Turning around, he saw a drawn-out column of men staggering toward the battle. They came from the south. It was the ship guard who had run twelve miles or more in their armor, and they were too late.
Toki managed to just limp aside from their onslaught, and others followed him, almost but not quite running away.
But the reinforcement was to make no difference. The ship guard were nearly dead from their exertions; and in fact, bodies were later found without a mark on them, showing that some perished from the long forced march.
They paused only long enough to cast aside their heavy byrnies, so that they could receive a little refreshment. Then the Vikings charged the waiting English. Their unarmored and exhausted bodies were mown down like corn. They hardly defended themselves in their fury. But they slew an equal number of the English as they died.
Finally, it was over. It was nearly nightfall. The King searched the field for the body of his brother. He was found near the Land-ravager. His neck had nearly been severed by a mighty blow.
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