Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest by G. A. Henty (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📖
- Author: G. A. Henty
Book online «Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest by G. A. Henty (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author G. A. Henty
The sides were steep and the ground rose rapidly in the rear, so that the Norman cavalry could not attack from behind. It was, indeed, a sort of peninsula running southward from the main range of hills.
The moment the troops reached the ground the royal standard was planted, and the men set to work to fell trees and to form a triple palisade along the accessible sides of the hills. The force at Harold's command must have been far nearer to the estimate given of its strength by the English chroniclers than by the Normans, for the space occupied was insufficient for the standing room of such an army as that enumerated by the latter writers.
Harold relied almost entirely upon the housecarls. The levies might be brave, but they were undisciplined, and might easily be thrown into disorder; they would, too, be impatient under the trial of a long day's battle. It is even said that he sent away some of the ill-armed levies, who came flocking in from the country round, eager to revenge the injuries received at the hands of the Normans. It was upon the shield-wall, the favourite formation of the English, that he relied to win the battle. It was their national mode of fighting. It was that in which Alfred had led the Saxons to victory over the Danes. It was that in which they clashed against the shield-wall of Norway and shattered it, and he might well hope that the barons of Normandy and the adventurers from all parts of Europe who fought under William's banner might well try in vain to break it.
In the evening a messenger arrived from William, again bidding Harold resign the kingdom or meet the duke in single combat, the crown of England to be the prize of the victor. Harold refused the challenge. He had proved his personal courage too often for it to be supposed that he declined from any feeling of cowardice, but he knew well that the issue could not be thus decided. Were he to fall, the people would still refuse to accept William as their king; were William to fall, the host that had gathered for the plunder of England would still give battle. Nothing was therefore to be gained by the proposed combat.
CHAPTER XXI. — HASTINGS.
The fiction of the Norman historians, that while the Normans passed the night preceding the battle in prayer, the English spent it in feasting, is even more palpably absurd than the many other falsehoods invented for the purpose of damaging the character of Harold. The English army had marched nearly seventy miles in the course of two days, and had in addition laboured incessantly for many hours in erecting the palisades and in digging ditches. We may be sure that after two such days the great mass of the army lay down dog-tired directly their work was done, and slept till morning. Harold and his thanes had shared in their labours, and knowing the terrible work that awaited them in the morning, would most surely be disposed to get as long a sleep as possible to prepare for it.
But what is most opposed to the Norman story is the fact that Harold was a sincerely and deeply religious man, far more so than his rival. The life of the one man was in accordance with his professions—he was gentle and merciful, ever ready to forgive his enemies, averse to bloodshed, and so true a friend of the church that the whole of the prelates and clergy set the interdict of the pope at naught for his sake. The only exception in his clemency to the conquered was in the case of the Welsh, and in this instance the stern measures he adopted were in the end the most merciful. No oaths could bind these marauders, and the stern punishment he inflicted was the means of procuring for the West of England a respite from their incursions that lasted for three generations.
William of Normandy, on the contrary, was absolutely merciless in warfare. He was not cruel for the sake of cruelty, but where he deemed that the policy demanded it, he was ruthless, and spared neither age nor sex. He was lavish to the church, but it was rather because he needed and obtained its aid than from any feeling of real piety.
In point of ability, both civil and military, the Duke of Normandy and Harold of England were perhaps about equal; in point of nobility of character there was no comparison between them. We may be sure that the night before the battle Harold prayed as earnestly as he had prayed at Waltham for the aid of Heaven.
Wulf and Beorn lay down among the thanes, after Harold, sitting with them round a fire, had explained his plans for the battle. So calmly and confidently did he speak, and so strong was their position, that even those who had, like Wulf, doubted the wisdom of an advance until the whole force of England had assembled, now felt something like an assurance of victory, and all lay down to sleep with the belief that the victory at Stamford Bridge would be repeated.
On waking, Wulf visited his men. They were already astir, and he was astounded at seeing among them the towering figure of Osgod.
"Why, what means this, Osgod?" he exclaimed. "Did I not order you to rest quietly at York?"
"That did you, my lord," Osgod said, "and no man obeys your orders more readily than I, and anything that you bid me do I am willing to do if possible; but in this it was not possible, for I could not remain at York, either in rest or quiet. I should have had fever in my blood, and would by this time have been lying as deep in the earth as Harold of Norway himself. Therefore, in order to get the rest and quiet you had ordered, it was necessary for me to come south. As you had left me well supplied with money, I was able to do so in comfort, and though I could well enough walk I have had myself carried in a litter by easy stages. I reached London on Wednesday night, having been a fortnight on the way, and I arrived here an hour since. Each day I walked a little, so as to keep my health and exercise my limbs, and so well have I succeeded that my wound has well-nigh healed; and although I doubt whether I shall be able to use a heavy axe, I trust I shall be able to strike hard enough with the right hand to split a few Norman helms."
"But the exertion may set your wounds bleeding afresh, Osgod," Wulf said, unable to repress a smile at Osgod's argument.
"Methinks there is no fear of that. The most nights I have slept at monasteries, and have inquired from the monks, whom I told that I must needs stand by your side to-day, whether I should be fit. They said at first that there would be some risk in the matter, but that if I continued to take rest and quiet as I was doing, and the wound continued to heal favourably, it was possible, if I abstained from actual fighting, I might do so; but of late they have spoken more confidently. I told the monk who seared my arm to do it heartily, for a little pain more or less was of small account, so that he
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