Harold and his army appeared an hour after sunrise, coming over the rise from the north and seeing the Normans dug in on an elevated position to the south. Seeing the thousands of men waiting for him, Harold deployed his army on a similar rise. The armies faced each other as the sun rose and the clouds, which had gathered at dawn, began to flitter away on the sea breeze.
Now, there was a blue sky and bright light illuminating both armies. De Wolfe realized as he watched Harold position his men that somehow, somewhere, the king had picked up fresh men. He could tell because they didn’t move like men who had just marched hundreds of miles from the north. There was some energy to their step. But he also noticed that, from what he could see, Harold had very few archers. Mostly infantry, some cavalry, and limited archers.
That would be his fatal mistake.
News of the lack of archers made its way back to Normandy at the rear of the lines along with another message that the Norman archers, as a result, were going to be used sparingly. The reason was obvious – when two armies face one another and rained arrows down upon each other, archers from each side would pick up those arrows from the opposing army from the ground and reuse them. With so few Anglo-Saxon archers, the Normans could use up their supply of arrows quickly. De Wolfe wanted to conserve ammunition.
The duke understood that but he was also impatient. He had a throne to claim and another property to add to his Normandy holdings, and he didn’t have much patience. He sent orders to the front of the lines for de Wolfe to begin the bombardment before the Anglo-Saxon lines were set and de Wolfe obliged.
Under fair skies and light winds, the Norman’s didn’t wait for Harold’s army to completely set their lines. The first strike was from the Norman archers, raining spears of death upon the unprepared Anglo-Saxon army and creating a good deal of casualties at the onset. Men panicked, ranks wavered, as the Normans charged with all of their might.
After that, it was bedlam.
Eight hours later
Whoosh!
The mace barely missed his head.
Into the eighth hour of fighting, de Wolfe was forced to nearly throw himself from his horse as a Saxon cavalryman in close quarters fighting hurled ten pounds of iron and death straight at his head. That didn’t please de Wolfe, not in the least. So once he ducked low and as the mace sailed over his head, he thrust his sword upward to block it, then used his free hand to grab it. But the Anglo-Saxon warrior wouldn’t give it up so easily and de Wolfe ended up driving his big boot into the man’s thigh to force him to release it. When the warrior faltered, de Wolfe used the mace and slammed it right into his opponent’s mouth.
It was enough of a jolt to cause the enemy warrior to fall forward, spewing blood, and de Wolfe used a dagger tucked into his tunic to stab the man in the back of the neck. The enemy fell off the horse, but de Wolfe didn’t care in the least. He was more focused on the horse, a fine animal, and he immediately claimed the beast as a spoil of war. He grabbed the reins and raced over towards the edge of the field where the priests and squires were gathered, all of them watching the battle and looking for opportunities to rush in to help their masters. One of de Wolfe’s squires, a young man with the surname of le Mon, took the fine Saxon horse as de Wolfe’s big, gray wolfhound barked excitedly. Restrained by the squire, the dog was forced to remain as its master whirled around and charged back into the fray.
Even though it was late in the battle and the sun was beginning to wane, chaos didn’t even come close to describing what they’d endured for hours upon end. Harold’s army had set up a significant shield wall that the Norman’s had difficulty penetrating. As the day headed into evening, de Wolfe knew that they were going to have to do something radical to break it. Harold’s army was weakened and to not capitalize on their weakness would be foolish. Little by little, the Normans had chipped away at the Anglo-Saxons but their mighty shield wall – literally, a wall of shields to prevent the Normans from dividing their ranks – had held.
The horse de Wolfe had confiscated was his reward after a second failed attempt to break through the shield wall. He’d killed an Anglo-Saxon warrior and stolen his horse, punishing the man for the fact that he and his brethren were so stubborn. At this point, the Norman archers had ceased altogether because they’d used up too much ammunition. So it was now a job for the knights and infantry, and the situation had deteriorated badly. It was only a matter of time now before the shield wall broke down, so de Wolfe went back to the lines, swinging his sword and trying to push through the wall of Anglo-Saxon warriors who had so ably held the line.
“Gate!”
Someone was shouting de Wolfe’s name and he turned to see Kristoph de Lohr pushing his way through the fighting. The man’s horse was badly cut in spite of the leather armor the animal wore, but Kristoph seemed to be whole and unharmed. Gaetan was glad; he and Kristoph were closer than brothers and he considered the man his best friend in the world. They’d fostered together and had been knighted together, and there was a bond between them that was stronger than blood.
Gaetan reined his charger towards Kristoph, the excited war horses coming together and snapping at each other until both Gaetan and Kristoph called the beasts off.
“We should have this shield wall breached shortly,” Gaetan shouted over the noisy clamor of men. “Where is the duke?”
Kristoph had to slug his horse in the neck to keep it from snapping at Gaetan. “I do not know,” he said, his sky-blue eyes visible beneath his great helm. “That is why I have come to you. You must come with me now!”
Gaetan didn’t want to leave the front lines but he knew Kristoph wouldn’t have made such a request without a very good reason. Looking around, he spied Aramis de Russe nearby, trying to use the weight of his horse to smash through the shield wall. The Anglo-Saxon warriors on the other side didn’t take kindly to that and there was a serious sword fight going on. Gaetan shouted at de Russe.
“Aramis!” he bellowed. “De Russe!”
De Russe’s helmed head turned in his direction as Gaetan shouted again. “You have command!”
De Russe understood that order all too well and he returned with renewed vigor to the shield wall. Confident the lines were in good hands, Gaetan spurred his horse after Kristoph, who was now racing for the east side of the battlefield, where the flanks were weakening. He caught up to Kristoph.
“What is happening?” he shouted.
Kristoph slowed his horse, but only so he could answer. “Some of de Lara’s men broke through the shield wall on this weakened flank,” he said, pointing out what Gaetan had been unable to see from his position in the middle. “There is some fighting going on back in the Anglo lines and one of de Lara’s men came back to tell me that Harold is dead. He saw him fall to the north, behind the lines.”