With their duchy secure and the papal marriage ban a distant memory, William and Matilda’s prestige was greater than it had been at any time during their reign. As a result, the duke had leisure to turn his energies to an enterprise that had long been occupying his thoughts.

Whether or not Edward the Confessor had really promised William the crown of England in 1051 is a matter for debate, but in the early 1060s, bolstered by his military and dynastic success, the duke now chose to press his claim. The situation in England had changed significantly since that time, and there were other contenders for the throne. The person with the best hereditary claim was Edward’s nephew, Edward the Exile, whom he ordered to be brought back to England from Hungary in 1057 so that—as Malmesbury put it—“his own lack of offspring might be made good by the support of his kinsfolk.”¹ However, this nephew died shortly afterward in rather mysterious circumstances, and his son, Edgar, who was only around six years of age, inherited the claim. He was given the designation of “Aetheling”—that is, throneworthy—which might indicate that the king considered him as a potential successor. If this was the case, then his promise to William was probably little more than a diplomatic maneuver, aimed at securing a useful ally across the Channel.

Edward’s flimsy promise and William’s faint hereditary claim were by no means a guarantee of success. True, they both constituted qualifications for kingship in England, but there were two other such qualifications—namely, being accepted by the English nobles and being consecrated by the church. Almost all of the other claimants met at least one of these four criteria.

Within England, the most powerful contender by far was Harold Godwinson, the earl of Wessex, eldest son of the late Earl Godwine, who had died in 1053. His hereditary right to the throne was tenuous. He was Edward the Confessor’s brother-in-law, and he was distantly allied with the Danish royal house through his mother, Gytha. Nevertheless, together with his brother Tostig, he had a considerable body of support among the English people, who saw him as one of their own. His immense wealth further strengthened his campaign.

Prior to the Viking invasion in the ninth century, what we now know as England was a series of independent kingdoms. They included Wessex, the kingdom named after the West Saxons, which embraced regions south of the Thames from Kent to Cornwall; Mercia, which covered much of the Midlands, stretching from the Thames to the Humber; East Anglia; and Northumbria, which began to the north of the river Humber and extended well into what is now the Scottish lowlands. The Vikings had gradually drawn each of these kingdoms into their domain. The only one to remain was Wessex, which was ruled by Alfred the Great. His descendants were able to turn the tables by steadily taking control of the Viking territories, until the last Viking king, Eric Bloodaxe of York, was driven out in 954.²

But England remained vulnerable to the great warrior kings of Scandinavia, who saw the kingdom as their right because of the extensive Scandinavian settlements that remained—particularly in the north of the country. One of the most dominant cultures was that of the Danes. This race was “noble of blood and fighters by nature.”³ Now that Edward the Confessor looked set to die without an heir, their king, Sweyn Estrithson, a nephew of King Cnut, began to circle his prey, as did King Harald III Hardrada of Norway. Both had the military might to pose a serious threat. In view of all of this, the chances of William’s inheriting the English throne must have seemed distant indeed.

But the kingdom was worth fighting for. England was one of the most prosperous realms in western Europe, and its kings had amassed a rich treasury. It had a population of between one and a half and two million—although it could have been considerably more. Although the majority of the inhabitants lived in small villages or hamlets, there were a number of impressive urban centers, notably London, York, and Winchester—the capital of the ancient kingdom of Wessex—many of which were burgeoning centers of trade. The country was well placed to partake in both the Scandinavian and North Sea trade and the cross-Channel trade with northern France, Flanders, and the Rhineland. Archaeological finds have revealed that the landscape was also effectively exploited, from arable fields and woodland to rivers, quarries, and mines.

By the standards of the day, the system of governmental administration was extraordinarily sophisticated—certainly more so than in Normandy. Particularly impressive was the single national silver coinage and the ability of kings to levy taxes across the country, as first occurred with the Danegeld tax, which was introduced in the late tenth century in order to pay off invading Danish armies. The king could also raise a national army and navy, and he had a central secretariat to issue documents in his name. A similarly efficient organizational structure existed at a local level, with defined communities and courts within shires and their subdivisions, known as hundreds. The religious life of the kingdom was also increasingly ordered, and the English church was an effective unitary body. Comprising the two archbishoprics of Canterbury and York, numerous bishoprics and monasteries, and a huge number of village churches, it was also far more extensive than the Norman one.

Now that William had seen off his most troublesome rivals on his home turf, the idea of conquering England evolved from an appealing but distant prospect into an immediate priority. Even the most brilliant military strategist needs the occasional stroke of luck, and early in 1064, fate played into William’s hands. Word reached him that Earl Harold of Wessex, one of his fiercest rivals for the English throne, had been shipwrecked at Ponthieu, on the coast of Normandy, and taken prisoner by the local lord, Count Guy. According to Malmesbury, the English earl suffered all the indignities of a common prisoner, having his hands bound and feet shackled and being kept in chains until the count decided what should be done with him.⁴

Just why Harold had been journeying to France in the first place is not known. Malmesbury’s theory that he had strayed too far from the English coast while on a fishing expedition is hardly credible.⁵ Meanwhile, William of Poitiers claims that it was to confirm King Edward’s promise of the crown to Duke William, but this is not corroborated by any other source; moreover, it is highly unlikely that Harold—a major rival for the crown—would have been chosen to relay such a message.⁶ Bishop Eadmer of Canterbury asserted that Harold had been dispatched to retrieve his brother Wulfnoth and nephew Haakon, who had been held hostage in Normandy for several years. He claimed that Edward had given Harold permission to go, but warned him: “I have a presentiment that you will only succeed in bringing misfortune upon the whole Kingdom and discredit upon yourself.”⁷ The Bayeux Tapestry supports this version of events, and there is a scene that appears to show the English king admonishing Harold for having proceeded with the mission.

Whatever had brought Harold to France, William was quick to seize the opportunity of having the powerful English earl on home territory. He ordered that Harold be released immediately and brought to Eu, where he received him and conducted him with all honor to his court in Rouen. Although it appeared that the duke had rescued his English visitor, for Harold it was a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire. He might have been fêted as an honored guest, but it was clear that he was just as much a captive as he had been in Ponthieu. William had no intention of releasing him without exploiting his unexpected visit to the full.

But for the time being, Harold was shown every courtesy by the duke and his family. Malmesbury records: “The duke received him with great respect, and fed and clothed him splendidly, according to the custom of his country.”⁸ Eager to show off his status as a powerful ruler, William ordered a series of lavish entertainments at his court. He also made sure that his wealth was ostentatiously displayed, and Harold’s apartments were hung with rich jewels, fabrics, and ornaments. It is likely that some if not all of William and Matilda’s children were presented to their English guest, because the duke would have been keen to demonstrate the strength of his dynasty.

Not content with these displays, William also contrived to impress Harold with his military prowess by inviting him to accompany him on campaign to Brittany.⁹ The image was one of brothers in arms fighting against a common enemy, but the subtext was clear: William wanted his rival to see just how much he deserved his reputation as one of the most feared warriors in Europe. As Malmesbury neatly put it, the duke had “the deeper design of showing him [Harold] William’s warlike preparations, so that he could see how much Norman swords were superior to English axes.”¹⁰

Matilda’s reaction to their English guest might have been very different. Did he spark memories of that other Saxon, Brihtric, who had so beguiled her at her father’s court? Harold was said to be charming and attractive, and even Orderic Vitalis, who was highly critical of him, admitted that he was “very tall and handsome, remarkable for his physical strength, his courage and eloquence, his ready jests and acts of valour.”¹¹ Edward the Confessor’s biographer, meanwhile, described him as “distinctly handsome,” graceful and brave. He also wrote admiringly of Harold’s seemingly inexhaustible energy, claiming that he was “well practised in endless fatigues and doing without sleep and food, and endowed with mildness of temper and a ready understanding.”¹² Whether Matilda felt nostalgic or resentful upon meeting this scion of the Anglo-Saxon race is not recorded, but she would certainly have been present for all of the elaborate ceremonials that her husband had ordered. Indeed, she played an equal part in ensuring that their English guest was “hospitably entertained,” and the thirteenth-century Norwegian chronicler Snorro Sturleson describes how “Harald sat on the high seat on one side of the earl [William]; and on the other side sat the earl’s wife.”¹³

According to a fanciful account of their meeting written by a nineteenth-century poet, when Harold first laid eyes upon Matilda, he was struck by her beauty, which both reminded him of, and eclipsed, his mistress Edith’s celebrated charms: “Ne’er hath he seen a form so fair … A yearning sigh escapes the guest!”¹⁴ Matilda would then have been in her early to mid-thirties, and she was still renowned for her dignified and graceful bearing. Snorro Sturleson praised her beauty and painted an intriguing picture of a flirtation that sprang up between her and Harold. According to his account, “the earl [William] went generally to bed, but Harald and the earl’s wife sat long in the evenings talking together for amusement at the drinking table.”¹⁵ Such was the apparent intimacy between them that the duke was seized by jealousy, as Matilda confided to Harold: “The earl has asked me what it is we have to talk about so much, for he is angry at it.”¹⁶

None of the earlier sources repeat this tale, but it does have a ring of truth about it. Matilda had become acquainted with members of Harold’s family during her childhood in Bruges—and perhaps even with Harold himself. She was extremely well informed about the politics of that kingdom, and could probably also speak a little of its language—an accomplishment that her husband had not achieved. She therefore had more in common with their English visitor than anyone else at the Norman court, and it is conceivable that they developed an affinity during Harold’s stay.

Having thus been royally entertained at the ducal court, Harold then embarked with William for the campaign in Brittany, where they were to wage war against Count Conan II, whose rebellious barons had looked to the duke for assistance. Spying an opportunity to extend his dominions still further, William had been only too happy to oblige. His English captive distinguished himself in the fighting, even though the campaign as a whole failed to dislodge the Breton ruler.

According to the Bayeux Tapestry, it was on their return journey that William finally made his move and invited Harold to swear fealty to him as the rightful heir to the English crown. This is contradicted by Poitiers, who claims that the oath took place soon after Harold’s arrival in Normandy, at Bonneville-sur-Touques.¹⁷ Meanwhile, Orderic Vitalis writes that it was at Rouen that Harold recognized the duke as his future sovereign.¹⁸ The fact that the sources are so contradictory casts doubt not just upon where the oath took place, but whether it took place at all. It may have been another example of later Norman propaganda to justify William’s conquest of England. The only English source to corroborate it is Eadmer, and his account cannot be given full credence because it was written some thirty years after the event, by which time England was firmly under Norman rule.¹⁹

If Harold did agree to subjugate his own claim to William’s, it was only because he had been backed into a corner. He would have known that the duke, for all his apparent geniality, had no intention of releasing him until he had wrought some advantage from his unexpected visit. Even so, it seems that he resisted as long as possible. According to both Malmesbury and Jumièges, William was obliged to give him an added incentive by offering him his daughter Adeliza—“who was not yet of age”—in marriage, together with “the whole of her inheritance” and “half the kingdom of England.”²⁰ Snorro Sturleson agrees, noting that the girl was “very young” (she would have been about seven years old) and that “it was resolved that the wedding should be deferred for some years.”²¹Meanwhile, William asked Harold to send his sister to Normandy so that he might give her in marriage to one of his nobles.²²

The evidence suggests that Matilda was responsible for the betrothal between Harold and her eldest daughter, and that this had been the motive behind all those intimate conversations with their English guest. When Harold learned that William was suspicious of his dealings with his wife, he immediately relayed the content of their discussions: “I have to inform you, earl, that there lies more in my visit here than I have let you know. I would ask your daughter in marriage, and have often spoken over this matter with her mother, and she has promised to support my suit with you.”²³

It is possible that the betrothal between Adeliza and Harold is depicted in the Bayeux Tapestry. One of only three women to feature in the work is a lady referred to as “Aelfgyva.” She appears just after the scene in which the captive Harold is at William’s palace in Rouen, and the two men are in earnest discussion. She is standing in an ornate door frame, perhaps part of the ducal palace. A priest touches her on the cheek, while a naked figure in the lower border mimics the gesture in a suggestive fashion. The action then returns to William and Harold as they depart for their campaign in Brittany. Two recent historians have claimed that the puzzling scene represents Adeliza’s betrothal to Harold.²⁴ According to their theory, the priest is either placing a veil over the girl’s head or removing it, both of which actions were involved in formal ceremonies of betrothal. She is referred to as Aelfgyva because she may have adopted this English name upon her marriage to Harold, just as Queen Emma had done when she married Aethelred the Unready in 1002.

This theory does make sense in terms of the tapestry’s narrative thread. It also provides a plausible subject for William and Harold’s discussion in the previous scene. However, it is by no means certain that the girl would have adopted the name “Aelfgyva” if the marriage had gone ahead. Moreover, if a daughter of William had been included in the tapestry, then she would surely have been referred to by her proper name, the tapestry being a Norman commission. The naked figure that appears beneath the scene also casts doubt upon the theory, because it hints at a sexual scandal involving the girl. Not even the most subversive of artists would have dared to cast such an aspersion upon the daughter of the king. Besides, the lady who features in the tapestry is clearly an adult, whereas Adeliza would have been a child at the time of the betrothal.

A more likely theory is that “Aelfgyva” represents the unnamed sister of Harold, whose hand in marriage William secured the right to bestow as part of the bargain with his rival. Harold had a sister called Aelfgifu, which corresponds closely with the name of the mysterious girl in the tapestry. She would also have been the right age, for she was probably in her late twenties at the time of her brother’s visit to Normandy.²⁵

Whatever the identity of this female figure, the tapestry does give us other clues as to the narrative of the period. For instance, in one scene it shows Harold between two altars holding sacred relics, which he touches with his hand as William, seated on a throne and holding a sword, looks on approvingly. Such a ceremony suggests that the duke was determined to make the oath as binding as possible. Even so, Jumièges attests that William retained Harold’s “handsome brother” Wulfnoth as a hostage against the earl’s reneging on his promise.²⁶

If this oath really did take place, then it was a masterly tactic on William’s part. At a stroke, he had forced one of his chief rivals for the English throne to admit that his own claim was inferior to the duke’s, and he made sure that the rest of the world knew about it by arranging a great gathering of notables to witness Harold’s oath. If and when the time came to invade, William could appear fully justified.

According to the contemporary sources, as soon as he had sworn fealty to William, Harold was free to return to England. As far as the duke was concerned, he had served his purpose, and the hospitality that he had been shown would no doubt have been swiftly withdrawn if Harold had outstayed his welcome. As it was, Harold was as eager to escape as William was to see him go.

Matilda no doubt triumphed in her husband’s success, and she was also very satisfied at the prospect of a highly prestigious marriage for her daughter Adeliza. In fact, the betrothal—like so many others made for political gain—would come to nothing. Within a year of his return from Normandy, Harold allied himself with Edwin and Morcar, sons of Earl Aelfgar of Mercia, and sealed the pact by marrying their sister Edith. He later defended the breaking of his oath by claiming: “I have no right to set any foreign woman upon the throne of England without having first consulted the princes. Indeed I could not do so without committing a great wrong.”²⁷ According to Eadmer, William was so determined to make Harold marry his daughter that he sent a message demanding that even if he disregarded all of the other promises he had made, he should keep this one.²⁸

Orderic Vitalis claims that young Adeliza was genuinely aggrieved to lose her Saxon lord, for she spurned all future talk of marriage. That she had fallen deeply in love with him upon her betrothal is a theme continued by a nineteenth-century poet, who has Adeliza (or “Aelgiva”) proclaiming:

I’d rather be than France’s Queen,

The Saxon chieftain’s destined bride;

I’d rather rest upon the breast

Of that stern warrior proved and tried!²⁹

However, given the disparity in their ages, it is perhaps unlikely that she had formed such a strong attachment to him: Harold was at least forty years Adeliza’s senior at the time of their betrothal, and she was probably only about seven years old. When the betrothal came to nothing, she would presumably have continued her normal life alongside her sisters in Matilda’s household in Normandy until a new fate was decided for her.

Malmesbury gives a slightly different account, claiming that the girl died before the marriage with Harold could take place, which made him feel justified in relinquishing the oath that he had made to her father.³⁰ However, he may have been confusing this with the death of Harold’s sister, whose hand in marriage William had asked to bestow as part of the bargain. According to Eadmer, when William upbraided Harold for failing to honor this part of the promise, he received the following peremptory (and rather tasteless) reply: “My sister, whom according to our pact you ask for, is dead. If the Duke wishes to have her body, such as it now is, I will send it, that I may not be held to have violated my oath.”³¹

Whether or not the breaking off of the betrothal really was the deciding factor in prompting Harold to abandon the pact that he had made with his great rival, events in England soon superseded it.