The most famous date in English history, 1066, was a year that began with a death and ended with a coronation. On January 5, Edward the Confessor died. On his deathbed, he bequeathed his throne to Harold, knowing that of all the rival claimants, he had by far the most support among the people. Orderic Vitalis claims that Harold had persuaded Edward to name him successor by telling him of his betrothal to Adeliza, whereby William had “granted him as his son-in-law all his rights in the English kingdom.”¹ But this is highly unlikely, given that Harold had already abandoned the betrothal and married another. In fact, Edward had been persuaded by the witan council, an assembly of elite secular and ecclesiastical men whose primary function was advisory, which had met in the autumn of the previous year when it became obvious that the king was dying, in order to consider the relative merits of the various claimants.

Harold’s accession was recorded in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but clearly not until some time later, because the annalists wrote retrospectively that he “succeeded to the kingdom and held it 40 weeks and one day … and he experienced little quietness … while he ruled the kingdom.”² The Saxon had all the qualities needed to make a great ruler. Even though he dismisses him as a dishonorable usurper, Orderic Vitalis admits that Harold was also “a brave and valiant man, very handsome, pleasant in speech, and a good friend to all.”³

Harold may have been popular in England, but powerful forces across the seas were preparing to attack. Among them was Duke William. Incensed by his rival’s flagrant disregard for the oath that he had made while in Normandy, he wasted no time in making preparations for a large-scale invasion. He traveled throughout his duchy holding court with his chief magnates to drum up support, and within a few short months he had amassed a considerable army. As Malmesbury describes: “Duke William … spent the whole of that year in warlike preparations, using lavish expenditure to keep his own knights in readiness and to attract those of others.”⁴ The prospect of sharing in the riches of one of the most prosperous countries in Europe drew supporters from far and wide. “As rumours of the enterprise spread to the neighbouring regions men with a lust for war flocked to the duke and made ready their weapons for the fray … panting for the spoils of England they gladly threw themselves into the perils that awaited them by land and sea.”⁵

In order to quell any doubts about his right to the crown of England, William wrote to Pope Alexander “to urge the justice of his campaign with all the eloquence at his command.”⁶ Harold failed to take the same precaution, and as a result, the Pope threw his weight behind the duke’s venture. As a symbol of this support, he sent William a square white banner lined with blue and displaying a golden cross; this was to be hoisted above the invasion fleet.

In making his preparations to invade, William had the full support of his ambitious wife, who was eager to add the crown of England to their dominions. It was said that the duke asked her if he and his men “might have the benefit of her prayers and those of her ladies.”⁷ Matilda no doubt acceded to this request, and did a great deal more besides. La Trinité, the abbey that she had commissioned in Caen to make recompense for her marriage to William, was probably still not completed at this time, but she decided that this would be the perfect moment to dedicate it. An elaborate ceremony was planned, to which all the high-ranking members of Norman society were invited. The date assigned for it was June 18, 1066, at the height of William’s propaganda campaign for his planned conquest of England. It was an important occasion for Matilda and her husband. A contemporary charter shows that as well as nobles from across the principality, all the most senior churchmen were in attendance, including Archbishop Maurilius of Rouen and four of his six subordinate bishops, eight abbots, and the heads of almost every monastery that had Duke William as its patron.

All of this may seem like a rather cynical attempt by Matilda to lend her husband’s campaign religious legitimacy, but the occasion did involve a genuine sacrifice on her part. On the day of the ceremony, she and William offered up their daughter Cecilia as a novice at the abbey.⁸ Giving one’s child to a religious house was considered the greatest gift that one could bestow upon God. It echoed biblical tales of people offering their children, animals, or precious possessions as a sacrifice. That William and Matilda should choose to do so at such a time was profoundly significant. They were effectively striking a bargain with God: they had given Him their daughter, now He should give them England.

During the ceremony, William led the girl to the altar and, taking her up into his arms, vowed before the assembly that she would be dedicated to God, by whose grace he and Matilda had been blessed with so many offspring and other gifts. As a compliment to the ducal couple, many of the noblemen present offered their daughters, sisters, and even mothers to the abbey, along with generous bequests of land.⁹

Although the religious life was a common destiny for those daughters from aristocratic families who were not used to forge advantageous marriages, Cecilia was extraordinarily young to become a novice. She would probably have been little more than seven years old.¹⁰ As the daughter of the duke and duchess, she would have enjoyed a less straitened existence than many of her fellow residents at La Trinité. Women of high birth who entered the monastic life were permitted their own household and chaplain. Far from being recluses who lived out their days in an obscure corner of the world in sorrow and contemplation, they gained the freedom and authority that were denied them by the male-dominated secular life.

Nevertheless, to relinquish her daughter in this way was still a sacrifice for Matilda. The meticulous attention that she had given to her daughters’ education and upbringing suggests a caring and tender mother, so it cannot have been without pain that she bade farewell to the young girl. The sources do not reveal whether they had any contact after that time, but the rules of the abbey did allow Cecilia to receive visitors in her private apartments. Given how active Matilda was as a patron of La Trinité, it is likely that she saw her daughter regularly.

Cecilia’s entry into La Trinité was significant enough to warrant a mention by Orderic Vitalis, who noted: “her [Matilda’s] daughter, the virgin Cecilia, was consecrated to God and remained in his service for a long time.”¹¹ He added that Cecilia was “brought up and carefully educated” by her mother’s namesake, the “vigorous” abbess Matilda, who was renowned for strict discipline.¹² Jumièges also refers to Cecilia as “a virgin dedicated to God in the monastery of Sainte-Trinité in the town of Caen.”¹³

As well as being intended as a sacrifice to God, Cecilia’s fate may also have had a more practical benefit from Matilda’s perspective. It is possible that she intended the girl to rule the abbey in future and thus secure the continuation of her family’s influence there. If this was her purpose, then later events would prove that she had remarkable foresight.

Matilda did not allow herself long to mourn the loss of her daughter to the religious life. The prospect of becoming queen of England was evidently an appealing one, for she threw herself into William’s invasion effort with even more directness. Her contribution was both spectacular and unique: she commissioned a magnificent new ship in which her husband might cross the Channel and lay siege to his prospective kingdom. Considering its scale, the vessel was constructed with remarkable speed, and the result was formidable. Clearly, it was built for show as much as for service. The Bayeux Tapestry depicts it as a vast ship (magno navigo), larger than the rest of the fleet and carrying more men.¹⁴ It is highly decorated and modeled on the Viking style, with billowing four-cornered sails painted in stripes of red (or brown) and yellow.¹⁵

Matilda had planned every detail with meticulous care, and each of the embellishments was loaded with symbolism. A contemporary document known as the Ship List of William the Conqueror tells how the duchess ordered her craftsmen to make a figurehead of a golden child with his right forefinger pointing toward England and his left hand pressing an ivory horn against his lips. Although Wace believed that this represented one of William and Matilda’s sons, it may have symbolized a future son rather than a present one. There is evidence to suggest that the duchess had become pregnant shortly before her husband embarked upon his invasion of England. If this was the case, then the figurehead would have been intended as a secret gesture, the true significance of which was understood only by the ducal couple themselves—or even, perhaps, by Matilda alone.¹⁶

It was exceptionally rare for a figurehead to be in the form of a child; they usually depicted animals or fantastical creatures such as dragons or monsters. The fact that the one commissioned by Matilda was crafted out of gold may also have been significant, for William of Poitiers described England as a land of silver and gold. Matilda’s message could therefore have been that the child she was carrying symbolized the birth of a new Norman dynasty in England.¹⁷

This patriotic symbolism continued throughout the rest of the ship. The prow was ornamented with a lion’s head, a sign of bravery and strength. In order to demonstrate that God was on her husband’s side, Matilda also employed the consecrated banner that had been sent to William from Rome, hoisting it at the masthead.

The end result inspired awe in all who saw it. The ship was named the Mora, the literal translation of which was “mansion” or “habitation.” Certain romantic historians claim that it was a knowing anagram of amor. Perhaps more likely is that it was a subtle allusion to Matilda’s distinguished past—the Flemish counts from whom she was descended were known as the Morini. Such a gesture would have been typical of the duchess’s pride in her pedigree.¹⁸

In commissioning such a highly decorated and sumptuous vessel for her husband to sail in, Matilda appeared to be showing him great veneration and respect. Wace observed that she had built the ship “in honour of the said Duke.”¹⁹ To achieve maximum impact, she had kept the whole project a secret from William, and it was only as he was assembling his fleet at the mouth of the River Dives in Normandy during the summer of 1066 that she unveiled the Mora to him. He was so delighted with the magnificent vessel that he immediately made it his flagship. His admiration for his wife was greater than ever before. To show his gratitude, he confidently promised her the county of Kent when he became king of England. This would make Matilda a rich woman, for the county was one of the most prosperous in England, and its revenues would keep her in an extremely comfortable style even if she received no other income.

According to Wace, Matilda’s family contributed rather less toward William’s enterprise than she did herself. He claims that the duke wrote to his father-in-law asking for his assistance. But the shrewd count refused to commit either men or money until William had told him “how much of England he would have and what part of it he would get.” William promised to discuss this with his nobles, and a short while later he sent Baldwin a letter, sealed with wax. Upon opening it, the count was bemused to find that the parchment was blank, and asked the messenger what it meant. The latter replied: “You will have nothing and should expect nothing … He will conquer it [England] and not have any help from you.”²⁰ Entertaining though it is, this tale is not repeated in any other source, and given that it was written more than a century after the event, its authenticity is dubious.

Nevertheless, Baldwin did indeed prove reluctant to help his son-in-law, and it was only after William had promised him an annual sum of 300 marks of silver if he became king of England that the count agreed to provide troops for the invasion. Admittedly, Baldwin was in an awkward position, for although William was his son-in-law, he was also related by marriage to another contender for the throne—Harold Godwinson’s brother Tostig, who was married to his half-sister Judith. Baldwin also had to take account of the interests of his overlord, the French king. In the end, he chose to hedge his bets. As well as providing limited support to Duke William, he also supplied Tostig with ships and men to attack England.

Meanwhile, in the kingdom upon which the duke had set his sights, there was a growing sense of unease at the gathering storm. The chroniclers tell of a portentous event that occurred in April 1066, just three months after Harold’s accession: “Throughout all England, a sign such as men never saw before was seen in the heavens. Some men declared that it was the star comet, which some men called the ‘haired’ star.”²¹ The phenomenon was also seen in Normandy, and Jumièges marveled: “its three-forked tail stretched far into the southern sky remaining visible for fifteen days.”²² To a God-fearing people who were ever watchful for heavenly portents, this was a sign of unprecedented significance. Great change—good or bad—must be afoot. With the wisdom of hindsight, Orderic Vitalis was more specific about what this change might be: “this portended the transfer of a kingdom.”²³

By July of that year, Duke William’s preparations for the invasion were complete. He had amassed a formidable force of men. Historians disagree about its size, but William of Poitiers’ claims of fifty thousand men are almost certainly an exaggeration, especially in the light of what we know of other cross-Channel invasion forces.²⁴ In fact William’s army may have numbered as few as seven thousand. Even so, Orderic Vitalis describes how the duke “gathered an immense army of Normans, Flemish, French and Bretons” and claims that his fleet comprised as many as three thousand ships, although the actual figure was probably between seven hundred and a thousand.²⁵ When these were all ready to sail, “he loaded the vessels with vigorous horses and very strong men armed with hauberks and helmets.”²⁶ Although contemporary chroniclers exaggerated the size of William’s force, it would undoubtedly have presented a formidable sight. The sense of expectation, among both the troops and their leader, must have been high.

Although William had achieved remarkable success in stabilizing the duchy during the previous three decades, he knew better than to trust the protestations of loyalty by his powerful noble subjects, who were no doubt already scheming to seize control as soon as he had set sail for England. He therefore had to ensure that his domain was left in the hands of someone whom he could trust absolutely to govern in his name and prove immune to corruption or rebellion. It is a testament to how much he esteemed and valued his wife that he decided that she was the only person capable of fulfilling this role.

William and Matilda’s eldest son, Robert, might have expected to rule in his father’s absence. At fourteen years of age, he would have already been considered a man, and he had been nominated William’s heir some three years earlier. He had on one occasion been allowed to confirm a charter on his father’s behalf, which he no doubt took as a sign of trust. Moreover, the fact that he had been trained in military and political affairs from his infancy meant that he had the capability—and no doubt the desire—to rise to the challenge. After all, his father had been six years younger than he when he had assumed control of the duchy. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle notes: “the best who were in the land had sworn with oaths and taken him [William] as lord.”²⁷ But Robert was given only nominal responsibility; Matilda was to act as regent on his behalf, and it was clear that she, not the boy, would hold all the authority.

That William should bypass his eldest son in this way was no great surprise, given the disdain that he had always felt toward him. In his opinion, Robert was a feckless, pampered young man, overly indulged by his mother and with no real credibility among the aristocracy of Normandy. It would be the first of many occasions on which the duke disregarded his son’s wishes, and relations between them rapidly began to sour. However, Robert’s being passed over did not mark the beginning of an estrangement between Matilda and her eldest son: far from it. As the acknowledged heir to the duchy, Robert’s safety was paramount, and he was therefore kept at his mother’s side throughout her regency. Later events suggest that this period strengthened the bond between them, allowing Matilda to indulge the affection that she had always felt toward her firstborn.

The significance of Matilda’s new role cannot be overstated. Although women were beginning to play a powerful role in the emerging dominance of the Christian church, they were still largely sidelined in political affairs. The teachings of St. Paul were held fast by most European rulers: wives should be meek, passive, and silent. Thus, no female consort before Matilda had exercised such power. Even the formidable Queen Emma, who had confidently expected that her husband, King Cnut, would name her regent in the event of his death, had seen her ambitions dashed in 1035 when his illegitimate son, Harold Harefoot, had been appointed instead.

Still, Matilda was not the first woman in western Europe to have the honor of the regency bestowed on her. In France, King Henry’s widow, Anne of Kiev, was appointed coregent for their young son Philip in 1060, along with Matilda’s father, Baldwin.²⁸ The first consort to be explicitly charged with the powers of regency was Matilda’s contemporary, Agnes of Poitou, who took charge of the Holy Roman Empire on behalf of her young son, Henry IV, after her husband’s death in 1056. More common was for a royal wife to be spoken of as “nourishing the young king” or “keeping the kingdom.”²⁹ However, Agnes was not a role model to which others might wish to aspire. Her chief adviser, Henry II, Bishop of Augsburg, was despised for his arrogance and for the level of influence he enjoyed over Agnes, which led to rumors of an illicit affair. She was eventually ousted when a group of hostile noblemen abducted her son, thus depriving her of authority.

However, both Anne of Kiev and Agnes of Poitou were able to exercise sole power only after the death of their husbands. A more direct comparison with Matilda is Gunnor, the long-term mistress and later wife of William’s great-grandfather, Duke Richard I. She wielded considerable authority during Richard’s lifetime and remained influential long after his death, when their son Richard II was in power. Gunnor’s skill in the political arena has led one recent commentator to highlight the similarities between her and Matilda, describing her as “one of those women who could make her influence felt in a predominantly masculine world.”³⁰

There are also examples of women who defied their conventional role in society to the extent of taking part in military campaigns. They include another of Matilda’s contemporaries, Matilda of Tuscany, daughter of the powerful Italian prince Boniface III. The death of her brother in 1055 left her as sole heiress to the family’s vast estates at the age of just eight. From that time onward, she was trained in military as well as diplomatic affairs, and it was said that she rode into battle on behalf of the papacy when she was in her teens. Malmesbury describes her as “a woman who, forgetful of her sex, and compared to the ancient Amazons, used to lead forth her hardy troops to battle.”³¹

As regent during William’s absence, Matilda would now have the power to make laws throughout the duchy, dispense justice, levy taxes, and mint money. She also had a military force at her disposal, should she choose to use it. That the duke, a staunch traditionalist, should elevate his wife to such a position ahead of the potential male candidates—who, as well as Robert, included William’s half-brother Odo, and his right-hand man William fitzOsbern—would have sent shock waves throughout the duchy. Moreover, the planned invasion of England must have seemed an enormously risky enterprise, and it was very possible that William, like his father more than thirty years before, would never return. Whatever his fate, though, he seemed confident that the duchy would stay safe under Matilda’s guidance. Indeed, as he stated to King Philip of France, who—perhaps disingenuously—expressed concern over his rival’s departure and the future of the duchy: “That is a care that shall not need to trouble our neighbours; by the grace of God we are blessed with a prudent wife and loving subjects, who will keep our border securely during our absence.”³²

To ensure that Matilda’s appointment would be honored by his subjects, William summoned a great council at the ducal castle in Bonneville-sur-Touques and forced his chief magnates to swear an oath of fidelity to his son as heir and to his wife as regent.³³Three of his most trusted counsellors—Roger de Beaumont, Roger de Montgomery, and Hugh d’Avranches—were appointed as advisers to Matilda.³⁴ Of these, Montgomery was William’s closest companion. Described as “a wise and prudent man,” he was renowned for his learning. These qualities would have endeared him to Matilda, and she was no doubt glad to have such a man among her advisers.³⁵ Like her, he was also an active religious patron, and made several generous grants to monastic houses. He was married to the formidable Mabel of Bellême, and they showed their loyalty toward Matilda by naming one of their daughters after her.³⁶ Among the advisers, Roger de Beaumont was described as being “first in dignity,” and his “mature age” lent him wisdom and experience that would be useful to the duchess.³⁷ Whether the duke genuinely believed that his wife would need the guidance of Beaumont and his fellow counsellors, or whether this was a sop to their wounded pride, cannot be known for certain. Either way, everyone present knew that in practice Matilda would have the power to disregard their advice if she chose and to act according to her own volition.

The challenge that Matilda faced as regent of Normandy was considerable. As her husband once observed: “The Normans are a turbulent people, always ready to cause disturbances.”³⁸ Even though William had achieved much in establishing his authority as duke, the Norman aristocracy was still dominant in both secular and ecclesiastical affairs, and power had become concentrated in the hands of a few great families. The fact that William had strategically appointed representatives of some of these families to assist his wife in her regency was no guarantee of their loyalty.

Not only was Matilda confronted by potential threats from within the duchy, but the French king always had an eye to exploit any sign of weakness on the part of his rival. The same was true of Geoffrey III, the count of Anjou, whose territory bordered Normandy to the southwest. Both had been temporarily subdued by William’s campaigns prior to 1066, but his preeminence was unlikely to last for long. His wife was therefore a good deal more than just a caretaker; she must seize the initiative and rule as fully and effectively as her husband would have done.

While William waited for favorable winds to convey him and his fleet to England, his opponent was amassing substantial forces to defend his throne. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle records: “King Harold … gathered a greater raiding ship-army and also raiding land-army than any king here in the land had ever done before, because he was informed that William the Bastard wanted to come here and win this land.”³⁹ But it was at this moment that his attention was diverted by a serious threat in the north of his kingdom, led partly by his own brother. Tostig had been made earl of Northumbria in 1055, but he was unpopular with the people of that region, and after suffering a decade of his ascendancy, they finally rebelled against him. He sought refuge in Flanders, the native land of his wife, Judith (Matilda’s aunt), and became deeply embittered against his brother, Harold, for failing to support him. Orderic Vitalis claims that Tostig gave his wife into the care of her half-brother, Baldwin, the count of Flanders, while he went to Normandy to seek William’s support.⁴⁰ Having “boldly rebuked” the duke for allowing Harold to rule in England, Tostig swore that he would secure the crown for him if William agreed to invade England with a Norman army.⁴¹

At the head of a fleet of some sixty ships, Tostig proceeded to launch a series of “piratical” raids along the English coast, only to be driven off by Edwin of Mercia, and Morcar, his replacement as earl of Northumbria. After taking temporary refuge in Scotland, Tostig then joined forces with Harald Hardrada of Norway, who had declared himself the rightful heir to King Cnut and assembled a fleet of three hundred ships with which to press his claim.⁴² In late summer 1066, he and Tostig invaded northern England. On September 20, in the first of the three great battles of 1066, they defeated Edwin and Morcar at Fulford and captured York, the most important city in the north.

Hardrada’s invasion was bad news for Harold, for, as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle relates, a shortage of supplies had forced him to stand down both his army and his fleet. Undeterred, he regrouped his forces and marched north, and on September 25 he surprised Hardrada and Tostig’s forces at Stamford Bridge, a few miles northeast of York. The ensuing conflict was ferocious and bloody. Malmesbury described it as “an immense battle … in which both nations did their utmost.”⁴³ But with the benefit of surprise, Harold was able to gain the upper hand, and both his brother and Hardrada were killed. The king did not have long to enjoy his victory, for word reached him, probably on October 1, that William had landed at Pevensey a few days earlier. He therefore turned his troops around, headed south, and, in a remarkable forced march, reached London in just five days. He then spent about six days there gathering troops (and presumably resting) before setting off on October 11 to confront William.

At St.-Valéry, where Duke William had moved his fleet because it was closer to England, he and his troops had to wait for a favorable wind to carry them to England. As the days dragged on, his men had begun to lose faith in the enterprise, and “grumbled in their tents” that their leader was “mad … to take over land rightfully belonging to others; God is against us, for He denies us a wind.”⁴⁴ Hearing of this, William ordered that the remains of a local saint be brought among them in order to invigorate their prayers for a “favouring breeze.” According to Malmesbury, this worked an immediate effect, and on September 27, the ships’ sails were bolstered by the wind.⁴⁵ Not wanting to waste a moment, the duke ordered his fleet to embark immediately, even though darkness was fast drawing in. A horn was blown from the Mora and a lantern was lit at her masthead to give the signal. “The fleet thus ready, with a following wind and sails billowing aloft he crossed the sea.”⁴⁶

William and his army sailed through the night, and the speed of his flagship was such that at dawn, he and his crew found themselves alone in the middle of the Channel. According to Poitiers, the duke, undaunted, calmly called for breakfast, which he washed down with wine “as if in his chamber at home.”⁴⁷ This episode may have been employed by William’s apologist for dramatic effect, but the Mora did outstrip the other ships of the fleet, which is perhaps not surprising given its marked superiority. Having waited for his fleet to reconvene, he landed in Pevensey Bay in what is today East Sussex. Pevensey was an ideal landing place; the bay itself offered shelter for William’s fleet, while the extensive walls of the old Roman fort of Anderida (now part of Pevensey Castle) offered a useful base from which to marshal his forces. Having overcome the bad omen symbolized by the lack of favorable winds, however, William faced another as soon as he reached England’s shores. Eager to disembark from his ship, he stumbled upon the ground. While his troops looked on aghast at an incident that seemed to presage grave ill fortune, a quick-thinking knight turned the situation to William’s advantage by crying: “You have England in your hand, duke, and you shall be king!”⁴⁸

By the following day William had established himself at Hastings, where, according to the chronicler Wace, eager though he was for battle, he did not forget to pay homage to the divine presence that he claimed was at his side. Turning to his nobles, he declared: “Here I vow, that if it shall please God to give me the victory, that, on whatever spot it shall befall, I will there build a church to be consecrated to the blessed Trinity, and to St. Martin, where perpetual prayers shall be offered for the sins of Edward the Confessor, for my own sins, the sins of Matilda my spouse, and the sins of such as have attended me in this expedition, but more particularly for the sins of such as may fall in the battle.”⁴⁹

What followed has become one of the most familiar stories in English history. By October 13, Harold and his army had arrived at Senlac, close to the present-day town of Battle in East Sussex, and some ten miles from where William had first landed at Pevensey. The duke’s forces were quartered about five miles away, around Hastings. It was in William’s interest to bring Harold to battle as quickly as possible, for he realized that the longer he waited, the more time Harold would have to raise troops. He therefore goaded Harold by ravaging what was part of the Saxon’s old earldom. Although it might have been to Harold’s advantage to delay fighting, it seems that the English king was equally keen to confront William.

Hardrada had been surprised by Harold at Stamford Bridge, but William was not to suffer the same fate: his scouts had spotted Harold’s arrival. His men stood at arms all night, and on the morning of October 14 they moved up from Hastings. In fact, it was Harold who was caught by surprise, and abandoning his plans for an attack, he took up a defensive position on Senlac Ridge and awaited the Norman onslaught.

The two armies that faced each other were very different. Although many of Harold’s men seem to have traveled on horseback, the English traditionally fought on foot, and they did so at Hastings. Harold’s soldiers formed up in tightly packed ranks behind a wall of shields, the dragon banner of Wessex and the king’s personal standard of a fighting man fluttering above them. The bulk of Harold’s army was probably made up of the fyrd, the local militia of the time, armed with spears, swords, javelins, and throwing axes. The Saxon nobles present at the battle would have brought their household troops, or “housecarls,” with them; some of these well-armed warriors carried the deadly Danish two-handed axes shown being used to such devastating effect in the Bayeux Tapestry.

William’s army was more varied: it deployed with archers and cross-bowmen to the front, armored infantry behind them and mounted knights in mail with lances and kite-shaped shields bringing up the rear. This diversity was to work in favor of the Normans, for while all the English could do was to stand there and take whatever their enemies threw at them, William had a range of tactical options. He could use his archers to unleash a barrage of arrows on the static English lines, then attack with his infantry while his knights probed for a weakness in the English shield wall. As a result, although the English had the advantage of occupying a strong defensive position on the top of a hill, and drove back attack after attack, they were gradually eroded by the relentless Norman pressure.

Even so, the contest was very finely balanced. Each side fought with extraordinary tenacity, and the battle lasted for most of the day, resulting in “great slaughter on either side.”⁵⁰ According to William of Poitiers, who was admittedly writing to extol William’s virtues, the Norman leader played a crucial role throughout—not just directing his troops from a distance, but leading by example and fighting with great ferocity in the thick of the action. When a rumor that he had been killed spread panic in his army, he was said to have taken his helmet off and ridden among his men crying: “Look at me. I am alive, and with God’s help I will conquer.”⁵¹ Malmesbury records how the duke “encouraged his men by his shouts and by his presence, leading the charge in person and plunging into the thick of the enemy; so that while he carried rage and fury everywhere, three splendid horses were cut down under him.”⁵²

William’s cunning matched his courage. When the battle seemed to be going against him, he gave the order to retreat. In fact, this was a clever ploy to break up the Saxon ranks, some of whom charged in pursuit of what they thought was a beaten and retreating enemy. Without warning, the Normans turned on them and a bloodbath ensued.⁵³ Although they had been “undone by a trick,” the English fought on: “repeatedly they made a stand, and piled the bodies of their pursuers in great heaps of slaughter.”⁵⁴ The decisive moment came late in the day, when the English king was slain. Legend has it he was killed by an arrow in the eye, but other sources suggest he was cut down by a group of knights, possibly after having been wounded by the arrow.⁵⁵

Realizing that the battle was lost, scores of Harold’s beleaguered men turned on their heels and tried to escape, running into the woods so that their enemy might lose sight of them. Some turned and faced their pursuers at a ravine that is sometimes called the Malfosse, or “evil ditch.” But it was to no avail. “The Normans, though strangers to the district, pursued them relentlessly, slashing their guilty backs and putting the last touches to the victory.”⁵⁶ Their leader, William, Duke of Normandy, would henceforth be known as William the Conqueror.