It had been nearly a month at the mouth of the Somme since the ill-advised armada’s sailing from the Dives. The Norman invasionary force was held together by the iron will of the Duke of Normandy and his promise of loot and land. William the Conqueror had some serious problems on his hands. He could not wage a winter war and he could not hold an army on promises forever. His treasury was sadly in need of an infusion or an English transfusion. A dispirited army sat and waited.

Will Trivett set out in search of Sir Richard. Outside of Thomas, Richard was the closest to family in the camp. He found him, where Richard sat upon a hillock near the beach. Richard flicked his knife and whittled aimlessly on a stick of driftwood. Will plodded up heavily and dropped wearily on the same knoll.

“What are you making?”

“Smaller pieces.”

“Oh,” and an extended silence followed. After several minutes of the snick, snick of the blade, Richard put his knife away.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Come on, Will, out with it. You wear your emotions on your face.”

“Sir Richard-------I’m terribly worried about Thomas.”

“Yes,” and his knife flipped out again.

“You know what he did to the house and barn?”

“Yes,” and the chips of cedar butterflied to the ground.

“He won’t talk about it. He won’t talk about anything. He has retreated into—into,” and he saw a bivalve shell before him, “into a clam shell and I can’t reach him.”

Richard stabbed his knife into the driftwood and turned toward Will. “Moi aussi, mon Ami. It is as if he has lost his will to live.”

“Sir Richard, I’m afraid he’ll take his own life.”

“Oui, Will! Thomas is as dear to me as my own sons, but I have no answers. This confounded waiting is a trial for all of us. What is it for Thomas who is already suffering the pangs of grief for a wife and child? May another death not visit my children before I die for I’m not strong enough to accept it.”

“What can we do?”

“I am not a healer or a priest, Will. I can assign you both to the same ship so you can keep an eye on him.”

“Thank you, Sir Richard, but God I’m worried.”

The two sat silently letting the chips fall where they may. Then Will started to rearrange them with his toe. He brought the little pieces of tinder together and organized them in a pile. It was as if he could arrange the little pieces of life, assorting, building on the piece before. He took out his flint and struck a spark on the beach-dried wood. It caught immediately and the ensuing smoke blew north.

“Mother of God! The wind is in the south!” Another force was arranging the chips of life. The call to arms sounded and the army moved as one. Hopefully, Thomas would have the burning desire found in the chips.

Captains and sailors were with their ships on the Somme. After loading a month ago at Dives, they were well-prepared for men and animals. Hell, they were survivors of a great storm. This time they knew how to load. The army knew their ship. This time it would be faster. Practice had made them almost perfect. Besides, after another month of inactivity in an encampment, they were eager. Captains shouted orders, sergeants shouted orders, but the men were robotic.

“Arretez de fourrer le chein! Francias!”

“Attention, you stupid Breton!”

“Otez-vous les doigts dans le nez! Batard Italie!

“S’elevez! Move out!”

“Sergeant, where’s Sir Thomas?”

“He was at the inn, Sir William.”

Will frowned and bulled his way through the flow of the beach-bound army toward the hostel. His squire should have his horse, equipment and food ready. Where was his despondent brother? Squire and gear were ready, he noted. Will slammed the inn door back. There was Thomas. He hadn’t moved. He had a pot of local wine in front of him, but it appeared almost full. When he raised his eyes from his cup, Will could see the runnels of tears on his brother’s cheeks.

“Thomas, we are for England.”

“You are for England,’ he mumbled.

“Are you drunk?”

“No!”

Will struck with lightning speed. His open hand smacked the tear-stained face of his brother. Thomas caught Will’s wrist. His great power was breaking Will’s hand. Will drove his left fist to his brother’s eye. Thomas now had a stream of blood from his eyebrow. Thomas dropped Will’s hand and lunged for his brother’s throat. Will, the agile brother, side-stepped and backed to the door. Thomas in blind anger dove at his brother, but Will evaded the charge and Thomas landed heavily in the dust of the inn-yard. Will landed on Thomas pinning him.

“Thomas, save it for the Saxons! Thomas answer me!”

“Get off me you Batard!”

“Are you thinking straight?”

“All right!”

“Are you through fighting?”

“Yes.”

Will let him up.

“Get my gear.”

“Your squire has everything ready. Let’s go.”

They strode through the dust, Thomas dabbing at his split eyebrow with his sleeve. They mounted.

“Will, I’m not going!”

“Yes you are. You want to die? Let the Saxons kill you in battle. Don’t die on the executioner’s block for desertion. Now move. You are a knight, the Duke’s man!”

Will slapped Easy Rider with the flat of his sword and the stallion gathered his muscles and vaulted forward. Thomas was nearly unseated as he had momentarily lost control as the charger pounded down the road. Infantry and archers scattered before the shod hooves of the great steed. Thomas sawed at the bit, but Easy Walker had the device in his teeth. Thomas decided to let him run. Will pressed his mount and drew abreast of his brother. Will had complete control and the two horses followed Will’s chosen path. Their ship’s captain had heeled his vessel over and the horses, excited or no, stepped peacefully over the gunwale and submitted to blindfold and hobbles. Thomas was mechanical. A dispatch rider called the captains to their prelaunch briefing. Will dragged Thomas along although it was none of their business. They gathered in a natural amphitheater to the sound of horn and drum. William of Normandy in his finest crimson cloak accompanied by his war council rode through the multitude to the center of the depression. Quiet descended.

“Captains of the armada, there will be no storm this time to save the unscrupulous Harold from our invasion. We are a dozen hours from England and a successful landing. Watch for the cliffs of Beachy Head on the English coast. They will direct you to the landing beaches. We must land together on the southern strand. As it is already late in the day, my ship the Mora will stand off the Somme alighted by a lantern high on the mast. Home on the lantern; it leads you to land and riches and grandeur. Make haste. We rendezvous one hour after sunset. We must catch the evening tide. Bon chance!”

A mighty roar went up from the assembly and they immediately broke up to finish their loading.

“Come on, Thomas, we’ll push that captain and be the first to touch the Mora.”

“Will, you are only two years younger than me, but you are still a child.”

“Come Vieillard! Your beard is turning gray.”

Thomas almost smiled at the old man taunt. However, they both made for their ship doubletime. The captain was already at the ways. “Put your back into it you Cretins! Get those rollers moving! Une, deux, trois, Heave! Une, deux, trois, Heave!” and the vessel began to move. Once inertia was broken, the rolling logs gained momentum and the levering men were left behind. She, the boat, gaily waded and danced in the waves in the mouth of the Somme. The crew left on shore took up the hand-braided painter rope and tried to keep her under control.

“Pull you misbegotten Batards or she’ll be across the Somme!” Dutifully the crew tried to arrest her momentum. Three of the launch team ended in the water. One spluttered as the froth engulfed him The other two went in to the waist. But, she slowed and began to swing in the wind. The men waded to her and clambered over the gunwales with the assistance of the lads on board. Only Will noted the ruts dug in the beach from the braced feet impeding the runaway ship.

All aboard, the crew took up long poles and poled the ship toward the mouth. It took little effort as the tide was ebbing and the seaward rush began to carry the hull. The captain shouted orders. “Wilhelm on bow lookout. Jean to the helm; man that steering oar. Avast, you Numbskull, we have right of way! Damned Sunday sailors. You lad, up the mast; keep us clear. I’ll not be rammed in my own harbor.”

Even Thomas seemed aroused by the hubbub of getting nearly seven hundred ships to sea. Three hundred and fifty he suspected were a part of his work. They scudded over the bar at the river mouth and the crew set the leather sail. Some ships had Flemish linen , but the captain was from the old school. “Helm, make for the lantern, but stand off far enough to avoid those half wits and half sailors.”

Out of the lee of the French coast the gentle swells were less than a foot and they indicated the armada route north to Beachy Head. If the wind didn’t change they could follow the waves or the North Star over the dragon bowsprit. Will and Thomas moved forward to the bow and though awake for eighteen hours, they were excited enough to remain alert. The enormity of the invasion had quieted the assaulting forces and the brothers had time to talk in confidence.

“Thomas, I feel your loss. Jo-Anne was more of a sister to me than our own. I loved her too. I was so excited about a nephew. I had planned to teach him the long bow and fletching and riding and swimming. Tears began to course down Will’s cheeks. I was so proud of you, your house, best in the county, your barn, your farm, your wife and child. My God! You worked so hard!” Will began to sob uncontrollably. Thomas now tasted salty tears on his own lips. He threw his arm around his baby brother’s shoulder. Oddly enough he was comforting Will, and Thomas was entering a state of catharsis. It was a cleansing of soul ,heart, and their bodies were wracked with silent sobs. Maybe it was going to war, maybe it was the release by Will, maybe it was the gentle parting of the waves or the lap , lap of the water on the hull, but the two brothers experienced an unobserved release. When they were cried out , Will began again.

“Thomas, after we have defeated the English, I’m going to remain there. I’m not returning to France. William the bastard can have his stump farm. I may bring Elizabeth to England if she’ll have me.”

“I have nothing to go home too, Will, except Mother and she is not long for this world. If I live, I stay in England too.”

They were interrupted by the captain’s shout. “How in hell could you lose a lantern. God help me! You couldn’t find your way to the supper table. Give me that damned oar. You climb that mast and look for the Mora.”

Jean wisely kept the steering oar between him and the captain and released the oar and jumped away. He pushed his way through the crowd amidship and scaled the mast.

“Well?”

“Nothing Captain.”

“Jesus Christ preserve us!”

Will and Thomas, the only knights aboard made their way to the stern to see what was amiss.

“Captain?” Will questioned.

“It is nothing, Sirs. I suspect the Mora with it’s huge sail has simply out-distanced us. We still have hulls port and starboard and all we have to do is stay on the Pole Star. I just don’t want Jean to get slipshod.”

“I understand, Captain,” said Thomas. The brothers settled down out of the way and out of the bilge. With their emotional exhaustion they dropped into a healing slumber in the rocking motion of the Norman dragon ship. When they awakened light was now obvious in the east and when they peered over the port gunwale the white cliff of Beachy Head reflected the early dawn light. The dark shadows to left and right were now evidently sister ships of the armada. They had held their position throughout the night.

“Ca va, Captain?”

“Cest bien, Sirs. The Mora is a mile off the starboard bow apparently with sea anchor out to slow her down. It has been an uneventful watch.”

Aboard the Mora relief was written all over the face of Duke William. Because of his ignorance and aversion to the sea, he had not considered the speed of the individual vessels. The Mora, a fine Norse ship with a fine Norse captain, had outdistanced his knock-together fleet from Normandy. He stewed half the night. It looked as if William of Normandy and his war council would have to invade England themselves. Out of the dawn light, nonetheless, the armada appeared singly or in groups of five or six. They were an hour away from an amphibious landing. Would Harold’s coastal defenses repel them? Would the army from the Isle of Wight fall on their backs? The Normans were committed. The religious now had time for a prayer or two; another war fought in the name of religion—or greed? The sea anchor was pulled and the gathering armada made for the still darkened beaches.

An early rising shepherd on the height of land near the old Roman fort was searching for a ewe and lamb who had not been found the previous evening. As he searched the craggy hills, he glanced toward the glowing east. The sea was awash in a forest of masts. ‘Dragon ships? Oh My Saviour! Run and tell the_________?’ Who could he tell, the king? the soldiers? the outposts? He knew they were all gone. “I’ll run and tell the village. Those murdering thieves will kill everyone!” he said aloud. The ewe and lamb forgotten, the shepherd fled toward the town.

“My Lord, it appears we will have to land at Pevensey rather than Hastings. I realize the good fathers of the Norman church at Hastings would have helped us, but the wind is carrying us to Pevensey beach It is not a great loss, as Pevensey harbor has accommodation for many vessels. Hastings could not handle our great fleet.”

“Captain, you know best. That’s why I appointed you. Put us on English soil. We’ll make it work.”

As they neared the beach Sergeant Olan, the archer shouted to his men. “Archers to the gunwales.” The artillery of 1066 were to cover the landing while the infantry established the beachhead. The cavalry of knights needed protection to off load their mounts. Once the infantry had a secure perimeter on the beach, the archers would join them to keep the battle axe wielding English at bay. There were no English, but a ewe and lamb were gazing in surprise at the awesome army of humans invading their domain.

Once again roaring sergeants put order into the wading troops. Sir Richard rode to a skidding stop before Thomas and William as they stepped on dry ground leading their mounts. “Will, Thomas, come with me. We are scouts to the west.” The boys checked their saddle cinches and their struggling squires armed them for war. Richard sat impatiently. They mounted and were off.

The town of Pevensey, forewarned by the shepherd, could only watch in horror as the Normans reached the stony beach. Who could they tell? “We are about to enter hell. Where in Jesus is the fyrd we put up with all last summer. Get your valuables and get out of town. Now!” Houses were abandoned, cows were half milked, pigs unfed ,gruel bubbled over the fires and in rode Sir Richard and his knights. The soldiers burst upon the scene ,but the inhabitants had disappeared. Every building was searched and not a

person was found. Not a speck of coin glinted, but more importantly to the Normans they seized untold food. There was an army to feed. They had had nothing to eat of substance for twenty-four hours.

They fell upon the livestock, lassoing pigs and cattle, and dropping chickens with bow and arrow, and prepared a feast of deliverance. The old Roman fort appeared to be the most defensible position and the soldiers were set to the job of building a Norman fort with a surrounding moat. Some of the vessels were broken up to provide the necessary walls. With a huge army about, many hiding Pevenseans were routed out. Half of the town folk were murdered in defense of family and treasures. Houses were trashed or burned as no one controlled the mercenaries.

One lonely rider followed the Roman road. Someone had to tell the King.

After sating themselves on Saxon livestock and quenching their thirst on raw Saxon beer they had liberated, the army awaited orders. The war council awaited a scouting report. Sir Richard returned.

“My Lord,” and he bowed deeply.

“Well, Richard, what did you find?”

“My Lord, this is not a defensible position for a concerted attack by an aroused Saxon army.”

“Why?” interjected Odo.

“My Lord, behind the stony beach where we landed is a great marsh. This ground will not support men much less horses. It extends eight or nine miles behind the beach. If we are forced to the beach, the only escape is by ship.”

“Go on.”

“My Lord, there is only one road to the interior—Roman in origin. Who controls the road controls our advance on the English country-side. My knight Sir William, who reconnoitered the south coast recommends we move our forces to Hastings which was selected by Count Robert de Mortain and his infiltrators. Besides, the Norman Abbey at Fecamp will be of invaluable assistance.”

“Brother Robert?”

“I agree with Sir Richard ,My Lord.”

“So be it. I will see for myself tomorrow.”

Will and Thomas watched as the Duke and twenty men at arms rode off the next morning. “Why did he send us if he had to see for himself?”

“Thomas, I was thinking the same thing.”

An hour passed, then two, and when the third hour neared, concern was etched on the faces of the Norman army at Pevensey. Had the Duke encountered the fyrd or the house carls? Had he been captured? Were the English on the Roman road with their fearful battle axes? When concern was about to become panic, William of Normandy and entourage returned. Half were afoot. No one had enough nerve to ask what happened when they saw the storm clouds on the brow of an irate William.

Sir William braved the lion.

“My Lord?”

“Move this army to Hastings!”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Sir Richard sent Will and Thomas to bring the trusted advisors Count Robert and Count Roger de Montgomery. Then they located the Breton captains, of the Mora and their own ship. All gathered in a quiet corner of the make-shift fortification. Will and Thomas were not about to miss this.

“My Lords, Captains, we are ordered to move the army to Hastings. From my scouting ,my view is that this is a tedious job. I need your ideas.”

“Sir Richard, may I speak first ?”

“Certainly, Captain.”

“Sir, first, we have already broken up ships to provide this flimsy fort. We don’t have the transport for the whole army. Secondly, we had ramps and a beach with solid footing on the Somme. Loading horses from this loose gravel and stony beach begs injuries to horses and men.”

“We could march them around the marsh.” Mortain contended.

King’s Man

“Will, bring over one of those Saxon prisoners.” Will moved off to the holding area and roughly jerked a young Saxon to his feet.

“Come with me.” and he brought the young man to the meeting.

“Ask him the distance along the beach to Hastings.”

Will translated. “Ten miles.”

“How far around the marsh?”

Will questioned and reported, “Thirty miles with a poor road.”

“Well,” summed up Count Robert, “We have a ten mile hike with full gear over loose gravel beach or a thirty mile trek over bad swampy roads!”

“Let’s send the knights by road and the infantry by beach and boat.” suggested Count Roger.

“That seems our only choice Count Roger. Captains?”

The two Bretons looked at one another and the master of the Mora took the initiative. “We agree. We can transport equipment and supplies first. Meanwhile the infantry and archers can begin to march. We will return and pick them up along the beach for there are three or four rivers to cross.”

“C’est bien. We have a plan.”

After the ignominy of his return from the scouting expedition, Duke William was willing to accept any workable plan. “Do it!”

Orders were issued, men were mobilized, ships were loaded and the Saxons remembered the incursions of Tostig. Could the Normans be going home?

Then the knights rode out of town . The Normans were staying