Great Bastards of History Read online

  The two young leaders apparently hit it off famously. Both were sophisticated, ambitious, and skilled in political and court maneuvering. Their talents complemented one another: William was more decisive and forthright, Harold more the patient negotiator. Not surprisingly—it is also agreed—the topic of succession to the English throne came up; Edward had now worn the crown nearly twenty-four years.

  Harold apparently implied that he was not interested in being king, but wanted to see that Edward’s successor would respect the Godwin family’s vast holdings and privileges. It seemed the commoner and William the Bastard might be an ideal one-two punch. William asked Harold to support him for the throne and to swear that he would do so. Harold was to place his hands on the table and take an oath pledging his support. Harold was either William’s guest or his hostage, depending on one’s viewpoint, but he may have considered the oath a harmless gesture that he could not politely refuse. Unknown to Harold, William had craftily placed under the table some holy saints’ relics, making the simple ceremony a sacred event—which was to reverberate later. Harold then returned to England, where the two would meet in the future.

  As in most Christianized countries in medieval times, the anniversary of Christ’s birth was both a solemn and a celebratory occasion. The royal court in England in 1065 scheduled a Christmas festival of religious ceremony interspersed with feasting, singing, and dramatics before the king’s throne. Yuletide 1065 was to be an especially joyous celebration, too; on December 28, Edward was to consecrate Westminster Abbey, the magnificent new church he had built on the banks of the Thames. On Christmas Eve, the king felt ill and retired, but next day, feebly wearing his crown and dressed in his royal robes, he valiantly attended Christmas Mass. There he suddenly slumped in his chair, felled by the first of a series of strokes. He lingered into January. Harold remained at his bedside, and Edward, according to the contemporary Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and some witnesses, “entrusted the realm,” “granted the kingdom,” and “commended all the kingdom to [Harold’s] protection.” Two days later, the royal funeral was held in the new Westminster Abbey. The following day, wasting no time, Harold Godwinson had himself crowned king.

  “LONG LIVE KING HAROLD”

  The customary assembly of high-ranking nobles and earls, court officials, bishops, and church leaders, called a witan, had gathered for the funeral and promptly endorsed the choice. Their decision was pretty much a foregone conclusion. Edward’s reported deathbed statements cemented it. Some of the witan approved Harold only reluctantly. He was a commoner, after all, and simply being the late king’s brother-in-law didn’t seem a strong qualification. The only candidate with royal blood was Edgar, the great-grandson of King Ethelred II, who had died fifty years before. But Edgar was only fifteen years old. His father had died when he was nine, and he had not even been named an earl because he showed so little promise. William of Normandy and Harald Hardråde were ruled out. The witan did not want a foreigner as king.

  And what of Harold’s oath to support William’s candidacy? In the words of one historian, Harold “cocked a snook” at William—a derisive gesture roughly translated as “Go to hell.” (Harold’s defenders argue that the oath was meaningless, having been obtained under duress when Harold was a prisoner or hostage. Indeed, some historians theorize that Harold actually supported William’s cause, but couldn’t sway the rest of the witan.) Harold did not bother to notify William of the king’s death. A two-sentence message from a Norman returning from a London visit brought the bulletin on January 10 as William was preparing for a hunt. “King Edward is dead. Harold is raised to the kingdom,” he was bluntly told. William put down his bow, canceled the hunt, and returned to his palace. He sat there alone, his cloak drawn across his face, and spoke to no one. The news was not only a devastating disappointment, but it was also an unforgivable embarrassment. He had always assumed the supposed promise would be fulfilled, and he would become king of England on Edward’s death; he had so informed many people, including the leaders of neighboring realms and even the pope. He recovered within a few days and now began to spread different news. He was planning to invade England, he let them know. He would overwhelm the Saxons and Norsemen and claim the throne for Normandy.

  HAROLD DID NOT BOTHER TO NOTIFY WILLIAM OF THE KING’S DEATH. A TWO-SENTENCE MESSAGE FROM A NORMAN RETURNING FROM A LONDON VISIT BROUGHT THE BULLETIN ON JANUARY 10 AS WILLIAM WAS PREPARING FOR A HUNT. “KING EDWARD IS DEAD. HAROLD IS RAISED TO THE KINGDOM.”

  He instantly began preparing. Normandy, with its long coastline, had a seafaring tradition and a shipbuilding industry. The builders had mostly produced small fishing vessels. William directed them to convert to larger transports capable of carrying large numbers of fighting men and horses.

  All along the Normandy coast that spring could be heard the rap-rap of hammers and the rasp of saws as the dukedom mobilized a fleet for the coming assault. Weather permitting, it would be launched in late summer or early fall. Some estimates said more than 1,500 vessels would take part. The lowest number was 696. Meanwhile, the duke began rounding up allies among his neighbors and reminding others not to attempt any mischief during his absence. He recruited warriors and knights from Brittany, Anjou, and France itself. He asked for the pope’s blessing, and got it, on grounds that Harold had violated a holy oath sworn on the blessed relics of saints. The matter of William’s legitimacy or right to the throne apparently presented no papal obstacle. The pope even presented the Norman pretender with a papal banner to be carried at the head of his troops.

  None of this was kept secret, of course. In fact, William wanted it known. Soon frantic preparations began on the Channel’s opposite shore. English shipbuilders started work on a matching navy; trenches were dug, fortifications and castles built. The most likely landing place for an invasion force would be along a twenty-five-mile stretch of Sussex beach with a few small harbors for landing vessels, west of the White Cliffs of Dover. Because no one knew where the blow might fall, these areas all had to be strengthened.

  A BAD SIGN?

  In the spring of 1066, a burst of brilliant light illuminated the night sky above the English and French coasts. A star flashed across the sky, a long trail of fire behind it. Modern astronomers were to identify it as Halley’s Comet, making its spectacular every-seventy-five-years appearance. Medieval stargazers had no experience with such a phenomenon, and it threw a panic into both sides. Frightened English soothsayers interpreted the fiery visitor as a heavenly warning of God’s wrath at the preparations for battle. It was said to presage the fall of the monarchy, perhaps even notifying the ambitious bastard that he was becoming too uppity. Or it could be a prelude to some great disaster yet to come. William, however, reassured his followers that it was surely a sign of God’s approval. God was blessing the endeavor, just as the pope had done. The comet streaked across the sky for seven consecutive nights and then went back into hiding. Calm returned, the hammers and saws and the military drills resumed, and near the end of August William pronounced himself ready. Both sides settled down to watch the weather.

  In mid-September a violent fall storm blasted into the Channel from the Arctic, and a worried William saw savage winds and turbulent waters disrupt all his plans. Day after day, the wind blew and waves and whitecaps lashed the waters. It appeared his invasion might have to be postponed or canceled. Then on September 27, he awoke to a sunny sky and a warm wind wafting from the south. He quickly ordered the ships loaded with warriors and supplies and marched the men down to the shore, ready to strike. By October 1, they had crossed the Channel and landed at Pevensey on the Sussex coast. The news quickly reached Harold, 250 miles to the north, where he and his army were resting after the victory at Stamford Bridge. They had force-marched 250 miles in only four days and had fought a major battle; now they were tired and their ranks depleted. Harold exhorted them to pick themselves up, reverse course, and backtrack those 250 miles to fight another important battle in patriotic defense of their home
land. By the morning of October 14, the two armies faced each other across hilly, open country four miles from the town of Hastings.

  William the Conqueror, helmet gleaming, leads triumphant Normans against English defenders in the epic Battle of Hastings on October 14, 1066. He was crowned king of England on Christmas Day of that year. The Battle of Hastings in 1066 (oil on canvas), Debon, Francois Hippolyte (1807-72) / Musee des Beaux-Arts, Caen, France / Giraudon / The Bridgeman Art Library International

  The battle began about 10 a.m. The English infantry had set up its trademark defensive formation: a so-called shield wall, men standing shoulder to shoulder, their great shields carried in front, overlapping and interlocked, a seemingly impenetrable barrier. Each man carried a two-edged sword; some carried spears, lances, or double-edged battleaxes. They were massed eight deep on Caldbec Hill, forming a line across a ridge bisected by the main road to London. The hill sloped gradually down to a meadow, where the Normans were positioning themselves for attack.

  The two armies were roughly even in strength, between eight and nine thousand men. The bulk of Harold’s army was infantry, built around the housecarls, a core of professional soldiers who formed an elite guard. The battle site was well chosen from the English point of view. The slope gave the defenders a commanding view of the field, which would force the attackers to fight uphill and slow down any advance.

  William’s army was quite different. Drawn up in line of battle, the Norman troops composed the center, with troops from Brittany, Maine, and Anjou comprising the left wing and French and Flemish units on the right. The cavalry, three thousand strong, comprised the elite unit, augmented by a thousand skilled archers, some armed for the first time with that powerful weapon, the crossbow. The balance of the troops was infantry. William’s battle plan, repeatedly successful in his French campaigns, was to open with spear throwing and a rain of arrows, meant to cause confusion and fright, capitalize on that reaction by sending in the infantry, and then clean up the scattered defenders with a sweep by hard-riding cavalry, turning the battle into a rout. The shield wall, however, stood firm, casualties quickly being replaced from the ranks behind. A rumor spread through the Norman army that William had been killed. He took off his helmet and held it high to show he was very much alive, although his favorite horse had been shot from under him. Some units broke apart and fled. William and the remaining units fell back to regroup for a second try.

  The second attack in early afternoon was a virtual carbon copy of the first. The French and Flemish had conducted the bulk of the initial fighting; this time it fell to the Bretons and Angevins. Still the shield wall stood firm, being steadily reinforced. Again an infantry charge sowed confusion, and the cavalry injected more confusion so that the battle line broke apart into small groups and hand-to-hand fighting. Then once more the attackers fell back to reorganize.

  The sun was sinking as the third attack began. The ups and downs of life as a bastard had made William resourceful and able to revamp his plans on the fly, as he had in making his midnight escape to avoid capture as a boy. William decided on a change of tactics. Instead of a barrage of arrows fired directly at the frustrating shield wall, he ordered the archers and spear throwers to aim over the shields. The trajectory would carry the blizzard of arrows down on the heads of the clustered rear ranks. The tactic was an immense success. Unaccustomed to an attack from overhead and having lost the best-trained front-rank housecarls, the English rank and file known as fyrds turned this way and that in fright and bewilderment.

  Trying to rally the troops, Harold plunged into the thick of the fray. He fell mortally wounded. Legendarily, a descending arrow struck him in the eye and lodged there. The Bayeux Tapestry depicted a fallen leader whose frantic aides tried to wrest the arrow free, to no avail. Harold, blinded, apparently succumbed within minutes.

  This version of Harold’s demoralizing death is based solely on the tapestry and is widely disputed. Archery experts declare that a falling arrow would not retain enough force in such a descent as to penetrate the well-protected eye. More likely, goes this explanation, he was killed by a sword stroke in the bitter hand-to-hand melee. But if details are questionable, the outcome is not. Harold’s two younger brothers had been killed earlier. The English were now left without an authoritative commander. The defense lost all cohesion, dissolving into a torrent of badly rattled men trying to escape, Normans at their heels. The long day’s fighting by an already worn-down band had cost the lives of an estimated five thousand English. The Normans may have lost three thousand. After the bodies were cleared, William pitched his tent and spent the night on the battlefield, the victor’s traditional symbol of triumph.

  The map depicts the marches of both William the Conqueror and King Harold, intersecting at Hastings in Southeast England, where William defeated Harold for the English crown in 1066. Courtesy of the University of Texas Libraries, The University of Texas at Austin

  The following day, William withdrew to the town of Hastings to await the defeated leaders, earls, and bishops who would be sure to express submission and swear fealty. He vainly waited two weeks and then decided to move on London. Despite an epidemic of dysentery that flattened the troops and William himself, the English leadership began to appear, one by one, to kneel at his feet. The witan had gathered post-Hastings and chose fifteen-year-old Edgar to succeed the fallen Harold, but now Edgar came forward, too. On Christmas Day, 1066, William the Lucky Bastard was crowned king of England. No one now questioned his legitimacy or right to the throne. “William the Conqueror” had established that by force of arms. He ruled until 1087, transforming the country and establishing a reputation as one of the most significant monarchs in English history.

  CHAPTER 2

  LEONARDO DA VINCI

  BASTARD OF THE RENAISSANCE

  1452–1519

  PATERNAL INDIFFERENCE AND DISINHERITANCE ALLOWED LEONARDO DA VINCI TO AVOID THE CONVENTIONAL FAMILY PROFESSION, YET HIS UNIQUE CAREER WAS DRIVEN BY THE QUEST FOR PARENTAL AFFECTION THAT ELUDED HIM.

  ALTHOUGH HOOKED INTO A BUSY LIFE AS A NOTARY IN THE CITIES OF Tuscany, twenty-five-year-old Ser Piero da Vinci still found time to return to his hometown of Vinci, a hilltop town of fewer than a hundred dwellings that was about a day’s ride from Florence. One of the delights of the place was the beautiful but insufficiently well-born Caterina. On his visit in late summer 1451, he was most likely already betrothed to the daughter of a member of his guild, but in the golden light of late summer, it was the beauty of Caterina that occupied his mind as he ambled about the family’s estates.

  It was a passion that was reciprocated, and on one of their trysts that took place perhaps in the seclusion of an olive grove or in one of the dilapidated outhouses that dotted the countryside, their minds were probably on things other than the fact that nine months later one of the cleverest bastards who ever lived would be born.

  On the subject of his birth, Leonardo da Vinci once observed that “The man who has intercourse aggressively and uneasily will produce children who are irritable and untrustworthy; but if the intercourse is done with great love and desire on both sides then the child will be of great intellect, and witty, lively and loveable.”

  The only known and definitely verifiable authentic likeness of Leonardo, this self-portrait was drawn in 1512 when he was 50 years old.

  Yet the love and mutual desire evident in his making would not necessarily be transferred to him in the guise of parental love.

  A SINGULAR BASTARD

  Leonardo’s father belonged to a long line of notaries, a profession that included functions now performed by professionals such as accountants, lawyers, and financial advisers. The da Vinci family oscillated between professional positions in towns such as Pisa and Florence, and their landholdings in the town of Vinci, where they cultivated grains, grapes, and olives. Their lifestyle was an enviable combination of urban professional and country gentleman.

  While Leonardo’s grandfather Antonio preferred the rus
tic quiet of Vinci to the bustle of Florence, his father, Ser Piero, enjoyed the busy life of the renaissance business world. At the age of twenty-one, Ser Piero graduated from his apprenticeship to full membership of the guild of notaries, the most prestigious of the seven guilds in Florentine society at the time. At the same time as he was beginning to climb the ranks of his profession, he was also sowing his wild oats, most notably with Caterina.

  It is likely that when Ser Piero was cavorting with Caterina, he was already betrothed to another, Albieri di Giovanni Amadori, the daughter of a wealthy Florentine notary. Although some historians assert the engagement happened after Caterina’s pregnancy was revealed as a measure to rescue Ser Piero from the consequences of his youthful excesses, it’s more likely that the betrothal was the product of long-term planning, not for love, but for dynastic and business reasons. At the time of Leonardo’s conception, Albieri was around fourteen years old, a marriageable age in Renaissance Italy.

  When Caterina discovered her pregnancy, the da Vinci family didn’t shun her. Leonardo was born on a spring evening in 1452, most likely on a property belonging to the da Vincis. The lack of records pertaining to Caterina’s heritage suggests she was most likely from outside the district.