One blow had been warded off, but another still more terrible had fallen.  Three days after the fight at Stamford Bridge, William, Duke of the Normans, once the peaceful guest of Edward, had again, but in quite another guise, made good his landing on the shores of England.  It was in August 1066 that the Norman fleet had set sail on its great enterprise.  For several weeks a south wind had been waited for at the mouth of the River Dive, prayers and sacred rites of every kind being employed to move Heaven to send the propitious breeze.  On September 28 the landing was effected at Pevensey, the ancient Anderida.  There were neither, ships nor men to resist the landing.  The first armed man who set foot on English ground was Duke William himself, whose foot slipped, so that he fell with both hands on the ground.

A loud cry of grief was raised at the evil omen.  But the ready wit of William failed him not.  “By the splendour of God,” he cried, “I have taken seizin of my kingdom; the earth of England is in my hands.”  The whole army landed in order, but only one day was spent at Pevensey.  On the next day the army marched on eastward and came to Hastings, which was fixed on as the centre of the operations of the whole campaign.

It was a hard lot for the English king to be compelled to hasten southward to dislodge the new enemy, after scarcely a moment’s rest from the toils and glories of Stamford Bridge.  But the heart of Harold failed him not, and the heart of England beat in unison with the heart of her king.  As soon as the news came, King Harold held a council of the leaders of Stamford Bridge, or perhaps an armed gemot.  He told them of the landing of the enemy; he set before them the horrors which would come upon the land if the invader succeeded in his enterprise.  A loud shout of assent rose from the whole assembly.  Every man pledged his faith rather to die in arms than to acknowledge any king but Harold.

The king thanked his loyal followers, and at once ordered an immediate march to the south, an immediate muster of the forces of his kingdom.  London was the trysting-place.  He himself pressed on at once with his immediate following.  And throughout the land awoke a spirit in every English heart which has never died out to this day.  The men from various shires flocked eagerly to the standard of their glorious king.  Harold seems to have reached London on October 5, about ten days after the fight at Stamford Bridge, and a week after the Norman landing at Pevensey.  Though his royal home was now at Westminster, he went, in order to seek divine help and succour, to pray at Waltham, the home of his earlier days, devoting one day to a pilgrimage to the Holy Cross which gave England her war-cry.

Harold and William were now both eager for the battle.  The king set out from London on October 12.  His consummate generalship is nowhere more plainly shown than in this memorable campaign.  He formed his own plan, and he carried it out.  He determined to give battle, but only on his own ground, and after his own fashion.  The nature of the post shows that his real plan was to occupy a position where the Normans would have to attack him at a great disadvantage.