By Philip M. Taylor

For the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, at least, we do have a considerable record of the role of propaganda in medieval warfare, left to us by William of Poitiers. William the Conqueror portrayed his invasion as a holy war under a papal banner. Having informed the Pope of his intentions, Poitiers described how he had ‘received of his benevolence a standard as a sign of the approval of St Peter, behind which he might advance more confidently and securely against his enemy’ (my italics). In fact William, Duke of Normandy, had only a dubious claim to the throne of England following the death of Edward the Confessor (1042-66). The Norwegian King Harald Hardrada staked his claim by invading England via the Humber estuary, whereupon King Harold marched north to defeat him at the battle of Stamford Bridge near York. It was while the south coast was left unguarded that the Duke of Normandy staked his claim by invasion. His biographer said of William that ‘in every battle he fought with his sword, either as the first man or at least among the first’ and that ‘armed and mounted he had no equal in all Gaul’. William of Poitiers again:

It was a sight both delightful and terrible to see him managing his horse, girt with sword, his shield gleaming, his helmet and his lance alike gleaming. For as he looked magnificent in princely apparel or the habiliment of peace, so to be in his war-gear especially became him.

Image was clearly important for William. But then it needed to be at the forthcoming battle of Hastings. William’s spectacular cross-Channel invasion was mounted with some 7000 mercenaries and volunteers (motivated by the prospect of booty); only about half the invasion force comprised William’s landed tenants, and it must have been difficult to keep such a disparate force together. William had answered his detractors with the words: ‘wars are won by the courage rather than the number of soldiers’. William of Poitiers explained the psychological tricks employed by William during the invasion:

By prayers and offerings and vows the duke committed himself with utter confidence to the will of heaven, this prince whose spirit could not be broken by delay or contrary winds, by the terrors of the deep or by the timorous desertion of those who had pledged their service. Rather, he met adversities with prudence, concealing the loss of those who were drowned as far as he could by burying them in secret, and increasing the rations every day in order to mitigate their scarcity. Thus by encouragement of all kinds he was able to restrain those who were afraid and put heart into the dismayed. He strove by prayer to obtain a favourable instead of a contrary wind, and brought out from the church in solemn procession the body of St Valery, confessor beloved of God, in which demonstration of humility all those who were to go with him on the expedition took part.

Once the weather changed, ‘thanks were rendered to Heaven with hands and voice, and a tumult arose as each shouted encouragement to the other’. William then was the first to sail for England and ate a ‘hearty breakfast washed down with spiced wine as though he were in his solar at home’ as a further confidence boosting gesture for his troops.

After defeating Harald Hardrada, King Harold’s forces returned south to meet William at Hastings where Norman morale was again put severely to the test. King Harold had possibly received a monk-envoy from the invader spelling out William’s right to the English throne, whereupon Harold is alleged to have said, ‘May God this day judge the right between me and William.’ Despite the ominous appearance of ‘the long-haired star’ (Halley’s comet) as a portent for disaster, the Conqueror was taking no chances: ‘He himself attended with devotion the mystery of the Mass and fortified his body and soul by partaking of the Body and Blood of the Lord. He humbly hung about his neck the relics whose protection Harold forfeited by breaking the sacred oath which he had sworn upon them … The clergy led prayers before the battle.’ William even laughed at the supposed ill-omen of putting on his tunic the wrong way round.

Despite the admiration which William of Poitiers revealed for the English defenders, the Normans with ‘their eager courage’ attacked up-hill against the odds to make their victory all the more impressive – and more ‘just’. The Normans were in most danger when a rumour spread during the battle that William had been killed, but it would appear that William’s reappearance and courage spurred on his troops at this critical moment. William rode in front of his lines with his helmet removed shouting:

‘Look at me. I am alive and, with God’s help, I shall win. What madness puts you to flight? Where do you think you can go? Those you could slaughter like cattle are driving and killing you. You are deserting victory and everlasting honour; you are running away to destruction and everlasting shame. And by flight, not one of you will avoid death’.

‘At this’, William of Poitiers continued, ‘they recovered their morale.’ He does not explain how the words of their military commander could be heard above the noise of battle. But this is only one point at which the source has to be challenged. At the next stage of the battle, William’s force was in danger of being routed by the English. Here, Norman chroniclers of the battle describe how William feigned flight to draw the English out of their lines and maintained that this ploy gave the Normans victory. The English ‘remembered how, a little while before, flight had been the occasion of success’:

The barbarians exulted with the hope of victory. Exhorting each other with triumphant shouts, they poured scorn upon our men and boasted that they would all be destroyed then and there. As before, some thousands of them were bold enough to launch themselves as if on wings after those they thought to be fleeing. The Normans, suddenly wheeling their horses about, cut them off, surrounded them, and slew them on all sides, leaving not one alive.

Throughout the Middle Ages, the Norman Conquest remained the subject of controversy. Modern historians, however, have doubted the testimony to the feigned flight. It was only when Harold was hit by an arrow and his banner fell that the English melted away into the countryside. William thereafter took Canterbury and Winchester and established an army of military occupation. Apart from William of Poitiers’ invaluable, though biased account, we do of course also have a unique visual record of the battle: the Bayeux tapestry. The work (actually an embroidery) was commissioned by Bishop Odo for his new cathedral at Bayeux in or about 1017 and as such can be regarded as a near-contemporary record inspired by one who was actually present at the Battle of Hastings. Told from the Norman point of view, and especially from Odo’s (the Conqueror’s half-brother), the visual narrative was designed for public display and depicts the defeated Harold in a dignified light, although its purpose (apart from celebrating one of the most impressive military achievements of the medieval world – a fact fully appreciated by contemporaries and a great source of myth-making afterwards) was to demonstrate the legitimacy of William the Conqueror’s claim to the throne of England to the now occupied peoples. In the build-up to the invasion, and even during the battle of Hastings itself, Bishop Odo’s role is depicted as being almost as prominent as that of the Conqueror, revealing the degree to which the enterprise had both Church and family support.

But why was the tapestry made? Was it celebratory, possibly like those early cave drawings or Roman victory columns? Perhaps there was a strong element of this, although we know little about the arrangements made for its display in England or Normandy. Indeed, it would appear to have been made in England and displayed in various English towns. Can the tapestry therefore be regarded as a sort of visual epic poem? It is of course a work of art in its own right, but its content can be interpreted on a variety of different levels – one of which is entertainment (a potent medium for propaganda). Was it perhaps designed to legitimize the invasion and conquest on both sides of the Channel? The historian H. E. J. Cowdrey has pointed out that in the first portion of the tapestry the animals and fables depicted at the top and bottom of the work act as a symbolic counterpoint to the central storyline: they ‘serve to call into question the fair-seeming Harold of the main story. Things are not as they seem. There is a cryptic reminder that Harold’s fine appearance conceals an inner man who is flawed and false.’ This may have been significant in view of the persistence of Harold’s good reputation in England after his death, and the tapestry may have been designed subtly to undermine that image during the Norman occupation.

The final segment of the tapestry provides us with a vivid depiction of medieval warfare and also indicates, chiefly in the lower margin, just how crucial the Norman archers were in a battle that was, after all, a close run thing. The Norman knight who butchers Harold’s body after he has fallen victim to an arrow is certainly not behaving in a chivalrous way. It would not be unreasonable, therefore, to speculate that the tapestry was indeed intended as a propaganda device by an occupying regime attempting to establish its legitimacy in a country whose co-operation was essential if the Normans were to govern successfully (as demonstrated by the Domesday Book). It was a means of raising the morale of a defeated but proud nation and to encourage loyalty in the new Anglo-Norman society. Although Harold is depicted as a usurper to William’s throne, he and his men are given due credit for their courage and military skill against an enemy whose cause was ‘just’ but whose behaviour was also open to self-recrimination. The tapestry was, in short, a means of winning over English hearts and minds and the affection with which it is still regarded in England today bears witness to its lasting success.

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