William takes the news in terrible dudgeon. We see him in the next compartment sitting erect upon his ducal throne wearing an air of great indignation. His mantle seems to have partaken of the passion of its wearer, and is expanded to its full dimensions.
Wace tells us, “The Duke was in his park in Rouen. He held in his hand a bow, which he had strung and bent, making it ready for the arrow ... when, behold!... a serjeant appeared, who came journeying from England ... who went straight to the Duke, and told him privily that King Edward was dead, and that Harold was raised to be king. When the Duke had listened to him ... he became as a man enraged, and left the craft of the woods. Oft he tied his mantle, and oft he untied it again; and spoke to no man, neither dared any man speak to him. Then he crossed the Seine in a boat, and came to his hall and entered therein; and sat down at the end of a bench, shifting his place from time to time, covering his face with his mantle, and resting his head against a pillar. Thus he remained long, in deep thought, for no one dared to speak to him; but many asked aside, ‘what ails the Duke? why makes he such bad cheer?’”
Once, in more recent history, a man standing on the shores of France was similarly agitated. Napoleon had ordered his fleets to the West Indies, in order that they might lead Nelson into a pursuit, and suddenly returning gain possession of the English Channel. Long and anxiously did he watch the signals which were to tell him that his point was gained--but he saw them not. When it was hinted that Villeneuve, instead of forcing his way to Brest, might possibly have steered for Cadiz, he gave way to successive gusts of passion, and read and re-read the despatches of Villeneuve and of Lauriston. When told, at last, that beyond a doubt Villeneuve was at Cadiz, strong excesses of passion again ensued, and the Army of England was transferred from the heights of Boulogne to the plains of Austerlitz.
“Curate, ut splendor meo sit clypeo clarior, Quam solis radii esse olim, quum sudum ’st, solent: Ut, ubi usus veniat, contra conserta manu, Præstringat oculorum aciem in acie hostibus.”
The Duke of Normandy was a bold man, and was not disposed to attempt any thing that he was not prepared to pursue to the end. He knew that Harold, with the power of England at his disposal, was no despicable enemy, and he resolved to fortify his cause in every possible way. The sea was to him an object of great dread, as he knew it would be to his followers. “If,” he said, “he could attack and punish them without crossing the sea, he would willingly have done so; but he would rather cross the sea than not revenge himself and pursue his right.”