Let us Talk of Many Things; of Books and Queens and Pirates, of Mystery and Kings...: On This Day... 25th September 1066

The Battle of Stamford Bridge (Old English: Gefeoht æt Stanfordbrycge) took place at the village of Stamford Bridge, East Riding of Yorkshire, in England, on 25 September 1066, between an English army under King Harold Godwinson and an invading Norwegian force led by King Harald Hardrada and the English king's brother Tostig Godwinson. After a bloody battle, both Hardrada and Tostig, along with most of the Norwegians, were killed. The battle has traditionally been presented as symbolising the end of the Viking Age.

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Harold the King (UK) / I Am The Chosen King (US/Canada)

same book different titles

About the Book

The events that led to the Battle of Hastings and the Norman Conquest of England in 1066 - told from the English point of view.

Two men. One crown.

England, 1044. Harold Godwinesson, a young, respected earl, falls in love with an ordinary but beautiful woman. In Normandy, William, the bastard son of a duke, falls in love with power.

In 1066 England falls vulnerable to the fate of these two men: one, chosen to be a king, the other, determined to take, by force, what he desires. Risking his life to defend his kingdom from foreign invasion, Harold II led his army into the great Battle of Hastings in October 1066 with all the honour and dignity that history remembers of its fallen heroes.

In this beautifully crafted tale, USA Today bestselling author Helen Hollick sets aside the propaganda of the Norman Conquest and brings to life the English version of the story of the man who was the last Anglo-Saxon king, revealing his tender love, determination and proud loyalty, all to be shattered by the desire for a crown – by one who had no right to wear it.

“Helen Hollick has it all! She tells a great story, gets her history right, and writes consistently readable books”

Bernard Cornwell

“A novel of enormous emotional power”

Elizabeth Chadwick

“Thanks to Hollick’s masterful storytelling, Harold’s nobility and heroism enthrall to the point of engendering hope for a different ending…Joggles a cast of characters and a bloody, tangled plot with great skill”

Publisher’s Weekly

“Don’t miss Helen Hollick’s colourful recreation of the events leading up to the Norman Conquest.”

Daily Mail

“An epic re-telling of the Norman Conquest”

The Lady

“If only all historical fiction could be this good”

Historical Novel Society Review

Enjoy An Excerpt

(King Harold has marched north to assist the earls of Northumbria and Mercia to fight against Hardrada...)

They reached Tadcaster an hour before noon on the Sunday, hot, tired, dusty, but confident. Some of the mounts were lame and men nursed blisters to heels, thighs and backsides: minor injuries, nothing that goose grease, a rest and a meal of wheat-baked biscuits and nourishing barley broth would not cure.

The news was grim, but information plentiful and readily given. Tostig had entered York, putting to the sword without mercy men who had played a part in removing him from his earldom. Had retrieved tribute and sworn homage from York’s leading citizens. Hardrada himself had returned to his army encampment at Riccall on the northern bank of the River Ouse. Now was the time when Harold must make good his promise to Morkere and Eadwine – that he would not allow Tostig to take vengeance. York had capitulated to the invaders through lack of choice, but York was only too willing to declare for their king – if that king was willing to fight for them in return. And he was. More than willing.

At Tadcaster they paused, letting the sweating ponies gain their breath and the men take their ease for an hour. Harold and his commanders were gathered beneath the shade of an oak, thankful for this short respite from the heat of the day. At least these last three hot, dry days had ensured no mud-deep roads and miserable tempers from wet and damp – although the heat of early autumn had its own annoyances. The ponies’ coats were already thickening, thirst increased for mount and man, the road wore harder on ponies’ hooves and raised a dust cloud that choked throats and irritated noses and eyes, flies were a nuisance. But these discomforts meant little to a fighting man whose thoughts were focused on an invading army and an approaching battle.

Harold pointed a sharpened stick at the map scrawled in the dirt at his feet. “Hardrada and Tostig are removed to Stamford Bridge, eight miles east of York, where four roads meet.” He looked for confirmation at the fourteen-year-old lad who had brought the information. “They await the arrival of hostages and further tribute, I assume?”

Waltheof, the young son of Siward, had judged it prudent not to surrender and plead homage to Tostig. As with many another, he had fled leaving hurriedly through the north gate as Tostig had ridden in through the south. Morkere was his guardian and because of that Waltheof had been certain as to his fate had he decided to stay. He nodded slowly at Harold, answering for all those who had fought so valiantly. “Stamford is most suited for meeting with those who have no choice but to surrender – good to march to or from in all directions.”

“They know of our coming?” That was Gyrth, Harold’s brother.

A laconic smile spread across Waltheof s face, which was, as yet, unshaded by beard growth. “They must know, my lord, only a fool would not expect the king of a land such as this to sit idle in London while usurpers attempt to wrench the crown from his head. But they cannot know how fast you have come, nor how near you are. For if they knew this, would they be resting easy with their wine, their stolen meat and their captured women? Would they not, instead, be preparing to come to meet you or defend themselves?”