Author's note: The texts seemed, on close examination to lack any form of introduction, lending to the theory that the work was abandoned, or was never finished, as no fragments of the earlier sections were found, so it is assumed they were never written, or are yet to be found in another location. This also raises the question as to wether the noble the texts were buried with was in fact Thomas himself. The book is quite clearly written from the point of view of an admirer or associate of Thomas, so it is plausible to assume that the body in the grave was not that of Thomas, but that of the author, hence the book's unfinished state. However, it does not answer the mysterious question of why he should be buried with his work. Another problem that some eminent scholars have pointed out is that the work itself looks more to be the work of a priest, hence it's carefully crafted Latin script, which would dispel the theory that the body was that of the author. For these reasons, the identities of the Author and the man the work was buried with remain a mystery.
The earliest ledgible parts of the work begin with a description from what appears to be a soldier or noble's point of view of the battle of Hastings, at which it is believed Thomas fought. It is not a tactical or indeed historical account of the battle, as is depicted on the Bayeux Embroidery (pictured below), but of an insider's view of the experience that Hastings was to those who fought in it, as such, many of the major events, such as Harold's death and the debatable feigned Norman retreat, do not appear here.
Whether this account is reliable or not, in fact is quite debateable, and still as a result offers no clue as to the author's identity.
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THE BATTLE
Thomas felt cold, damp and miserable as he rode astride his heavy destrier, alongside the other cavalrymen. He certainly did not like this new country, and its foul weather and climate were, he thought, testimony to the savage people that lived here. His chainmail weighed heavily down upon him, and droplets of water dripped down from his helmet rim, pattering away gently on his chainmail and damp trousers.He gripped his reigns tightly and his spear yet tighter as they rode towards the hill ahead, upon which The saxon army awaited them. He, despite how he felt about the wretchedness of the situation, felt a certain patriotic pride as he looked out upon the mighty Norman force that was arrayed before them.
The archers took the lead, ready to begin loosing volleys of arrows as per the plan, with the men at arms behind them. The Norman Cavalry, along with the Duke himself, trailed along behind.
The crossing had been really quite terrible. Thomas was not one for the sea, and neither was the sea for him. His only comfort came from the fact that his destrier had enjoyed it even less. The landing wasn't a real problem at all, and they came ashore unapposed. Rumour had it the Saxon king was in the North of England. Thomas didn't know why, or even if it was true to start with, but the rumour was quickly dispelled when Harold's force revealed itself at hastings.
He could just make out the top of the hill through the mist. There, King Harold the usurper and his huscarls waited, backed up by a large amount of saxon levies. The huscarls, danish in origin, were rumoured to be excellent fighters, but Thomas, and indeed many of the other knights, in their own arrogance feared them not, reasoning that no filthy saxon could be the match of the invincible Norman cavalry. Even so, the Huscarls, he could see, stood tall and proud at the fore of the Saxon line, seemingly as unafraid of the Normans as they were of them.
Thomas admired them for that, and looking harder, he could just see the Userper, standing behind the first line of huscarls.
He was foolish to oppose Duke William, thought Thomas, especially with such a small force. Where was the Saxon cavalry and archers that they had been told about? They were nowhere to be seen, and this made Thomas feel slightly uneasy.
The archers soon were in Range, and Thomas heard the Duke shout the order to open fire. He saw them ready themselves, stringing up their bows with fresh, dry strings, and then they notched up their arrows and let loose a volley at the Saxons.
Thomas followed the little arrows through the air, and saw them land against the saxon shieldwall.
Very few of them fell in the first volley, but soon enough the archers corrected their aim, and the arrows fell thick and fast over the shields and down on the saxons. He could just make out the arrows reaching their zenith of the arc, and being almost motionless, before pointing down, and shooting down like hail on the Saxons.
For many hours the arrows fell, harming perhaps less than intended, but fell they did, and the stubborn saxons seemed content to stay put. Soon, the infantry began to move up.
And then the real battle started. Thomas, from his elevated position was able to see the fight, in all its gruesome majesty unfold. The huscarls held firm, but the men-at-arms put up a truly excellent fight.
skulls were split by huge axes, the helmets of the victims caving in like eggshells, the contents spilling all over the attacker, who would only quickly find himself run through by a norman spear. All sense of order seemed to break loose, as the figures swirled about one another, yelling, screaming and shouting over the crash of metal on wood, armour and flesh in the great cacophany of battle.
Thomas didn't have long to appreciate the spectacle before the knights moved forwards. the centre of the saxon line was being pushed backwards, laeving the flanks without support. Thomas and his particular group of knights directed themselves towards the saxon right flank, and when the order came, they charged. Thomas crouched in his saddle, with his spear aimed at the enemy and his shield held close to protect his side and legs. The horses began to canter slowly, and then sped up, the riders bouncing violently in their seats, but after years of practise, not one lost balance, all of them crouched, with their feet securely in the stirrups as The horses rose to a gallop, and then topped out at the charge speed. They powered on at breakneck speed, the nimble, yet huge and heavy destriers bounding and weaving round the corpses of the fallen, and then, once on open ground, they accelerated to what felt an almost impossible speed, aimed straight at the enemy. Thomas could see the fyrdmen, now only yards away begin to falter. Some at the front, and many towards the back had already turned tail and were running, rather than face the towering behemoths on a crash course straight for them. The charge met it's target with staggering force. The horses crashed into the saxon line, and Thomas thrust his spear ahead of him, instantly impaling an unlucky fyrdman through the chest. His destrier knocked down and trampled several others.
The fyrdmen had had enough, and almost all of them had turned to run. Thomas thrust his spear about him, doing his best to kill as many as possible as they fled.
Thomas and the other Knights then wheeled about, some drawing swords to replace broken spears, and others readjusting themselves in the saddle. They waited for a moment amongst the corpses as one or two Knights mounted up again with help from their comrades, after being thrown off by plucky saxons.
Once all were ready, Sir Hugh of Caen, the ranking Noble among them, bellowed the order to advance and finish the Saxons, and the Knights galloped on into the fray. The Saxon huscarls, though having put up a good fight, were now surrounded, and one by one the men-at-arms killed them with their swords and spears.
As he rode, Thomas caught a brief glimpse through the melee of the Norman bishop Odo, astride his mighty black horse, smashing in the skull of an unlucky huscarl with his clergyman's mace. The knights powered in through the melee, and soon had the smallest group of saxons surrounded. One by one, the mighty warriors fell, their bloody axes falling from limp hands, their tired bodies falling slowly to the ground, pierced by a number Norman weapons, and, head to foot in their own blood, and that of their comrades, they hit the muddy floor, each one the tolling of the death bell for the Anglo Saxons. With no escape, the mighty warriors fought to the last, and those that found a way out did their best to stagger away from the battle.
Showing no mercy, William ordered that they be chased down and killed. Thomas looked about, but the King Harold was nowhere to be seen.
Thomas, exhausted, in pain and spattered with human blood, felt no better about himself than when he did at the battle's start. And as he watched the last of the Saxon survivors stumble away through the grass in vain, he truly wished he was somewhere else.
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That's all for this update, hoped you liked it. Sorry about the annoying thing in the bottom corner of the pictures, its because of the file converter I used on them before uploading.
Any comments would be appreciated on what you thought of it, and how I can improve in the future .