Meanwhile, what was happening in that threatened land? While the great armament of the Norman was wind-bound in port, a vast Viking host under Harold Hardrada, King of Norway, and Tostig, the English king’s brother, had doubled Spurn Head, and was sailing up the Humber and into the Ouse, bound for York. Why, you ask, should Harold’s own brother take arms against him when William of Normandy was arraying a mighty host for his undoing? Tostig had been Earl of Northumbria, and had ruled his earldom with harshness and injustice. He had forced peace on a land of feuds and outrages by taking life and by maiming limb. Loud had been the outcry against him, and Tostig had been driven from Northumbria by his incensed subjects. Harold had supported the claim of a rival; and now Tostig, at the instigation of his brother-in-law, Duke William, had persuaded the Norse king to join him in a descent upon North England. Harold, whom he had not forgiven, was to be taken between two fires, and victory seemed sure. Harold had mustered his forces on the southern shore, and during the summer lay in wait for the coming of the Norman. Summer passed, and autumn arrived when the news reached him that the Vikings were in the Ouse. Believing that William would not sail until the spring, Harold set out for York to smite the Northern host before the Norman was ready to attack. With wonderful speed his troops marched northward, and York was reached on the fourth day after his departure from London. The Norsemen were taken by surprise. It was inconceivable that Harold could be nigh, and so they advanced to York, which had promised surrender, leaving their coats of mail on board their ships in the river. As they marched towards the gates, which were to be flung wide at their approach, they beheld a cloud of dust and the glitter of arms in the distance. “Who are these advancing towards us?” asked Hardrada. “Only Englishmen craving pardon and beseeching friendship,” answered Tostig; but the words had scarcely been uttered before the dust-cloud resolved itself into an army, headed by King Harold himself. “The enemy!—the enemy!” muttered the Norwegians. They formed in line of battle, ready for the fray. Harold feared not the issue, but he was loath to shed his brother’s blood, and sent forward a messenger to offer Tostig his old earldom—one-third of the kingdom—if he would yield. “And what,” asked Tostig, “will he give my faithful ally, the King of Norway?” “He,” replied the English messenger, “shall have seven feet of ground for a grave, or, as he is a very tall man, perhaps a little more.” Tostig bade the messenger depart, and battle was joined.