indeed the band thus saved, and hopeless the thought
that the small detachments of English still surviving and scattered over
the plain, would ever win to their aid.

Yet in those scattered remnants were, perhaps, almost the only men who,
availing themselves of their acquaintance with the country, and
despairing of victory, escaped by flight from the Field of SANGUELAC.
Nevertheless, within the entrenchments not a man had lost heart; the day
was already far advanced, no impression had been yet made on the
outworks, the position seemed as impregnable as a fortress of stone; and,
truth to say, even the bravest Normans were disheartened, when they
looked to that eminence which had foiled the charge of William himself.
The Duke, in the recent melee, had received more than one wound, his
third horse that day had been slain under him. The slaughter among the
knights and nobles had been immense, for they had exposed their persons
with the most desperate valour. And William, after surveying the rout of
nearly one half of the English army, heard everywhere, to his wrath and
his shame, murmurs of discontent and dismay at the prospect of scaling
the heights, in which the gallant remnant had found their refuge. At
this critical juncture, Odo of Bayeux, who had hitherto remained in the
rear [274], with the crowds of monks that accompanied the armament, rode
into the full field, where all the hosts were reforming their lines. He
was in complete mail, but a white surplice was drawn over the steel, his
head was bare, and in his right hand he bore the crozier. A formidable
club swung by a leathern noose from his wrist, to be used only for
self-defence: the canons forbade the priest to strike merely in assault.

Behind the milk-white steed of Odo came the whole body of reserve, fresh
and unbreathed, free from the terrors of their comrades, and stung into
proud wrath at the delay of the Norman conquest.

"How now--how now!" cried the prelate; "do ye flag? do ye falter when the
sheaves are down, and ye have but to gather up the harvest? How now,
sons of the Church! warriors of the Cross! avengers of the Saints!
Desert your Count, if ye please; but shrink not back from a Lord mightier
than man. Lo, I come forth, to ride side by side with my brother,
bareheaded, the crozier in my hand. He who fails his liege is but a
coward--he who fails the Church is apostate!"

The fierce shout of the reserve closed this harangue, and the words o