f
the prelate, as well as the physical aid he brought to back them,
renerved the army. And now the whole of William's mighty host, covering
the field, till its lines seemed to blend with the grey horizon, came on
serried, steadied, orderly--to all sides of the entrenchment. Aware of
the inutility of his horse, till the breastworks were cleared, William
placed in the van all his heavy armed foot, spearmen, and archers, to
open the way through the palisades, the sorties from which had now been
carefully closed.

As they came up the hills, Harold turned to Haco and said: "Where is thy
battle-axe?"

"Harold," answered Haco, with more than his usual tone of sombre sadness,
"I desire now to be thy shield-bearer, for thou must use thine axe with
both hands while the day lasts, and thy shield is useless. Wherefore
thou strike, and I will shield thee."

"Thou lovest me, then, son of Sweyn; I have sometimes doubted it."

"I love thee as the best part of my life, and with thy life ceases mine:
it is my heart that my shield guards when it covers the breast of
Harold."

"I would bid thee live, poor youth," whispered Harold; "but what were
life if this day were lost? Happy, then, will be those who die!"

Scarce had the words left his lips ere he sprang to the breastworks, and
with a sudden sweep of his axe, down dropped a helm that peered above
them. But helm after helm succeeds. Now they come on, swarm upon swarm,
as wolves on a traveller, as bears round a bark. Countless, amidst their
carnage, on they come! The arrows of the Norman blacken the air: with
deadly precision, to each arm, each limb, each front exposed above the
bulwarks whirrs the shaft. They clamber the palisades, the foremost fall
dead under the Saxon axe; new thousands rush on: vain is the might of
Harold, vain had been a Harold's might in every Saxon there! The first
row of breastworks is forced--it is trampled, hewed, crushed down,
cumbered with the dead. "Ha Rou! Ha Rou! Notre Dame! Notre Dame!" sounds
joyous and shrill, the chargers snort and leap, and charge into the
circle. High wheels in air the great mace of William; bright by the
slaughterers flashes the crozier of the Church.

"On, Normans!--Earldom and land!" cries the Duke.

"On, Sons of the Church! Salvation and heaven!" shouts the voice of Odo.

The first breastwork down--the Saxons yielding inch by inch, foot by
foot, are pressed, crushed back, into the second enclosure. The same