nd
fell upon them with great slaughter.

'Still,' said Duke William, 'there are thousands of the English, firms as
rocks around their King. Shoot upward, Norman archers, that your arrows
may fall down upon their faces!'

The sun rose high, and sank, and the battle still raged. Through all the
wild October day, the clash and din resounded in the air. In the red
sunset, and in the white moonlight, heaps upon heaps of dead men lay
strewn, a dreadful spectacle, all over the ground.

King Harold, wounded with an arrow in the eye, was nearly blind. His
brothers were already killed. Twenty Norman Knights, whose battered
armour had flashed fiery and golden in the sunshine all day long, and now
looked silvery in the moonlight, dashed forward to seize the Royal banner
from the English Knights and soldiers, still faithfully collected round
their blinded King. The King received a mortal wound, and dropped. The
English broke and fled. The Normans rallied, and the day was lost.

O what a sight beneath the moon and stars, when lights were shining in
the tent of the victorious Duke William, which was pitched near the spot
where Harold fell--and he and his knights were carousing, within--and
soldiers with torches, going slowly to and fro, without, sought for the
corpse of Harold among piles of dead--and the Warrior, worked in golden
thread and precious stones, lay low, all torn and soiled with blood--and
the three Norman Lions kept watch over the field!

CHAPTER VIII--ENGLAND UNDER WILLIAM THE FIRST, THE NORMAN CONQUEROR

Upon the ground where the brave Harold fell, William the Norman
afterwards founded an abbey, which, under the name of Battle Abbey, was a
rich and splendid place through many a troubled year, though now it is a
grey ruin overgrown with ivy. But the first work he had to do, was to
conquer the English thoroughly; and that, as you know by this time, was
hard work for any man.

He ravaged several counties; he burned and plundered many towns; he laid
waste scores upon scores of miles of pleasant country; he destroyed
innumerable lives. At length STIGAND, Archbishop of Canterbury, with
other representatives of the clergy and the people, went to his camp, and
submitted to him. EDGAR, the insignificant son of Edmund Ironside, was
proclaimed King by others, but nothing came of it. He fled to Scotland
afterwards, where his sister, who was young and beautiful, married the
Scottish King. Edgar himself w