unted Normans, with their conical
helmets gleaming in the hazy sunlight, with kite-shaped shields, huge
spears and swords; the English, all on foot, with heavy axes and clubs.
But theirs was a defensive part; the Normans had to begin. It fell to
the lot of a wild troubadour named Taillefer to open the fight. He
galloped from the Norman lines at full speed, singing a song of heroes;
then checked his steed and tossed his lance thrice in the air, thrice
catching it by the point. The opposing lines silently wondered. Then he
flung it at a luckless Saxon with all the energy of a madman, spitting
him as a skewer spits a lark. Taillefer had now only his sword left.
This also he threw thrice into the air, and then seizing it with the
grip of death he rode straight at the Saxon troops, dealing blows from
left to right, and so was lost to view.

Thus the Battle of Hastings began. "On them in God's name," cried
William, "and chastise these English for their misdeeds." "Dieu aide,"
his men screamed, spurring to the attack. "Out, Out!" barked the
English, "Holy Cross! God Almighty!" The carnage was terrific. It seemed
for long that the English were prevailing; and they would, in all
likelihood, have prevailed in the end had they kept their position. But
William feigned a retreat, and the English crossed their vallum in
pursuit. The Normans at once turned their horses and pursued and
butchered the unprepared enemy singly in the open country. A complete
rout followed. The false step was decisive.

[Sidenote: THE DEATH OF HAROLD]

Not till night, however, did Harold fall. He upheld his standard to the
last, hedged about by a valiant bodyguard who resisted the Normans till
every sign of life was battered out of them. The story of the
vertically-discharged arrows is a myth. An eye-witness thus described
Harold's death: "An armed man," said he, "came in the throng of the
battle and struck him on the ventaille of the helmet and beat him to the
ground; and as he sought to recover himself a knight beat him down
again, striking him on the thick of the thigh down to the bone." So died
Harold, on the exact site of the high altar of the Abbey, and so passed
away the Saxon kingdom.

That night, William, who was unharmed, though three horses were killed
under him, had his tent set up in the midst of the dead, and there he
ate and drank. In the morning the Norman corpses were picked out and
buried with due rites; the Saxons were left to rot. Ac