His horse had been killed, but no harm had come to him.
Springing to the back of a fresh steed, he spurred before the fugitives,
and bade them halt, threatened them, struck them with his spear. When
the cry was repeated that the duke was dead, he tore off his helmet and
showed his face to the flying host. "Here I am!" he cried, in a
stentorian voice. "Look at me! I live, and by God's help will conquer
yet!"
Their leader's voice gave new courage to the Norman host, the flight
ceased; they rallied, and, following the headlong charge of the duke,
attacked the English with renewed fierceness and vigor. William fought
like an aroused lion. Horse after horse was killed under him, but he
still appeared at the head of his men, shouting his terrible war-cry,
striking down a foeman with every swing of his mighty iron club.
He broke through the stockade; he spurred furiously on those who guarded
the king's standard; down went Gurth, the king's brother, before a blow
of that terrible mace; down went Leofwin, a second brother of the king;
William's horse fell dead under him, a rider refused to lend him his
horse, but a blow from that strong mailed hand emptied the saddle, and
William was again horsed and using his mighty weapon with deadly effect.
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