His outstretched hand had nearly grasped it when an English
battle-axe laid him low. Twenty knights, grouped in mass, followed him
through the English phalanx. Down they went till ten of them lay
stretched in death. The other ten reached the spot, tore down the
English flag, and in a few minutes more the consecrated banner of
Normandy was flying in its stead.
The conflict was at an end. As darkness came the surviving English fled
into the woods in their rear. The Normans remained masters of the field.
Harold, the king, was dead, and all his brothers had fallen; Duke
William was England's lord. On the very spot where Harold had fallen the
conqueror pitched his tent, and as darkness settled over vanquished
England he "sate down to eat and drink among the dead."
No braver fight had ever been made than that which Harold made for
England. The loss of the Normans had been enormous. On the day after the
battle the survivors of William's army were drawn up in line, and the
muster-roll called. To a fourth of the names no answer was returned.
Among the dead were many of the noblest lords and bravest knights of
Normandy. Yet there were hungry nobles enough left to absorb all the
fairest domains of Saxon England, and they crowded eagerly around the
duke, pressing on him their claims.
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