At last the obstinate valour of the
English housecarls prevailed over the resistance of the fierce Norsemen,
and the invading host was driven backward step by step up the ascent until
the level ground was reached.
Here the battle again raged as fiercely as ever. In vain did Harold of
Norway, followed by his bravest warriors, hurl himself upon the ranks of
the English, his terrible sword carrying death in its path. In vain did his
followers again and again strive to take the offensive. The English line
ever bore up against their attacks. The battle was still undecided when, as
the sun was going down, an English arrow pierced the throat of the giant
King of Norway. How Tostig, who had throughout the day fought by his side,
fell, we know not, but he died, as did the Irish prince who had brought his
followers to share in the plunder of England. There fell, too, most of the
bravest warriors of Norway, the last of the sea-kings who had carried the
banner, known as the land-waster, far and wide over Europe.
The slaughter was terrible, and at nightfall the Norsemen who survived
broke and fled to the shelter of their ships. Never in the history of
England was there a harder fought battle; never were English valour and
endurance more splendidly shown. Terrible, too, had been the losses on
their side. Many of the king's bravest thanes had fallen, and the ranks of
the housecarls were fearfully thinned. Complete as had been the victory,
absolute as had been the destruction of their foes, there was but little
rejoicing in the English camp that night.
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