So exhausted were the troops by
their long march and the desperate struggle of the day that they threw
themselves down to sleep on the ground they had won, thickly covered as it
was with the bodies of friend and foe.
Wulf throughout the day had fought close to Harold. Osgod had kept close
beside him, and had warded off many a sweeping blow and cut down many a
pressing enemy. At the end of the day his left arm hung useless by his
side, well-nigh cleft off by the blow of a Norseman's sword. Wulf himself
had escaped without a scratch, thanks in a large measure to his follower's
watchfulness. When the battle was over he was one of the few thanes who
gathered round Harold. The latter felt no exultation at this victory. It
had cost him the flower of his army and numbers of his most valued thanes.
It had cost him, too, the life of a brother, to whom in spite of his faults
he had been deeply attached. He knew that there was before him a struggle
even more serious than that from which he had just emerged a victor, and
there was no saying how that struggle might end.
"I thank God that you are spared to me, Wulf," he said as the young thane
came up. "I marked you near me all through the battle, and none fought more
bravely. It has been a terrible day, and our victory is dearly purchased
indeed. I have sent a messenger to York, praying that every monk skilled in
surgery will at once hasten hither, that all men and boys shall come and
help to collect the wounded, and that such women as can aid will accompany
them.
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