So for three
more hours the fight went on; with diminishing numbers, but with
undiminished bravery the English still held their ground, and as twilight
was now closing in, it seemed as if they would maintain it till nightfall.
Then William ordered up his archers again, bade them shoot their arrows
high into the air, so that they should fall among the king and his thanes
grouped round the standard.
The effect was terrible. Through helm and shoulder-guard the arrows made
their way; the soldiers held their shields above their heads, but the
thanes had no such protection. Harold glanced up for a moment, and as if
directed by the hand of fate an arrow struck him full in the eye, and he
fell prostrate as if struck by a thunderbolt. A cry of horror and dismay
burst from the thanes around him, but there was no time for the indulgence
of grief. The Normans too had seen the king fall, and with shouts of
triumph a body of knights tried to force their way in to take possession of
his body. But so long as an Englishman could swing axe this was not to be,
and the assault was repulsed as others had been before. Nor, when the news
of Harold's fall spread, did the brave housecarls lose heart, but sternly
and obstinately as ever held together.
At last the Normans burst in at the centre, each baron and knight striving
to be the first to pluck down the standards, the one the king's own
cognizance, the other the national banner, that waved side by side.
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