In the evening a messenger arrived from William, again bidding Harold resign the kingdom or meet the duke in single combat, the crown of England to be the prize of the victor. Harold refused the challenge. He had proved his personal courage too often for it to be supposed that he declined from any feeling of cowardice, but he knew well that the issue could not be thus decided. Were he to fall, the people would still refuse to accept William as their king; were William to fall, the host that had gathered for the plunder of England would still give battle. Nothing was therefore to be gained by the proposed combat.



CHAPTER XXI.

HASTINGS.

The fiction of the Norman historians, that while the Normans passed the night preceding the battle in prayer, the English spent it in feasting, is even more palpably absurd than the many other falsehoods invented for the purpose of damaging the character of Harold. The English army had marched nearly seventy miles in the course of two days, and had in addition laboured incessantly for many hours in erecting the palisades and in digging ditches. We may be sure that after two such days the great mass of the army lay down dog-tired directly their work was done, and slept till morning. Harold and his thanes had shared in their labours, and knowing the terrible work that awaited them in the morning, would most surely be disposed to get as long a sleep as possible to prepare for it.

But what is most opposed to the Norman story is the fact that Harold was a sincerely and deeply religious man, far more so than his rival. The life of the one man was in accordance with his professions—he was gentle and merciful, ever ready to forgive his enemies, averse to bloodshed, and so true a friend of the church that the whole of the prelates and clergy set the interdict of the pope at naught for his sake. The only exception in his clemency to the conquered was in the case of the Welsh, and in this instance the stern measures he adopted were in the end the most merciful. No oaths could bind these marauders, and the stern punishment he inflicted was the means of procuring for the West of England a respite from their incursions that lasted for three generations.

William of Normandy, on the contrary, was absolutely merciless in warfare. He was not cruel for the sake of cruelty, but where he deemed that the policy demanded it, he was ruthless, and spared neither age nor sex. He was lavish to the church, but it was rather because he needed and obtained its aid than from any feeling of real piety.

In point of ability, both civil and military, the Duke of Normandy and Harold of England were perhaps about equal; in point of nobility of character there was no comparison between them. We may be sure that the night before the battle Harold prayed as earnestly as he had prayed at Waltham for the aid of Heaven.

Wulf and Beorn lay down among the thanes, after Harold, sitting with them round a fire, had explained his plans for the battle. So calmly and confidently did he speak, and so strong was their position, that even those who had, like Wulf, doubted the wisdom of an advance until the whole force of England had assembled, now felt something like an assurance of victory, and all lay down to sleep with the belief that the victory at Stamford Bridge would be repeated.

On waking, Wulf visited his men. They were already astir, and he was astounded at seeing among them the towering figure of Osgod.

"Why, what means this, Osgod?" he exclaimed. "Did I not order you to rest quietly at York?"

"That did you, my lord," Osgod said, "and no man obeys your orders more readily than I, and anything that you bid me do I am willing to do if possible; but in this it was not possible, for I could not remain at York, either in rest or quiet. I should have had fever in my blood, and would by this time have been lying as deep in the earth as Harold of Norway himself. Therefore, in order to get the rest and quiet you had ordered, it was necessary for me to come south. As you had left me well supplied with money, I was able to do so in comfort, and though I could well enough walk I have had myself carried in a litter by easy stages. I reached London on Wednesday night, having been a fortnight on the way, and I arrived here an hour since. Each day I walked a little, so as to keep my health and exercise my limbs, and so well have I succeeded that my wound has well-nigh healed; and although I doubt whether I shall be able to use a heavy axe, I trust I shall be able to strike hard enough with the right hand to split a few Norman helms."

"But the exertion may set your wounds bleeding afresh, Osgod," Wulf said, unable to repress a smile at Osgod's argument.

"Methinks there is no fear of that. The most nights I have slept at monasteries, and have inquired from the monks, whom I told that I must needs stand by your side to-day, whether I should be fit. They said at first that there would be some risk in the matter, but that if I continued to take rest and quiet as I was doing, and the wound continued to heal favourably, it was possible, if I abstained from actual fighting, I might do so; but of late they have spoken more confidently. I told the monk who seared my arm to do it heartily, for a little pain more or less was of small account, so that he made a good job of it. And so, what with the rest and quiet and my mind being at ease, it went on so well that a monk who examined it at Westminster on Wednesday evening told me that save for the healing of the skin the wound was pretty nigh cured, and that he thought there was no chance whatever of its breaking out afresh. He bandaged it tightly to prevent any rush of blood into the veins, and though when I drove an axe just now into that stump yonder, I felt that I had not got back my strength fully, I expect when I warm to the work I shall strike as strongly as most."

"Well, at any rate you must take care of yourself, Osgod. You can aid me in keeping our men steady, but I charge you not to fight yourself unless you see the line waver. Then you can, of course, throw yourself into the fray."

"I will keep myself back for that, master; but I am sure we shall all have to do our best before sunset, and as all will be risking their lives there is no reason why I should not do so as well as the rest."

The troops made a hearty breakfast from the food they carried, and quenched their thirst at the little stream that ran down by the side of the slope, then they were told off to the ground they were to occupy.

At nine in the morning the vanguard of the Norman army appeared over the brow of a rise, and the English at once took up their positions. In the centre were the housecarls of the royal house and those of the thanes, together with the men of Kent, whose right it was ever to be in the front of a battle, and the London citizens under their sheriff. All these were armed and attired like the housecarls. In the centre of this array flew the royal standard, and around it were the three royal brothers, Aelfwig their uncle, with his monk's cowl over his helmet, and their nephew, Hakon, the son of Sweyn. The housecarls were in a triple line. To the left and right of them were the levies, as brave as their more heavily armed comrades, but altogether without discipline, and armed in the most primitive manner. A few only carried swords or axes, the majority had spears or javelins. Many had only forks or sharp stakes, while some carried stone hammers and axes, such as were used by their primitive ancestors.

As the Norman army wound down from the opposite hill and formed up in the order of battle, Harold rode along in front of his line exhorting all to stand firm.

"They were there," he said, "to defend their country, and to defend their country they had but to hold the hill. Were they steadfast and firm they could assuredly resist the attack of this host who came to capture and plunder England."

The order in which the Normans prepared for battle was similar to that of the English. Both commanders had been well informed by spies of the strength and position of their opponents, and the duke placed his tried Norman troops in the centre to match themselves against the English housecarls. His Breton contingent was on his left, while on the right were the French, the Flemings, and the other foreign adventurers who had come to fight under his banner. In the front line were the archers and slingers, who were to open the battle and shake the line of the defenders. Behind these came the infantry, who were to hew down the palisades and clear a way for the cavalry charge full into the centre of the English host.

A Norman trumpet gave the signal for the commencement of the battle, and the archers along the whole line poured a storm of arrows into the English. It was unanswered, for there were few bowmen among the defenders of the hill, and the distance was too great for the javelin-men to hurl their missiles. After the archers had shot several volleys of arrows they fell back, and the infantry advanced against the hill; but before they did so Taillifer, a Norman minstrel, dashed forward on horseback, and spurring up the ascent, tossing his sword in the air and catching it as it fell, rode up to the English line. One man he pierced with a lance, another he cut down with his sword, and then fell dead under the blow of a heavy axe. This mad exploit had scarce terminated when the Norman infantry advanced up the hill. They were greeted with a shower of stones and javelins, which slew many, but with unbroken front they pressed upwards until they reached the palisade. Here a desperate struggle began. The Norman sword and spear were met by the axes of the housecarls, and the clubs, spears, and forks of the levies. In vain Norman, Breton, Frenchmen, and Fleming strove to break the English line. The high position of the defenders gave them a great advantage over their assailants, among whose crowded ranks the javelin-men did great execution, while the Normans could receive little aid from their archers. Both sides fought with obstinate valour. The Norman battle-cry was "God help us!" the English "God Almighty and the Holy Cross!" The latter invocation being to the relic at Waltham, which was the king's special object of devotion.

With jeering cries too they greeted the efforts of their assailants to cross the palisade and break their line. At last the Norman infantry fell back broken and baffled, having suffered terrible loss, and now the knights and horsemen, who formed the backbone of William's army, rode up the hill. The duke himself, as well as his brother Odo, Bishop of Bayeau, who fought beside him, had laid aside their Norman swords, and were armed with heavy maces, weapons as formidable as the English axe. But the valour of the horsemen, the strength of their armour, the length of their lances, and the weight of their horses, availed no more against the shield-wall of the housecarls than the infantry had done. The superior height and strength of the English, and the sweep of their terrible battle-axes, counterbalanced the advantage the horses afforded to the Normans, and the hitherto irresistible chivalry of Normandy and France were, for the first time, dashed backwards by trained infantry.

In front of the English line the ground was thickly covered with fallen men and horses. There were but few wounded among them, for where the English axe fell, whether on horse or rider, it did its work thoroughly. But the English, too, had suffered. The action of swinging the axe with both arms above the head left the neck and upper part of the body exposed, and many had fallen pierced through and through by the Norman spears. A great shout of triumph rose from the English line as the Norman horsemen, unable to do more, fell sullenly back down the hill. As in the centre the king with his thanes and housecarls had repelled the attack of the Normans, so on the flanks the English levies had held their ground against the Bretons and French; but, carried away by their exultation, the levies on the right, forgetful of Harold's express orders that no man was to stir from his place until he himself gave the signal for pursuit, broke their line, and rushing down the hill fell on the retreating Bretons.

Unable to withstand the onslaught, and already disheartened by their failure, the Bretons fled in wild alarm, and rushing towards the centre for protection threw the Normans also into confusion. The panic spread rapidly, the host wavered, and had already begun to fly, when William, throwing off his helmet, rode among them, and exhorting some and striking others with a lance he had caught up, at last restored order, and the Breton infantry rallied and fell upon their pursuers, killing many and driving the rest back up the hill.

Again the Norman infantry and cavalry together advanced up the hill, and the terrible struggle recommenced. William and his brother the bishop performed prodigies of valour, but not less valiantly fought Harold of England and his brothers. The palisade was by this time destroyed in many places, and desperate hand-to-hand contests now took place. Cutting his way through meaner foes the duke strove to reach the royal standard and encounter Harold himself. He was nearing his goal, when Gurth sprang forward, eager above all things to protect Harold from harm. He hurled a javelin at William, but the dart struck the Norman's horse only, and it fell beneath him. William leapt to his feet, and springing upon Gurth smote with his heavy mace full on his helmet, and the noble Earl of East Anglia fell dead at his feet. Almost at the same moment his brother Leofwin, fighting sword in hand, was slain. But the fall of the two royal brothers in no way changed the fate of the battle. The men of Kent and Essex, furious at the fall of their beloved earls, fought even more fiercely than before to avenge their deaths.

William had remounted, but his second horse was also slain. Eustace of Boulogne offered him his horse, and himself mounting that of one of his followers they fell together upon the English line, but all the valour of the duke and his chivalry failed to break it. On the French left the Bretons had, indeed, succeeded in completely destroying the palisade, but the levies stood firm, and no impression was made upon their solid line. The attack had failed, and even William saw that it was hopeless any more to hurl his troops against the shield-wall, but the manner in which the English irregulars had been induced to break their array led him to try by a feigned retreat to induce them to repeat their error. While the fight yet raged around him he sent orders to the Bretons to turn and flee, and then if the defenders pursued them to turn upon them while he ordered a portion of his Norman force to make straight for the gap as soon as the English left their posts.

The stratagem was successful. Again with exulting shouts the levies poured out in pursuit of the Bretons. These fled for some distance, and then suddenly turning fell on their pursuers. Ill-armed and undisciplined as the levies were, and unable to withstand the attack of such overwhelming numbers, they bore themselves gallantly. One party took possession of a small outlying hill, and with showers of darts and stones they killed or drove off all who attacked them. The greater part, however, made their way to broken ground to the west of the hill, and made a stand on the steep bank of a small ravine. The French horsemen charging down upon them, unaware of the existence of the ravine, fell into it, and were slaughtered in such numbers by the knives and spears of the English that the ravine was well-nigh filled up with their dead bodies.

But gallantly as the levies had retrieved their error, it was a fatal one. As soon as they had left their line, the Normans told off for the duty pressed into the gap, and were followed by the whole of their main body, and thus the English lost the advantage of position, and the contending hosts faced each other on the hill, the ground now occupied by the Normans being somewhat higher than that on which the housecarls stood. It was now about three in the afternoon, and the fight had been raging for six hours, but though thus outflanked and the order of their battle destroyed, the veterans of Harold showed neither alarm nor discouragement. Their formation was changed, the shield-wall still faced the Normans, and for a time every effort to break it failed.

In vain the Norman cavalry charged down upon it, in vain their duke plied his terrible mace. Occasionally men worn out by the long defensive battle sprang from the English ranks and engaged knight or baron hand to hand. All along the line such single-handed conflicts were going on, and the roar of battle was as loud and fierce as at the beginning of the day. 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. One after another the thanes were smitten down. Not one asked for quarter, not one turned his back upon the foe.

Beorn and Wulf had, through the long fight, stood side by side, and the watchfulness with which they guarded each other had carried them so far unharmed through it.

"It is all over now, Beorn," Wulf said. "But it is not hard to die, for with Harold the cause of England is lost."

"At any rate we will sell our lives dearly," Beorn said, as he struck a Norman knight from his horse. But they were the last defenders of the standards, and the end was at hand. Blows rained down upon them. Beorn was beaten on to one knee; Wulf was so exhausted by his exertions that he could scarce swing his axe, when a Norman baron pressed his horse through the throng, and springing to the ground held his sword aloft and shouted: "Stand back! stand back! these two men hold the duke's solemn pledge for their lives!" Some of the others still pressed on, but he shouted again: "Whoever strikes at them strikes at me!"

There was still hesitation, so furious were the Normans at the resistance they had met with and the tremendous losses they had suffered. But another baron exclaimed, "De Burg is right! I heard the pledge given, and so did many of you. This is the young Saxon who saved the duke's camp from the attack by the Bretons, and bore the brunt of their assault till we had time to arm. The other brought with him the news that Harold was wrecked." The words were decisive, and the Normans turned aside their horses to attack other foes.

"Thank God I arrived in time, Wulf," Baron de Burg said. "I knew you would be near the standard, but I was fighting elsewhere when the news reached me that the line was broken and the standard on the point of capture. Are you badly hurt, Beorn?"

"I am dizzy and faint," Beorn, who had risen to his feet, replied unsteadily, "but I think not badly wounded."

"Walk by me one on each side holding my stirrup-leathers. I would place you on my horse, but it were best that I myself should be seen."

He removed his helmet, and bareheaded moved off with the young thanes walking beside him. Many Normans stopped as he made his way down the hill, but to their questions he replied, "The duke has himself guaranteed the safety of these thanes," and as he was well known to stand high in the duke's favour his word was at once accepted.

In the meantime Harold's standard, whose emblem was a fighting man, and the golden dragon, the national banner, had been carried off in triumph. Four of the Normans whose names were long held in infamy by the English discovered the body of the dying king, for it is said that he still breathed. One of these was Eustace of Boulogne, the only man in the two armies who had during the engagement shown signs of craven fear. Another was the son of that Count of Ponthieu, who had once held Harold prisoner. The others were Gifford and Montfort. One ran his spear through Harold's breast, another struck off his head with his sword, a third pierced the dead body, while the fourth further insulted the dead hero by cutting off one of his legs—an action, however, which William when he heard of it pronounced to be shameful, and expelled its perpetrator from the army.

But though the king was dead and the standard lost, the survivors of the housecarls still fought on until darkness fell. The levies had fled just before, hotly pursued by the Norman horse. Knowing the ground well the light-armed footmen fled across a bog, and in the fast-gathering darkness their pursuers did not notice the nature of the ground, but galloping on plunged into the morass, where great numbers of them perished miserably, either suffocated in the mud or slain by the English, who turned and fell upon them with axe and spear as soon as they saw their plight. So great was the slaughter, that those who had reined up their horses in time were stricken with horror even after all the carnage they had witnessed on the field of battle.

With darkness the battle came to an end. Few indeed of the housecarls drew off under cover of the darkness; their force being almost annihilated. With them had perished almost the whole of the thanes of the South of England and East Anglia. The Sheriff of London had been carried off desperately wounded by a few of his friends, but with this exception none of Harold's companions and thanes left the field alive while daylight lasted. A few only the next morning were found breathing among the mass of dead, and some of these survived and returned at last to their homes: for William, satisfied with the complete victory he had gained, issued orders that all found alive on the field were to be well treated. He felt that he was now King of England, and that clemency was his best policy. Permission was given to the women who flocked in from the country round, to search for the bodies of their friends and to remove them for burial He also commanded a search to be made for the body of Harold, but during the night, while the exhausted soldiers slept heavily after their labours, the camp-followers had been busy with the work of plunder, busiest round the spot where the standards had stood, for here were stores of gold bracelets and rings, the emblems of authority of the thanes, to be collected, and rich garments to be carried off. Thus then, the heaps of corpses that marked the spot where the fighting had all day been heaviest, were unrecognizable, so terrible had been the wounds dealt by sword, battle-axe, and mace.

De Burg had kept Wulf and Beorn with him all night, and they had lain down and slept together. In the morning he committed them to the charge of some of his personal followers, while he went to the duke to inform him of what he had done.

"Thank you, De Burg," William said; "they are two brave young fellows. I marked them in the fight more than once when I was near the standard, and I should have grieved if ill had befallen them, for they did me loyal service. I had given my word that they should retain their estates in case I ever came to the throne here. I know not what to do with them. Were I to let them go now, they would assuredly take part in any further resistance that the English may offer to me. I will not ask them now to swear allegiance to me, for fresh from the battle where they have lost so many friends and the earl they loved so loyally, they would assuredly refuse."

"If you will grant me a short leave I will take ship back to Normandy and place them in the care of my wife, where they can remain until matters have settled down here."

"It is a good idea, De Burg; do so without delay. Methinks that after yesterday there will be no real resistance offered to me. Harold and his brothers and all the leading thanes lie dead. There is no one left to lead the people or organize a resistance, therefore I can spare you for a time."

Thanking the duke, De Burg returned to his captives and told them what had been arranged.

"We owe you our heartiest thanks, Lord de Burg, for your kindness," Beorn said. "Assuredly so long as England resists we will not acknowledge William of Normandy as king, but when resistance ceases, we will of course take the oath to him if only for the sake of our people; partial risings could but bring down his vengeance and cause suffering and ruin to all concerned. Therefore, we gratefully accept your offer, but first of all we beg you to let us go to the spot where our housecarls fought. You remember Wulf's man, Osgod?"

"That do I indeed," De Burg replied. "The great fellow who fought by his side that night against the Bretons, and saved my son's life. Was he there?"

"He was," Wulf said, "though greatly against my wishes; for he had lost an arm in the fight at Stamford Bridge, and though it is little more than a fortnight since, he had himself carried down here, contrary to my orders, and insisted upon joining in the battle. I would fain search for his body and give him burial."

"I will come with you at once," the Norman said, "I too owe him a debt of gratitude."

The housecarls of Steyning had fallen to a man where they stood, and among them after some searching they came upon the body of Osgod, distinguished alike by its bulk and the loss of an arm. His axe lay with a broken shaft by his side. His helmet was cleft asunder, and his face covered with blood.

"His body is yet warm," Wulf said, as he lifted his arm. "I believe he still lives."

De Burg called upon two Norman soldiers near to aid, and with their assistance Wulf and Beorn carried Osgod down to the stream, where they washed the blood from his face and bathed the wound in his head.

"He is certainly alive," Beorn said. "Doubtless he was stunned by the blow, and has remained unconscious from the loss of blood."

De Burg sent for a flask of wine, and a little of this was poured through Osgod's lips. Presently there was a deep sigh and a slight motion of the figure, and then Osgod opened his eyes.

At first he seemed bewildered, but as his eyes fell on Wulf a look of pleasure came into them, and he smiled faintly.

"I am alive, Osgod, and glad indeed to find that you are also. Beorn has also escaped. Take a draught of wine; you have lost a lot of blood and had none to spare."

They lifted him into a sitting position, and held the cup to his lips while he drank a long draught.

"That is better," he murmured. "I can feel it going through my veins. I shall be able to wield an axe yet again. This comes of fighting with a weapon you don't know. The shaft broke as I was guarding my head, and I don't remember anything after."

"It saved your life though, Osgod, for it broke the force of the blow which would otherwise have cleft your skull. As it is, it has not gone very deep, and the blood you have lost has run chiefly from a wound on your left shoulder."

"How is it that you are here?" Osgod asked, looking round at the Normans.

"We are prisoners, though we have not surrendered," Wulf replied. "We were saved by our good friend Lord de Burg, who has joined us in our search for you. We are to be taken to Normandy as prisoners, and to remain in charge of Lady de Burg."

"You shall go too, Osgod," De Burg said. "You will find it hard to be nursed here, and my wife will see that your wounds are well cared for. Your master will stay with you for the present, for I have matters to see about before we start for the coast."

In half an hour he returned. "I have to ask you to perform a last service to your dead king," he said. "The bodies of Gurth and Leofwin have been found and borne away by your people for burial, but none can find the body of Harold. All the dead that were near the standard were removed last night by the soldiers, and among the great pile of dead none can recognize that of your king."

Well as they knew him, Wulf and Beorn were unable to recognize the body of Harold among the ghastly heap of mutilated corpses. After a time Wulf said:

"There is one who might recognize it when all others failed. It is Edith, whom he so long loved as his wife. She may recognize it by some mark or sign unknown to others. If you will give me leave I will ride to Lewes, where she is staying, and bring her hither."

"Certainly, Wulf; I will obtain a safe conduct for you from the duke."

Wulf had ridden, however, but a mile along the western road when he saw a litter approaching borne by four men. He reined in his horse by its side. An order was given from within, and as the bearers lowered it to the ground Edith stepped out. She was deadly pale. Her eyes were red with weeping, and she seemed to Wulf to have aged years since he saw her a week before.

"My presentiments have come true, Wulf," she said. "It was no surprise to me when last night the news came that the battle was lost and Harold slain. I had looked and waited for it. You were coming to fetch me?"

"Yes, lady; Harold's body has not been found. Early this morning two monks of Waltham, who had followed the army and seen the fight afar off, came into camp, and with them Gytha, Harold's mother. She saw the duke, and begged for Harold's body, offering its weight in gold if she might carry it for burial to the Abbey of Waltham. The duke refused, saying that an excommunicated man could not be buried in a holy place; she might remove the bodies of her other two sons, but Harold's, when found, should be buried by the seacoast. The monks searched in vain for the body. Beorn and I have done the same, but have failed to recognize it in so vast a heap of slain."

"I shall know it," Edith said. "Among a thousand dead I should know Harold."

"It is a terrible sight, lady, for a woman to look upon," Wulf said gently.

"I shall see nothing but him," she replied firmly.

He accompanied her back to the battle-ground, where the two monks joined her. Wulf, who was greatly shaken by the sight of her set and white face, left her with them.

What the eye of friendship had failed to accomplish, that of love detected unerringly. There were marks on Harold's body by which Edith recognized it. One of the monks bore the news to the duke, who charged Sir William Malet to superintend the burial, and to do it with all honour. The remains were collected and reverently placed together. They were wrapped in a purple robe, and laid on a litter. Beorn and Wulf and the two monks lifted it; Edith walked behind, followed by Lord de Burg and several other Norman knights and barons who had known Harold in Normandy, and could admire and appreciate the valour of the dead hero. The little procession went down to the shore, where Norman soldiers had already dug a grave, and there by the coast he had defended so well Harold was laid to rest, and over his body a great cairn of stones was raised by order of the duke.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE LORD OF BRAMBER.

Edith stood by while the Norman soldiers piled the stones over the grave. No tear had fallen from her eyes from the time that she had reached the field of battle. Her face was as pale as marble, and looked almost as rigid. When the last stone was placed on the top of the cairn she turned to Wulf and Beorn:

"Farewell, Wulf! farewell, Beorn! I am glad you were here. I am glad that beside me stood two of his most trusted thanes, and two of the monks from the abbey he founded, and whose welfare was so dear to him. I go to Lewes, and when the doors of the convent close on me I shall be dead to the world. Would that I were lying beneath that cairn by the side of my dear lord. I cannot weep for him now, the springs of my heart seem frozen, but I have time for that. Farewell, thanes! I shall remember you in my prayers." So saying she turned away, and walked back to the litter.

"Poor lady!" Beorn exclaimed as he watched the litter, escorted by the two monks, carried along the road.

"Poor lady indeed!" Wulf repeated; "and yet there are thousands in England and Normandy who were widowed yesterday, and maybe she is better off than many. She lost Harold the day she resigned him to another, and it was harder perhaps to be parted from him in that fashion than to know that he is dead now. She can think of him as his true widow, for assuredly the queen who never cared aught for him is a widow but in name. Before, Edith was tortured by the desire to see him and to comfort him, and yet his marriage stood as a gulf between them, a gulf that she would never have passed. Now she can think of him as her very own, as the man who had loved her even as she had loved him. It is a grief, a terrible grief, but one without bitterness. But see, Lord de Burg is coming this way, and as there is a litter behind him I suppose all is ready for our departure."

"I am ready, young thanes," De Burg said as he came up. "We ride at once for Pevensey, whither an order was sent some hours ago for a ship to be in readiness to sail for Normandy."

Three horses were led up and mounted. They rode away, followed by an armed party and the litter on which Osgod was laid.

"You have done your last duty to your king," the Norman said. "It is a fit grave for a hero, and assuredly Harold was one. Maybe that it is not his last resting-place. The duke at present doubtless felt constrained at first to refuse him Christian burial, for had he granted Gytha's request, it would have been an acknowledgment that the charges brought against him were unfounded, and the excommunication of no avail; but I doubt not that in time he will allow his body to be taken to his abbey at Waltham. Now," he said less gravely, in order to turn their thoughts from the sad scenes they had witnessed, "what think you of the future, will the Northern earls head a national movement against us?"

"They are foul traitors!" Beorn exclaimed passionately; "and I would that Wulf and I could meet them in fair lists and fight them."

"They will do nothing," Wulf said more quietly. "They will hasten to make the best terms they can for themselves, and will ask to be permitted to hold their earldoms as his vassals. But they will not long enjoy their treachery; they are ever intriguers, and as soon as they see their opportunity will conspire against William as they conspired against Harold. Thank heaven they will receive scantier mercy at his hands than they received at the king's. As for the South and East, who is to lead them? There is no one left to whom they can look for guidance; doubtless in some places they will resist, but such resistance can only bring ruin upon those who attempt it. Maybe some will take to the forests or the great eastern marshes, and may perhaps hold out for months, or even years. But what can it avail in the end? Had Harold escaped alive there would have been many a battle as obstinate as that of yesterday to fight before England was conquered. Had any of the greater thanes escaped men would have flocked to them, but they are all gone, save the few that were found well-nigh lifeless this morning. Perhaps it is better as it is; for now that William is victorious he will soon receive large bodies of reinforcements, and as resistance would be vain, it were best that no resistance were made. Duke William has shown himself a wise and just ruler in Normandy, and will doubtless prove himself the same in England if he be not angered by revolts and risings. It is hard that Englishmen should be ruled by a foreigner, but it is no new thing for us. We Saxons conquered the Britons, and in turn Danish kings have ruled over us; but Saxon and Dane have become almost one, and the old grudges have died out. Maybe in time you Normans also may become English."

"You would take the oath of allegiance to William then, Wulf?"

"Not now, my lord, but when England accepts him as her king I should be willing to hold my lands from him as I have held them before from our kings, that is, if the lands remain mine."

"They will remain yours," Lord de Burg said confidently. "The duke's promise was publicly made, and he will certainly adhere to it; even if he wished it, he could not, after charging Harold with perjury, break his own promise."

The sun was sinking when they reached Pevensey, for the search for Harold's body and the building of his cairn had occupied many hours. They went at once on board one of the ships De Burg had himself furnished for the expedition, and two days later landed at Rouen. They had brought horses with them, and the two young thanes at once rode with the baron to his chateau, leaving Osgod to be brought after them in his litter. Lord de Burg was received with the greatest joy by his wife, Guy, and Agnes. They had been in a state of terrible anxiety for the last twenty-four hours, for a swift ship had been despatched by the duke with the news of the victory, at daybreak after the battle, and it was known that the fight had been long and desperately contested, and that a great number of barons and knights had fallen. As soon as the first outburst of delight was over the baron called in Wulf and Beorn, who had not followed him into the room, feeling that he would prefer to greet his family alone. Guy gave an exclamation of surprise and pleasure as they came forward.

"These are my prisoners," the baron said with a smile, "if I can call prisoners those who have never surrendered. The duke has intrusted them to my keeping, and has ordered that you shall hold them in safe custody."

"Lord de Burg does not tell you, lady, that he saved our lives, which but for him were assuredly lost. We were well-nigh spent, and were surrounded by a ring of foes when he broke in and stood beside us proclaiming that the duke himself had given a pledge for our safety."

"I have paid part of the debt we owe," the baron said, "though I saved them at no cost to myself, while Wulf defended Guy at the risk of his life."

"How long do you stay with us, my lord?"

"As long as I can, wife. I went, as you know, unwillingly to the war, but when all the Norman barons followed the duke I could not hold back. But I trust to have no more of it; so terrible a field no man living has seen, and in truth until twilight fell it seemed that we should be beaten, with such obstinacy and endurance did the English fight. We won, but it was a victory over the dead rather than the living. Of Harold's regular troops no man turned, no man asked for quarter, they fell where they stood; and even the irregulars, who had fought with equal bravery, when, as night fell and all was lost, they fled, inflicted well-nigh as heavy a blow upon us as had been dealt during the day. I have no animosity against them, they are valiant men, and were in their right in defending their country, and I would that I could stay peacefully here until the last blow has been struck. I am well content with my estates, and need no foot of English land, no share in English spoil I must fight for my liege lord as long as fighting goes on, but that over I hope to return here and live in peace. At any rate I can tarry quietly here for a week Certainly no force can be raised in time to oppose the duke's advance on London, and my sword therefore may well rest in its scabbard. I suppose, thanes, you will not object to give me your parole to attempt no escape?"

"Willingly, my lord," Beorn said. "If, contrary to our opinion, England should rise and fight one more battle for freedom, we will give you due notice that we shall if possible escape and cross the sea to join our countrymen."

"That is fair enough," De Burg said with a smile, "and the moment you give me notice I will clap you into so firm a cage that I warrant you will not escape from it; but I trust the necessity will not arise. Now, Guy, take your friends to their chambers and see to their comfort. I will not tell the story of the battle until you return, for doubtless you are burning to hear it, and in truth it will be famous in all times, both as one of the sturdiest fights ever heard of, and because such great issues depended on its results."

When Guy returned with his friends and a meal had been eaten, De Burg told the story of the battle of Senlac.

"Such is the story as far as I know it," he added in conclusion, "but in truth beyond the beginning and the end, and the fact that we twice fell back and at one time were flying in headlong rout to our ships, I know nothing. All day I was striving to break through a living wall, and striving in vain. I can see now the close line of shields, the helmet covered faces above them, and the terrible axes rising and falling, cleaving through helmet and hauberk as if they had been pasteboard. It may well-nigh be said that we have no wounded, for each man struck fell in his track as if smitten by lightning. Can you add more, thanes?"

Beorn shook his head.

"It is like a dream," Wulf said. "We never moved through the long day. At times there was a short lull, and then each man was fighting as best he could. I know that my arms grew tired and that my axe seemed to grow heavier, that horse and foot swept up to us, and there was occasionally breathing time; that the royal brothers' voices rose ever cheeringly and encouragingly until Gurth and Leofwin fell, and after that Harold's alone was heard, though I think it came to my ears as from a distance, so great was the tumult, so great our exertions. When Harold died I knew that all was lost, but even that did not seem to affect me. I had become a sort of machine, and fought almost mechanically, with a dim consciousness that the end was close at hand. It was only at the last, when Beorn and I stood back to back, that I seemed myself again, and was animated with new strength that came, I suppose, from despair."

"It was an awful day," De Burg said. "I have fought in many battles under the duke's banner, but the sternest of them were but paltry skirmishes in comparison to this. Half of the nobles of Normandy lie dead, half the army that filled the mighty fleet that sailed from St. Valery have fallen. William is King of England, but whether that will in the end repay Normandy for the loss she has suffered seems to me very doubtful. And now let us to bed. I sleep not well on shipboard, and in truth I had such dreams of death and slaughter that I ever awoke bathed with sweat, and in such fear that I dared not go to sleep again."

At the end of a week the baron sailed again for England. To the two young Englishmen the following weeks passed pleasantly. Ships came frequently from England with news of what was doing there. William had tarried for some time at his camp at Hastings, expecting to receive the submission of all England. But not an Englishman came to bow before him. The Northern earls had hurried to London as soon as they heard of the defeat at Senlac and the death of the king and his brothers, and a Witan was instantly summoned to choose his successor to the throne.

Edwin and Morcar thought that the choice of the nation would surely fall upon one or other of them, as in rank and position they were now the first men in the realm. They exerted themselves to the utmost to bring this about, but no true-hearted Englishman could forgive either their acceptance of Harold Hardrada as their king, or the long and treacherous delay that had left Southern England to stand alone on the day of battle. The choice of the Witan fell on the young Edgar, the grandson of Edmund Ironside, the last male survivor of the royal blood. Edgar, however, was never crowned, as that ceremony could only take place at one of the festivals of the church, and it was therefore postponed until Christmas. London was eager for resistance. Alfred had fought battle after battle against the Danes, and though without their natural leaders, the people throughout Southern England looked forward to a long and determined struggle. With the army of the North as a rallying centre a force more numerous than that which Harold had led might soon be gathered. But these hopes were dashed to the ground by the treacherous Northern earls. Had one of them been chosen to sit on the vacant throne they would doubtless have done their best to maintain that throne, but they had been passed over, and oblivious of the fact that it was to the South they owed the rescue of their earldoms from the sway of the King of Norway and Tostig, they sullenly marched away with their army and left the South to its fate.

While the cause of England was thus being betrayed and ruined, William was advancing eastward along the coast ravaging and destroying. Romney was levelled to the ground and its inhabitants slain. Dover opened its gates. It is probable that most of the male population had joined Harold, and had fallen at Senlac; and that the terrible fate of Romney had struck such terror into the hearts of the inhabitants, who knew there was no army that could advance to their assistance, that they surrendered at the Conqueror's approach. To them William behaved with lenity and kindness. His severity at Romney and his lenity at Dover had their effect. There being no central authority, no army in the field, each town and district was left to shift for itself; and assuredly none of them unaided could hope to offer prolonged resistance to the Normans. As, after eight days' stay at Dover, William advanced towards Canterbury, he was met by a deputation of the citizens offering their submission, and soon from all parts of Kent similar messages came in.

Kent had done its full share in the national defence on the hill near Hastings, and was not to be blamed if, when all England remained supine and inactive, its villagers refused to throw away their lives uselessly. The duke was detained by sickness for a month near Canterbury, and there received the submission of Kent and Sussex, and also that of the great ecclesiastical city of Winchester; but the spirit of resistance in London still burned brightly, and William was indisposed to risk the loss that would be incurred by an assault upon its walls. He, therefore, moved round in a wide circle, wasting the land, plundering and destroying, till the citizens, convinced that resistance could only bring destruction upon themselves and their city, and in spite of the efforts of their wounded sheriff, sent an embassy to the duke at Berkhampstead to submit and do homage to him.

Not London alone was represented by this embassy. The young king, elected but uncrowned, was with it; two archbishops, two bishops, and many of the chief men in England accompanied it, and although they were not the spokesmen of any Witan, they might be said fairly to represent London and Southern England.

Deserted by the North, without a leader, and seeing their land exposed to wholesale ravages, the South and West Saxons were scarcely to be blamed for preferring submission to destruction. They doubtless thought that William, the wise ruler of Normandy, would make a far better king than the boy they had chosen, who was himself almost as much a foreigner as William, save that there was a strain of English royal blood in his veins. So had England accepted Canute the Dane as her king, and he had ruled as an English monarch wisely and well.

The embassy offered William the crown. The Norman prelates and priests, who held so many of the dignities in the English Church, had worked hard to incline men's minds to this end. Silent while England stood united under its king to oppose the invader, their tongues were loosed as soon as the strength of England was broken and its king dead, and they pointed out that God had clearly designated William as their king by giving him victory and by destroying alike Harold and his brothers.

William went through the farce of hesitating to accept the offer of the crown, and held a consultation with his officers as to the answer he should give. They of course replied that he should accept the offer. William, therefore, marched with his army to London, where on Christmas-day the same prelate who had anointed Harold King of England crowned William as his successor.

A few days later Beorn and Wulf with Osgod, who had now completely recovered from his wounds, set sail for England. There was no longer any reason why they should not take their oaths to serve William. He was the crowned king of England, the accepted of the people, as Harold had been, and when all Southern England had submitted it was not for them, who had received special favours at William's hand, to hold back. With them went Lady de Burg, Guy, and Agnes, with many other Norman ladies on their way to rejoin their lords in London. Baron de Burg, on the day after their arrival at Westminster, led the two young thanes to the private apartment of the king. He received them graciously.

"There are none of your nation," he said, "whose homage I more gladly accept. You fought valiantly before under my banner, and will, I am sure, be ready to do so again should occasion arise. I am thankful to my Lord de Burg that he interposed in my name and saved your lives. I have not forgotten the other part of my promise, and have this morning ordered my justiciar to add to your estates forfeited lands adjoining."

Beorn and Wulf had previously talked the matter over. Their own inclinations would have led them to refuse the offer, but as it was certain that all the land forfeited to the crown by the death of its holders in battle would be apportioned among William's Norman followers, they thought that it would be wholly for the benefit both of the families of the late thanes and for their tenants and people that they should accept any estate William might bestow on them. They, therefore, thanked the duke in suitable terms, and at once took the oaths for the lands he might be pleased to bestow on them. A week later they received the formal deeds, which in both cases more than doubled the estates they before possessed.

The same evening Lord de Burg said to Wulf, who had tarried in London, while Beorn had at once set out for Fareham: "I think the time has come, Wulf, when I can speak of a subject that has been in my thoughts for a long time, and which, although you have not spoken, has, as my wife and I have both seen, been dear to you. Normandy and England are now one, and we are vassals of the same king. As long as there was a probability that Englishmen and Normans might again be ranged in battle against each other, it was not expedient that aught should be done in the matter, but, now this obstacle is removed, I can offer you the alliance on which I am sure your heart is set, and give you the hand of my daughter in marriage."

"It is the greatest wish of my life," Wulf replied gratefully. "I should have asked you for her hand before had it not been for the position of public affairs. I love her dearly, though I have until now abstained from speaking; and yet I would not wed her unless her heart went freely with her hand."

"I think not that she will be disobedient to my wishes," De Burg said smiling. "She has proved deaf to all her Norman suitors, and although among them were some whom few maidens would have said no to, her mother and I had no wish to force her inclinations, especially as we both shrewdly suspected where her heart had been bestowed. This alliance, too, has long been the dearest wish of Guy. On the bed of sickness where he lay so long, and from which it seemed at one time that he would never rise, he often spoke to me of it. He was fondly attached to his sister, and again and again said that he wished of all things that you should some day become her husband, as he was sure her happiness would be safe with you, and that you would worthily fill his place to us, and would, when the time came, rule nobly over the lands of De Burg."

"God forbid that that should ever be the case," Wulf said earnestly. "I trust that Guy will live long, and that he will marry and leave descendants to follow him."

The baron shook his head sadly. "Guy is better," he said, "but he is still weak and fragile, and the leeches tell me that a rough winter or an illness that would be nought to others might carry him off. I have small hopes that he will ever marry. I am sure that no such thought is in his mind. He is as eager now as he was four years ago that you should be a son to us, and a husband to Agnes. He has also earnestly expressed the wish, in which I also join, that you should take our name. You English have no family names, but that will come with other Norman customs, and marrying a De Burg it would seem natural that you should yourself become Wulf de Burg."

"I should feel it a high honour. There is no more noble name in Normandy, and I trust I may prove worthy of bearing it."

"That I have no fear of, Wulf, else I should not have offered you the hand of my daughter. I will bring my wife and Guy in. I have offered you the hand of Agnes, but it is right that you should ask her mother's consent, although beforehand assured of it."

He left the room, and soon returned with Lady de Burg and Guy.

"My lord has told me," she said, before Wulf could speak, "that you would ask my consent to your marriage with Agnes. I give it you unasked, freely and gladly. I have but one regret—that the seas will divide us."

"Not so," the baron said; "William's court will be held in London, and for years he will reside here far more than in Normandy, and will expect his nobles to be frequently with him. I certainly shall not come alone, and you will therefore have as many opportunities of seeing Agnes as if she were married to a Norman whose estates did not lie near our own."

"I thank you most deeply, Lady de Burg, for the confidence which you show in intrusting your daughter's happiness to me. I swear that with all my might and power I will strive to make her happy, and will spare her to visit you in Normandy whensoever you may wish it."

Guy came forward now and grasped Wulf's hand.

"How I have longed for this time, my brother," he said. "How I have hoped that I might at least live long enough to know that the dearest wish of my heart would be gratified. I can go hence now right willingly when God calls me, knowing that my father and mother have another son to fill my place, and that the happiness of my sister is secured."

"And now, wife, will you fetch Agnes from her chamber," the baron said.

In two or three minutes the baroness returned, leading Agnes, to whom she had told the reason of her summons. The baron stepped forward and took her hand.

"My daughter," he said, "the Thane of Steyning has asked for your hand in marriage, and your mother and I have given our free and full consent, but he would fain know from your own lips that you will come to him willingly."

"I have loved you, Agnes, since while still but a boy I first saw you, and my love has grown ever since. The happiness of my life depends upon your answer, but unless your heart goes with your hand I would rather remain unmarried to my dying day."

The girl had stood with downcast eyes and with flushed face until now. When Wulf ceased speaking she looked up into his face:

"I love you, Wulf; I have always loved you. It is for your sake that I have said no to the suitors of my own race who have sought my hand. I will be a true wife and loving to you."

"Then take her, Wulf," the baron said, placing her hand in his. "You are now her betrothed husband and our adopted son."

Wulf stooped and kissed the girl's lips, and the betrothal was completed. After some talk it was arranged that Wulf should at once journey down to Steyning, assume possession of his new estates, set the house in order, and prepare for their coming. Guy was to accompany him, and as soon as all was in readiness Wulf would come up to London and return with Lord and Lady de Burg and Agnes, who would pay a short visit and all would then cross to Normandy, for the marriage was to take place at their chateau there.

"I was sure how it would be," Osgod said when Wulf told him the news that night. "I should have been blind indeed if I had not seen it long ago. I love not the Normans, but I make exception in the case of Lord de Burg and his family. And truly it will in all respects be a good thing for your tenants. Although the duke, or I suppose I ought to say the king, promises greatly at present, there is no saying what he may do later on; and he has all these locusts to provide for. 'Tis well indeed, then, that there should be a Norman lady as well as an English thane at Steyning."

Wulf's return home gave rise to demonstrations of the greatest joy among his tenants. They had heard nothing of him since the battle, and had deemed him to have fallen with the rest of the defenders of the standard, and had been living in fear of the arrival of some Norman baron to be their lord. Wulf was greatly pleased to find that, although not one of his housecarls had returned from Hastings, the greater portion of his irregular levies had escaped at nightfall with the party who had inflicted so heavy a blow upon their pursuers. For the next few days Wulf was thoroughly occupied. The tenants of his new estates received him almost as joyfully as his own had done, for, like them, they had expected the advent of a Norman master. In one of the two estates that had fallen to him the thane he had succeeded had left no heirs; while the other thane had left a widow and a young family. Wulf arranged that these should remain in their home, receiving for their maintenance half the rents of the estate.

Guy was greatly pleased with the fair country in which his sister's lot was to be cast, but he owned frankly that the house seemed unworthy now of the large estate, and was indeed but a poor place in comparison with the noble chateau in which she had been brought up.

"That shall be remedied, Guy, as soon as matters settle down. I have laid by none of my revenues, for the keeping up of a hundred housecarls has taxed them to the utmost, but now that my income is more than doubled, and this expense has altogether ceased, I shall have funds with which I can soon begin to build. When I was young, Steyning seemed to me a fine house, but after your Norman castles it is indeed but a poor place."

When, a fortnight later, the De Burgs arrived with Wulf, while Agnes expressed herself delighted with the quaintness of the old Saxon home, her father and mother were decidedly of Guy's opinion.

"The house is a good house in its way," the Baron said, "but there will be great changes in the land. Much of it will be transferred to Norman hands, and ere long castles and chateaux like ours at home will rise everywhere, and as an English noble with broad lands it is but fit that your residence should vie with others. But this shall be my care, and shall be my daughter's special dowry. I foresee that it will be long ere matters wholly settle down. Moreover, though William's hand is strong that of his successor may be weak, and in time there will be the same troubles here among the barons that there were in Normandy before William put them down with a strong hand. Therefore, I should say we will build a castle rather than a chateau, for such I am sure will be the style of all the Norman buildings here, until England settles down to peace and quiet. I would not disturb this house, Wulf; it is doubtless dear to you, and will, moreover, serve as a dowager-house or as an abode for a younger son. We will fix on a new site altogether, and there we will rear a castle worthy of the estate. By the way, I have spoken to the king of your betrothal to my daughter, and he is highly pleased. He says that it is his earnest wish that his Norman nobles shall marry English heiresses, both because they will thus come into possession of lands without disturbing the owners, and because such mixture of blood will the more speedily weld the two peoples into one; and that, similarly, he is glad to see a Norman maiden united to an English noble of whom he has so high an opinion."

Fond as Wulf was of his old home he saw that it would be best to abandon it for a new residence more suited to the times and more in accordance with his own increased possessions and the home from which he was taking his wife. After riding round the estates Lord de Burg and he fixed upon a knoll of rising ground near the village of Bramber, and not far from the religious house where Wulf had spent so many evenings, and whose prior had been one of the first to welcome his return.

"I will charter a ship at Rouen," Lord de Burg said, "and send over a master craftsman, skilful in designing and building castles, and a large number of quarrymen, masons, and carpenters. Labour here is scarce, and the men are unskilled at this kind of work. Rough labour can doubtless be obtained, and your tenants can transport the stones from the quarry and dig the fosse. I will send over a goodly number of men. It will cost no more to employ three hundred for six months than fifty for three years."

A week later Wulf sailed for Rouen with the De Burgs Beorn accompanied him, as well as Osgod, to be present at the wedding, which took place at Rouen Cathedral. A month later Wulf returned with his wife to Steyning. Already an army of men were at work at Bramber. The tenants all gave their assistance readily, and far beyond the amount their feudal tenure required, for they saw the advantage it would be to them to have a strong castle in their midst to which they could retire in case of danger. Labourers had been engaged in large numbers from the country round by the master craftsmen. The outlines of the castle had been traced, and the ground dug for its foundations, while already the broad deep fosse which was to surround it had been dug to a depth of several feet. The stones had to be brought from a considerable distance, but as at this time of year there was little work for the carts, those belonging not only to the tenants of the estate, but to the cultivators for miles round were engaged in the service.

In six months a stately pile had risen in the midst of the tranquil glade. When it was ready for occupation Lord and Lady de Burg and their son came over, and great festivities were held when Wulf de Burg (now Lord of Bramber) moved into the castle.

Soon after the birth of their first son Wulf and his wife received a hasty summons to cross the sea, and arrived in time to stand by the death-bed of Guy. Wulf had been greatly moved by the storm of war that had swept over the North of England, and the terrible vengeance taken by William there. He had no pity for the traitor earls, but he grieved for the men who, but for their treachery, would have fought at Hastings. He regretted deeply the isolated risings in various parts of the country, whose only effect was to bring ruin upon whole districts and to increase the sternness and rigour of William's rule.

Wulf's after-life was divided between England and Normandy, as he became a baron of the latter country at the death of Lord de Burg. He fought no more in England, but more than once followed William's banner in his struggles with his rebellious sons and turbulent nobles. He lived to see the animosities between Englishmen and Normans beginning to die out, and to find our kings relying upon sturdy English men-at-arms and bow-men in their struggles with French kings and with the Norman barons who held so large a portion of English soil. Osgod became the seneschal of the castle, and held it for his lord during his absences in Normandy. Wulf took an interest in the fortunes of Ulf, who in the course of time succeeded to the business of Ulred, and became one of the most skilled and famous armourers in London. Beorn married the former heiress of one of the estates William had granted him, and his firm friendship with the Lord of Bramber remained unbroken to the end of their lives.