all up in these terms, which the monk reported to Harold in presence of the English chieftains:  “My lord, the duke of Normandy biddeth you do one of these things:  give up to him the kingdom of England, and take his daughter in marriage, as you sware to him on the holy relics; or, respecting the question between him and you, submit yourself to the Pope’s decision; or fight with him, body to body, and let him who is victorious and forces his enemy to yield have the kingdom.”  Harold replied, “without opinion or advice taken,” says the chronicle, “I will not cede him the kingdom; I will not abide by the Pope’s award; and I will not fight with him.”  William, still in concert with his barons, made a farther advance.  “If Harold will come to an agreement with me,” he said, “I will leave him all the territory beyond the Humber, towards Scotland.”  “My lord,” said the barons to the duke, “make an end of these parleys; if we must fight, let it be soon; for every day come folk to Harold.”  “By my faith,” said the duke, “if we agree not on terms to-day, to-morrow we will join battle.”  The third proposal for an agreement was as little successful as the former two; on both sides there was no belief in peace, and they were eager to decide the quarrel once for all.

Some of the Saxon chieftains advised Harold to fall back on London, and ravage all the country, so as to starve out the invaders.  “By my faith,” said Harold, “I will not destroy the country I have in keeping; I, with my people, will fight.”  “Abide in London,” said his younger brother, Gurth:  “thou canst not deny that, perforce or by free will, thou didst swear to Duke William; but, as for us, we have sworn nought; we will fight for our country; if we alone fight, thy cause will be good in any case; if we fly, thou shalt rally us; if we fall, thou shalt avenge us.”  Harold rejected this advice, “considering it shame to his past life to turn his back, whatever were the peril.”  Certain of his people, whom he had sent to reconnoitre the Norman army, returned saying that there were more priests in William’s camp than warriors in his own; for the Normans, at this period, wore shaven chins and short hair, whilst the English let hair and beard grow.  “Ye do err,” said Harold; “these be not priests, but good men-at-arms, who will show us what they can do.”

On the eve of the battle, the Saxons passed the night in amusement, eating, drinking, and singing, with great uproar; the Normans, on the contrary, were preparing their arms, saying their prayers, and “confessing to their priests—­all who would.”  On the 14th of October, 1066, when Duke William put on his armor, his coat of mail was given to him the wrong way.  “Bad omen!” cried some of his people; “if such a thing had happened to us, we would not fight to-day.”  “Be ye not disquieted,” said the duke; “I have never believed in sorcerers and diviners, and I never liked them; I believe in God, and in Him I put my trust.”  He assembled his men-at-arms,