William constrained Harold to fight, but Harold, in his turn, constrained William to fight on ground of Harold’s own choosing.  The latter halted at a point distant about seven miles from the headquarters of the invaders, and pitched his camp upon the ever-memorable heights of Senlac.  It was his policy not to attack.  He occupied and fortified a post of great natural strength, which he speedily made into what is distinctly spoken of as a castle.

The hill of Senlac, now occupied by the abbey and town of Battle, commemorates in its later name the great event of which it was the scene.

The morning of the decisive day, Saturday, October 14, at last had come.  The duke of the Normans heard mass, and received the communion in both kinds, and drew forth his troops for their march against the English post.  Then in full armour, and seated on his noble Spanish war-horse, William led his host forth in three divisions.  The Normans from the hill of Telham first caught sight of the English encamped on the opposite height of Senlac.

First in each of the three Norman divisions marched the archers, slingers, and cross-bow men, then the more heavily-armed infantry, lastly the horsemen.  The reason of this arrangement is clear.  The light-armed were to do what they could with their missiles to annoy the English; the heavy infantry were to strive to break down the palisades of the English camp, and so to make ready the way for the charge of the horse.

Like the Normans, the English had risen early.  The king, after exhorting his troops to stand firm, rode to the royal post; he there dismounted, took his place on foot, and prayed to God for help.  The battle began at nine in the morning—­one of the sacred hours of the church.  The trumpet sounded, and a flight of arrows from all three Norman divisions—­right, centre, and left,—­was the prelude to the onslaught of the heavy-armed foot.  The real struggle now began.  The French infantry had to toil up the hill, and to break down the palisade, while a shower of stones and javelins disordered their approach, and while club, sword and axe greeted all who came within the reach of hand-strokes.

Both sides fought with unyielding valour.  The war-cries rose on either side.  The Normans shouted “God help us!” the English called on the “Holy Cross.”  The Norman infantry had soon done its best, but that best had been in vain.  The choicest chivalry of Europe now pressed on to the attack.  The knights of Normandy and of all lands from which men had flocked to William’s standard, now pressed on, striving to make what impression they could with the whole strength of themselves and their horses on the impenetrable fortress of timber, shields, and living warriors.

But all was in vain.  The English had thus far stood their ground well and wisely, and the tactics of Harold had so far completely answered.  Not only had every attack failed, but the great mass of the French army altogether lost heart.  The Bretons and the other auxiliaries on the left were the first to give way.  Horse and foot alike, they turned and fled.  The whole of William’s left wing was thrown into utter confusion.