a village situated on the river Muance. While
the French knights were preparing for battle,
donning their helmets, fitting their coats of mail,
and equipping their horses, Henri entered the
little church and remained during the mass
sung in his behalf. The clerks and choristers
trembled with fear, expecting every moment
that the enemy, whom they knew to be at hand,
would pour down upon them. When the King
of France, devoutly kneeling, had recommended
himself to God's protection, mounting on horse-back,
he gave the signal to march on the
Val-des-Dunes, determined not to spare his own
person in the rude shock he was about to
encounter.

At the same time, William and his Normans,
encamped at Argences, prepared to effect their
junction with the French army. At a very
early hour the duke was amongst his troops,
giving orders. When all was arranged, his
arms were brought him. Making the sign of
the cross, he put on his helmet. Then he
girded on his sword, presented by a varlet. A
chamberlain brought his trusty steed, on which
he caracoled before his admiring squadrons.
For William was the handsomest cavalier of
his day, six (French) feet high, of herculean
strength, with an expressive countenance and
invincible courage. "Never was there seen
so fine a man," says Benoit—"so genteel,
so well-made, so completely furnished, that
by the side of him handsome men looked
ugly."

While Henri and William, each wielding a
baton, were arranging their troops at the
entrance of the Val-des-Dunes, they beheld a
magnificent squadron of a hundred and forty
cavaliers approaching, with a richly-clad seigneur
at their head. Henri anxiously regarded
the corps, not knowing whether they were
friends or foes. Struck with their rich
costume and their manly beauty, he turned to the
duke and asked, "Who are these, with ladies'
tokens on their lances? Are they enemies?
Costly is their apparel; wisely and well they
hold themselves. One thing I clearly see—that
victory will be with those whom they help with
their swords. They will not be found among
the vanquished. Do you know anything of
their intentions?"

"Sire," said William, "I believe that they
all will side with me. The sire who commands
them is Raoul Taisson. Never in my life have
I had dispute with him, nor done him wrong or
villany. He is a very honourable man, and will
be a great help if he aid us. Please God that
he may!"

Raoul Taisson was the Seigneur of Cinglais.
So great was the extent of his domains that the
saying ran, "Out of every three feet of land, two
belonged to him." The surname Taisson had
been given to him because, like the badger (in
old French "taxo"), he could go to earth
wherever he went. The rebel barons had
induced him to come to Bayeux, and there, by force
of entreaties and promises, had contrived to get
him to join their party. Before leaving them,
he had even sworn over the relics of saints that
he would be the very first to smite William in
battle, as soon as, and in whatever place, he
found him. Now, however, when he saw the
standard with the golden leopards supporting
the cross of Normandy, he called to mind the
homage he had done to the duke in the presence
of his father and his baronage. Perhaps, also,
on beholding the long lines of the Franco-Norman
army, he began to doubt of the success
of the enterprise in which he had suffered
himself to be entangled.

However that may be, leaving his followers,
who awaited him motionless with lances erect,
he spurred his horse forward, and then,
brandishing his spear and uttering his war-cry,
"Thury!"* rode straight up to the duke, struck
him on the shoulder twice with his glove, and
said to him, smiling, "Sire, the oath I have
taken is now fulfilled. I have sworn to strike
you as soon as I met with you; I have done so,
not choosing to be guilty of perjury.† Do not
be angry, sire; I will commit no other felony.
If I have stricken you with my glove, I will
thrust my sword-blade through a hundred
of your enemies. Reckon upon me and
mine."
* Thury-Harcourt, the chief place in Taisson's
domains.
† Taisson's reasoning reminds us of the warrior
bishop who, hesitating to slay his enemies with the
sword, for fear of disobeying the holy canons, simply
knocked them on the head with clubs and cudgels.

"Vostre merci; thanks be to you!" said
William, reassured and laughing with delight.
Raoul galloped back to his troop of knights.
With them he kept prudently aloof from the
fray, until the time should come to side with
those whom he had resolved to assist.

It was about nine in the morning when the
two armies met. The weather being bright
and fine, each adversary could easily count the
other's strength. All at once the plain
re-echoed with war-shouts. "Montjoie! Montjoie!"
cried the French, delighted to hear the
sound of their own voices. "Dex aie! Dex
aie!"‡ responded William's soldiers. "Saint
Sauveur!" "Saint Sever!" "Saint Amand!"
shouted the troops of Néel, Renouf, and Hamon
of the Teeth. After this hoarse defiant
prelude thousands of lances were fixed in their
rests. The cavaliers, leaning forwards, their
heads being protected by helmets of steel,
spurred their horses and swept over the plain.
The earth shook beneath this mass of cavalry
rushing along at full gallop.
‡  Deus or Deux, nous aide; God help us.

Soon, however, sharper and shriller sounds
succeeded to the horses' heavy tread; there
was the clashing of arms, the shivering of lances,
the blows showered on helmet and shield.
There gradually arose a dull screaming noise,
as amongst pebbles rolling on a shingly shore,
when a retreating wave dashes them one against
the other. This was the real din of battle,
the voice of an obstinate and bloody fight,