Harold was not less diligent than his antagonist in making preparations. “He ordered the men of Kent to go where the Normans were likely to make the attack; for they say that the men of Kent are entitled to strike first, and that whenever the king goes to battle, the first blow belongs to them. The right of the men of London is to guard the king’s body, to place themselves around him, and to guard his standard; and they were accordingly placed by the standard to watch and defend it.” “Each man had a hauberk on, with his sword girt, and his shield at his neck. Great hatchets were also slung at their necks, with which they expected to strike heavy blows. They were on foot in close ranks, and carried themselves right boldly. _Olicrosse_ (holy cross) they often cried, and many times repeated _Godamite_ (God Almighty).”[95] “And now behold! that battle was gathered whereof the fame is yet mighty.” Nearly all the chroniclers tell us that the minstrel-warrior Taillefer was the first to begin the battle, and some of them inform us that as he approached the English lines, he produced a sort of panic amongst them by his juggling tricks. It says not a little for the correctness of the delineations of the Tapestry, and of the authenticity of the _Roman de Rou_, that neither of them refers to these improbable stories, however great the pictorial effect of them might have been. As, however, the verses of Gaimar, describing the [Illustration: PLATE XIV] apocryphal exploits of Taillefer, possess considerable interest, it may be well to introduce them here in the garb in which they have been clothed by Mr. Amyot, in the _Archæologia_,[96] “Foremost in the bands of France, Arm’d with hauberk and with lance, And helmet glittering in the air, As if a warrior-knight he were, Rushed forth the minstrel Taillefer.-- Borne on his courser swift and strong, He gaily bounded o’er the plain, And raised the heart-inspiring song (Loud echoed by the warlike throng) Of Roland and of Charlemagne, Of Oliver, brave peer of old, Untaught to fly, unknown to yield, And many a knight and vassal bold, Whose hallowed blood, in crimson flood, Dyed Roncevalles’ field. Harold’s host he soon descried, Clustering on the hill’s steep side: Then, turned him back brave Taillefer, And thus to William urged his prayer: ‘Great Sire, it fits not me to tell How long I’ve served you, or how well; Yet if reward my lays may claim, Grant now the boon I dare to name: Minstrel no more, be mine the blow That first shall strike yon perjured foe.’ ‘Thy suit is gained,’ the Duke replied, ‘Our gallant minstrel be our guide.’ ‘Enough,’ he cried, ‘with joy I speed, Foremost to vanquish or to bleed.’