The news reached Harold as he lay at York, wounded and resting from his labors, and on the instant, with his victorious army, he set forth, publishing, as he marched along, his proclamation to all the chief of provinces and shires, to arm their followers, and meet him with all speed at London. The western levies came without delay; those from the north, owing to distance, were some time behind; and yet, could Harold have been brought by any means to moderate his fierce and desperate impatience, he would, ere four days had elapsed, have found himself, at least, in the command of twice two hundred men. But irritated to the utmost by the sufferings of his countrymen, whose lands were pitilessly ravaged, whose tenements were burned for miles around the Norman camp, whose wives and daughters were subjected to every species of insult and indignity, the Saxon king pressed onward. And though his forces did not amount to one-fourth part of the great duke’s array, still, he was resolved to encounter them, precipitate and furious as a madman. On the eighteenth day after the defeat of Tosti and Hardrada, the Saxon army was encamped over against the fortified position of the invaders. On that same day, a monk, Sir Hugues Maigrot, came to find Harold, with proposals from the foe, offering him peace on one of three conditions--either that he should yield the kingdom presently--or leave it to the arbitration of the pope--or, finally, decide the matter by appeal to God in single combat. To each and all of these proposals, the Saxon answered bluntly in the negative. “I will not yield my kingdom! I will not leave it to the pope! I will not meet the duke in single combat!” Again the monk returned. “I come again,” he said, “from William. ‘Tell Harold,’ said the duke, ‘if he will hold him to his ancient compact, I yield him all the lands beyond the Humber; I give his brother Gurth all the demesnes his father, Godwin, held. If he refuse these my last proffers, tell him before his people, he is a perjured liar, accursed of the pope, and excommunicated--he, and all those that hold to him!’” But no effect had the bold words of William on the stern spirits of the English. “Battle,” they cried--“no peace with the Normans. Battle--immediate battle!” and with that answer did the priest return to his employer; and either host prepared for the appeal to that great arbiter, the sword. Fairly the morning broke which was to look upon the slaughter of so many thousands; broad and bright rose the sun before whose setting one of those two magnificent and gallant armies must necessarily be involved in utter ruin. As the first rays were visible upon the eastern sky, Odo, the bishop of Bayeux, William’s maternal brother, performed high mass before the marshalled troops, wearing his cope and rochet over his iron harness. The holy rites performed, he leaped upon his snow-white charger, and, with his truncheon in his hand, arrayed the cavalry, which he commanded.