Homeward speeds Harold, and as he crosses the Channel his terror gives way to wrath at the knavery practised upon him. Speedily he banishes the hateful memory of his enforced oath; he must be up and doing, for the aged king lies on his deathbed. With his dying breath Edward declares that Harold is the most worthy to reign, and the chiefs of the land concur in his choice. Edward is buried with the utmost solemnity in his great new church at Westminster, where you may see his shrine to this day. Then, amidst the loud shouts of the English nobles who throng the minster, Harold is elected king. Forthwith he takes up the reins of office, and his subjects rejoice daily in his wisdom, justice, and unsparing devotion to the good of his country. But what of William, the rejected candidate for the throne? He is in his park near Rouen when the trembling messenger breaks the news. His face grows clouded; he strings and unstrings his bow. Suddenly he hands it to an attendant, and hurries to his castle. In the great hall he strides to and fro, sits down and rises again, unable to remain still in any place, none daring to approach him lest the tempest of his rage should burst on them. At length a privileged baron addresses the brooding duke. “Sire,” says he, “why should you conceal from us your news? It is commonly reported that the King of England is dead, and that Harold, breaking faith with you, has seized the kingdom.” “They say true,” replies the duke; “my grief and anger are caused by Edward’s death and Harold’s wrong.” “Sire,” returns the courtier, “for Edward’s death there is no remedy, but for Harold’s wrong there is. Strike boldly; well begun is half done.” At once William made his resolve, and began to battle with the myriad difficulties which beset him. He interviewed his barons, and wrung from them their reluctant consent to the enterprise and their grudging promises of aid, and persuaded the Pope to send him a consecrated banner and a bull recognizing him King of England. Then far and wide he published his proclamation of war, promising liberal pay and the plunder of England to all who would strike in his cause. Forthwith from every part of France knights, spearmen, and cross-bowmen flocked to him. The bulk of them were hardy adventurers, actuated by every kind of greed and covetousness. During the autumn of 1065 and the spring of the following year Normandy was as busy as a hive of bees. The woodmen felled the forests; the shipwrights wrought at the seaports; every armourer’s shop rang with the blows of artisans fashioning coats of mail, spears, and swords. Speedily all was ready for the invasion of England.