“Harold Hardraade is slain, and Tosti too!”
“Where? how?”
“Harold Godwinsson slew them by York.”
“Brother has slain brother? O God that died on cross!” murmured Torfrida, “when will men look to thee, and have mercy on their own souls? But, Hereward, I have news,—news more terrible by far. It came an hour ago. I have been dreading your coming back.”
“Say on. If Harold Hardraade is dead, no worse can happen.”
“But Harold Godwinsson is dead!”
“Dead! Who next? William of Normandy? The world seems coming to an end, as the monks say it will soon.” [Footnote: There was a general rumor abroad that the end of the world was at hand, that the “one thousand years” of prophecy had expired.]
“A great battle has been fought at a place they call Heathfield.”
“Close by Hastings? Close to the landing-place? Harold must have flown thither back from York. What a captain the man is, after all.”
“Was. He is dead, and all the Godwinssons, and England lost.”