At last one scaling ladder was planted upon the bodies of the dead, and
hooked firmly on the gunwale of the hoarding. Ere it could be hurled off
again by the English, it was so crowded with men that even Hereward's
strength was insufficient to lift it off. He stood at the top, ready to
hew down the first comer; and he hewed him down.
But the Normans were not to be daunted. Man after man dropped dead from
the ladder top,--man after man took his place; sometimes two at a time;
sometimes scrambling over each other's backs.
The English, even in the insolence of victory, cheered them with honest
admiration. "You are fellows worth fighting, you French!"
"So we are," shouted a knight, the first and last who crossed that
parapet; for, thrusting Hereward back with a blow of his sword-hilt, he
staggered past him over the hoarding, and fell on his knees.
A dozen men were upon him; but he was up again and shouting,--
"To me, men-at-arms! A Dade! a Dade!" But no man answered.
"Yield!" quoth Hereward.
Sir Dade answered by a blow on Hereward's helmet, which felled the chief
to his knees, and broke the sword into twenty splinters.
"Well hit," said Hereward, as he rose. "Don't touch him, men! this is my
quarrel now. Yield, sir! you have done enough for your honor. It is
madness to throw away your life.
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