Later in the day, you finally decide to hazard everything with an all out attack up the hill. You place yourself in the front ranks to bolster your men's morale, then the trumpets sound the charge and your horse is laboring upward with the other knights of Normandy. Spearmen and horsemen attack beside each other, while the marksmen lob high arcing missiles to fall on the English ranks. The battle is joined: axes in English fists bring down horses and riders together: spears pierce your unhorsed knights as they struggle on the ground. Your own horse is wounded many times. Over the heads of the Englishmen in front of you, you see Harold's banners in the late afternoon sunlight. It is for them that you make with every stroke of your sword. Closer and closer you come, your men thinning at either side as the casualties mount horribly.
When your army finally breaks in rout, you are suddenly swept away with the press of fleeing men and horses. Shouting to stand and fight, your voice is drowned in the din. Although those nearest you remain under the sound of your voice and the piercing of your eye, the rest of your Normans cannot be rallied. The English pursue you a short distance then form up again, further down the slope. Your wings have been routed also, and the English wings are after them like packs of hounds. Seeing this disaster, even your Normans will not stop: everyone is fleeing for his own life toward Telham hill.
In the morning, you survey the damage to your army in the safety of your fortified camp at Hastings. Their morale shattered, their numbers reduced by half, there is no chance that you can achieve anything more with this invasion force. Harold has moved his army up in the night to besiege your camp. Hunger will increase; you will not be able to break out against such strength. There is only one choice: by the end of the day, all your remaining ships are back in mid Channel, riding the tide toward Normandy. William the Bastard is what you remain.