Before the engagement Brian harangued his troops, with the crucifix in one hand and a sword in the other.  He reminded them of all they had suffered from their enemies, of their tyranny, their sacrilege, their innumerable perfidies; and then, holding the crucifix aloft, he exclaimed:  “The great God has at length looked down upon our sufferings, and endued you with the power and the courage this day to destroy for ever the tyranny of the Danes, and thus to punish them for their innumerable crimes and sacrileges by the avenging power of the sword.  Was it not on this day that Christ Himself suffered death for you?”

He was then compelled to retire to the rear, and await the result of the conflict; but Murrough performed prodigies of valour.  Even the Danish historians admit that he fought his way to their standard, and cut down two successive bearers of it.

The mailed armour of the Danes seems to have been a source of no little dread to their opponents.  But the Irish battle-axe might well have set even more secure protection at defiance.  It was wielded with such skill and force, that frequently a limb was lopped off with a single blow, despite the mail in which it was encased; while the short lances, darts, and slinging-stones proved a speedy means of decapitating or stunning a fallen enemy.

The Dalcassians surpassed themselves in feats of arms.  They hastened from time to time to refresh their thirst and cool their hands in a neighbouring brook; but the Danes soon filled it up, and deprived them of this resource.  It was a conflict of heroes—­a hand-to-hand fight.  Bravery was not wanting on either side, and for a time the result seemed doubtful.  Towards the afternoon, as many of the Danish leaders were cut down, their followers began to give way, and the Irish forces prepared for a final effort.  At this moment the Norwegian prince, Anrud, encountered Murrough, whose arms were paralyzed from fatigue; he had still physical strength enough to seize his enemy, fling him on the ground, and plunge his sword into the body of his prostrate foe.  But even as he inflicted the death-wound, he received a mortal blow from the dagger of the Dane, and the two chiefs fell together.

The melee was too general for an individual incident, however important in itself, to have much effect.  The Northmen and their allies were flying hard and fast, the one towards their ships, the others towards the city.  But as they fled across the Tolka, they forgot that it was now swollen with the incoming tide, and thousands perished by water who had escaped the sword.  The body of Brian’s grandson, the boy Turlough, was found in the river after the battle, with his hands entangled in the hair of two Danish warriors, whom he had held down until they were drowned.  Sitric and his wife had watched the combat from the battlements of Dublin.  It will be remembered that this lady was the daughter of King Brian, and her interests were naturally with