[The Shepherd Lord.]
FOR ever memorable in the annals of England will be Palm Sunday in the year 1461, and equally so the little hamlet of Towton, by Tadcaster. There and then was fought, in a blinding snowstorm, what Camden calls "the English Pharsalia," the greatest battle hitherto fought on English soil, where Englishman met Englishman, and kinsman kinsman, in deadly conflict, and in which quarter was neither asked nor given. The conflict lasted ten hours, and the pursuit of the fugitives was continued until the middle of Monday. 60,000 Lancastrians were met by 40,000 Yorkists, and 36,000 corpses and dying men lay that Sunday night on the snow of the fields, roads, and hillsides, whilst the river and streamlets ran with torrents of blood, and the snow became encrimsoned as it fell. The fight inclined in favour of the Red Rose, under the command of the Duke of Somerset, although York and Warwick performed prodigies of valour with their smaller forces, and the day must have gone against the White Rose, when, towards evening, the banner of the Mowbrays was seen approaching, and the Duke of Norfolk came up with a body of fresh troops, who made a vigorous attack on the Lancastrians, which at once turned the scale, and changed what seemed to be a defeat into a decisive victory, which was virtually the deposition of Henry VI., and the elevation of Edward IV. to the throne—a transference of the crown from the House of Lancaster to that of York.
The shades of evening were falling over the forest lands around Skipton, some week or ten days after the battle. The surrounding hills were covered with snow, and a fierce wind raged round the towers of the castle, whilst the boughs of the trees crashed against each other, and ever and anon a huge branch, reft from the parent stem, was flung with fury to the earth.
Within the castle, in a room overlooking the courtyard, sat the Lady Clifford, with her young children, two or three female attendants, and the chaplain of the household. It was very unlike a modern drawing-room, and, in these Sybarite days, would be looked upon as a very comfortless apartment; yet was it a fair specimen of the drawing-room of the period. Instead of Axminster or Aubusson carpets, the floors were strewn with rushes; instead of oil paintings from the hands of eminent masters, the walls were hung with tapestries of Arras, more to cover the rough nakedness of the stonework and exclude draughts than for æsthetic purposes; the furniture of the room consisted of a table, two or three chairs, and a few stools of rough carpentry, not in mahogany or rosewood, but of the native oak, hewn out of the woodlands of the demesne. On the hearthstone blazed a fire of wood, sputtering as the sleet fell into it down the wide open chimney. There was no grate, fender, or fire-irons, but beside the hearth lay a heap of fresh wood, to be thrown on the fire as required; and when the embers required stirring, a stick from the heap was used for that purpose.
Lady Clifford sat in silence, brooding in thought over her absent husband, with an occasional heavy-drawn sigh; the children were gambolling about the room in innocent unconsciousness of the perils to which their father was exposed; the chaplain joined in their romps, and amused them by telling them tales of Fairyland and the good deeds of holy saints; and the handmaidens were sitting apart, plying their distaffs and spinning-wheels, and indulging in the usual gossip of an isolated castle and the surrounding village, but maintained it in an undertone, so as not to disturb the meditations of their lady.
"What a fearful night it is," said Lady Clifford, as a terrific gust of wind came roaring round the towers of the castle, seeming almost to shake them to their foundations, stoutly as they were built. "It is terrible even here, sitting as we are under the protection of these strong walls; what must it be to those who are exposed to its fury, camped, perchance, on some wild moor, and surrounded by enemies?"
At this moment a trumpet summons for admittance to the castle was heard; and presently the seneschal entered the room, stating that a knight was without the gate with tidings of great importance.
"Who is he?" asked Lady Clifford. "Do you know him?"