No time was wasted. Indeed, within three days of entering London, Warwick marched northward with the van of the Yorkist army; and the infantry having meanwhile followed, Edward, on the 12th of March, buckled on his armor, mounted his war-steed, and rode out of Bishopgate to conquer or die. By easy marches the royal warrior reached Pontefract, memorable as the scene of the second Richard's murder; and, having, while resting there, enjoyed the satisfaction of seeing his army swell to the number of forty-nine thousand, he dispatched Lord Fitzwalter, with a band of tall men, to keep the passage over the Aire at Ferrybridge.
Nor had Margaret failed to prepare for the inevitable conflict. When, at St. Albans, the Lancastrian queen found that her foes were still unsubdued, she speedily bore back to the northern counties, and commenced recruiting her army on the banks of the Humber, the Trent, and the Tyne. Her spirit, ever highest in the time of trouble, sustained the courage of her adherents; and the men of the north, who now, without entering into the delicate questions of hereditary right and parliamentary settlement, sympathized with the dethroned queen, came from towers by the wayside, and shealings on the moor, till around the Lancastrian banner at York mustered an army of sixty thousand.
On hearing of Edward's approach the queen resolved to remain, with Henry and the young prince, at York, to await the issue of the battle impending. But she could hardly dream of defeat as she inspected that numerous army, headed by knights and nobles arrayed in rich armor and mounted on prancing steeds, who had gathered to her standard in the capital of the north. Somerset, Northumberland, and Clifford, appeared in feudal pride, determined at length to avenge the slaughter of their sires at St. Albans; and the Duke of Exeter, with John, Lord Neville, brother to the Earl of Westmoreland, and Thomas Courtenay, Earl of Devon, without the death of sires to avenge, came to fight for the Red Rose; the first against his brother-in-law, King Edward, the second against his kinsmen, the Lords Warwick and Falconbridge, and the third against the house of York, of which his father had been one of the earliest adherents. Many other stanch Lancastrians, bearing names celebrated in history and song, had assembled; as Leo, Lord Welles, James Butler, Earl of Wiltshire, Ralph, Lord Dacre of the north, and Thomas, Lord De Roos, heir of that great Anglo-Norman baron of the twelfth century, whose effigy is still to be seen in the Temple Church. Among the Percies, Beauforts, and Cliffords figured Sir John Heron, of the Ford, a stalwart Borderer, who, in his day, had laid lance in rest against the Homes and Cranstouns; and Andrew Trollope, that mighty man of war, whose betrayal of the Yorkists at Ludlow had, for a year, delayed the exile of Margaret of Anjou. Even a venerable lawyer and a subtle churchman might have been seen in the Lancastrian ranks; for Sir John Fortescue had left the Court of King's Bench to fight for the cause which he believed to be that of truth and justice; and John Morton had deserted the parsonage of Blokesworth to win preferment, if possible, by the arm of flesh. Such were the chiefs, devoted heart and hand to the house of Lancaster, who, at the head of the northern men, awaited the coming of the Yorkist king and the king-maker.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
TOWTON FIELD.
With Margaret of Anjou heading a mighty army at York, and Edward Plantagenet heading an army, not assuredly so numerous, but perhaps not less mighty, at Pontefract, a conflict could not long be delayed. Nor, indeed, had the partisans of either Rose any reason to shrink from an encounter. For, while the Yorkist chiefs felt that nothing less than a crowning triumph could save them from the vengeance of the dethroned queen, the Lancastrian lords were not less fully aware that nothing but a decisive victory could insure to them their possessions and restore to Henry his throne.
Learning that Edward was at Pontefract, and anxious to prevent him passing the Aire, Margaret's magnificent army moved from York. Formidable, indeed, the Lancastrians must have looked as they left the capital of the North, and marched southward; Somerset figuring as commander-in-chief; while Northumberland, aided by Andrew Trollope, the great soldier of the Red Rose ranks, led the van; and Clifford, with the hands that had been dyed in Rutland's blood, reined in his prancing steed at the head of the light cavalry. Crossing the Wharfe, and marching through Tadcaster, the queen's captains posted their men to the south of Towton, a little village some eight miles from York. In front of their main body was a valley known as Towton Dale; their right wing was protected by a cliff, and their left by a marsh, which has since disappeared.
Somerset had hoped to keep the Aire between him and the Yorkist foe; and the aspiring duke was somewhat dismayed to hear that Lord Fitzwalter had seized Ferrybridge, and posted his company on the north side of the river. The Lancastrian lords, however, were in no mood to be daunted; and Clifford, who was quite as courageous as cruel, readily undertook to dislodge the Yorkist warriors from the position they occupied. Accordingly, at the head of his light cavalry, and accompanied by Lord Neville, Clifford spurred across the country, reached Ferrybridge by break of day, and, finding the guards asleep and utterly unsuspicious of an attack, had little difficulty in fulfilling his mission. Ere well awake half of the men were slaughtered, and the survivors were glad to escape to the south side of the Aire. Hearing a noise, and supposing that some quarrel had arisen among his soldiers, Fitzwalter rose from his couch, seized a battle-axe, and hastened to restore order. But before the Yorkist lord could even ascertain the cause of the disturbance he was surrounded and slain, and, with him, Warwick's illegitimate brother, known as "The Bastard of Salisbury," and described as "a valiant young gentleman, and of great audacity."
Early on Saturday news of Clifford's exploit reached Pontefract and caused something like a panic in the Yorkist camp. Awed by the terrible name of Clifford, and not unaware of the numerical superiority of their foes, the soldiers lost heart and showed a disposition to waver. At this crisis, however, it became known that Warwick had mounted his horse, and every eye was turned toward the king-maker as he spurred through the lines straight to King Edward.