utterly impossible. For a night and a day the foot-soldiers had been plunging along for six-and-thirty miles through a foul country—all lanes, and stony ways, betwixt woods, and having no proper refreshment. To move farther in the face of the enemy was out of the question. he must pitch his camp in the park, and take such fortune as God should send.
The queen, as well as the most experienced officers of the army, were greatly averse to this, but the duke either could not or would not move, and Edward presented himself in readiness for battle. Thus compelled to give up the cheering hope of a junction with the Welsh army, Margaret and her son did all in their power to inspire the soldiers with courage for this most eventful conflict. The next morning, being the 4th of May, the forces were drawn out in order. The Duke of Somerset took the charge of the main body. The Prince of Wales commanded the second division, under the direction of Lord Wenlock and the Prior of St. John's. The Earl of Devonshire brought up the rear. The Lancastrian army was entrenched in a particularly strong position on the banks of the Severn; having, both in front and on the flanks, a country so deeply intersected with lanes, hedges, and ditches, that there was scarcely any approaching it. This grand advantage, however, was completely lost by the folly and impetuosity of the Duke of Somerset, who, not content to defend himself against the superior forces and heavier artillery of Edward, rushed out beyond the entrenchments, where he was speedily taken in flank by a body of 200 spearsmen, and thrown into confusion. His men fled for their lives, and the duke regaining the camp, and seeing Lord Wenlock sitting quietly at the head of his division, instead of following and supporting him, as he thought he ought to have done, he rode furiously up to him, and exclaiming, "Traitor!" cleft his skull with his battle-axe.
At the sight of this, the soldiers of Wenlock's division fled in terror, and the banner of the Duke of Gloucester, followed speedily by that of Edward himself, being seen floating inside of the entrenchments, all became confusion. The queen, on seeing the breaking-up of the host, became frantic, and would have rushed into the midst of the mêlée, to endeavour to call back the soldiers to the conflict. But her attendants forced her away, and escaped with her to a small religious house in the neighbourhood, where her daughter-in-law, Ann of Warwick, the Countess of Devonshire, and Lady Catherine Vaux, also took refuge. Three days later, the queen and these ladies were seized and conveyed captives to the Yorkist camp. In the meantime Margaret's son, the Prince of Wales, had been taken on the field of battle, and, being conducted into the presence of Edward by his captor Sir Richard Crofts, the Yorkist king demanded of the princely boy, "How he dared so presumptuously to enter his realm with banners displayed against him?" and the stripling replied, undauntedly, "To recover my father's crown and mine own inheritance." Edward, incensed at this reply, struck in a most dastardly manner the royal youth in the face, with the back of his gauntlet, and Gloucester and Clarence, or perhaps their attendants, followed up the base blow, and dispatched him with their swords. Stowe says simply, "The king smote him on the face with his gauntlet, and after, his servants slew him." Other writers only assert that he was slain on the field; and no doubt this royal murder took place in the field, and while the victors were in the hot blood of battle.
No fate can be conceived more consummately wretched than that of Margaret now—her cause utterly ruined, her only son slain, her husband and herself the captives of their haughty enemies. They who had thus barbarously shed tho blood of the prince might, with a little cunning, shed that of her husband and herself; No such good fortune awaited Margaret. She was doomed to hear such news of her imprisoned consort, and to be left to long years of grief over the utter wreck of crown, husband, child, and friends, a great and distinguished band.
The Duke of Somerset, tho Prior of St. John's, six knights—Sir Gervais Clifton, Sir Humphry Audely, Sir William Gainsby, Sir Willam Cary, Sir Henry Rose, Sir Thomas Tresham—and seven esquires had fled to a church at Tewkesbury. They always themselves respected the rights of sanctuary, and probably on that account deemed themselves safe. To this Edward was indebted for the life of his queen, his children, and of thousands of his friends and adherents. During his absence Elizabeth had fled from the Tower to the sanctuary of Westminster, with her mother, the old Duchess Jacquetta, and her three daughters. There she was delivered of a son, the unfortunate Edward V., destined to perish in his boyhood in the gloomy fortress which his mother had just quitted. But, forgetting all this, he broke, sword in hand, into the church, and would have killed them. A priest, bearing the sacrament, withstood him, and would not permit him to pass till he promised to pardon all who had fled thither. Edward readily promised, but, two days after they were dragged thence, brought before the Dukes of Gloucester and Northumberland, condemned, and beheaded. This deadly quarrel betwixt the houses of York and Lancaster had now occasioned twelve battles; the deaths in these battles and on the block of no loss than sixty princes of these two families, above half of the nobles and powerful gentlemen, and above 100,000 of the common people. Such were the direct consequences of the usurpation of Henry IV. The stream of blood ceased in a great measure during the remainder of the present reign, but only to burst forth again with fresh violence under Richard of Gloucester.
Edward returned to London triumphant over all his enemies, and the next morning Henry VI. was found dead in the Tower. It was given out that he died of grief and melancholy, but nobody at that day doubted that he was murdered, and it was generally attributed to Richard of Gloucester. The continuator of the chronicles of Croyland, a most credible contemporary, prays that the doer of the deed, whoever he were, may have time for repentance, and declares that it was done by "an agent of the tyrant" and a subject of the murdered king. Who was this? The chronicler in Leland points it out plainly. "That night," he says, "King Henry was put to death in the Tower, the Duke of Gloucester and divers of his men being there." Fabyan, also a contemporary, says, "Divers tales were told, but the most common fame went that he was sticked with a dagger by the hands of the Duke Gloucester."
To satisfy the people, the same means were resorted
