THE BATTLE OF WAKEFIELD (1460).

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Source.—Hall's Chronicle, pp. 250, 251. (London: 1809.)

[Note.—Hall's Chronicle was first published in 1542, and therefore the following extract is by no means contemporary with the events it describes. But it is the only account of the battle of Wakefield, and it derives some authority from the fact that Hall had an ancestor who was slain in the fight.]

The duke of York with his people descended down the hill in good order and array and was suffered to pass forward, toward the main battle: but when he was in the plain ground between his castle and the town of Wakefield, he was environed on every side, like a fish in a net or a deer in a buckstall: so that he, manfully fighting, was within half an hour slain and dead, and his whole army discomfited.... While this battle was in fighting a priest called Sir Robert Aspall, chaplain and schoolmaster to the young earl of Rutland, second son to the abovenamed duke of York, of the age of twelve years, a fair gentleman and a maidenlike person, perceiving that flight was more safeguard than tarrying, both for him and his master, secretly conveyed the earl out of the field ... but or he could enter into a house the lord Clifford espied, followed and taken, and by reason of his apparell demanded what he was. The young gentleman, dismayed, had not a word to speak, but kneeled on his knees imploring mercy and desiring grace both with holding up his hands and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone for fear. "Save him," said the Chaplain, "for he is a prince's son, and peradventure may do you good hereafter." With that word the Lord Clifford marked him and said, "By God's blood, thy father slew mine, and so will I do thee and all thy kin," and with that word stuck the earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade the chaplain bear the earl's mother and brother word what he had done.... This cruel Clifford and deadly blood-supper, not content with this homicide or child-killing, came to the place where the dead corpse of the duke of York lay, and caused his head to be stricken off, and set on it a crown of paper and so fixed it on a pole and presented it to the Queen, not lying far from the field, in great despite and much derision, saying, "Madame, your war is done; here is your King's ransom."

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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