Sunday, December 13, 2009
Jasfoup winced at the scene of carnage before him. It was a good job Palm Sunday wasn't always this violent or there'd be no-one left in the whole of England.
The Lancastrians, under the Duke of Somerset, had the higher ground and superior numbers but had not taken account of the freezing wind and flurries of snow. Edward, Earl of March and the future Edward IV, led the Yorkshire army to the bottom of Towton hill but instead of advancing, his archers used the wind to give them a superior range and fired volley after volley into the Lancastrian ranks, pulling back when the Lancastrians retaliated then moving forward again to collect all the arrows that had fallen short.
Finally, the Lancastrians abandoned the advantage of the hill in favour of melee combat, where intense fighting often forced the removal of corpses before combat could resume. The battle swayed back and forth until the Duke of Norfolk arrived to swell the Yorkshire forces and push the Lancastrians into a rout.
Jasfoup watched it all from the hill.
"You put that astroturf and the tarpaulin at the bottom of the hill, didn't you?" he said to the imp at his side.
Devious nodded. "Aye, sir. Delirious is adjusting it as the battle rages, but the blood is being funnelled off into the pipe. We'll soon have the two thousand gallons you need."
"How will you know when we have enough?" said Jasfoup. "Have you got someone at the other end?"
"Ah." Devious sucked air through his teeth. "I didn't think of that."
The Battle of Towton
photo by Chris McLoughlin
Labels: First Lady