But the future keeps its secrets well—­well for us it is so—­and the youthful and high-spirited young prince saw not the black cloud hanging already upon him.  The soldiers greeted him with cheers and blessings; the generals bent the knee to him, and vowed to die to win him back his crown.  The light of the setting sun illumined the field so soon to be red with human blood, and the vesper bell from the church hard by rang out its peaceful summons.

Edward looked round him, and laid his hand affectionately on Paul’s shoulder.

“This is a fair earth,” he said dreamily.  “I wonder what the world beyond will be like, for those who leave this behind, as so many will do tomorrow.”

Paul spoke not a word, but returned the look with one infinitely loving, and together the two rode back to the town.

Chapter 9:  The Tragedy Of Tewkesbury

How the battle of Tewkesbury was lost and won is too well known to need description in detail here.  Whether the Lancastrian army could have held the field before the Yorkist veterans had they been skilfully generalled will never now be known; but the fiery and impetuous Duke of Somerset, whose ill-judged ardour had forced the battle upon his followers, undoubtedly lost the day for them by his intemperate and reckless disregard of the dictates of common prudence.  After opening the fight by a discharge of ordnance, he was mad enough to leave his intrenched position on the Home Ground, and carry his men into the open for a charge upon the opposing army.  Here they were not only confronted by Edward’s compact army, but were taken in the flank and rear by a company of spearmen who had been told off to guard against a possible ambush in a little wood; which, however, the hot-headed Somerset had never thought to place.

Thrown into confusion, the Lancastrians were routed, and confusion was rendered worse confounded by another impetuous act on the part of the fiery young duke.  As he and his flying soldiers fell back upon the town of Tewkesbury, and reached the market place, they found Lord Wenlock and his men sitting idle and motionless there, as if there was no work for them to do.

The reason for this extraordinary apathy on the part of one of the leaders will never now be known.  It was the curse of the strife of the Roses that treachery and a change of sides was always suspected, and too often with good cause, between men who had been friends and allies heretofore.  The Duke of Somerset at once concluded that Lord Wenlock had turned traitor to the cause, and riding furiously up to him as he sat, he dashed out his brains with his battle-axe, without so much as pausing to ask a single question.

The followers of both leaders who saw the deed were struck with new terror.  With loud cries of “Treason, treason!” they threw down their arms and fled they knew not whither, and the retreat became a confused rout, in which the thought of each man was to save his own life.