The Bridge of Bodies

The Bloody Meadow
Source¹

Sir Edric Acaster could barely lift his arms, yet he stood with his mates as another wave of Yorkists plunged down the slope.

"Jesus, Sir Edric, there are more than I can count, will they not let us run in peace?"

"Mind your tongue, Graham. Best not take His name in vain when it seems we stand on the brink of eternity!" Sir Edric managed to bring his shield up in time to parry a billhook being thrust at his face. His war hammer ended the threat when he swung it into the side of his attacker's head.

Blood and shattered bone splashed over Sir Edric as he took a step back, they were nearly up to their knees in the freezing water of the Beck already. Some men were crossing over the dead bodies of their comrades just behind him, but he and his squire, Graham of Masongill, were determined to stand and buy time for the remainder of Henry's army.

Sir Edric's blood ran cold as he saw a group of archers take up position just up the slope as the Yorkist footmen drew back to give the bowmen a clear shot at the men struggling along the banks of the surging river.

"Shield, Graham!"

He heard his squire gasp as an arrow hit him full in the face. It had been a glancing blow, not a killing wound, but painful enough as the arrow went through his mouth and out of his right cheek.

Tears were streaming from Graham's eyes as he fell to his knees, "Ah God ..."

"Your blasphemy does you no credit, Graham. Hold still!"

Covering them with his own shield, Sir Edric knelt and took the arrow in his fist, he snapped it in two, which caused Graham's eyes to stream even more. As he yanked the shaft from the mouth of his friend, he yelled at him, "Spit lad, or you'll drown in your own blood!"

On his knees, Graham tried to clear the blood from his mouth, he ran his tongue around, he'd lost a couple of teeth as well. Shaking his head, he saw his shield on the ground, surprisingly he still held his axe in his right hand.

"Up Graham, up! If we must die this day, let us die together!"

Rufus was moving to his right, thinking to go up the hill in that direction then perhaps come down on the retreating enemy from there. As he did so, he heard his name being called out. In no immediate danger, he turned.

"Thomas? Where have ye been laddie?"

Thomas looked a sight, blood and vomit stained his tabard, he was carrying an axe, rather than the billhook he had brought with him to the field, and his eyes were lifeless as if he had seen things which no man should have to see.

"Ah Rufus, we're missing the slaughter, come now, let us not hang back."

Thomas strode past Rufus, heading down towards the Beck where the struggle seemed to be winding down.

Rufus followed his friend, wondering what had gotten into the lad.

Thomas just wanted to kill and keep killing. A wounded Lancastrian had mocked the young foot soldier as he had knelt on the field and cried hot tears at the devastation all around him.

The man had been staggering in the direction of the retreat, his left arm dangling uselessly by his side, nearly severed by a sword blow.

"What's the matter, laddie? Never seen a battle before? Go home and back to your mother's teat, you don't belong on this field with the men!"

Thomas had looked at the man in shock. He was moving off, Thomas looked for his billhook, the shaft had been shattered. Seeing an axe he picked it up.

Getting to his feet, he had run after the man, "Turn and fight you bastard, I will show you who is a man!"

The man had turned and said, "Alright boy, I'll fight ..."

His eyes had grown very wide when he beheld the look on Thomas' face and seen the axe in its downwards arc towards his head. He tried, in vain, to parry the axe with the hammer he held in his right hand.

After the man had crumpled to the ground, head split like a melon, Thomas had wrenched the axe from the man's ruined head and continued down the hill. He would show these bastards who was a man.

He saw his friend Rufus, after a brief word, he continued down to the slaughter.

Sir Edric stumbled over a corpse as he and Graham tried to hold off the Yorkists. At least the blood lust of the enemy footmen had blocked the archers from loosing their shafts at them again. Both men had multiple arrows embedded in their shields.

Graham looked a sight, his mouth still oozed blood and the wound on his cheek still bled but the cold was causing that to slow down. A number of Yorkists had turned away from the sight of him, thinking him to be some walking corpse.

His right arm ached and he was beginning to have trouble raising it to strike a blow, he could still parry, but the water was nearly to his hips now. He slipped on a dead man under the water and nearly fell.

He had almost regained his feet when the point of a Yorkist billhook drove into his throat. He fell, his lifeless corpse adding yet another piece to the bloody bridge across the Cock Beck.

The Battle of Towton
John Quartley
Source

Graham saw the man he'd known since childhood fall. His war axe avenged Sir Edric, he swung it into the face of the man who had killed his mentor and friend.

Graham yanked on the axe, another Yorkist was pushing forward through the cluster of struggling men, he was puzzled, why was the axe not coming out. Amazingly, the man he had struck was holding the shaft of the axe with both hands, his mouth moving but no words issuing from his ruined face. But the hate that glittered in his eyes would stay with Graham for the rest of his life.

He barely brought his shield up in time to parry the sword the man to his front was trying to wield in the mob. But the blow was slow and ill-timed, moving forward, Graham drove the edge of his shield up and under the man's chin.

The man gasped as a torrent of flood flowed down from his throat and onto Graham's left hand. His grip on the shield was failing, so Graham let it go. Backing up, he felt not the bottom of the Beck, but the chest of a corpse.

He backed a few more steps, it seemed the Yorkists were content to let him go, their reluctance to cross the bridge of the dead was obvious. Graham didn't care, he was still alive.

He turned and fled into the gathering night, he was quickly lost in the gloom and the falling snow.

His battle was over.

¹ Do check out this source, the lady gives tours of English battlefields, is a reenactor herself, and has a number of great photos!