The clash of forces in the town confines was bloody and confused. Having decided there was no room for cavalry in the narrow streets my troops were all on foot, while York and Salisbury’s retinues were mostly still mounted, giving them an initial advantage. Although my vanguard tried bravely to bring down the enemy’s horses we were forced off the main highway and back into the narrow lanes. Wiltshire’s soldiers, without their commander, soon melted away into the shadows but I called together my own men and led them through backstreets and alleyways in order to bring support to Buckingham and the king in the Market Square, which seemed the only thing I could do. Although I knew there had been several casualties I prayed we were not leaving any dead behind us, only to find when we got there we were too late. Buckingham had been felled and was lying wounded on the cobbles with blood seeping from under his helmet and King Henry and his bodyguard were surrounded. Both the Earl of Warwick and the Duke of York were there already in force. Clearly we had no option but to lay down our arms. There was no sign of Wiltshire or the royal standard.

The battle, if it could be called that, was over. While York and Salisbury had barged their way through my unsuccessful defence of the north bar, Warwick’s attack from the east side of the town had taken the king and the royal guard by surprise and I was to learn that during the brief hostilities key Lancastrian leaders had been singled out and killed by Warwick’s men, including the Duke of Somerset, the Earl of Northumberland and Lord Clifford. But to my immediate consternation I noticed that the king himself had been wounded by a Yorkist arrow, the shaft of which was still protruding from the back of his neck.

I stepped forward and offered my sword to York, and then my support to my brother. As soon as he saw me the look of fear and bewilderment left Henry’s eyes and he leaned heavily on my shoulder. ‘Ah, Jasper, it is you. I think I need the services of a surgeon.’