Lancaster now attempted to ford the river with a portion of his troops, but this proved impossible in face of the deadly superiority of the opposing archers. Sir Roger Clifford was wounded in the head; Sir William Sulley and Sir Roger Bernefield were slain outright; the Earl's army was utterly demoralised, his loss was severe, and abandoning the last hope of forcing the river, he utterly lost heart, and retired into the town, taking refuge in a chapel.
De Harcla now ordered the royal troops to advance, and they rushed furiously over the bridge, bearing down the last feeble defence of the disheartened Lancastrians, and pursuing the scattered fugitives with a cruel ardour. Many archers and pikemen fell by sword and bill in that dark hour, vassals whose only crime was obedience to the lords whose badge they wore. Many knights and barons surrendered their swords, and were rudely haled away in bonds, to await the punishment that follows unsuccessful treason. That day the shadow of death gloomed over many a brave young soldier, whose valour might have been worthily employed in defending the northern borders against the incursions of the Scots.
Earl Lancaster was speedily surprised in the chapel where he had hidden his unhappy head. Exulting in having achieved so notable a capture, the rough soldiers laid rude hands upon him, whereon he sadly gazed upon the crucifix, and fervently and pathetically ejaculated, "Good Lord, I render myself unto Thee, and put me unto Thy mercy!" And great was his need of the Divine, for of human mercy he was to receive none. His knightly armour was torn off, never to be resumed, and, after many insults, he was conveyed to York, to be hailed with derisive cries of "King Arthur!" by the rude populace, as they cast the street mud at him. In his famous Castle of Pontefract was a new dungeon, built by his directions, and to which entrance was obtained by means of a trap-door in the turret of the tower. To Pontefract the Earl was carried, and lowered into this gloomy dungeon, so close a type of the grave to which he was hourly drawing near.
King Edward was not long in reaching Pontefract with his army; when Lancaster was brought to trial before his majesty and the loyal barons who marched with him. Among them were the Spencers, around whom he had hoped to draw the toils, and whom he regarded with indignation and disgust, as the rapacious, upstart favourites of a weak and foolish prince. The Spencers looked upon him as their most dangerous enemy, and Edward was only fierce when defending his favourites: who should speak of mercy in such an hour as that? Certainly none of Edward's barons, however deeply they might deplore the fate of the noble Earl, for their plea for mercy might be regarded as a proof of disloyalty, and Edward was showing a leven of that savage spirit which existed so strongly in his father, and was shown by the butchering of so many noble Scotchmen on the scaffold.