So when, on the 13th October 1453, a prince, Edward, was born to the feeble Henry VI. of Lancaster, the hope Edward of York cherished of peacefully succeeding to the throne was rudely destroyed. Before him lay the chance of a long minority under an imperious queen, Margaret of Anjou, a prospect that pleased neither the duke nor the people. Many who would have otherwise lived and died peaceful, unwarlike, citizens sided, half in apprehension, half in sympathy, with the “White Rose,” a feeling which acquired political importance by the temporary appointment of the Duke of York as Protector during the king’s mental feebleness and his son’s minority. “This Richard of York was a personage to be reckoned with.” And political excitement was soon followed by a political badge, as in later days the primrose became a party emblem. In the gardens of the Temple--so tradition has it--the white and red roses were plucked and worn by the spectators, the latter by those who followed the reigning house of Lancaster; and from this small beginning, from this outward and visible sign of internal disagreement, sprang an internecine contest that lasted for thirty years, brought about on English soil twelve pitched battles, more than decimated both branches of the royal family, all the noble houses, and for savage rancour and hideous cruelty is unequalled in the world’s history. Yet it is not a war as modern military historians would class it: there was little method, no “plan of campaign,” worthy the name. Where “armies”--or rather, bodies of armed men--gathered together, there a similar body went to fight them like two pugnacious cocks in a farmyard.