The archers were ordered forward to clear the bridge, and a deadly trial of skill commenced; the long, keenly-barbed shafts sweeping like a hail of death from end to end of the bridge: in a moment the dead lay thick at either end, and the brave and determined archers of either army mutually faced with admirable courage the fierce sleet of death that smote them down in bloody heaps. It could not last: the superiority of the northern archers was beyond dispute, and Lancaster ordered back the remains of his archers to a less exposed position, to make room for bills and pikes, and the lances of the dismounted men-at-arms, for the bridge was too old and full of holes to admit of a charge of horse. A violent conflict ensued, blood was spilled freely, and the bridge was heaped with the slain, for the old Northumbrian war-fury rose to the fierce music of clashing steel and resonant war-cries, and the defensive position of the royal troops, so deeply massed at the head of the bridge, gave them every advantage over their assailants, who could only bring a few lances to the front in the hopeless struggle to beat a bloody pathway for their escape. The insurgents fought desperately, as men entrapped, fighting for bare life, or exacting the heaviest price from the slayer. Hereford set a noble example to the unfortunate soldiers, charging on foot, sword in hand, the foremost man in the sanguinary toil; but an untoward stroke mocked his valour, and discouraged the devoted vassals who fought beneath his flag. Under the rickety old bridge, with its gaping timbers, lurked a felon Welshman, armed with a long spear, waiting for some noble victim, whom he could thus slay without risking his own person. The wished-for opportunity at length occurred, as Hereford headed the desperate charge of the Lancastrians, and sustained the fight in the vicinity of his concealed enemy. Suddenly, to the dismay and horror of his friends, he reeled and fell heavily upon the bridge; the pallor of death overspread his features, and the blood gushed from his wounds. The Welshman had gashed his bowels by a murderous stroke of his lance. 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.