Of the history of the Castle there are but scanty records; its part in the making of East Sussex seems to have been fairly quiescent, and in the great struggle of May 1264 between the forces of the Barons and Henry III, for which Lewes will always be famous, the fortress took no actual part and merely surrendered at discretion.

“The battle was fought on the hill where the races are held.  Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, headed the Baronial army.  The Royal forces were divided into three bodies; the right entrusted to Prince Edward; the left to Richard, Earl of Cornwall, King of the Romans; and the centre to Henry himself.  Prince Edward attacked the Londoners under Nicholas Seagrave with such impetuosity that they immediately fled and were pursued with great slaughter.  Montfort taking advantage of this separation, vigorously charged the remaining division of the Royalists, which he put to rout.  The King and the Earl of Cornwall hastened to the town, where they took refuge in the Priory.  Prince Edward, returning in triumph from the pursuit of the Londoners, learned with amazement the fate of his father and uncle.  He resolved to make an effort to set them at liberty, but his followers were too timid to second his ardour, and he was finally compelled to submit to the conditions subscribed by his father, who agreed that the Prince and his cousin Henry, son of the Earl of Cornwall, should remain as hostages in the hands of the Barons till their differences were adjusted by Parliament.  In this contest 5,000 men were slain.  The King, who had his horse slain under him, performed prodigies of valour.  Richard, Earl of Cornwall, was taken prisoner.”

By all accounts it was a good fight, and the best men won.  A touch of humour is added to one record wherein it is related that Richard, King of the Romans, took refuge in a windmill, wherein he was afterwards captured amid shouts of “Come out, thou bad miller.”  This mill stood near the old Black Horse Inn, but has long since been burnt down.

Accounts vary exceedingly as to the number of the slain, some authorities giving as many as 20,000, others no more than 2,700.

  “Many faire ladie lose hir lord that day,
  And many gode bodie slayn at Leans lay. 
  The nombre none wrote, for tell them might no man. 
  But He that alle wote, and alle thing ses and can.”

  (Robert Brune.)

There are certain times, especially in the early hours of a fine autumn day, when the mass of old grey stone is seen rising above its vassal town through golden river mists which veil the modernities of the railway and its appurtenancies, and one feels that the battle might have taken place yesterday.  Strange that this town is an important and busy railway junction and yet so little has the old-world appearance of the place suffered in consequence; here are no ugly rows of railwaymen’s cottages in stark evidence on the hillsides; in actual fact the coming of the railway has added to the antiquarian and historical interest of the town, as will be seen presently.