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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45819 ***</div>
<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Cressy and Poictiers, by John G. (John
George) Edgar</h1>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10">
  <tr>
    <td valign="top">
      Note:
    </td>
    <td>
      Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive. See
      <a href="https://archive.org/details/cressypoictierss00edga">
      https://archive.org/details/cressypoictierss00edga</a>
    </td>
  </tr>
</table>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div class="transnote">
<h2>Transcriber's Note</h2>
<p>The sites of corrections are underscored by dotted lines.
Scroll the cursor over the word and the original text will
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p>
</div>
<hr class="pg" />
<p>&nbsp;</p>

<div class="transnote covernote">
  <p class="center">The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p>
</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>

<h1>CRESSY &amp; POICTIERS</h1>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;"><a id="titlepage">
<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="352" height="600" alt="titlepage" />
</a></div>

<p class="center mt4"><span class="big">EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY<br />
EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS</span></p>

<p class="center mt4"><span class="big">FICTION</span></p>

<p class="center mt4"><span class="big">CRESSY AND POICTIERS</span></p>
<p class="center mt4"><span class="big">WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY<br />
ERNEST RHYS</span></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p>

<hr class="tb" />
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;"><a id="i002">
<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="345" height="600" alt="Everymans library" />
</a></div>

<p class="center mt2">THE PUBLISHERS OF <i>EVERYMAN'S<br />
LIBRARY</i> WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND<br />
FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST<br />
OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED<br />
VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER<br />
THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS:</p>

<p class="center mt2">TRAVEL * SCIENCE * FICTION</p>

<p class="center mt2">THEOLOGY &amp; PHILOSOPHY</p>

<p class="center mt2">HISTORY * CLASSICAL</p>

<p class="center mt2">CHILDREN'S BOOKS</p>

<p class="center mt2">ESSAYS * ORATORY</p>

<p class="center mt2">POETRY &amp; DRAMA</p>

<p class="center mt2">BIOGRAPHY</p>

<p class="center mt2">ROMANCE</p>


<p class="center mt4">IN TWO STYLES OF BINDING, CLOTH<br />
FLAT BACK COLOURED TOP AND<br />
LEATHER ROUND CORNERS GILT TOP.</p>

<p class="center mt2"><span class="smcap">London</span>: J. M. DENT &amp; CO.<br />
</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a><br /><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p>

<hr class="tb" />

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 386px;"><a id="i004">
<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="386" height="600" alt="Philip Sidney" />
</a></div>


<p class="center mt4">
<span class="big">A TALE<br />
WHICH<br />
HOLDETH<br />
CHILDREN<br />
FROM PLAY<br />
&amp; OLD MEN<br />
FROM THE<br />
CHIMNEY<br />
CORNER</span></p>

<p class="center">SIR PHILIP SIDNEY</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 382px;"><a id="i005">
<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="382" height="600" alt="title" />
</a></div>

<p class="center titlepage">CRESSY &amp; POICTIERS</p>

<p class="center mt2"><span class="large"><i>The</i> STORY <i>of the</i><br />
BLACK PRINCE'S<br />PAGE</span></p>
<p class="center mt2"><span class="big">BY</span></p>
<p class="center mt2"><span class="huge">J. G. EDGAR</span></p>

<p class="center mt4">LONDON: PUBLISHED<br />
by J. M. DENT &amp; CO<br />
AND IN NEW YORK<br />
BY E. P. DUTTON &amp; CO</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center mt4">First Edition February 1906<br />
Reprinted April 1906</p>

<p class="center mt4">PLYMOUTH: WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.<br />
PRINTERS</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p>


<h2><a name="Introduction" id="Introduction">Introduction</a></h2>

<p>"Ivanhoe," picturing the days of Richard C&oelig;ur de Lion,
leapt over all but a couple of centuries to draw upon Froissart.
The present romance of Edward the Black Prince's time is
well within the barriers of the best of all the romantic chroniclers,
and perhaps its chief merit is that it is both historically
and romantically an avowed Froissart book. Its author, J. G.
Edgar, who was of course not a Walter Scott, wrote and was
content to write for "Beeton's Boys' Own Magazine" in its
palmy days, between forty and fifty years ago, when its editor
had a very distinct idea of bringing English history into
holiday range. Edgar was one of his chief contributors, and
wrote some capital stories and histories, of which three or
four are still in favour, and this story of "Cressy and
Poictiers" is the best of them.</p>

<p>Edgar, being a minor and not a major romancer, gave less
rein to his fantasy than Scott, and kept closer to his originals.
He conceived in this story the happy idea of accommodating
the Black Prince with an adventurous and vain-glorious page,
whom he calls Arthur Winram, who is, as a necessity of fiction,
bound to be of nobler birth than that name would seem to
say, and to be subject to the wicked designs of those who
would keep him from his birthright. Through the eyes of this
page are viewed the martial events and pageantry in the career
of the Black Prince, leading up to the fields of Creçy and
Poictiers, and so to the Prince's death. Thus there are three
chief fortunes at stake: that of the page and hero, that of the
Black Prince, and that of England herself.</p>

<p>If you turn from the romance to the actual story of the
Black Prince, as it is told by the historians, you will find the
details in which Edgar differs from them are either those that
are necessarily fictitious, or those that are not very essential.
And if you compare his book with Froissart, you will find
that once he has got on common ground with the fourteenth-century
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
chronicler, he keeps pretty well on terms with him in
the succession of events.</p>

<p>Edgar takes 1328 as the year of his page and hero's birth;
and that was a year to "precipitate affairs," as the chroniclers
of a later date than Froissart's used to say. In that year
Charles of France died, and Philip of Valois was elected by
the peers and barons of France to the realm, and so put out
the Queen of England, Isabel, daughter of Philip le Beau, who
was the next heir.</p>

<p>"Thus," says Froissart, "passed this realm of France out
of her right lineage, as it hath been deemed by many." And
thus came many wars and dire calamities. And "this is the
very foundation of this history, to recount the great enterprises
and feats of arms that have fallen: for since the time
of Charlemagne there never befell so great adventures."</p>

<p>In the same year&mdash;that is, 1328&mdash;King Edward married
Philippa of Hainault. "The English chronicle saith this
marriage and coronation of the queen was done at York with
much honour." In the year following, their first-born child,
Edward, afterwards called the Black Prince, blessed this
union.</p>

<p>This gives us the year of 1344 (when the Black Prince was
fifteen, and his future page a year older) as the natural one
for this boyish tale of adventure to open. It was the year
when Philip of Valois murdered twelve Breton hostages, and
Edward vowed revenge; and this was the time, too, of the
revolt in Flanders. In 1345, Jacob von Arteveldt was the
victim of the mob. "Poor men first set him high, and evil
men slew him," says Froissart. One may compare the
romance with the chronicle here to the advantage of the
latter. In the eleventh chapter of the story we are at Caen;
and Froissart's chronicles give us one or two inimitable
story-teller's cues of which hardly sufficient account is made.
That little tower at the foot of the bridge, seen at the end of
the street, and the one-eyed knight Sir Thomas, who saved
the lives of many dames and damosels and cloisterers, as he
rode through the town, make one of those medieval pictures,
lifelike and minute, which are like little windows into actual
history.</p>

<p>Many such episodes fill in the story before we come to the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
big battle-piece of Creçy. In the preamble, good use is made
of the guide, Gobin Agace, who guides the English in the
passage of the Somme, at the passage called <ins title="Transcriber's Note: else written 'Blanche-taque'">Blanche Paque</ins>.
There is no better account anywhere in history and romance
than that Froissart gives of Cressy at its most striking
moments. It may seem here and there that something of the
confusion of the field itself obscures his story; but his
strokes are sure and tell-tale as can be desired when the
climax comes; and wonderfully he uses the natural effects&mdash;the
storm, the great rain, the thunder and lightning; and
then the ominous flight of crows over both battles; and the
sudden bright emergence of the sun, to dazzle the Frenchmen's
eyes, and warm the stout backs of the English; and finally
the arrow-shot of the English archers, so thick and so concerted,
that "it seemed to be snow!" The disastrous failure
of the Genoese crossbows in reply we find both in Froissart
and in Edgar's pages; and the detail of the King's post, "on
a little windmill hill," where he hears that his son, the Prince,
is hard pressed, and says: "Let them suffer him this day
to win his spurs!" is another famous incident on which the
chronicler and the novelist draw alike.</p>

<p>One or two circumstances of the battle are slightly changed
in Edgar's page. The strength of the English position on the
high ground, upon the right bank of the river, is hardly made
so clear as might be. The English are seated on a large
plain when first seen by Philip, in the romance. Edgar
would have gained by comparing Froissart with other records
in picturing this scene. Again, he does not speak of the
small cannon that were used at Creçy, though at the siege of
Calais they are remembered in his account. Froissart says
expressly, however, that small cannon were posted between
the archers; and Edward certainly took cannon with him
from England. The cannon used in the siege of Calais threw
balls of three or four ounces weight.</p>

<p>The Black Prince's page is made a prisoner after Creçy; and
the succeeding chain of events is again not quite given its
proportionate effect in the romance. However, we have some
compensation&mdash;the battle of Neville's Cross, which Froissart,
by the way, reports to have taken place only three miles
from Newcastle-on-Tyne and calls after that famous old
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
town accordingly. Then succeeds the siege of Calais, and its
surrender on the 3rd August, 1347. One passage here from
Froissart that is not in Edgar is too good for either
romance or history to forget. It is where the French herald
Sir John returns into the beleaguered town with the message
of the English King:</p>

<p>"Then Sir John went unto the market place, and sounded
the common bell: then, all incontinent, men and women
assembled there, and the captain made report of all he had
done, and said, 'Sirs, it will be none otherwise, therefore now
take advice, and make a short answer.' Then all the people
began to weep and make such sorrow, that there was not so
hard a heart, if they had seen them, but that would have had
great pity of them; the captain himself wept piteously."</p>

<p>At this surrender of Calais, the question whether the six
townsmen came forth with halters round their necks or with
ropes in their hands need not disturb the reader. Tradition
favours the former, and plain history the latter.</p>

<p>It is at the battle of Poictiers that the real value of Edgar's
story as a tributary current leading into the broad stream of
history is best to be discovered. One more illustration from
Froissart may be given here, because it has to do with an
incident which gave Edgar one of his clues. It is that of the
scene where the Squire of Picardy, Johan de Helenes, takes
the Lord Berkeley, who had been pursuing him.</p>

<p>"And when he had pursued him the space of a league, the
said John turned again, and laid his sword in rest instead of a
spear, and so came running toward the Lord Berkeley, who
lift up his sword to have stricken the Squire. But when he
saw the stroke come, he turned from it, so that the Englishman
lost his stroke; and John struck him as he passed on the
arm, that the Lord Berkeley's sword fell into the field."</p>

<p>This is enough to show how close the martial passes and
exchanges in the story keep to the picture seen by Froissart.</p>

<p>One of the drawbacks of the story as a piece of history,
as something more than a picture, is that it does not make us
realise the daring&mdash;the merciless, impressive personal effect
of the Prince; or the tragedy then of the last illness pursuing
this man of force all through the final campaign; for his
end in this book is a casual matter, treated in a postscript or
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
little more than that. But the romance carries us through an
extraordinary and overwhelming series of events, and serves
to stimulate&mdash;although Edgar's manner is staid comparatively
with other romancers of history&mdash;a new delight in the heroic
and chivalric colours of the time.</p>

<p>Sir John Chandos and the Cardinal of Perigord, as they
pass through Edgar's story, do not leave you at all satisfied to
know them only there. It is of the nature of good romance
to suggest and not to complete, offering an oblique reflection
of great affairs and huge figures; and if Edgar's mirror in
this is a fainter one than Scott's, one is still grateful to him
for holding it up to the fourteenth century as he did. Read
him with Froissart in reserve, and you have a very good
idea of that fighting time which was at once so valiant and
so meagre, so adventurous and so mortal for the soldiers and
captains, and often so terrible for the poor folk&mdash;men, women,
and children, who, like those of Caen, were massacred because
their masters were pleased to be militant.</p>

<p>One other point remains, which has perplexed the historians
and is of extreme interest in romance, and that has
to do with the Black Prince's proverbial colour. Was it his
armour, or the terror he caused, that made men call him
"Black"? Froissart never uses the label at all; but there
is evidence of his black armour, and romance dare not now
change his coat.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>

<hr class="chap" />

<div class="block">
<p class="center mt4">THE FOLLOWING ARE THE PUBLISHED WORKS OF<br />
JOHN GEORGE EDGAR<br />1834&mdash;1864</p>

<p class="block-contents"><i>Biography for Boys</i>, 1853.<br />
<i>The Boyhood of Great Men</i>, 1853.<br />
<i>History for Boys</i>, 1855.<br />
<i>Boy Princes</i>, 1857.<br />
<i>The Heroes of England</i>, 1858.<br />
<i>The Wars of the Roses</i>, 1859.<br />
<i>The Crusades and the Crusaders</i>, 1860.<br />
<i>Cavaliers and Roundheads</i>, 1861.<br />
<i>Sea Kings and Naval Heroes</i>, 1861.<br />
<i>Memorable Events of Modern History</i>, 1862.<br />
<i>Danes, Saxons, and Normans</i>, 1863.<br />
<i>Cressy and Poictiers</i> (in Beeton's <i>Boys' Own Magazine</i>, 1863), 1865.<br />
<i>Historical Anecdotes of Animals</i>, 1865.<br />
<i>Runnymede and Lincoln Fair</i>, 1866.
</p></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>

<h2 class="mt4">CONTENTS</h2>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p>

<div class="center mt2">
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc">
<tr><td align="right">CHAPTER</td><td align="left"></td><td align="right">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td><td align="left">Introduction</td><td align="right">1</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td><td align="left">The Falcon in Gracechurch</td><td align="right">2</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td><td align="left">Winning the Peacock</td><td align="right">6</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td><td align="left">At my Grandsire's Homestead</td><td align="right">10</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td><td align="left">Jack Fletcher</td><td align="right">14</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td><td align="left">War with France</td><td align="right">19</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td><td align="left">Windsor Castle</td><td align="right">25</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td><td align="left">Edward the Black Prince</td><td align="right">29</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td><td align="left">King Edward's Defiance</td><td align="right">36</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td><td align="left">The Voyage</td><td align="right">40</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td><td align="left">March of the Invaders</td><td align="right">43</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td><td align="left">A Snare</td><td align="right">45</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Broken Bridges</td><td align="right">49</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td><td align="left">A Rush for Liberty</td><td align="right">50</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td><td align="left">Hunting a King</td><td align="right">55</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td><td align="left">Gobin Agace</td><td align="right">58</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td><td align="left">How we Forded the Somme</td><td align="right">61</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Eve of Battle</td><td align="right">64</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td><td align="left">The Battle of Cressy</td><td align="right">66</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td><td align="left">My Adventures at Cressy</td><td align="right">72</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td><td align="left">At La Broyes</td><td align="right">79</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td><td align="left">The Siege of Calais</td><td align="right">83</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></td><td align="left">My Release</td><td align="right">87</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td><td align="left">The Falcon Revisited</td><td align="right">90</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></td><td align="left">The Crisis</td><td align="right">98</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a></td><td align="left">The Eve of Battle</td><td align="right">102</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a></td><td align="left">Face to Face</td><td align="right">106</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII.</a></td><td align="left">Neville's Cross</td><td align="right">109</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXVIX.</a></td><td align="left">Royalty in a Rage</td><td align="right">113</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX.</a></td><td align="left">At Calais</td><td align="right">118</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI.</a></td><td align="left">The Luck of John Copeland</td><td align="right">121</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII.</a></td><td align="left">Arrivals</td><td align="right">126</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII.</a></td><td align="left">No Road</td><td align="right">131</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV.</a></td><td align="left">Surrender of Calais</td><td align="right">135</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV.</a></td><td align="left">A Runaway Bridegroom</td><td align="right">140</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI.</a></td><td align="left">How Calais was Repeopled</td><td align="right">142</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">XXXVII.</a></td><td align="left">A Mysterious Visit</td><td align="right">146</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">XXXVIII.</a></td><td align="left">Calais in Peril</td><td align="right">150</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">XXXIX.</a></td><td align="left">The Lords De Ov</td><td align="right">154</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">XL.</a></td><td align="left">Too Late</td><td align="right">159</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">XLI.</a></td><td align="left">How Calais was Saved</td><td align="right">162</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">XLII.</a></td><td align="left">A Princess in Peril</td><td align="right">168</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">XLIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Plague of Florence</td><td align="right">173</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">XLIV.</a></td><td align="left">John, King of France</td><td align="right">176</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">XLV.</a></td><td align="left">Renewal of the War</td><td align="right">180</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">XLVI.</a></td><td align="left">A Town Lost and Won</td><td align="right">184</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">XLVII.</a></td><td align="left">"A Douglas!"</td><td align="right">189</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">XLVIII.</a></td><td align="left">Burnt Candlemas</td><td align="right">194</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">XLIX.</a></td><td align="left">Our Captivity</td><td align="right">197</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_L">L.</a></td><td align="left">Chased by Bloodhounds</td><td align="right">204</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LI">LI.</a></td><td align="left">At Bordeaux</td><td align="right">211</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LII">LII.</a></td><td align="left">The Prince in Black Armour</td><td align="right">214</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">LIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Incursion</td><td align="right">217</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">LIV.</a></td><td align="left">The Coming Foe</td><td align="right">221</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LV">LV.</a></td><td align="left">An Unwelcome Discovery</td><td align="right">224</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">LVI.</a></td><td align="left">Poictiers</td><td align="right">227</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">LVII.</a></td><td align="left">Sunday Morning</td><td align="right">229</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">LVIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Peace-maker</td><td align="right">233</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">LIX.</a></td><td align="left">Chandos and Clermont</td><td align="right">236</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LX">LX.</a></td><td align="left">The Array of the English</td><td align="right">239</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">LXI.</a></td><td align="left">Rout of the Marshals</td><td align="right">242</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXII">LXII.</a></td><td align="left">The Prince in the Battle</td><td align="right">244</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXIII">LXIII.</a></td><td align="left">Adventures in the Field</td><td align="right">248</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXIV">LXIV.</a></td><td align="left">A Royal Captive</td><td align="right">251</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXV">LXV.</a></td><td align="left">How I Rescued my worst Enemy</td><td align="right">254</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVI">LXVI.</a></td><td align="left">The Scots at Poictiers</td><td align="right">256</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVII">LXVII.</a></td><td align="left">The Victors and the Vanquished</td><td align="right">259</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXVIII">LXVIII.</a></td><td align="left">The March to Bordeaux</td><td align="right">261</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXIX">LXIX.</a></td><td align="left">The Prince and his Captive</td><td align="right">264</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXX">LXX.</a></td><td align="left">Death of Queen Isabel</td><td align="right">268</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXXI">LXXI.</a></td><td align="left">What Befell Lord De Ov</td><td align="right">272</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXXII">LXXII.</a></td><td align="left">Marriage of the Black Prince</td><td align="right">274</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXXIII">LXXIII.</a></td><td align="left">The Challenge</td><td align="right">278</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXXIV">LXXIV.</a></td><td align="left">Trial by Battle</td><td align="right">281</td></tr>
<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_LXXV">LXXV.</a></td><td align="left">Glory and the Grave</td><td align="right">283</td></tr>
</table></div>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2 class="mt4"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br />

<small>INTRODUCTION</small></h2>


<p>In the fourteenth century, when the population of England
was estimated at two millions&mdash;when our railways were
bridle-roads and our cornfields forests, and when the
capital was a little town enclosed by an old Roman
fortified wall, with towers and turrets&mdash;no festival, save
Christmas and May Day, was regarded with more interest
than Midsummer Eve, or the vigil of St. John the
Baptist.</p>

<p>Great was the commotion, much the ceremony, in
London on such occasions; and as the shades of evening
fell, young and old, high and low, rich and poor, participated
in the excitement of the hour. The houses were
decorated with branches of green birch, long fennel, St.
John's rush, and orpine; and as night closed over the
city the inhabitants illuminated their dwellings with
clusters of lamps, and made the streets resound with
merriment and song.</p>

<p>At the same time, the ceremony of "setting the watch"&mdash;a
body of armed guards, instituted in the reign of the
third Henry to keep the peace, and prevent robberies and
outrages&mdash;was performed with much show and splendour.
On this ceremony, indeed, large sums of money were
expended, and the watchmen, arrayed "in bright harness,"
marched in procession, accompanied by the Lord Mayor
and aldermen, the city officers, a crowd of minstrels,
giants, and morris-dancers; while blazing cressets and
huge torches, borne on men's shoulders, threw a flood of
light over the scene, and raised the wonder of the thronging
populace.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, a large fire was kindled in the street, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
stirred to a blaze, which was intended to typify the patron
saint of the day. Around this fire lads and lasses danced
and disported themselves merrily to the sound of music.
Many and gay were the capers they cut as the flames rose
and fell. Sometimes they leaped over the fire amid many
shouts, and at others they looked through garlands at the
flame, believing that, by so doing, they freed themselves
from various pains and diseases, present and prospective.</p>

<p>Not till midnight&mdash;sometimes not till dawn&mdash;did the
dancing cease; and as soon as day broke, while the dew
was still on the grass and flowers, the young women went
forth to practise certain rites, by which they believed they
could assure themselves of the constancy or inconstancy
of their wooers. Collecting garlands of flowers, the
nymphs bound them on their heads, and according as the
dew remained a longer or shorter time on the flowers,
they augured more or less favourably of the fidelity of
their lovers. Moreover, they secured a snow-white wether,
decorated it with garlands, and, enclosing it in a hut of
heath, danced and sang around. She who wished to test
her fortune stood by the door, and if the wether remained
quiet she considered the omen good; but if he pushed his
horns through the door of the hut, she concluded that her
suitor was to prove false.</p>

<p>Such was the great medieval festival that was being
celebrated at the time when our chronicle opens, when
Edward III. was King of England, and on the point of
undertaking the war with France, which resulted in mighty
victories won and splendid conquests achieved against
great odds; and when the hero of this story entered upon
the remarkable adventures which associated his name
with that of the young conqueror of Cressy and Poictiers&mdash;Edward,
Prince of Wales, popularly known as "the
Black Prince."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br />

<small>THE FALCON IN GRACECHURCH</small></h2>


<p>It was Midsummer Eve in the year 1344, and the citizens
of London were celebrating the festival of St. John the
Baptist, when I, then a stripling of fifteen, with a tall figure
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
and a dreamy eye, like that of one indulging much in internal
visions, mounted on a little black horse of great
speed and high mettle, trotted by the side of my aged
grandsire, a tall and still vigorous man, into the capital of
England, and alighted at the hostelry known as the Falcon,
situated in Gracechurch, and kept by Thomelin of Winchester.</p>

<p>I had journeyed with my grandsire from his homestead
at Greenmead, on the border of Windsor Forest, and my
eyes were, for the first time, gladdened with a sight of
London. Hitherto I had been reared in obscurity; and,
except on the occasion of a rare visit to the little town of
Windsor, I had seen nothing of life. I was well aware of
the disadvantages of my position; for, though brought up
in obscurity, my ambition was ardent; and, while seeing
little of life, I was constantly regaling my imagination with
stirring scenes, in all of which I enacted a conspicuous
part.</p>

<p>My excitement on entering a city I had often longed to
behold was naturally high; and, as we rode along, I was
much impressed with the novelty of the scene. London
and the Londoners were that evening in holiday attire,
and everything wore a gay aspect. The houses were
lighted up; the streets were crowded with the populace;
and an unwonted degree of jollity appeared to brighten
every face. Even the beggar and the outcast began to
think their condition tolerable, as they watched the
kindling of the great fire which was to typify the saint
of the day, who has been described as "a burning and
shining light."</p>

<p>It is not wonderful, indeed, all things considered, that
such should have been the case at the period of which
I write. During the long and prosperous reign of the
first Edward, Englishmen, while enjoying the blessings of
freedom and order vigilantly guarded by law, had learned
to speak their minds without fear, and with little hesitation;
and, albeit nearly forty years had elapsed since the
great king had been laid at rest in Westminster Abbey,
they had not yet unlearned the lesson that an Englishman's
words should be as free as his thoughts. Nor, so far, was
public order in any danger from the utmost freedom of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
speech; for the House of Plantagenet was still so popular,
that, had the reigning sovereign deliberately gone among
his subjects in disguise, to learn what they thought of him,
he would probably have heard nothing more offensive to
his ear than complaints as to the rapacity of the royal
purveyors. The day which I have lived to see was not
yet come when a crazy priest, like John Ball, could rouse
a populace to frenzy, or when a rude demagogue, like Wat
Tyler, could lead on a rabble to plunder and bloodshed.</p>

<p>"Adam of Greenmead," said the Thomelin of Winchester,
as he rose to welcome my grandsire and myself;
"old kinsman, I am right glad to see thee and thy grandson
too. Body o' me, Arthur, it seems but yesterday
when you were cock-bird height, and now you have grown
as tall and handsome a lad as the girls would wish to set
eyes on."</p>

<p>"And how farest thou, Thomelin?" asked my grandsire,
as he seated himself near the host, and I took a place
by his side.</p>

<p>"Passing well, kinsman&mdash;passing well, the saints be
thanked; and it makes me all the better, methinks, since
I see thee so hale and hearty."</p>

<p>"For that matter," said my grandsire, with an expression
of discontent in his face, "I am hale as a man who has
seen threescore and ten years can expect to be, and
hearty as a man can hope to be in the days in which we
live."</p>

<p>"You are not pleased with the times we live in,
kinsman," remarked Thomelin.</p>

<p>"In truth, they are not much to my liking," said my
grandsire. "As we rode along, my mind went back to
the time when King Edward hammered the stubborn
Scots at Falkirk, and to the day when he entered London,
and the Londoners kept holiday in honour of his victory."</p>

<p>"Grand times, doubtless," said Thomelin.</p>

<p>"Ay, you may well say so," exclaimed my grandsire,
with a tear in his eye. "England was then prosperous
and contented. But now King Edward has been thirty-seven
years in his tomb, and the world has well-nigh gone
to ruin."</p>

<p>"No, no, Adam," protested Thomelin. "Matters are
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
not so bad as you fancy. The world goes on well enough&mdash;in
fact, as well as ever&mdash;in its way. Men buy and sell,
sow and reap, marry and give in marriage; and, albeit the
king whom you serve is in his grave, we have a king who
is bravest among the brave, and wisest among the wise."</p>

<p>"But not so great as his grandfather was," said the old
man in a conclusive tone.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, kinsman," observed Thomelin, as if
anxious to change the subject, "you have come to see
London town once more."</p>

<p>"Even so; and yet, God's truth! I might have gone to
my long home without taking so much trouble; for what
is London to me? But Arthur, hearing that the lads of
the town were to try their skill at the quintain before the
Prince of Wales, would come, reason or none."</p>

<p>"To see the display," suggested Thomelin.</p>

<p>"No, to try his own hand; and trust me, if I know anything
of such matters&mdash;and I ought&mdash;his chance is not
small."</p>

<p>"I doubt it not, kinsman&mdash;I doubt it not," said Thomelin;
"and yet I know not how he is to get a chance; for
the match is, in some measure, confined to the Londoners,
and strangers may not be admitted."</p>

<p>"Tell that not to me," replied my grandsire conclusively,
and striking the table with his clenched fist. "In
my younger days I have seen not only the sons of yeomen,
but squires' and knights' sons take part in such
diversions; and if rules were relaxed then they can be
relaxed now."</p>

<p>"Well, kinsman, we must see what can be done," said
Thomelin mildly, but somewhat doubtfully. "Meanwhile,
kinsmen, you must eat and drink, and let me show to you
what hospitality my house can afford, for the sake of Richard
Tythering, whose blood we both have in our veins."</p>

<p>"Ay; blood is thicker than water, as they say in the
North," responded my grandsire; "and trust me, Thomelin,"
he added, "my heart warms to thee for thine own
sake, and for that of thy mother; she was my first cousin."</p>

<p>"And so, Arthur, my lad," said Thomelin, turning to
me, "thou art determined to win the peacock."</p>

<p>"I know not whether I can win the peacock or not,"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
answered I, trying not to appear too vain of my skill;
"but I hope to do so; and, in any case, I'll do my best."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br />

<small>WINNING THE PEACOCK</small></h2>

<p>On the forenoon of St. John the Baptist's Day the
Londoners crowded to Smithfield to celebrate the festival
with sports and diversions; and thither I, mounting my
horse, accompanied my grandsire and Thomelin of Winchester.</p>

<p>Various were the spectacles there exhibited to please
the populace; and much was I interested with what I
beheld. At one place a glee-woman was dancing round
an unmuzzled bear, which endeavoured to seize her, while
the keeper scourged the animal to excite its fury; at
another, two men, in warlike attire, armed with brand and
buckler, were playing at the sword-dance of the Anglo-Saxons
to the sound of music, while a woman danced
round them as they combated; at a third, wrestlers were
exercising their skill in various attitudes; in one of which,
said to have been derived from the ancient Greeks, two
men, each mounted on the back of a comrade, encountered
like knights on horseback, and endeavoured to secure
victory by pulling his antagonist to the ground.</p>

<p>But the chief point of attraction was a broad space,
inclosed with railings and covered with sawdust, where
the youthful Londoners, in imitation of apprentices to
chivalry, were about to display their dexterity at the
quintain. In the courtyards of princes and feudal magnates,
the quintain was a wooden figure, made to resemble
Saladin the Great, or Bibars Bendocdar, or some other
famous Saracen, holding a shield in one hand, and
brandishing a sabre in the other. However, that erected
in Smithfield was of a humbler description. In fact,
it was very much like a turnstile with two arms, which
revolved on a spindle, on one of which was a painted
board resembling a shield, while from the other hung a
bag filled with sand.</p>

<p>Mounted on horseback, the youth, armed with a long
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
staff or blunt lance, rode at the quintain, and aimed at
the wooden shield. If he failed to strike it, all the
spectators laughed him to scorn; and if he struck it
without making an escape in time, he was exposed, not
only to the ridicule of the spectators, but to the inconvenience
of receiving a severe blow on the neck from the
sand-bag.</p>

<p>In other days, when the game of quintain was played
at Smithfield, squires and pages of the king's household
had taken part in the diversion, and added interest to the
competition. Such was no longer the case. On the present
occasion, however, the crowd flocked to witness the
contest with more than the ordinary curiosity; for it was
known that John Hammond, Mayor of London, was to
be present to award the prize; and it was rumoured that
the mayor was to do so because the Prince of Wales
intended to ride from Westminster to witness the competition.</p>

<p>As the hour when the competitors were to mount
approached, the crowd, pressing, surging, and swaying,
gathered round the inclosed space, and manifested their
interest in the coming contest by shouting the names
of their favourites. My grandsire, whose high head and
white hair commanded so much reverence that the spectators
instinctively made way for him, guided me to a
place near the lord mayor's chair, and was evincing much
anxiety to lay before that functionary my claim to compete
for the peacock, when suddenly all attention was withdrawn
from the quintain by a cry of "The prince comes&mdash;long
live the Prince of Wales!"</p>

<p>I turned as the shout rose; and as the prince, with
a train of young nobles, and squires, and pages, rode up
to the lord mayor, I gazed for the first time, and earnestly,
on the young hero, who, ere long, was to prove himself
the flower of all the chivalry of his age. At that time
Edward was not more than fifteen; but he was tall for his
years, fair to look upon, and distinguished by the manly
beauty and the intellectual air of the great Plantagenet
race. Trained to feats of strength in the tilt-yard and in
the forest, his frame was strong and vigorous, and his face
glowed with health; and, as he rode forward and uncovered
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
his head, his grace and elegance of bearing moved
the admiration of the multitude, who, with one voice, renewed
their shouts of welcome and applause.</p>

<p>And now the business of the day commenced in earnest,
and the youths of London, one after another, mounted
and rode at the quintain. The result was not gratifying
to the pride of the citizens. Indeed, fortune proved
adverse to each competitor in turn. Some altogether
missed the mark; others, after hitting the shield, failed
to retire in time to escape the blow of the sand-bag; and
several who, in both respects, were successful in two trials,
failed in the third attempt, and were consequently judged
to have forfeited all claim to the prize. The crowd
jeered; the mayor looked gloomy; and the cavaliers surrounding
the prince sneered in contempt of the city
chivalry; and many of the Londoners who had intended
to compete, discouraged by the failure of their compeers,
and fearing to tempt fortune, deemed it more discreet to
submit to obscurity than to expose themselves to ridicule,
and declined to try their skill.</p>

<p>It was at this stage of the proceedings that my grandsire,
leading my horse by the rein, drew nigh to the chair
of the lord mayor, and raised his voice.</p>

<p>"Sir," said the old man, "my grandson, who, albeit not
a Londoner, is a lad of mettle, and much given to exercises
of this kind, would fain try his skill, if he had your permission
so to do."</p>

<p>"I know not how that may be," replied the mayor,
eyeing me with interest, "seeing that the competition is
intended for the youths of the city; and if a stranger bore
off the prize, men might say that&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"That you had taken the children's bread and given
it to dogs," interrupted I, with a disdainful toss of the
head; "wherefore, my lord mayor, I will not trespass so
far on your courtesy as to ask you to relax the rules."</p>

<p>"A bold youth, on my faith," said the mayor, starting
and colouring. "However, my lord the prince shall
decide."</p>

<p>"By good St. George! my lord mayor," exclaimed the
prince, to whom my display of spirit seemed the reverse
of displeasing, "were I in your place, I should certainly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
relax the rules, in order to make the sport more worthy of
the occasion."</p>

<p>"If such be your pleasure, my lord, I will strain a point;"
and my grandsire waving his hat in the air, said&mdash;</p>

<p>"Now, Arthur, lad, ride; and bear in mind that it is
to the prince you are beholden for the privilege granted
thee."</p>

<p>I lost no time in obeying my grandsire; and, a new
candidate for the peacock having been announced, the
crowd, with renewed interest, turned again to the inclosed
space, and speculated on my chances of success. Nor,
stranger as I was, did I meet with a discouraging reception.
At first, indeed, my rustic garments evoked remarks
not highly complimentary. But a closer examination disarmed
prejudice; and my firm seat, my equestrian skill,
and something of juvenile audacity with which I handled
my blunt lance, created such an impression in my favour,
that the crowd raised an inciting cheer; and the prince,
turning to Roger, Lord De Ov, a young baron of high
rank, who rode by his side, exclaimed&mdash;</p>

<p>"A strong and handsome stripling, and one likely to
acquit himself with honour, here and elsewhere."</p>

<p>"A likely lad is Arthur," muttered Thomelin of Winchester
to my grandsire; "and, in the prince's presence,
will do credit to his bringing up."</p>

<p>Nor did mine host of the Falcon speak without prescience.
Managing my steed with perfect facility, and
displaying with my weapon a familiarity that had not
characterised the Londoners who had preceded me, I
spurred towards the quintain, struck the shield fairly, and,
ere the spindle could revolve, retreated with seeming ease
amid shouts of applause. Three times I repeated the
attempt, and on each occasion performed the feat with
such success, that the crowd shouted louder and louder
in compliment to my skill.</p>

<p>"Gallantly and dexterously done," said the prince, as,
flushed with exertion and excitement, I was brought to
the presence of the mayor, and uncovered my head.</p>

<p>I bowed low to the compliment so sincerely expressed.</p>

<p>"Thy name, youth?" said the prince.</p>

<p>"My lord," I answered, "my name is Arthur."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p>

<p>"And your surname?" continued the prince.</p>

<p>"I have no surname, my lord," replied I; "but since I
won the ram at the wrestling match at Windsor, on May
Day, men have called me Arthur Winram."</p>

<p>"Arthur Winram," said the prince, smiling. "Beshrew
me! it sounds well, and is a name that a ballad-maker
would deem worthy to put in verse. However," continued
he, "I trust you will live to make yourself a name worthy
of your skill. Meanwhile," he added, "carry with you
this comfort, that your performance to-day has been
marked and appreciated by your king's son."</p>

<p>"Ha! my lord," interposed the Lord De Ov, "this
hardly beseems you. We have already tarried here long
enough. Why waste words on this young rustic? Let us
ride;" and he laid his hand on the prince's rein.</p>

<p>"Roger De Ov, you forget yourself," said the prince
haughtily, as he was led off, after exchanging courtesies
with the mayor; while I, having watched his departure
with a flashing eye, turned to my grandsire, whose brow
was bent darkly and sternly.</p>

<p>"Grandsire," asked I, my heart swelling with rage and
mortification, "who is that man?"</p>

<p>"What matters it, Arthur, my lad?" answered my
grandsire, recovering with a start. "Be calm and be
silent, and thine hour will come. Patience is a good palfrey,
and will carry thee through many a day's journey."</p>

<p>"I could feel it in my heart to follow the miscreant, and
strike him, even in the prince's presence," said I.</p>

<p>"And ruin yourself for ever. Nay, nay. Better let us
carry the peacock you have won to the Falcon, and drink
a cup with Thomelin, my cousin, ere we mount and ride
homeward."</p>

<p>"Ay," said Thomelin; "let us to the Falcon."</p>

<p>And we went.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br />

<small>AT MY GRANDSIRE'S HOMESTEAD</small></h2>


<p>My grandsire's homestead, as I have already intimated,
stood on the outskirts of the royal forest of Windsor. It
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
was a humble enough tenement, but not without its comforts,
and it occupied a fair spot of ground, shadowed by
ancient trees, and surrounded by green sward stretching
away into meadows by the river side, where flowers
grew and kine grazed, and young maidens sat tending
their fathers' flocks and singing the ballads of their
country.</p>

<p>Nobody could deny that the place was fair to look upon
and pleasant to dwell in; and my grandsire, save when in
his gloomy moods, was in the habit, not only of saying
that such was the case, but of expressing contentment
with his lot. In this respect I was certainly far from sharing
his sentiments; and every day I experienced a stronger
desire to escape from an obscurity which was ill suited to
my aspiring nature.</p>

<p>My existence was surrounded with a mystery which I in
vain endeavoured to penetrate. Of my father I had no
recollection, and little knowledge. I was given to understand
that he ceased to live when I was an infant in the
cradle, and that, during the troubles which distracted
England at the opening of King Edward's reign, he
perished under cruel, and somewhat ignominious, circumstances.
But I suspected much more than had ever been
told me. In fact, from vague hints and allusions, I
gathered sufficient to inspire me with the conviction that
his tragic fate, though its immediate cause was a political
conspiracy, was, in reality, the result of enmity engendered
by a political family feud. That my mother, a sad, religious,
and broken-hearted woman, showed much anxiety to
keep me in ignorance of the facts was evident; and I was
given to understand that my safety&mdash;even my life&mdash;depended
on my name and origin remaining a profound
secret.</p>

<p>I have, however, hinted that my imagination was lively;
and, as it was frequently at work on the subject, I was
soon led by it to the conclusion that I was of different
flesh and blood from those among whom my lot had been
cast; that my father was, at least, a man of knightly rank;
and that I was, probably, the heir of a pedigree which a
Montacute or a Merley might have envied. My pride,
stimulated by my imagination, became daily higher; and,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>
buoyed up with some knowledge of grammar and letters
acquired from the tuition of a neighbouring priest, I early
cherished ideas far above my station, and dreamt of
chances and possibilities that might raise my fortunes to
a level with my aspirations.</p>

<p>Either by accident or design, my grandsire fed my
ambition by the kind of conversation in which he indulged,
on winter evenings, by the blazing fire of wood that
warmed our little hall. Plain yeoman as the old man
seemed, he had been a good deal in the world; and he
knew much of its ways. In youth he had, as a warrior,
served King Edward&mdash;the first of the name&mdash;and he
delighted to tell of the battles and the sieges to which he
had ridden under the banner of that mighty monarch.
Fired by the countless stories of war and victory, I conceived
an irresistible desire to excel in arms; and, ere
reaching my fourteenth year, I began to despise the sports
and athletic exercises of the young peasants and villagers
who deemed themselves my equals, and to endeavour, as
well as I could, to acquire accomplishments which
qualified youths of gentle blood for knighthood and the
honours of chivalry.</p>

<p>My success was greater than might have been anticipated,
under the circumstances. Excluded from the
training bestowed in feudal castles on the sons of nobles
and knights, my disadvantages were obvious. But patience
and perseverance always will do much; and I set myself
deliberately to acquire skill and dexterity in the use of the
sword, and riding at the ring and the quintain; and, with
instructions from my grandsire, I soon found my patience
and perseverance rewarded. At the exercise of quintain,
especially, I was so perfect a performer, in my own
opinion, that I was all eagerness for an opportunity of
proving my superiority. When, therefore, I learned that,
on the day of St. John the Baptist, the Londoners of my
own age, or thereabouts, were to compete for the peacock,
in the presence of the Prince of Wales, I insisted
on my grandsire conducting me to the capital, that I
might display my proficiency in public, and that I might
advance my fortune by exhibiting, under the eye of England's
heir, the skill and dexterity which I had acquired by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
constant exercise among the trees that shadowed our quiet
grange.</p>

<p>Naturally enough, the result was flattering to my juvenile
vanity; and the events of the day on which I won the
peacock made a strong impression on my mind. It opened
up to me views of life with which I was previously quite
unacquainted, and quickened my desire to begin my career
in earnest. My life of obscurity became more and more
distasteful. Even the lot of forest outlaws seemed infinitely
preferable to mine; and while I essayed to look
cheerful as I drove out the cows to the meadows, and
talked to the hinds as they gathered the harvest into the
barns, I was bitterly cursing the Lord De Ov for cutting
short my interview with the prince, and, in melancholy
mood, tasking my ingenuity to discover some way of again
bringing myself under his notice.</p>

<p>At this season, Thomelin of Winchester happened to
visit our homestead, and was welcomed with the hospitality
due to a friend and kinsman.</p>

<p>"And what news bringest thou, Thomelin?" asked my
grandsire.</p>

<p>"None likely to cheer thy heart," answered the host of
the Falcon. "Thou knowest the Vipseys, in Yorkshire?"</p>

<p>"Ay do I," said my grandsire; "they are brooks that
rise every other year out of springs, and rush rapidly to the
sea near the promontory called Flamborough."</p>

<p>"And thou knowest," continued Thomelin, "that their
drying up is deemed a good sign, and that their running is
held to be a sure presage of famine or pestilence?"</p>

<p>"I have so heard in other days," said my grandsire contemptuously;
"but then, again, I have known them run,
and better run, and neither plague nor famine come in
consequence."</p>

<p>"Anyhow," said Thomelin, not caring to dispute the
point, "we are almost certain to have more war."</p>

<p>"More war?" exclaimed my grandsire.</p>

<p>"By my faith," said Thomelin, "little doubt can there
be as to that. Think how matters now stand. King
Edward makes a peace with Philip of Valois, and, not
just in the best humour, comes home; and no sooner is
his back turned than Philip causes twelve knights of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
Brittany&mdash;all our king's friends and allies&mdash;to be arrested,
without rhyme or reason, and beheaded without trial."</p>

<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed my grandsire.</p>

<p>"Well," continued Thomelin, "all the kinsmen of the
murdered men have taken up arms; and Godfrey Harcourt,
one of the great lords of Normandy, has come to
England, and got a promise from King Edward to avenge
them. Everybody who knows aught of King Edward
knows what that means."</p>

<p>"Doubtless," said my grandsire, "it means such a war
as has not been seen in thy time."</p>

<p>"And," added Thomelin, "when we have more war,
trust me, we will have more taxes, and already they are
hard enough to bear. And yet, if King Edward would
just make up his mind, instead of being longer fooled by
foreigners, as he has been, to take an English army to the
Continent, I see not why war should not turn out both to
the honour and profit of the nation."</p>

<p>"I hold with you, kinsman," said I, sliding into the
conversation; "and beshrew me if aught would be more
to my mind than to cross the narrow seas, to fight the
braggart Frenchmen."</p>

<p>"You would fain see something of war, then, Arthur?"
observed Thomelin, startled at my enthusiasm.</p>

<p>"Yes," replied I, in a tone of decision. "Life, at the
longest, is but short; and, to me, every day seems wasted
that I pass in obscurity."</p>

<p>It was while my mind was wholly bent on this subject&mdash;while
I was brooding over the past, and panting to
penetrate the future&mdash;that Fortune, as if in compassion,
threw in my way a great opportunity, and enabled me,
under favourable auspices, to commence the arduous
enterprise of climbing the ladder of life.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br />

<small>JACK FLETCHER</small></h2>


<p>It was a warm day in the month of September&mdash;one of
those autumnal days when the sun still shines in all its
vigour&mdash;and my grandsire, with me as his companion,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
was leaning on his staff, strolling about in the neighbourhood
of his homestead, and grumbling somewhat savagely
at the rapacity of the royal purveyors, by whom we had
recently, to our consternation and our cost, been visited;
when we were suddenly roused by the tramp of a horse's
hoofs, and, looking round, found ourselves face to face
with a cavalier of thirty-five whose dress and demeanour
at once proclaimed him a man of high rank.</p>

<p>I confess, indeed, that I was lost in admiration, and
stood silent with surprise. The stranger was by far the
most striking personage I had ever seen, and, in point of
appearance, even rivalled the imaginary heroes of my
boyish day-dreams. He was about six feet in height, and
in the flower of manhood, with a figure admirably proportioned,
long-drawn features, a thoughtful brow, a noble
air, and an eye bright with valour and intelligence. His
aspect indicated more than regal pride, modified, however,
by frankness of spirit; and as he approached, with a hawk
on his wrist, a bugle at his girdle, and two hounds running
at his horse's feet, his bearing was easy as well as dignified,
and he accosted my grandsire with the tone of one who
had at once the right to command and the privilege to be
familiar.</p>

<p>"Good-day, friend," said he, reining in his steed.</p>

<p>"Sir, good-day," replied my grandsire briefly, and with
an indifference in accent and manner to which it was
evident the other was unaccustomed.</p>

<p>"I have lost my way in the forest," remarked the
cavalier, after a pause, during which he appeared to
reflect; "and yet methinks I should not consider that
a misfortune, since it has conducted me to so pleasant a
spot."</p>

<p>"Yes," replied my grandsire, "I thank God that my
lines have fallen in a pleasant place."</p>

<p>"And your lot is, therefore, to be envied by men who
dwell in king's palaces."</p>

<p>"Mayhap it might," said my grandsire; "but that
the exactions of the king's men are so unjust and oppressive."</p>

<p>"Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as if in a tone of
inquiry.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p>

<p>"Yes," continued my grandsire resolutely, "never in
my time has there been anything to compare to it, albeit
this is the fourth reign in which I have lived. Did King
Edward but know of the tyranny and rapacity exercised
in his name, and that his subjects live in dread of the
purveyor's horn, he would take such order that the
commons should no longer be so outrageously plundered."</p>

<p>"Doubtless," replied the cavalier, "the king would do
what is right and lawful."</p>

<p>"I would that I had some talk with him," said my
grandsire. "I could tell him many things that he is little
likely to hear from knight or noble."</p>

<p>"Expound your grievances to me," said the cavalier;
"I am not altogether without influence at the king's
court, and I may even have power to set matters right."</p>

<p>"Enter my house, then, if you deem me not unworthy
of such an honour," said my grandsire, as we reached the
door.</p>

<p>"Right gladly," replied the stranger, dismounting;
and, resigning his steed to my care, he followed my
grandsire.</p>

<p>Evidently with curiosity, the cavalier, on entering the
little hall, examined several pieces of armour and weapons
that had been in fashion late in the thirteenth century,
especially a huge iron club that was suspended on the
wall. But when, having stabled the stranger's steed, I
appeared in the hall, I found him seated at the board
with my grandsire, partaking of such good cheer as the
tenement afforded, and quaffing horns of ale, with apparent
relish. Ere the meal was at an end my grandsire
had uttered all his complaints against the royal purveyors,
and was evidently delighted with his guest; and, as his
heart opened, he did not fail to express his satisfaction.</p>

<p>"Courtier," exclaimed the old man, almost with
enthusiasm, "I begin to believe that thou art an honest
fellow."</p>

<p>"I would fain hope, my friend," replied the stranger,
"that men who know me best would so report me."</p>

<p>"I believe it," said my grandsire; "and," added he
more soberly, "I should know men when I see them; for
in my life I have held discourse with men of all ranks,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
and with some whose names will live for ever in chronicle
and song."</p>

<p>"Indeed?" quoth the cavalier, struck by a remark
which gave him a higher idea of his new acquaintance.
"I perceive, then, that you have not passed your life in
this quiet homestead."</p>

<p>My grandsire laughed, as if in scorn of the thought.</p>

<p>"No," replied he, recovering his serenity, "not at this
homestead did I pass my early years, but where banners
were flying, and bridles ringing, and swords flashing. My
father, who was well known in his day as the Farrier of
the Strand, fought with his iron club, which hangs on my
wall, for the king at Evesham, under the banner of Lord
Merley; and when my father departed this life, I was
taken to the North, by the Lord Merley, and there trained
to arms. I then went into the service of the good King
Edward, and by him was much trusted. I was with the
king when he was in danger at Ghent; I was with him
when he conquered at Falkirk; I was with him when he
died at Burgh-on-the-Sands."</p>

<p>"And how came your services to pass unrewarded and
unrecognized?"</p>

<p>"Listen, courtier, and learn. When the old king was
laid in his grave, I served his son as I had served himself;
and how I fought at Burton and at Borough Bridge it
would ill become my tongue to tell. But this cannot
be gainsaid; it was my hand that struck down the rebel
Clifford; and it was my hand that seized the rebel
Lancaster. However, evil days came on apace; fate
went against my king; and leal service could avail
naught. At length, when all was over, and when, at
Berkeley Castle, he was cruelly murdered, I crept hither
to pass my days in peace; and I have since lived on,
persuading myself that I cannot be altogether useless on
earth, since it is God's pleasure that I survive the evil
times I have seen."</p>

<p>"Evil days they were," said the cavalier, as he rose and
paced the floor, evidently much agitated by memories
which my grandsire's story had recalled.</p>

<p>I gazed with some surprise on the effect which had
been produced; and my grandsire was in such perplexity,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>
that he seemed quite relieved when the cavalier turned
towards me and eyed me keenly.</p>

<p>"And this," said he, "is your grandson?"</p>

<p>"Yes," answered the old man; "my grandson, Arthur,
whom I have taught to serve God and honour the king,
and whom it lately pleased my lord the prince to commend,
at Smithfield, for his brave looks and gallant
bearing."</p>

<p>"A goodly youth, on my faith," said the cavalier; "and
one who it seems to me, might acquit himself with honour
in a higher sphere."</p>

<p>"His father was not of our rank," replied my grandsire.
"But that is a long story, which it would pain
me to tell, and you and him to hear."</p>

<p>"Another time, mayhap, I may hear it," said the
cavalier, not without exhibiting some interest in what my
grandsire had told him; "meanwhile," continued he, "it
is time for me to ride towards Windsor, which I will do,
if you will put me in the way. But, my friend," added
he kindly, "fail not to visit me at the castle, and bring
thither your grandson, and I will so requite your hospitality
as to convince you that I am no churl."</p>

<p>"Come to Windsor," exclaimed my grandsire, "to be
driven from the gate like a mangy cur! No, courtier;
men shall never have it in their power to say that such
was my fate."</p>

<p>"Fear not such a repulse," said the stranger. "Ask
for me; and, if you so do, trust me you will be admitted
with all courtesy."</p>

<p>"And, pray thee, by what name are you known?"
added my grandsire.</p>

<p>The cavalier looked puzzled, but took from his hand a
ring.</p>

<p>"Ask for Jack Fletcher," he said; "and if that suffices
not," added he, presenting the ring, "show this, and,
at the sight of it, gates and doors will open to admit
you."</p>

<p>My grandsire bowed low as he received the ring; and
the stranger rising to depart, took leave of me kindly,
sallied forth, mounted his horse, and with my grandsire
showing the way through the forest, and talking of deer
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
and wild cattle, rode towards Windsor, as he had come,
with his hawk on his wrist, his bugle at his girdle, and his
hounds running at his side.</p>

<p>"Now," soliloquised I, as I watched his departure, "I
will wager that the visit of this stranger is to exercise
some important influence on my destiny."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br />

<small>WAR WITH FRANCE</small></h2>


<p>At the time when the cavalier who called himself Jack
Fletcher lost his way in Windsor Forest, and accepted
such hospitality as my grandsire's tenement could afford,
King Edward, as Thomelin of Winchester had predicted,
was preparing to renew that war which made Englishmen
for a time almost masters of France. In order to render
my narrative the more intelligible, it is necessary to refer
to the origin of that war, to the events by which it had
been distinguished, and to the stage at which it had
arrived.</p>

<p>It was on the 1st of February, 1328&mdash;the year in the
course of which I drew my first breath&mdash;that Charles,
King of France, the youngest of the three sons of Philip
the Fair, and brother of Isabel, wife of our second
Edward, died without male heirs. For the vacant throne&mdash;from
which, centuries earlier, Hugh Capet pushed the
descendant of Charlemagne, and to which subsequently
St. Louis gave dignity&mdash;several candidates appeared, the
chief of whom were Philip of Valois and Edward of England.
Philip, relying on the fact that the Salic law
excluded females from reigning, claimed the crown of
France as heir male of the old king. Edward, without
denying the validity of the Salic law, pleaded that, so far
as succession was concerned, it did not bar the sons of a
king's daughter. The Parliament of Paris, however, was
appealed to; and, being much under the influence of
Robert, Lord of Artois, who was Philip's brother-in-law,
the Parliament decided in favour of Philip; and Edward,
then young and governed by his mother, Queen Isabel,
and Roger de Mortimer, so far bent his pride as to visit
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
France, and do homage at Amiens for Guienne and
Ponthieu. But he privately protested beforehand against
the homage he was about to perform; and perhaps he
felt little regret when Philip's interference in Scottish
affairs gave him a fair excuse for a rupture, and for not
only renewing his claim, but submitting it to the arbitrament
of the sword.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Philip of Valois had involved himself in a
scandalous quarrel with Robert, Lord of Artois, to whom
he owed his crown; and Robert, threatened with vengeance
and destruction, reached England, disguised as a
merchant, and exerted all his eloquence to rouse Edward's
ambition. Circumstances favoured his exertions in this
respect. Enraged at his exclusion from a throne which
he believed to be his by hereditary right, and exasperated
at the aid given by Philip to the Scots, Edward lent a
willing ear to Robert's suggestions; and, resolving to
avail himself of the state of affairs on the Continent,
which was most favourable to his projects, he prepared
without delay to put his fortune to the test.</p>

<p>At that time, in fact, the Flemings were up in arms.
The Count of Flanders, a faithful ally of Philip of Valois,
was guilty of tyrannies which drove his subjects to revolt;
and Jacob von Arteveldt, a brewer, who ruled in Ghent,
and exercised an enormous influence all over Flanders,
formed a great league against Philip and the Count, and
invoked Edward's aid. Not unwilling to interfere, the
King of England entered into an alliance with the
Emperor of Germany; and sailing from the Orwell, in
July, 1338, he landed in Flanders to pursue his schemes
of conquest.</p>

<p>Taking up his residence at Antwerp, Edward linked
himself in close friendship with the Flemings, and prepared
for active operations; and Philip, supported by
John, the blind King of Bohemia, by the Spaniards, and
the Genoese, prepared to defend the dominions which he
called his own. For a year little or nothing was done.
But in November, 1339, the English began the war by
wasting Cambresis; and about the middle of October,
Philip of Valois advanced with a mighty army to give the
invaders battle. No battle, however, took place. The
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
French retreated without striking a blow; and Edward,
after having assumed the title and arms of the kings of
France, returned to England to make arrangements for
pursuing the prize on which his heart was set.</p>

<p>By this time the sympathies of the English nation were
enlisted in the king's struggle. No sooner, indeed, had
the war begun than Philip of Valois ordered his admirals
to make a descent on England; and these master corsairs,
approaching the coast with a fleet manned with Normans,
Picards, and Spaniards, plundered Southampton,
Sandwich, Winchelsea, Rye, Dover, and Portsmouth.
Everywhere they were guilty of fearful violence; and
when Edward returned to England, he was surrounded
by multitudes, complaining loudly of the outrages that
had been committed in his absence.</p>

<p>"O king!" cried the populace, "our towns have been
burned, our houses pillaged, our young men slain, and our
maidens deflowered."</p>

<p>"Be patient," replied Edward, "and rest assured that
my turn is coming, and that I will not only protect you
from your enemies, but make them pay dearly for all they
have done."</p>

<p>Faithful to his promise, the king fitted out fleets to
defend the coast, and prepared a great armament at
Ipswich, with which to return to the Continent. It was
the summer of 1340, and, every preparation having been
made, Edward sailed from the Orwell; and on Saturday,
the 24th of June, approached the coast of Flanders. As
there were rumours of mighty preparations to prevent a
landing, a sharp look-out was kept from the admiral's
ship, and suddenly the sailors, who were aloft, shouted
that they saw masts.</p>

<p>"Who will they turn out to be?" asked Edward.</p>

<p>"Doubtless," was the answer, "this is the fleet kept at
sea by the French, under the admirals who have done
England so much harm."</p>

<p>"Well," said the king, "I have, for a long time, wished
to meet these men; and now, please God and St. George,
we will fight with them."</p>

<p>As the king spoke, all doubts were removed. Before
him lay a fleet of a hundred and twenty vessels, under
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
the command of admirals who had peremptory orders not
to allow him to set foot on continental soil.</p>

<p>Every man on board the English ships was now on the
alert, and a great naval battle began, and speedily assumed
an aspect of excessive fury. Being able and determined
men, the French admirals made every exertion, and,
having the advantage of numbers, they pressed hard on
their foes. But, in spite of the great odds against them,
the English fought dauntlessly; and, after the conflict
had raged for several hours, the French lost heart and
hope, and leaped by hundreds into the sea. By seven
o'clock in the evening the victory was complete, and
Edward, landing next morning, set off on foot, with his
knights, on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Ardembourg,
and afterwards rode to Ghent to visit Queen Philippa,
who, in that city, had just given birth to her son, John
of Gaunt.</p>

<p>While Edward was destroying the French fleet at Sluys,
Philip of Valois was making war on Edward's brother-in-law,
the Count of Hainault. It was of importance that
he should at once hear the news; but he was a man of
such violent temper that none of his knights had the
courage to tell what had happened. At length the court
jester undertook the delicate duty of informing his master
of the loss he had sustained.</p>

<p>"Cowardly English!" said the jester, with bitter emphasis.</p>

<p>"What do you say?" asked Philip.</p>

<p>"Cowardly English!" repeated the jester. "Dastardly
English! False-hearted English!"</p>

<p>"Why do you call them so?" asked Philip.</p>

<p>"Because," answered the jester, "they durst not leap
out of their ships as our men did when they fought at
Sluys."</p>

<p>Philip beginning to understand, uttered an exclamation
of pain; and, on learning all, he flew into a violent
passion, retreated towards Arras, broke up his army, and
employed the mediation of the Countess of Hainault, who
was his sister, and mother of the Queen of England.
Edward, eager for a meeting, proposed to decide their
dispute by a single combat; but the Frenchman declined
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
on the ground that the challenge was addressed to Philip
of Valois, not to the King of France, and could not,
therefore, be intended for him. After some negotiation,
a peace was brought about by the Countess of Hainault's
mediation, and Edward, who was by this time reduced to
extreme poverty, returned to England to brood over the
failure of his great schemes.</p>

<p>It was now the spring of 1340, and a renewal of the
war seemed somewhat improbable. But, ere long, an
event occurred in Brittany which produced unexpected
consequences. In 1341, the Duke of Brittany died without
issue, and two candidates appeared to claim his
Duchy. One of these was Charles of Blois, who had
espoused the duke's niece, and claimed Brittany in her
right; the other was the duke's brother, John, Count of
Montfort, who claimed as heir male. Philip of Valois,
who now forgot the Salic law, and only remembered that
Charles of Blois was his own nephew, decided in Charles's
favour; and Montfort, having implored the support of
the English king, seized upon the strongholds in the
duchy. Unfortunately, the earl was taken prisoner early
in the war; but his countess, Joan, the Fleming, bravely
maintained the struggle, and, aided by an English force
under Sir Walter Manny, made herself famous by her
defence of Hennebon.</p>

<p>While contending with countless difficulties, the Countess
of Montfort came to England to represent her case to the
English king; and Edward, who was deeply interested in
what was occurring on the Continent, sent Robert, Lord
of Artois, with an army to aid her efforts. The expedition
was not fortunate. Attacked suddenly at Vannes, and
taken by surprise, Artois received wounds of which he
soon died; and Edward, vowing to avenge him, embarked
to conduct the war in person.</p>

<p>It was late in 1343 when the King of England landed
in Brittany, and took the field with the hope of conquering.
But fortune proved so adverse that nothing
but his martial skill saved him from humiliation. While
before Vannes he found himself threatened by the heir of
France and Charles of Blois, at the head of a French army
four times more numerous than that under his banner;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
and his doom looked dark. However, the French, finding
that he had taken up a very strong position, and not particularly
eager to try conclusions with the conqueror of
Halidon and Sluys, did not venture on an attack; and,
after the hostile armies had lain for some time facing
each other, two cardinals, sent by the pope, appeared in
the character of peacemakers.</p>

<p>Edward had scarcely a choice. He was surrounded by
enemies, and almost destitute of provisions; and the
coasts were so vigilantly guarded by the fleets of Spain,
that he despaired of receiving supplies from England.
His men were, in consequence, suffering much. At first,
however, he would not consent to peace; but the two
cardinals, having made great exertions, at length succeeded
in bringing the belligerents to reason, and ambassadors
on both sides were nominated to confer in the
Priory of the Magdalen at Malestroit. Eventually they
came to terms; and, a truce for three years having been
sworn to, Edward embarked for England about the close
of February, 1344, and landed at Weymouth, probably
with the idea that he had seen the last of the Continent,
and had more than enough of continental war.</p>

<p>If so, he was much mistaken. Scarcely, in fact, was
Edward's back turned when Philip of Valois startled
Christendom with a display of the perfidy and cruelty
which characterised his life. At a tournament, to which
the Bretons went without misgiving, twelve lords, who
had fought for the cause of Montfort, were arrested. No
charge was brought against them; nor were they allowed
the benefit of a trial. Without having assigned a cause,
or given the opportunity of a defence, Philip caused them
to be conducted to the scaffold and beheaded.</p>

<p>This tragic event caused the utmost horror. The
friends and kinsmen of the murdered men took up arms,
and went in a body to the Montfort standard; and
Godfrey Harcourt, a great baron of Normandy, finding
himself in danger of sharing their fate, escaped to England,
and obtained from Edward a vow to avenge the
lawless execution of his allies.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br />

<small>WINDSOR CASTLE</small></h2>


<p>My grandsire, much to my surprise, and much to my
disappointment, showed no inclination whatever to avail
himself of the cavalier's invitation, or to put the hospitality
of Windsor Castle to the test. At first, indeed, he was
very enthusiastic about the visit of a guest so brilliant,
and pleased to make comparisons between him and the
high-bred personages whom he had seen in his earlier
days. But no sooner did a week pass than all this
enthusiasm began to die away, and the aged worthy
seemed to give up all idea of pursuing the acquaintance
he had accidentally formed, and evinced considerable and
increasing uneasiness about possession of the ring which
had been left as the pledge of welcome and good cheer.
In vain I endeavoured to persuade him to seek out the
stranger; he only replied that Jack Fletcher was, doubtless,
a very merry companion, who doubtless also, loved
an adventure, and would, on occasion, say more in an
hour than he would stand to in a year.</p>

<p>"But the ring," urged I.</p>

<p>"Ay," exclaimed my grandsire, shaking his head in
evident perplexity. "That is the rub; what is to be done
with the ring I know not."</p>

<p>"I will tell you," suggested I, perceiving my advantage,
and resolved to follow it up. "Intrust me with the ring,
and I will ride to Windsor, seek out the courtier, and
place it in his hands."</p>

<p>My grandsire did not much approve of my plan; and
my mother, on hearing of my proposal, protested loudly
against it. But I had a will of my own, and an idea,
which haunted me night and day, that the stranger's visit
was, in some way, linked with my destiny; and believing,
at all events, that he could aid me to emerge from
obscurity, I held to my intention with all the tenacity and
determination of my nature. Nothing daunted by the
opposition of my grandsire and the alarm of my mother,
I never rested till I obtained their sanction to what I, at
that age, deemed a grand enterprise; and having, at
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
length, by perseverance, removed all obstacles, I prepared
for my journey.</p>

<p>Accordingly, one morning in October, I arrayed myself
so as to appear to the best advantage, mounted my black
steed, and rode through the forest, with a feeling that I
was on the road to fortune. I confess, however, that, as
I neared the town of Windsor, my confidence in myself
gradually weakened; and, as I reflected how little qualified
I was by experience and knowledge of life to carry the
project of boldly pushing my fortune to a successful termination,
I not only repented of having ventured on such
an errand, but almost made up my mind to turn rein, ride
back to my grandsire's homestead, abandon once and for
ever all ambitious ideas, and live, with independence, if
not content, tending the oxen, and tilling the soil.</p>

<p>It happened, however, that my imagination, which, in
reality, had led me to undertake this journey to Windsor,
did not altogether desert me in the middle. In the midst
of my doubts, I conjured up, for the hundredth time, a
brilliant future; and feeling, as if by instinct, that my
fortunes were hanging on the decision of the moment, I
summoned pride to my aid, and pursued my way. My
shyness, natural to a youth reared in the solitude of a
grange, was rather inconvenient at the moment; but I
have hinted that I was not without courage. I will go
further, and say that I was not without audacity; and it
was with the fixed purpose of doing, daring, and risking
all, that I spurred into the little town of Windsor, rode
up the ascent that leads to the castle, and, reining in at
the massive gate, cast a look of awe at the towers, and
turrets, and fortifications of the Norman stronghold, from
which the standard of England floated in the autumn
breeze.</p>

<p>The warder appeared, as in duty bound, and demanded
on what errand I came, and looked calmly on as I
answered that I wished to be admitted to the presence of
a cavalier who called himself "Jack Fletcher."</p>

<p>"Jack Fletcher?" he repeated, opening his eyes, and
regarding me with a glance which seemed to intimate that
he recognised the name, but was not quite certain whether
or not to acknowledge that he did.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p>

<p>"I come at the invitation of the cavalier I have
named," said I, endeavouring to appear as courageous as
possible; "and, to remove any doubts, I bring a token,
which I was given to understand would secure me the
privilege of being admitted to his presence."</p>

<p>I produced the ring; the warder looked at it, and bent
his head.</p>

<p>"All right," said he; "enter, and presently you will be
conducted to him you seek."</p>

<p>As the warder spoke, the gate opened; and, at a signal
from him, I rode into the courtyard, where squires and
knights, gaily dressed, were loitering about, and talking of
adventures in love and war, and feats of arms. I remarked,
with surprise, that several of them had one eye
bound up with silk; and I afterwards learned that they had
taken a solemn vow, in presence of the ladies and the
peacock, never again to see with both eyes till they had
performed certain deeds in arms against the French.</p>

<p>While I, having dismounted, stood looking with a feeling
of that wonder produced by novelty on this gay scene,
and somewhat astonished at my eccentricity in venturing
into such a place, a young man of noble aspect and bearing
approached and addressed me.</p>

<p>"Youth," said he with a smile, "you have come hither
to see Jack Fletcher."</p>

<p>I bowed with great respect; for the air and appearance
of the young noble impressed me with a sense of his
importance; and I showed the ring, the influence of
which on the warder I had carefully noted.</p>

<p>"Follow me, then," said he, smiling, "and I will lead
you to his presence; though, in truth, it was an old man
and not a youth for whom I expected to do that office."</p>

<p>I was by this time much too agitated to explain or reply;
and I followed my guide like one in a dream, as he passed
through passages and galleries. At length he halted at a
door, and, drawing aside a curtain, spoke some words,
which to me sounded like an order for execution. Mechanically,
however, I entered, and, with my heart beating, and
my brain whirling, and all my courage, all my audacity
vanished, found myself face to face with the cavalier whose
figure had, for weeks, been present to my imagination, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
whose words had, for weeks, echoed in my ear. He wore a
black velvet jacket, and a hat of beaver, which became him
much; and, as he turned his eye upon me, the truth as to
who he was flashed, for the first time, so vividly and rapidly
on my mind, that I stood stock-still, and almost felt as if
I should have sunk to the floor.</p>

<p>My confusion and embarrassment, however, were so
evident, that they pleaded for me more eloquently than
words could have done; and he appeared all anxiety to
put me at my ease.</p>

<p>"Brave youth," said he, "be not alarmed at finding
yourself in a strange place; but make yourself as easy as
if you were in your grandsire's grange. Why came he not
with you, as he promised?"</p>

<p>"My lord," answered I, bending my knee, and trying
to take courage, "my grandsire, on reflection, deemed it
prudent not to intrude on the strength of the invitation
which you gave in your courtesy; but intrusted me with
the ring to restore to you, which I now do;" and, with
great respect, I suited the action to the word.</p>

<p>I thought that a shade of disappointment passed over
his countenance as I spoke; and I shrewdly guessed that
it had been his wish to question my grandsire further on
the tragic events of the late reign, on which their conversation
had formerly turned, and which at the time had
produced so strong an effect.</p>

<p>"Well," said he, after a pause, "men who have seen
many years must be permitted to do as seems best in their
own eyes; and, moreover, methinks we ought not to murmur
too loudly at his absence, since he has sent you in his
stead; and now that we have you here, youth," he added,
with a smile, "you shall not leave us at your own pleasure.
You, as I gathered, wished to be a warrior. Will you choose
between my service and that of the Prince of Wales?"</p>

<p>"My lord," I replied, more and more embarrassed. "I
fear me I am little qualified, by breeding or accomplishments,
to serve either; and, even if it happened to be
otherwise with me, I could not venture to choose."</p>

<p>"Ah," said he, with charming frankness, "I see how
it is. The prince is of your own age, and that is a
circumstance which always tends to attract, especially in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
early youth. So let us consider the question settled, and
I will at once have you installed as one of his pages."</p>

<p>So saying, and while I stared in amazement at the result
of my journey to Windsor, he rose, took me by the arm,
and talking of my grandsire as he went, conducted me to
the tennis-court, where the prince and his companions
were amusing themselves at play.</p>

<p>My guide, who every moment acquired additional
importance in my eyes, stopped as we entered, and eyed
the prince with a glance of high pride.</p>

<p>"I bring you," said he, "a youth of strength and
courage, whom you will pleasure me by admitting among
your pages; and I recommend him to your favour as the
grandson of a man who, in his day and generation, served
your progenitors faithfully and well."</p>

<p>"The hero of the quintain match at Smithfield!"
exclaimed the prince. "My lord," he continued, "he is
welcome for his grandsire's sake and his own."</p>

<p>"My lord," said I to the prince, "I pray you to pardon
my seeming boldness. Had I known all I should not
have dreamt of presenting myself at Windsor."</p>

<p>"Ah!" exclaimed the prince, with great good-humour;
"you would not have come on Jack Fletcher's invitation
had you known that Jack Fletcher was the king. But in
that case I might have found you out; for I want striplings
of courage and likelihood around me; and I have thought
of you as such ever since the day when you won the
peacock."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br />

<small>EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE</small></h2>


<p>To enable my readers to form some idea of the position
which was occupied by the Prince of Wales at the time
when I, Arthur Winram&mdash;for by this surname I was now
known&mdash;was admitted to the castle of Windsor, and taken
into his service as page, I must go back a few years to
relate such particulars as to his birth and boyhood as may
convey a notion of the advantages he had inherited and
the training he had received.</p>

<p>It was at York, and in the minster of that capital of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
the North, that, one Sunday in January, 1328, Edward
the king, then sixteen, espoused Philippa, one of the four
daughters whom William, Count of Hainault, surnamed
the Good, had by his wife Joan, who was a princess of the
line of Capet, and sister of Philip of Valois, to whom
the Parliament of France adjudged the crown which St.
Louis had worn. The marriage, being brought about by
the king's mother, Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, was
not at first regarded with favour in England. In fact,
people expressed much discontent with the business. But
for once the instincts of the English deceived them. It
was a love match after all; and ere long the young queen
displayed so much excellence and so many amiable qualities,
that she became more popular than any Queen of
England had ever been, with the exception, it must be
admitted, of Eleanor of Castile.</p>

<p>Nothing, probably, contributed more to the change of
sentiment on the part of the English than the birth of the
son destined to so glorious a career and so melancholy an
end. At Woodstock&mdash;a sylvan palace associated with the
memories of the Norman and early Plantagenet kings,
and with the touching romance of Rosamond Clifford&mdash;Edward,
Prince of Wales, first saw the light. It was
ten o'clock on the morning of Friday, the 15th of June,
1330, when he was ushered into existence, and excited the
admiration of the queen's household by his magnificent
appearance.</p>

<p>No time was lost in sending a messenger to inform the
king that a son had been born to him, and an heir to the
house of Plantagenet; and on hearing the welcome news,
and that the prince, just cradled at Woodstock, was a
marvellously fine infant, and likely one day to be a most
handsome man, the king gave a right royal reward to
Thomas Prior, who had the good luck to carry the
message.</p>

<p>Intelligence of the prince's birth proved hardly less
welcome to the nation than to the king. The event was
talked of with enthusiasm in every town and hamlet; and
people told wonderful stories of the royal infant's remarkable
size and beauty, the fineness of his limbs, and his
state cradle, painted with designs from the Evangelists.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
Everywhere the young mother and her son were the
subjects of conversation, and portraits of them, at the
period, began to form favourite models for the Virgin and
Child.</p>

<p>The king was, doubtless, well pleased at the interest
that was manifested; and, in order that the public might
participate in the rejoicings that followed the birth of
England's heir, he proclaimed his intention of holding a
grand tournament in London. Accordingly, the lists were
erected in Cheapside, and a gay company of knights and
ladies assembled on the occasion.</p>

<p>The ceremony, however, was interrupted by an accident
that caused some unpleasantness. At the upper end of
the street a gallery had been erected for the accommodation
of the queen and her ladies; and, while the tilting
was taking place, the scaffolding on which the gallery was
reared gave way, and the structure fell to the ground.
Great was the fright, loud the screaming, and alarming
the confusion. Luckily enough, nothing fatal had occurred;
but the king, much enraged, threatened to punish
the workmen. Philippa, however, interceded in their behalf;
and Edward, pacified by her mediation, and soothed
by her earnest entreaties, consented to pardon their carelessness.</p>

<p>While the tournament was held in Cheapside in honour
of his birth, the prince was passing his childhood under
the charge of women. Joan of Oxford was his nurse;
Matilda Plumpton was rocker of his cradle; and the Lady
St. Omer, wife of a brave knight, was his governess. But
no sooner was he old enough for his book than he was
intrusted to the charge of Walter Burley, to be instructed
as became the heir of a family, one of whose chiefs had
given it as his opinion that "a king without learning was
a crowned ass."</p>

<p>I ought to mention that Walter Burley had been bred
at Merton College, Oxford, and that he was a celebrated
doctor of divinity. Having written divers treatises on
natural and moral philosophy, his fame spread over the
country, and recommended him to the Court; and when
Philippa of Hainault came to England as queen, he had
the distinction of being appointed her almoner; and, in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
after years, when he had the honour of figuring as tutor to
her son, he fulfilled his functions with high credit. At
the same time, Simon Burley, his young kinsman, a lad
of great promise, was admitted as one of the prince's class-fellows,
and formed that friendship which subsequently led
to his being the prince's favourite knight.</p>

<p>Nor were those exercises which make men strong in
battle neglected in the education of the prince. From
childhood he was accustomed to arms, trained to feats of
chivalry, and inured to exertion. As he grew up he gave
indications not to be mistaken of turning out a learned,
elegant, and brilliant hero, and, in some respects, reminded
men of his mighty progenitor who conquered Simon de
Montfort at Evesham, and reigned as the first Edward
with so much power and popularity.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the royal boy was admitted to the honours
which naturally devolved on him as heir to the crown of
England. At the age of three he was created Earl of
Chester; at seven he was made Duke of Cornwall; and
at thirteen he was, in parliament, invested by the king
with the dignity of Prince of Wales.</p>

<p>About the same period, another honour, and one to
which he had no hereditary claim, seemed likely to fall
to his lot. I have already mentioned that the Count of
Flanders had, by his tyranny, driven his subjects to revolt,
and that Jacob von Arteveldt, a famous brewer, exercised
enormous influence among his countrymen, and that, especially
in Ghent, his word was almost law.</p>

<p>Now it entered into the heart of Arteveldt to conceive
the expediency of wholly depriving the Count of
Flanders of his inheritance, of making it a duchy, and
bestowing it on the Prince of Wales. Full of his scheme,
and perhaps rather elated with the power he enjoyed in
Flanders, Arteveldt entered into communication with the
King of England, and had the gratification of finding that
his proposal was quite the reverse of unwelcome. Indeed,
King Edward promised, without delay, to take his
son to Flanders, that Arteveldt might have an opportunity
of putting his project into execution; and, accordingly,
about St. John the Baptist's Day, he embarked
with the prince, in his ship, the Katherine, for Flanders,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
and sailed into the harbour of Sluys, where, some years
earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.</p>

<p>At Sluys, King Edward kept his court on board his
ship, the Katherine, and there received Arteveldt and his
other allies among the Flemings. Many conferences
were held. But it soon appeared that Arteveldt's enthusiasm
was not shared by his countrymen. The idea of
disinheriting their count and his son was one which they
seemed most averse to entertain; and they could not be
prevailed on to do more in the matter than promise to
consult the cities which they represented. Every attempt
to bring the business to a conclusion proved abortive;
and meanwhile a storm was gathering which was to
destroy the whole scheme at a blow.</p>

<p>In fact, French influences, and perhaps French gold,
were at work in every city of Flanders, and rapidly undermining
the power which Arteveldt had for years been
building up. All regard for freedom and commerce gave
way before the prejudices of the hour; and the people of
Ghent not only set their faces decidedly against Arteveldt's
project of deposing their count in favour of the
Prince of Wales, but manifested the utmost indignation
against its author. In Arteveldt's absence from Ghent
the murmurs were loud; and no sooner did he return to
the town than the malcontents expressed their sentiments
in a most menacing tone.</p>

<p>It was about the noon of a summer's day when Arteveldt,
having left the King of England and the Prince of
Wales at Sluys, entered Ghent. Immediately he became
aware that his popularity was gone. People who, in
other days, had been wont to salute him with profound
respect, now bent their brows and turned their backs;
and the multitude, at all times easily deluded, intimated
that they were prepared to restore the count whom they
had banished, and to throw down the great citizen whom
they, till recently, had worshipped.</p>

<p>"Here," cried they, as they recognised his figure on
horseback, "comes one who is too much the master, and
wants to order in Flanders according to his will and
pleasure. This must not be longer borne."</p>

<p>Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
As he rode up the street he became certain that some
mischief was in agitation, and probably suspected that
his life was aimed at. In any case, he hastened to take
precautions against any attempt at violence. As soon as
he dismounted and entered his mansion, he ordered the
doors and windows to be secured, and warned his
servants to be on their guard.</p>

<p>It soon appeared that Arteveldt's instincts had not
deceived him. In fact, a multitude, chiefly composed of
the mechanical class, almost instantaneously filled the
street, surrounded the mansion, and evinced a determination
to go all lengths and force an entrance. Resistance
appearing vain, Arteveldt despaired of saving himself by
force; and, coming to a window with his head uncovered,
he attempted to bring them to reason.</p>

<p>"My good people," said he, in the most soothing tone,
"what aileth you? Why are you so enraged against me?
How have I incurred your displeasure? Tell me, and I
will conform myself entirely to your wills."</p>

<p>"We want," answered they with one voice, "an account
of the treasures you have made away with."</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Arteveldt, "be assured that I have
never taken anything from the treasures of Flanders; and
if you will, for the present, return quietly to your homes,
and come here to-morrow morning, I will be ready to
give so good an account of them that you shall have
every reason to be satisfied."</p>

<p>"No, no!" cried they; "we must have it directly.
You shall not escape us thus. We know that you have
emptied the treasury, and, without our knowledge, sent
the money to England; and you must, therefore, suffer
death."</p>

<p>When Arteveldt heard this, he clasped his hands together,
and wept in mortification of spirit as he thought of the
services he had rendered his country, and perceived how
they were likely to be requited.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," he said, "such as I am, you yourselves
have made me. Formerly you swore you would protect
me against all the world, and now, without any reason, you
want to murder me."</p>

<p>"Come down," bawled the mob, "and do not preach
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
to us from such a height. We want to know what you
have done with the treasures of Flanders?"</p>

<p>Seeing clearly that the populace were in that state of
excitement which makes them mistake friends for foes, and
that his destruction was certainly intended, Arteveldt left
the window and attempted to get out of his house by the
rear, with the object of taking refuge in a neighbouring
church. But he was too late to save himself from butchery.
Already four hundred men had entered the mansion
by the back, and the toils were upon him. Shouting for
his head, and clamouring like wild beasts, they rushed
upon him, seized him forcibly, trampled him under foot,
and slew him without mercy.</p>

<p>When this tragical event occurred at Ghent, the King
of England and the Prince of Wales were still at Sluys,
awaiting the result of their negotiations. On hearing of
Arteveldt's violent death, the king was enraged beyond
measure; and, after vowing to avenge his ally and friend,
he put to sea with his son and returned to England.</p>

<p>Extreme was the alarm of the more prudent among the
Flemings when they learned what had been done by the
mob at Ghent, and what had been said by the King of
England on receiving intelligence of the murder of
Arteveldt. Without delay they sent ambassadors from
the various cities to explain and apologise; and at Westminster
the Flemings were admitted to the royal presence.
At first, Edward was haughty and disdainful; but, after
much conversation with the ambassadors, who disowned
all participation in the bloody deed, he consented to
forego thoughts of vengeance.</p>

<p>By this time, indeed, the king had foes enough on the
Continent without adding the Flemings to the number;
and he perceived the impolicy of attempting to force his
son on them as a ruler. It was not as Duke of Flanders,
but as Prince of Wales, that the heir of England was to
perform the martial prodigies which made him so famous
among the men of the age he adorned with his valour and
chivalry.</p>

<p>Events had already reached a crisis which rendered the
continuation of peace impossible, when I so far realised
the aspirations I had cherished in obscurity as to make
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
my way into the service of the young hero around whose
name so much fame was soon to gather.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br />

<small>KING EDWARD'S DEFIANCE</small></h2>


<p>As King Edward had promised, I speedily found myself
installed as one of the pages to the Prince of Wales, and
hastened to provide myself with garments suitable to my
new position in life, and to fall into the ways of the
court over which the good Queen Philippa presided with
so much grace and amiability.</p>

<p>In spite of the humble sphere from which I had
emerged, I was treated with almost familiar kindness by
the prince, and with perfect courtesy by the gentlemen
who formed his household, with the single exception of
the Lord De Ov, whose haughty words at Smithfield
had so deeply galled me. Between the young baron
and myself there existed an instinctive antipathy, as if
we had been born to be mortal foes; and, as he never
looked at me without a scowl of scorn, I, rather elate with
my rising fortunes, replied with glances of fiery defiance.</p>

<p>I had lost no time in sending a messenger from Windsor
to inform my grandsire and my mother of the result of my
visit to Jack Fletcher, and of my intention to take an early
opportunity of presenting myself in person at the homestead,
to convince them not only that there was no mistake
about my good luck, but also that I was certain, ere long,
to rise higher.</p>

<p>Never, indeed, had there been a time when an Englishman
was likely to have more chances of distinguishing
himself in continental war. Everybody was telling his
neighbour how the king was about to lead an army, composed
of Englishmen, to France, and how Philip of Valois&mdash;if
he knew what manner of men the invaders were
likely to be&mdash;would tremble at the prospect of their landing.
I fully participated in the prevailing excitement, and
listened eagerly as Simon Burley related the circumstances
under which King Edward sent the defiance which made
a renewal of the war inevitable.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p>

<p>It appears that the King of England was at Windsor,
celebrating the feast of St. George, and flattering himself
that peace was established, when he received intelligence
that the treaty of Malestroit had been rudely broken by
the summary execution of his Breton allies. The king,
whose temper was fiery, no sooner heard of this breach of
faith and outrage on justice, than his blood boiled with
indignation, and he vowed he would make Philip of Valois
repent his handiwork.</p>

<p>At that time Sir Hervé de Léon, a knight of Brittany,
who had stood sternly up for the interest of Charles of
Blois against the English king and the Earl of Montfort,
happened to be a prisoner in England; and Edward in the
excess of his rage, bethought him of retaliation. Fortunately,
however, Henry, Earl of Derby, the king's kinsman,
had the courage to remonstrate, and to persuade Edward
that such a course would be unworthy of his dignity and
of the reputation he enjoyed throughout Christendom.</p>

<p>"My lord," said Derby, "if Philip of Valois has, in his
rashness, had the villainy to put to death so many valiant
knights, do not suffer your courage to be tainted by it;
for, in truth, if you will but consider a little, your prisoner
has nothing to do with this outrage. Have the goodness
therefore to give him his liberty at a reasonable
ransom."</p>

<p>Edward, after attentively listening to the earl, paused,
reflected, indicated by gesture his concurrence in his
kinsman's opinion, and ordered the captive knight to be
brought to his presence.</p>

<p>"Ha! Sir Hervé&mdash;Sir Hervé," began the king, who by
this time had recovered his serenity, "my adversary,
Philip of Valois, has shown his treachery in too cruel
a manner when he put to death so many knights. It has
given me much displeasure, and it appears as if it were
done in despite of us. If I were to take his conduct as my
example, I ought to do the like to you, for you have done
me more harm in Brittany than any other man."</p>

<p>"Sire&mdash;&mdash;" said Sir Hervé, interrupting.</p>

<p>"Nay," continued Edward, "listen. I will preserve my
honour unspotted, and allow you your liberty at a trifling
ransom, out of my love for the Earl of Derby, who has
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
requested it; but on this condition, that you perform
what I am going to ask of you."</p>

<p>"Sire," said Sir Hervé, "I will do the best of my
power to perform whatever you shall command."</p>

<p>"Ah, then, let us come to the point," continued the
king. "I know, Sir Hervé, that you are one of the
richest knights in Brittany, and if I were to press you,
you would pay me forty thousand crowns for your ransom.
But you will go to Philip of Valois, my adversary, and
tell him, from me, that, by putting so many knights to
death in so dishonourable a manner, he has sore displeased
me, and I say and maintain that he has, by this
act, broken the truce, and that, from this moment, I
consider it broken, and by you send him my defiance."</p>

<p>"Sire," replied Sir Hervé, "I will perform your message
to the best of my abilities."</p>

<p>"In consideration of your carrying my message," added
the king, "I will let you off for ten thousand crowns,
which you will send to Bruges within five days after you
have crossed the seas."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the knight, "I engage so to do; and God
reward you and my lord of Derby for your kindness
to me."</p>

<p>No delay could be laid to the charge of Sir Hervé
de Léon in fulfilling his promise. Finding himself released
from prison, he took leave of the king, and
embarked at Southampton. His intention was to land
at Harfleur, but the vessel in which he sailed encountered
a violent storm. For fifteen days the knight was almost
at the mercy of the winds and the waves; and he was
under the necessity of throwing his horses overboard.
At length the mariners landed at Crotoy, a town in
Picardy, at the mouth of the Somme, and Sir Hervé with
his suite journeyed on foot to Abbeville.</p>

<p>The voyage, however, had proved too much for the
Breton knight, and at Abbeville he was so ill and so
weakened by sea-sickness that he could not ride on horseback.
But he did not forget his promise; and, though
his end was approaching, he travelled in a litter to Paris,
and delivered to Philip of Valois, word for word, the
message with which King Edward had intrusted him.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>

<p>"And now," said King Edward, "let my adversary
tremble."</p>

<p>"Ay, let Philip of Valois tremble," shouted hundreds
of voices.</p>

<p>Everywhere throughout England there was bustle, and
excitement, and preparation for war; and while men-at-arms
and archers were mustering at Southampton, Godfrey
de Harcourt, that great noble of Normandy, whom
Philip of Valois menaced with death, reached England,
to encourage the king with his promises and aid him with
his counsels; and among the youth who surrounded the
Prince of Wales there was much enthusiasm, and also
much talk of performing feats of arms; and none among
them was more enthusiastic than myself or more hopeful
of doing something to win renown.</p>

<p>It was under such circumstances, one morning in May,
that I rode through Windsor Forest to the homestead
that had sheltered my childhood, to bid adieu to my
grandsire and to my mother before crossing the sea.
My grandsire shed a tear and my mother wept bitterly
as we parted. But my heart was too elate with hope,
and my brain too full of glowing aspirations, to allow
their sadness to depress me. Already I was, in imagination,
winning the spurs of knighthood, even leading
armies to victory, and making my way to fame and
fortune by heroic achievements.</p>

<p>So far everything appeared brilliant. But I was destined,
ere the year closed, to discover that war was not
wholly made up of triumphs, and to have ample leisure
to pine, in irksome solitude, for a sight of the quiet homestead
which I had deemed so dull.</p>

<p>But let me not tell of the future. At the period of
which I write there was little thought among us of disaster
or of mishaps. The king, the prince, earls, barons, knights,
squires, and yeomen were leaving their homes to take
part in the great enterprise. All England was ringing
with predictions of victory and conquest: and my young
heart beat to the music of the hour, as I thought of Philip
of Valois listening to the terms of King Edward's defiance,
and trembling on his throne at the approach of King
Edward's vengeance.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p>

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br />

<small>THE VOYAGE</small></h2>


<p>About St. John the Baptist's Day, 1346, the King of
England, having nominated his young son, Lionel of
Clarence, lieutenant of the realm, and intrusted Queen
Philippa to his kinsman, the Earl of Kent, embarked at
Southampton, to cross the sea. On board the king's ship,
the Katherine, was the Prince of Wales; and I, with other
pages and several young gentlemen of high birth, had the
privilege of being in attendance on the prince.</p>

<p>Godfrey de Harcourt, the great Norman lord I have
already mentioned, accompanied King Edward on this
occasion. Indeed, the king relied much upon Harcourt
for such information as might enable him to penetrate
into the country which recognised Philip of Valois as
sovereign, and strike a shattering blow at his adversary's
power.</p>

<p>It was King Edward's intention to land in Gascony;
and his mighty armament, on board of which were most
of the great earls and barons of England, put to sea with
that view. The wind was favourable, and, as the ships
went tilting over the waves, it was a fair sight to behold;
for it seemed as if the whole water, as far as the eye could
reach, was covered with cloth, from the number of sails
that were given to the wind. On the third day, however,
there was a marvellous change. In fact, the wind, changing
suddenly, drove us on the coast of Cornwall; and the
mariners were fain to cast anchor, and remain there for
six days and six nights.</p>

<p>It was now that Harcourt proposed to King Edward to
change the destination of the armament, and to land in
Normandy instead of Gascony.</p>

<p>"Sire," said Harcourt, "Normandy is one of the most
fertile provinces in the world; and I will answer with my
head that you may land in any part of it you please without
hindrance, for no one will think of opposing you.
You will find in Normandy rich towns and handsome
castles without any means of defence, and your people
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
will gain wealth enough to suffice them for twenty years
to come. Your fleet may also follow you up the river
Orne, as far as Caen."</p>

<p>"On my faith, cousin," said the king, "I believe you
are in the right."</p>

<p>"What I state is true, sire," added Harcourt; "I, therefore,
intreat you will listen, and give credit to what I have
said."</p>

<p>After some consideration, King Edward determined on
following Harcourt's sage advice; and, without delay, he
gave orders that the fleet should steer direct for Normandy.
At the same time, he ordered the flag of the Earl of Warwick,
who was admiral, to be hoisted on board his own
ship; and, the wind being favourable, he took the lead of
the armament, and made straight for the Norman shore.</p>

<p>It was on the coast of Coutantin, of which Coutances is
the chief town, that the English fleet came to anchor; and
it was at the port of La Hogue, not far from St. Sauveur le
Vicomte, the dominion of Harcourt, that King Edward
landed.</p>

<p>At that moment, as I well remember, there occurred
a slight accident, which created much excitement, and
which the king, with admirable presence of mind, turned
to good account. Being impatient to reach the land
which he claimed as his own, he no sooner observed that
the Katherine was on the point of touching the strand,
than he leaped from on board. As he set foot on the
shore, however, he happened to slip, and fell with such
force on his face, that the blood gushed from his nose.</p>

<p>A cry of horror instantly arose, and spread through the
armament; and the knights about the king gathered round
him with dismay on their countenances.</p>

<p>"Sire," said they, "let us intreat you to return to your
ship, and not think of landing to-day, for this is an unlucky
omen."</p>

<p>"Why an unlucky omen?" exclaimed the king, after a
moment's hesitation. "I look upon it as most favourable,
for it is a sign that the land is desirous of me."</p>

<p>As the king's words were reported, a loud shout indicated
how much pleased the English were with his
answer; and they began to disembark with the baggage,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
armour, and horses. That night the king and his army lay
on the sands; and, next day, having conferred knighthood
on the Prince of Wales, and appointed Godfrey de Harcourt
and the Earl of Warwick marshals of his army, and
the Earl of Arundel constable, he prepared to march.</p>

<p>Meanwhile messengers, despatched by the towns of
Normandy, were riding in haste towards Paris, to inform
Philip of Valois that the English had landed; and all over
the country rumour spread the news that the lion-hearted
Plantagenet was once more on the soil of France, with a
mighty host of archers and men-at-arms, led by Anglo-Norman
nobles, whose genius and valour made them
most formidable war-chiefs.</p>

<p>And so, no longer, as on former occasions, with a band
of foreign hirelings, but with an army of Englishmen,
sworn to conquer or die, and with his gallant son riding
by his side, did King Edward begin his march into the
dominions of his adversary&mdash;hope beckoning him onwards
and genius guiding him on the way to victory.</p>

<p>I have said that I embarked to take part in the war in
high spirits; and in spite of the exertion and fatigue of
the disembarking, my enthusiasm had now risen to the
highest pitch. But suddenly I was reminded that I had,
at least, one enemy at hand, who was determined not to
overlook my existence. I was just mounting my black
steed to ride in the prince's train, and had my hand in the
mane to vault into the saddle, when the Lord De Ov crossed
my path, and contrived, in passing, to run his charger
against mine in such a way as to leave no doubt that insult
was intended; and then, turning round, he eyed me with
a malevolence that no words could have expressed.</p>

<p>My blood naturally boiled at this unprovoked insult,
and at another time I should certainly have given way to
my temper. In the prince's presence, however, and in the
circumstances in which I was, anything like retaliation
was out of the question, and I was forced to restrain my
wrath and bite my glove.</p>

<p>Mounting in sullen mood, I calmed myself as I best
could; and, as I followed the prince's banner, I could not
help wondering for the twentieth time, but more than ever,
what cause there could be for the malevolence which this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>
young baron, so high in the world's esteem in comparison,
exhibited towards me, an unprotected boy, from the day
when accident threw us in each other's way.</p>

<p>I lived long enough both to experience his utmost
malice, and to punish it. Better far for him would it
have been to have allowed the past to sink into oblivion.
It was his constant display of antipathy which eventually
led to my penetrating the mystery that hung over my
birth, and to discover that I had to settle with my
Lord De Ov a heavy hereditary account; and it was his
own insolent folly that precipitated the fate that befell
him on that day when, in the face of heaven and earth, I
avenged, at one blow, the wrongs of a father, and my own.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br />

<small>MARCH OF THE INVADERS</small></h2>


<p>It soon appeared that the alarm expressed by the French
when they heard that the King of England had set his
armed heel on the soil of Normandy was not unfounded
or unreasonable.</p>

<p>Indeed, the martial chief of the English invaders lost
no time in making his presence felt, and adding to the
terror which the news of his landing had inspired. After
dividing his forces into three divisions, he advanced into
the country, the centre host being under his own command
and that of the Prince of Wales; while on either
hand marched the marshals, ravaging as they went, and
driving the natives before them as hunters chase the
deer. Every evening, at sunset, the three forces met at
the place appointed for encamping for the night; and
every morning they parted to pursue their successes.</p>

<p>First among the places that yielded to the English was
St. Lo, a rich trading town in Coutantin; and, this conquest
achieved, they advanced on Caen, a flourishing and
handsome city, with a noble castle and many fine
churches, besides the monastery dedicated to St. Stephen,
in which reposed the ashes of William the Norman. At
Caen, Edward became aware that there was every prospect
of resistance, for Robert de Blarguy, with three
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
hundred Genoese, held the castle; while the Count of
Tancarville and the Count of Eu, Constable of France,
occupied the town with a host of warriors, who, when
joined by the townsmen, formed a formidable force.</p>

<p>It was necessary, under the circumstances, to proceed
with caution; and the king quartered for the night in the
fields outside the town, with the intention of attacking on
the morrow. But the French were meanwhile on the
alert; and, headed by the constable, the citizens boldly
came forth into the field to do battle with the invaders.
Nor did the English shrink from an encounter. No
sooner, indeed, did day dawn, than the king and the
Prince of Wales prepared for action, and set their men in
order. The sight of the English produced an immediate
effect; and when they began to approach, the townsmen
took fright, turned their backs, and fled through the gates.</p>

<p>But it was too late to save themselves by flight; and
the English, entering with them, forcibly took possession.
This, however, was not done without considerable loss.
Indeed, the men of Caen showered stones and every
description of missile from the windows, and exerted
themselves so vigorously that more than five hundred
Englishmen lost their lives.</p>

<p>On hearing of the havoc that had been wrought among
his soldiers, King Edward was highly exasperated; and,
in his wrath, he thought of vengeance.</p>

<p>"On my faith," exclaimed he, "I am strongly inclined
to put the inhabitants to the sword, and burn the town!"</p>

<p>Harcourt, however, interposed, and appeased the king's
wrath.</p>

<p>"Sire," said he, "assuage somewhat of your anger, and
be satisfied with what has already been done. You have
a long journey to make, and there are in this town thousands
of men who will defend themselves obstinately. It
would cost you many lives, and put a stop to your expedition,
without redounding to your honour. Philip de
Valois is certain to come to give you battle, and you will
have more than full employment for all your men."</p>

<p>"Sir Godfrey," replied the king, "you are marshal;
therefore order as you please. For this time we will not
interfere."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p>

<p>Delighted at the king's answer, Harcourt mounted his
horse, ordered his banner to be displayed, rode through
the town, and commanded that none of the English
should, on pain of death, hurt any man or woman in
Caen. This prevented slaughter; but many prisoners
were taken, and the Constable of France and the Count
of Tancarville were among the number.</p>

<p>At Caen the king and his army remained for three
days; and the English, having made themselves masters
of the place, did not fail to make free with what it
contained. After the marshal's proclamation, which assured
the inhabitants that their lives were safe, was
understood, all fear on their part seemed to vanish.
Many of them received the invaders into their houses as
guests, and others freely opened their coffers, and parted
with their gold in consideration of being protected.</p>

<p>Finding themselves masters, on such terms, of a town
larger than any in England, except London, full of noble
dames, and damsels, and rich citizens, and stocked with
draperies, merchandise, wines, and all manner of good
things, the English indulged, without stint, their appetite
for pleasure and plunder; and many of them amassed
great wealth, which was sent, in barges, down the river to
Estreham, to be conveyed to St. Sauveur, where lay the
fleet, ready to convey the spoil and the prisoners to
England.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br />

<small>A SNARE</small></h2>


<p>It is not unnatural that, when relating what the king said,
and what his marshals did, and how his army moved, I
should be in some danger of losing sight of my own figure,
and even forgetting, in some degree, my own existence.
However, I would not, by any means, have the reader
conclude that, because silent as to my achievements, I,
Arthur Winram, was wholly idle during the march of the
English from La Hogue to Caen, or an idle spectator of
the events that rendered that expedition memorable.</p>

<p>In fact, young, new to life, ardent and eager to appear
a man, I entered with enthusiasm into the spirit of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>
enterprise. Far be it from me to sing my own praises;
but, being in constant activity, I met with exploits of
which I venture to say no warrior of my age could with
justice boast. At Caen I was among the first who
entered the gates, and barely escaped atoning for my
audacity by being stoned to death in the narrow streets;
and afterwards gained some experience, and a significant
warning to be on my guard, during a mysterious adventure,
which involved me in such danger that I well-nigh gave
myself up for lost.</p>

<p>I have already mentioned that, after the king had consented
to spare the place, Godfrey de Harcourt rode
through the streets with his banner displayed, and commanded
that no Englishman should, on pain of death,
injure an inhabitant, male or female, and that the proclamation
led to the army mingling with the citizens. I was
rather too young to profit much by the hospitality or the
wealth of the men and women of Caen; but I was not
insensible to the wild kind of freedom in which the invaders
indulged, and did not fail, like my neighbours, to
assume the air of a conqueror, and to roam about the city
as if I had been lord of all I beheld.</p>

<p>It happened that, on the second day of the king's
residence in Caen, I was examining, not without interest,
the monastery of St. Stephen, in which repose the ashes
of William the Norman, when I felt my shoulder slightly
touched, and, turning quickly round, found beside me a
man with a beetle brow, who, in answer to my question as
to his business with me, intimated that he could not speak
my language, but placed a missive in my hand.</p>

<p>Drawing back to guard against surprise&mdash;for his appearance
was the reverse of prepossessing&mdash;I read the document
with breathless amazement.</p>

<p>"If the English page, calling himself Arthur Winram"&mdash;so
ran the words&mdash;"will, at nightfall, meet the bearer of this
on the spot on which he receives it, he will be conducted
to the presence of one who will clear away the mystery
that hangs over his birth, and reveal the story of his
parentage."</p>

<p>I trembled with excitement as these words met my eye,
and did not, for an instant, hesitate about venturing on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
an interview. Having explained to the messenger, in as
good French as I was master of, that I should meet him at
the time appointed, I hurried back to the prince's quarters,
and passed the remainder of the day in vague surmises. I
confess that sometimes I suspected a snare; but, considering
my position, believing that no one could be interested
in harming me, I dismissed my doubts as they rose, and
asked, with a smile of contempt, whether, in pursuit of
the information for which, from childhood, I had earnestly
longed, I, vowed as I was to face all dangers in quest of
fame and fortune, would shrink from a hazard which could
not be great, and which probably was imaginary.</p>

<p>Such being the view which I took of the adventure to
which I was invited, I awaited in a restless mood the hour
for going forth to hear the secret by which, I could not
doubt, my destiny, in some measure, hung. At length, the
sun having set, I prepared to be gone; and arraying myself,
without any weapon save a small dagger, which,
having sheathed, I placed in my bosom to be ready to my
hand in case of need, I walked forth with the feelings
natural to a man about to solve a mysterious question that
has for years baffled his intelligence, and preyed on his
imagination.</p>

<p>Making my way through streets filled with warriors
flushed with wine, I bent my steps to the monastery of St.
Stephen, and there I found, true to his time and appointment,
the man with the beetle brow. Without speaking,
he made a sign for me to follow; and I, having by this
time cast the last remnant of hesitation to the winds,
accepted his guidance, and walked on, under the influence
of a curiosity which silenced the last whispers of
prudence.</p>

<p>It was still early, but daylight had wholly departed; and,
the moon not having yet risen, Caen was gradually
enveloped in darkness, as my guide, after leading me
through streets with which I was unacquainted, at length
halted before the door of a house which had nothing
to distinguish it from the ordinary dwellings of citizens in
that town and others of the province of which it formed
part. Having rung at the gate, we were readily admitted;
and I, after being conducted up a stair, found myself in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>
an apartment somewhat brilliantly lighted, and, as I
thought, richly furnished. On a table, where stood a
lamp that threw its brilliancy all over the room, were a
flask and two drinking-cups; and on a couch, hard by,
reclined a woman who rose as I entered, and welcomed
me with a smile, which, of itself, would have sufficed to
banish suspicion of anything like foul play being intended.</p>

<p>At this moment, when long years have intervened, I
perfectly remember the impression which the first sight
of that woman produced on me.</p>

<p>She was young&mdash;not more than twenty&mdash;and exquisitely
beautiful, with a tall, graceful figure, hair dark as the
raven's wing, dark, dark eyes, that seemed to pierce instantly
to the heart, and features which, in later years,
would have led me to suppose her a native of Italy. At
that time, however, I was much too ignorant of countries
and races to be capable of making any such distinctions;
and as I stood silent, I certainly was not stupified, but
I was lost in wonder.</p>

<p>"You know not the language of the country in which
we are?" said she, with a voice and manner which
completed the fascination.</p>

<p>"It grieves me, lady," I replied, "that I am not so
familiar with it as to hold converse freely with the natives;
but I know enough to understand and to make myself
understood."</p>

<p>"It matters not," she said hastily; "for I know enough
of the English tongue to spare you the inconvenience of
speaking, or listening to, mine. Your name, or rather the
name by which men call you, is Arthur Winram?"</p>

<p>"True," answered I, "I pass by that name; but I have
reason to believe that I am entitled to bear one to which
the world would pay more respect."</p>

<p>"On that point you shall be enlightened anon," said
she, as she motioned me to a seat, and then added,
gravely and in a tone of emotion, "but the tale I have to
tell is one of bloodshed; and you will require all your
courage to hear it to an end. Be pleased, therefore, to
steel your heart for the trial."</p>

<p>As she spoke she raised the flask on the table, filled the
cups that stood with it, took one herself, and made a sign
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>
for me to take the other. I obeyed; I put forth my hand;
I took the cup; I raised it to my lips; and, as my blood
was feverish with suspense, and my thirst, in consequence,
intense, I drank copiously. I had scarcely done so when
a marvellous change came over me. My head began to
swim; the objects in the room seemed to dance before
my face. Gradually my eyes grew dim; the figure of the
woman faded from my sight; and I sank back overcome
and unconscious.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br />

<small>THE BROKEN BRIDGES</small></h2>


<p>After remaining three days in Caen, and despatching the
Earl of Huntingdon to England in command of that fleet
which carried not only the spoil of the Norman towns but
a multitude of prisoners, among whom were some sixty
knights, including the Count of Tancarville and the Count
of Eu, Constable of France, King Edward led forth his
army to pursue his career of conquest.</p>

<p>It soon appeared that the great Plantagenet would have
to encounter a difficulty which, perhaps, he had little
anticipated. At first, indeed, the progress of the English
was as easy and as uninterrupted as before their arrival at
Caen. Having taken the town of Louviers, and made
themselves masters of much of the wealth the place contained,
they marched into the county of Evreux; and
Edward, with a view of drawing near to Rouen, where he
hoped to attract many Norman men-at-arms to his standard,
approached the banks of the Seine. But at this stage he
found his operations unexpectedly checked. In fact, the
French, acting under orders from Philip de Valois, whose
alarm and rage knew no bounds, had deliberately and
carefully broken down the bridges to prevent Edward
crossing to the right bank; and it was not till he reached
Poissy, in the Isle of France, not more than seven leagues
from Paris, that he could see any way of overcoming the
difficulty which his adversary had thrown in his way.</p>

<p>The bridge of Poissy, like the others on the Seine, had
been destroyed by the French; but the beams and other
parts were left by the river, and the king resolved on its
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>
reconstruction. Accordingly, he took up his residence for
a few days in the convent of Poissy; and while his
marshals pursued their ravages almost to the gates of Paris,
burning St. Germain and St. Cloud by the way, he celebrated
the feast of the Virgin Mary, sitting at table in
scarlet robes, without sleeves, trimmed with furs and
ermines.</p>

<p>The festival of St. Mary over, the marshals having returned,
and the bridge having been repaired, Edward again
donned his mail, passed the Seine on the 15th of August,
and turned his face toward Calais, which it was his object
to reach. But after taking the town and castle of Poix the
king found himself in a still more awkward dilemma than
that from which he had freed himself; for the Somme, a
broad and deep river, presented an apparently insuperable
obstacle to his progress; and he pushed forward to Airaines,
a town four leagues from Amiens, with the melancholy
conviction that his own situation and that of his army was
critical in the extreme.</p>

<p>Every bridge on the Somme had been broken down, and
not a jot of information as to a ford could be obtained for
love or money. Before Edward was the river, apparently
impassable; behind him a mighty army bent on his
destruction; for Philip of Valois had taken the field, and
around his banner had gathered half the feudal warriors of
Europe. From Bohemia, from Germany, from Luxembourg,
from Hainault, from Savoy, and from Lorraine, they
had rushed under kings and princes of fame, and were
coming on the track of the English like hunters pressing
on to the lion's death. It was vain to think of a refuge,
for the invaders were in a hostile country, with no
place of sufficient strength to afford a chance of security.
But the king's heart did not fail him even in that day of
trial.</p>

<p>"Here," said he, on reaching Airaines, "we halt for
three days; during that time we must find or make a way
to pass the Somme; and once on the other side we will,
please God and St. George, show our adversaries how,
when closely pressed, the lion can turn to bay."</p>

<p>But three days passed, and, in spite of all the efforts of
the marshals, matters remained as they had been, save
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
that the enemy drew rapidly nearer, and the English army
seemed doomed; and many muttered, "All is lost."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br />

<small>A RUSH FOR LIBERTY</small></h2>


<p>I must now leave the King of England and his army at
Airaines, retrace my steps to Caen, and relate what befell
me in that city when I so unexpectedly, and under such
mysterious circumstances, sank in unconsciousness.</p>

<p>It is not in my power to say how long I remained insensible
of the position in which I was. I awoke, however,
with a feeling of sickliness, which was speedily
succeeded by one of horror. It was pitch dark; my
limbs felt cramped and confined; and when I strove to
recover my feeling of freedom, I discovered, to my consternation,
that I was bound hand and foot. I almost
lost my senses on making this discovery; but, fortunately,
drowsiness crept over me, and I again yielded to slumber.
It was well that such was the case, as it probably saved
me from despair and delirium.</p>

<p>When I again awoke it was broad daylight, and I was
better able to judge of my predicament. I immediately
perceived that I was reclining on straw in a small chamber,
lighted by a window that was high from the floor, and
that there was no appearance of any door by which an
escape might be attempted. Nor was this all. My hands
and feet were firmly bound with cords. I was evidently
a prisoner, and perhaps destined for a victim.</p>

<p>My reflections at that moment, as may be supposed,
were not of the most agreeable kind; and I thought with
a deep sigh, of my grandsire's grange, and, almost with
remorse, of my mother's warning. Not unnaturally I
cursed the fortune which, after deluding my fancy with
promises of a golden future, reduced me suddenly to the
condition of a captive, without even leaving me the power
of striking a blow for my deliverance.</p>

<p>As I reflected and murmured, I was interrupted by the
voices of persons who seemed to converse in a low tone,
and presently a concealed door was opened, and the man
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>
with the beetle brow entered the chamber. I closed my
eyes, breathed hard, and pretended to be sunk in slumber.
But I was all attention, and felt a return of hope.</p>

<p>"He sleeps," said the man, looking towards the door.</p>

<p>"Good," exclaimed his companion; "and the sooner
he sleeps the sleep that knows no breaking so much the
better."</p>

<p>"My lord," said the man resolutely, "I have told you
I will not have his blood on my hands."</p>

<p>"What need?" was the reply; "if he is left here long
enough, time and hunger will do their work."</p>

<p>I shuddered at the idea, but without attracting their
notice; and as they turned to depart, I partially opened
my eyes. My suspicions as to the author of my incarceration
were instantly confirmed as I caught a glance of the
person who destined me for the most cruel of deaths. But
I felt calmly vindictive, and, almost ere the bolts were
turned upon me, had resolved to keep my own counsel,
and to await with patience the day of vengeance.</p>

<p>Matters having reached this stage, I bent all my ingenuity
to discover some possibility of setting myself free,
and determined to exercise no particular scruples as to
the means. Fortunately, my dagger had been left where
I had placed it on the previous evening, and I contrived,
by great exertion, to bring the handle near my mouth,
with the object of seizing it in my teeth, and drawing it
from the sheath. After several trials I succeeded, and
commenced to saw the cords with which my hands were
bound, but for a long time found my efforts quite futile.
I must have passed hours making effort after effort in vain,
and was on the point of abandoning the attempt in despair,
when I was inspired with renewed energy by a circumstance
that attracted my attention as I lay on my back, toiling
diligently, but to no purpose.</p>

<p>While occupied, as I have stated, and ever and anon
pausing to ponder on the necessity of yielding to fate, my
eye caught sight of a spider, which while spinning its
web, had suspended itself by a long and slender thread
from the roof above my head, and, with great perseverance,
endeavoured to swing itself from one rafter to another. I
watched its efforts, and became interested in the unconquerable
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>
determination it displayed. Repeated defeats
only led to renewed energy. Six times it had essayed to
reach its point, and on each occasion it failed and fell
back. Admiring the insect's determination, and drawing
a parallel between myself and it, I resolved to regulate
my conduct by its ultimate success or failure. As I did
so it made a seventh effort, attained its object, and fixed
its web; and, encouraged by the augury, I renewed mine
with such vigour that I soon succeeded. I almost went
mad with joy and excitement as I found my hands free;
I lost not a moment in cutting the cords that bound my
feet; and I stood upright on the floor, somewhat cramped,
indeed, but with my dagger in my grasp, and on my face
a stern smile, as I stretched out my limbs, and felt that
I had energy enough left to strike a desperate blow for
liberty and life.</p>

<p>It was necessary, however, to act with caution, and carefully
to examine my position; and I did so. I found that
the window, besides being high from the floor, was too
well secured with iron to admit of my escaping by it;
and, moreover, I strongly suspected that the chamber in
which I found myself was at so great a height from the
ground, that, even if I could have forced myself through
it, I should have been unable to descend, save with something
like a certainty of breaking my neck. Accordingly,
I at once abandoned that idea, and concluded that, as I
could not hope to escape by stratagem, I must lose no
time in attempting to do so by force.</p>

<p>But, in order to attempt force with any prospect of accomplishing
my object, I felt that it was necessary to
await my opportunity; and I recalled to mind the proverb
of the Arabs as to patience being the price of all success.
In this frame of mind&mdash;calm, but perfectly resolute&mdash;I
took my place by the door, and prepared, as soon as it
was opened, to close with my gaoler, to force my way
downward, dagger in hand, and take my chance&mdash;no
matter what odds I might encounter&mdash;of making my way
to the street, and thence to the prince's quarters.</p>

<p>For hours I had to wait and wearily passed the time.
At length, however, when the day was departing, and
I knew by the decreasing light that evening had fallen, I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>
suddenly heard steps. I drew slightly aside, and rejoiced
to think that the dusk befriended me. As I drew aside,
the bolt turned, the door opened, and the man with the
beetle brow entered with something&mdash;perhaps food&mdash;in
his hand. I had no time, however, to observe minutely.
As he glanced towards the spot I had occupied, and perceived
that I was no longer there, he uttered an exclamation
of surprise. But already the prospect of escape had
inspired me with extraordinary energy. Almost ere the
exclamation had left his tongue, I sprang upon him as the
mastiff on the bull, and, with a mighty exertion of strength,
I prostrated him on the floor.</p>

<p>Not an instant did I now hesitate. I placed my dagger
between my teeth, sprang through the open door, descended
the narrow stairs almost at a bound, darted by
the woman whom I had seen on the previous evening,
and, to make matters short, pushed through a window
that was before me, and managed so dexterously to drop
to the ground, that, albeit the distance was considerable,
I was shaken, indeed, but unhurt.</p>

<p>My escape had been effected with so much more ease
than I anticipated, that I could hardly believe in its
having really taken place. However, as I gathered myself
up, I became convinced; and, after muttering thanks to
God and the saints for their protection, I made my way
through the dark to the prince's quarters. My first impulse,
in spite of the vow I had formed, was to hasten to
the prince and tell all. But I had been long enough at
court to have learned to think twice before opening my
mouth on such a subject; and five minutes' reflection
enabled me to perceive that I should never be believed.
I, therefore, renewed my resolution not to publish my
wrongs till my name was great enough to give weight
to my words, and, in the meantime, to watch my enemy
closely.</p>

<p>As I reached the prince's quarters, I, somewhat to my
dismay, ran against Sir Thomas Norwich, a warrior who
had won renown under the Earl of Derby in Gascony.
As this knight now held a high post in the prince's
service, and occupied a high place in the king's favour,
he was looked upon by squires and pages as a personage
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>
whose good opinion was more to be desired than fine
gold.</p>

<p>"Boy," said he, "where, in the name of all the saints,
have you been?"</p>

<p>Unprepared for the question, I remained silent, and,
doubtless, looked very guilty.</p>

<p>"Come," continued he severely; "I fear me that,
young as you are, you have been following the multitude
to do evil; and let me warn you that it is a game which
ever, in the end, brings those who play at it to grief."</p>

<p>"Nay, sir knight," protested I earnestly, "I was tempted
into an adventure which&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"An adventure!" repeated Sir Thomas, shaking his
head sternly. "Beware, boy. In the days of my youth
I had many an adventure, and credit me, nothing can be
more true than that the end of that mirth is sadness."</p>

<p>"Let me explain."</p>

<p>"Nay, nay. Enough of this. The king marches at
sunrise; and see that you are in readiness to follow the
prince's banner."</p>

<p>It was after my narrow escape, and not in the most
celestial mood, that I accompanied the invading army,
and took part in the various enterprises till we reached
Airaines, and found that the Somme was between us and
the province towards which we looked for safety.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br />

<small>HUNTING A KING</small></h2>


<p>It is necessary, having conducted the English army, and
myself, to Airaines, to go back for a few weeks to describe
the effect which the march of the invaders produced
on Philip of Valois, and to explain how he
assembled a host so formidable as to daunt even King
Edward's brave warriors.</p>

<p>No sooner did Philip learn how the English were
ravaging Coutantin than he flew into one of his violent
rages, and swore, in his wrath, that they should not
escape punishment&mdash;that they should pay dearly for the
mischief they were doing. Forthwith he summoned not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
only his own barons and knights, but John of Hainault,
and the fighting men of that country, and despatched
messengers to John, the blind King of Bohemia, to
Charles of Bohemia, John's son, who had been elected
Emperor of Germany, to the Count of Flanders, to the
Duke of Lorraine, to the Count of Savoy, and to the
Count of Namur, to hasten to his aid with all their forces.
Faithful to their ally in his distress and danger, they
flocked to the capital of France like eagles to the carnage,
and, encamping about St. Denis, awaited the approach of
the invaders whom they had gathered to crush.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Philip of Valois remained at Paris, expecting
that King Edward would come thither to offer battle.
However, when the marshals of England, marking their
course by burning castles, pushed up to the very gates,
and rumours ran that the English were about to pass the
Seine, Philip began to stir; and, having ordered all the
penthouses of Paris to be pulled down, he prepared to
join the army which had assembled to fight for the crown
which he unworthily wore.</p>

<p>When the Parisians, who, by this time, were in feverish
alarm, learned that Philip was on the point of leaving
the capital, their terror knew no bounds, and they raised
a great outcry. In their distress they sent deputies to
intreat him not to abandon them at such a crisis. On
being admitted to his presence, the deputies fell on their
knees.</p>

<p>"Ah, sire, and noble king," cried they, wringing their
hands, "what are you about to do? Are you about to
leave your fine city of Paris?"</p>

<p>"My good people," replied Philip, somewhat touched,
"be not afraid."</p>

<p>"Sire," urged the deputies, "the English are but two
leagues from Paris, and when they know you have quitted
us they will advance, and we are unable to resist them.
We pray you, therefore, to remain and defend us."</p>

<p>"Fear not," replied Philip; "I tell you the English
will not approach nearer than they have done; and as
for me, I must go to St. Denis, for I am impatient,
above all things, to pursue the English, and to fight with
them."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>
Accordingly, Philip of Valois that day left Paris, and,
on reaching St. Denis, he found himself at the head of a
noble army, with an emperor, a king, and a multitude of
princes as his captains, and, what was deemed of immense
importance, a numerous body of Genoese cross-bowmen,
who, it was hoped, would prove more than a match for
those English archers, whose achievements had made
them the terror of their country's foes.</p>

<p>Much annoyed and rather startled was Philip to hear
that King Edward had actually left Poissy, and crossed
the Seine. However, having given orders to break down
all the bridges on the Somme, and vigilantly to guard
every spot at which it was possible to pass the river, he
marched from St. Denis at the head of his army, which
gradually swelled as he went to the number of a hundred
thousand men, and pushed forward determinedly till he
was within three leagues of Amiens. At this stage,
Philip learned that Edward was at Airaines, and took up
his quarters for the night at Amiens. Next day, however,
he resumed the chase, and about noon appeared at
Airaines. But, to his disappointment, he found that the
English had left the place that morning, and that they
had proceeded to Oisemont, a town in Picardy, five
leagues from that which he had just quitted.</p>

<p>"Never mind," said Philip, haughtily, "Edward cannot
escape us; we will shut him up between Abbeville
and the Somme, and either take him prisoner, or force
him to fight at such a disadvantage that he must lose."</p>

<p>Flattering himself with anticipations of a great triumph,
Philip of Valois, before continuing the hunt after his
royal foe, remained at Airaines to wait for his nobles and
barons who were expected, while his scouts, who were all
over the country in search of intelligence, brought tidings
of the foe with whom he was so eager to come up; and
he passed the night regaling his fancy with the idea of
terminating the war, once and for ever, in his favour, at a
blow, or perhaps without striking a blow. Next morning
he rose from his couch to act on the information he had
obtained.</p>

<p>It was now Thursday, the 24th of August; and Philip
of Valois, mounting his steed, ordered his banner to be
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>
displayed, and led his army forth from Airaines, confidently
expecting to find the English king and his
followers on the banks of the Somme, and either to take
them captive, as a birdcatcher does sparrows, or to scatter
them, as a hawk does pigeons. Suddenly, as he rode
along in front of his array, one of the scouts met him
with a face which indicated that he brought news not
likely to be welcome.</p>

<p>"Well," asked Philip, "where are these English?
Speak, sirrah!"</p>

<p>"Sire," answered the scout, "the English have passed
the Somme."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br />

<small>GOBIN AGACE</small></h2>


<p>In a former chapter I mentioned that, among the places
taken by the King of England, during his victorious and
exciting march through France, was Poix, a town of
Picardy, about six leagues from Amiens. The Lord of
Poix was absent; and the captain of his castle, not having
the means of holding out, surrendered almost without
resistance, and allowed the fortress to be entered by the
English soldiers at a time when they were flushed with
victory and wine.</p>

<p>It happened that, when the castle was taken, there
were within its walls two demoiselles, daughters of the
Lord of Poix, and very handsome. Great was the danger
of these ladies at this moment; for the invaders, as I have
said, were then highly excited with their triumphs, and in
no humour to pay excessive respect to female virtue.
Fortunately for the ladies of Poix, I had been one of the
first to foot the walls of the castle and make my way into
the interior; and, aware of the danger in which the
demoiselles were placed, I posted myself before them,
and, vowing to protect them, prepared, sword in hand, to
defend their honour with my life. I confess, however,
that I felt, to my consternation, that my influence in their
behalf was not likely long to prevail under the circumstances.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p>

<p>"A murrain take the madcap page!" cried one man-at-arms,
frowning on me fiercely.</p>

<p>"Make way," shouted another, with a hoarse laugh,
"and let me advance to console the fair ones in their
jeopardy."</p>

<p>"Only over my body," answered I, as my blood boiled
with indignation, and I brandished my sword.</p>

<p>"Down with the jackanapes!" exclaimed the first
speaker, making a thrust at me with a spear.</p>

<p>I parried the attack, and my stubborn courage was not
without its effect. Nevertheless, it was evident that my
resistance could not long avail to save the noble demoiselles
from insult, and I was just giving way to despair,
when Sir John Chandos, a knight of great fame, made
his appearance. Not without difficulty, he appeased the
soldiers, and, having rescued the young ladies from their
dangerous position, conducted them to the king. At his
request I accompanied him to the royal presence, and
Edward received them with chivalrous courtesy.</p>

<p>"We do not make war on women," said the king; "and
I am bound to protect you against all dangers. But, if
there is any stronghold to which you wish to be conducted,
name the place, and thither you shall be escorted
without delay."</p>

<p>"To Corbie," was the reply.</p>

<p>"It shall be as you wish," said Edward; and then
turning to Sir Thomas Norwich, he added with a smile,
"Sir Thomas, be yours the honour of escorting the
noble demoiselles to the castle whither they wish to
proceed."</p>

<p>"Sire," replied the knight, "I will, to the best of my
ability, fulfil your command."</p>

<p>I was, much to my satisfaction, ordered to accompany
Sir Thomas Norwich on this expedition; and, finding
myself acting as a protector of noble damsels of grace and
beauty, began to consider myself a great hero of romance,
and was, on our return, indulging in the luxury of building
castles in the air, when we encountered a party of
armed peasants. After a short skirmish we overcame,
with little difficulty, the rustic militia, and took them in a
body as captives to the English camp.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p>

<p>Now this led to important consequences. While running
my eye over the prisoners, I remarked one stout
fellow, whose countenance struck me as being more intelligent
than that of his comrades; and, not without a
vague hope of extracting from him such information as
might be welcome to the prince, and of service to the
king, I singled him out from the party, and entered into
conversation.</p>

<p>"What is your name?" asked I.</p>

<p>"Gobin Agace," was his answer.</p>

<p>"You are our prisoner," observed I significantly.</p>

<p>"Yes," said he; "but you may have heard the story of
the mouse that gnawed the toils in which the lion was
caught, and set the lion free."</p>

<p>"And how does that concern the business now in
hand?"</p>

<p>"Much," answered the peasant; "for such a service as
the mouse rendered to the lion, I can, I believe, render to
your king."</p>

<p>"Ha! by St. George, I perceive!" exclaimed I, much
gratified. "Being a native of this country, you have
such knowledge of the fords on the Somme as would
secure you an ample reward."</p>

<p>"In that respect," said the young peasant, "I could render
your king a service that would be worth my weight in
gold; and, if you will lead me to his presence, I will convince
you that I am not speaking as a braggart might."</p>

<p>It was evening when we reached Oisemont, where
King Edward was now quartered, and rode into the town
with our captives. We were just in time. Immediately
after, the king held a council; and, having ordered the
prisoners to be brought before him that they might be
questioned, he addressed them courteously.</p>

<p>"Good fellows," said he, "do any of you know a ford
on the Somme, below Abbeville, where I and my army
could pass without danger? Whoever," added Edward,
"will show us such a ford shall have his own liberty, and
that of any twenty of his fellow-captives whom he may
select."</p>

<p>At this point Gobin Agace, whom I had instructed,
stepped forward and bent his head.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p>

<p>"Sire," began he, "I do know such a ford, and I
promise, under peril of life, that I will conduct you to a
place where you and your whole army may pass the
Somme without any risk."</p>

<p>"Go on," said the king, inspired with a new hope by
the peasant's words.</p>

<p>"There are certain fordable places," continued Gobin
Agace, "where you may pass, twelve men abreast, twice
in the day, and not have water above your knees. When
the tide is in, the river is full and deep, and no one can
cross it; but, when the tide is out, the river is so low that
it may be passed on horseback or on foot without danger.
You must, therefore, set out early, so as to be at the ford
before sunrise."</p>

<p>"And what call you this ford?" asked the king.</p>

<p>"Sire," replied the peasant, "the bottom of the ford
is very hard, of white gravel and stones over which all
your carriages may safely pass, and thence it is called
Blanche-taque."</p>

<p>"Friend," said the king joyfully, "if what you have
told me is found to be true, I will give you and all your
companions their liberty, and I will besides make you a
present of one hundred nobles."</p>

<p>It now seemed that the safety of the King of England
and his army depended on the accuracy of Gobin Agace's
information as to Blanche-taque; and Edward gave
orders that, at daybreak, every man should be ready, at
the first sound of the trumpet, to march towards the
Somme, and make the grand experiment.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br />

<small>HOW WE FORDED THE SOMME</small></h2>


<p>Deep and somewhat depressing was the anxiety felt
throughout the English army as the night of Wednesday
closed over Oisemont; and brief, if any, was the sleep
enjoyed by most of the brave islanders whose situation
was so critical. Edward, who, both as king and Englishman,
was almost overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
as he thought of the duty he owed to the brave men
who had placed themselves in jeopardy to assert his
rights, scarcely closed his eyes, but waited with impatience
the break of day to make the attempt on which seemed to
hang the fate of his army and his own reputation as a war-chief.</p>

<p>Rising at midnight, and intent on putting his fortune
to the test, the king ordered his trumpets to sound; and,
ere the first streak of day glimmered in the sky, he set out
from Oisemont at the head of the van, and under the
guidance of Gobin Agace, reached the ford of Blanche-taque
just as the sun rose. But at that time the tide was
so full that the idea of attempting a passage was not to be
entertained; and the light of day revealed on the opposite
bank a strong force, which had been posted there under
one of the lords of Normandy, named Godemar du Fay,
with positive orders not, on any account, to allow the
English to ford the river.</p>

<p>In fact, Philip of Valois, on arriving at Amiens, had
despatched Godemar du Fay, with a thousand horsemen,
six thousand footmen, and a body of Genoese, to render
the passage of the Somme absolutely impossible; and
Godemar had, on his march towards Blanche-taque, been
joined by a multitude of peasants and the townsmen of
Abbeville, and found himself at the head of twelve thousand
men, who occupied a strong position, and presented
an imposing front. Edward, however, was not in the
least degree daunted. On seeing how matters were he
merely indicated his intention of waiting for that part of
his army which had not yet come up, and then attempting
the passage at all hazards&mdash;the feat on which everything
now appeared to depend.</p>

<p>Accordingly, when the various divisions of the English
reached the Somme, and the tide had in some measure
fallen, the king intimated to his marshals that the hour
had come for putting all to the test; and shouting, "Let
all who love me follow me," he spurred his charger and
dashed into the stream. The Prince of Wales and his
knights followed; and the French horsemen, at the same
time, left the opposite bank, and met them hand to
hand.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p>

<p>A fierce combat now began in the water, and many
gallant deeds were performed on both sides. But the
French&mdash;albeit they fought well&mdash;exerted themselves in
vain. The king and the prince, heading their knights,
bore down all opposition; and, almost ere they had
obtained a footing on the bank, the superior prowess of
the English was so evident, that the French almost immediately
gave way and began to disperse. Moreover,
Godemar himself, after remaining for a moment aghast at
what was passing before him, concluded&mdash;and not without
reason&mdash;that all was lost; and, while the English were still
struggling through the ford, he completely lost hope of
holding his ground, gave way to panic, turned his horse's
head, and headed the flight.</p>

<p>Having solemnly rendered thanks to God for conducting
himself and his army so far in safety, Edward summoned
Gobin Agace, gave him and his companions leave to
depart, and, in recognition of the service he had rendered,
presented him with a hundred nobles and a good
horse.</p>

<p>The Somme being thus passed, the king, with a lighter
heart, pursued his march, intending to take up his quarters
at the town of Noyelle. Learning, however, that it belonged
to the Countess of Aumerle, sister of his old friend,
Robert of Artois, he sent to assure her that she should
not be disturbed, and pursued his way till he came, on
Friday, to a village in Ponthieu. Understanding that
Philip of Valois was still pursuing with the intention of
giving battle, Edward, no longer wishing to avoid an
encounter, resolved to encamp, and await what fortune
God should send.</p>

<p>"Let us post ourselves here," he said to his people, "for
we will not go farther till we have seen our enemies.
I have reason to wait for them on this spot, as I am now
on the lawful inheritance of my grandmother, and I am
resolved to defend it against my adversary, Philip of
Valois."</p>

<p>Orders for encamping on the plain near the village
having been issued, Edward, remembering the infinitely
superior number of the army which followed the banner
of his foe, and determined to take every precaution to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>
ensure a victory, in the event of a battle, commanded his
marshals to select the most advantageous ground, and to
inclose a large park, which had a wood in the rear, within
which to place all the baggage-waggons and horses. No
time was lost in executing the king's orders; and the
English, with a degree of hope unfelt for days, then set
about furbishing and repairing their armour, so as to be
prepared for the conflict which was not likely to be for
many hours delayed.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Edward, no longer avoiding but courting
an encounter, sent his scouts towards Abbeville to learn
whether or not there was any sign that Philip of Valois
was about to take the field; and the scouts, on returning,
said there was no appearance of any movement on the
enemy's part. The king then dismissed his men to their
quarters with orders to be ready betimes next morning;
and, after giving a supper to the earls and barons who
accompanied him, he retired to his oratory, and, falling
on his knees before the altar, prayed to God that, in the
event of combating his adversary on the morrow, he
might come off with honour.</p>

<p>By midnight all was quiet, for thorough discipline prevailed
throughout the camp, and men stretched themselves
to rest; and refreshed their energies with slumber; and I,
Arthur Winram, as I spread the skin of a wild beast on the
grass hard by the prince's pavilion, and threw myself on
the ground, and closed my eyes to dream of marvellous
adventures in love and war, said to myself&mdash;</p>

<p>"Now let me sleep while there is yet time. Mayhap,
ere the sun of to-morrow sets, I may sleep the sleep that
knows no breaking."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a><br />

<small>THE EVE OF BATTLE</small></h2>


<p>It is well known that Robert, King of Sicily, was a great
astrologer and full of deep science, and that he had often
cast the nativities of Edward of England and Philip of
Valois; and that, having found by his astrology and the
influence of the stars that, if they met in hostile encounter,
Philip would assuredly be defeated, the Sicilian king had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>
frankly intimated to his royal kinsman the result of his
investigations, and strongly advised him to beware of
hazarding a battle.</p>

<p>For years this prediction had exercised much influence
on Philip's mind; but on this occasion, the Valois, finding
himself at the head of an army so much superior in number
to that of his gifted adversary, was ready to throw all
hesitation to the winds, and eager for nothing so much as
an early opportunity of coming to close conflict. Much,
therefore, was he disappointed on hearing that the English
had given him the slip and passed the Somme.</p>

<p>"Now," demanded Philip, turning to his marshals,
"what is to be done?"</p>

<p>"Sire," replied they, "the tide is now in at Blanche-taque,
and you can only cross the river by the bridge of
Abbeville."</p>

<p>"Well, then, let us turn toward Abbeville," said Philip,
and his marshals gave orders to that effect.</p>

<p>On reaching Abbeville, Philip took up his quarters in
the monastery dedicated to St. Peter. He was still hopeful
of overtaking and crushing his foe, though perhaps not
quite so secure of victory, in the event of a battle taking
place, as he had been twelve hours earlier. At all events,
he deemed it prudent to await such additions to his army
as were likely to arrive; and from Thursday to the evening
of Friday he remained impatiently at the monastery
awaiting the coming of his friends and intelligence of his
foes.</p>

<p>Wearily passed the hours, and more and more impatient
grew Philip. At length, however, as that August day was
drawing to a close, the French marshals rode into Abbeville
with tidings that the King of England had encamped
on a plain in Ponthieu, and that the English army appeared
bent on remaining to try conclusions. Perhaps Philip
now began to entertain some doubts as to the result, and
to call to memory the prediction of the King of Sicily,
which, in his rage and desire for vengeance, he had, for a
time, forgotten. But, in any case, it was clear that he had
gone too far to recede; and, come what might, he resolved
to push forward and fight for the crown which he wore.</p>

<p>So Philip of Valois entertained the princes and great
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>
lords of his army at supper; and, next morning, after
hearing mass, he set out in pursuit of the invaders who
had wrought him so much mischief and caused him so
much trouble. As he left Abbeville the rain fell in torrents,
and the march was long and fatiguing. But, still
undaunted, Philip pushed forward, and, about noon, came
in sight of the English, who were seated on the ground on
a large plain, not far from a village which boasted of a
windmill. Hitherto obscure, this village was, from that
day, to be widely known to fame as the place where the
great Plantagenet, after being so keenly hunted, turned
to bay.</p>

<p>It was Cressy.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a><br />

<small>THE BATTLE OF CRESSY</small></h2>


<p>It was Saturday, the 26th of August, 1346, when Philip of
Valois marched from Abbeville to Cressy; and, on the
morning of that day, the King of England and the
Prince of Wales, rising early, heard mass and took the
sacrament. At the same time most of the English confessed
their sins and received absolution, that they might
go to battle with lighter consciences and heavier hands;
and these religious ceremonies having been performed,
Edward commanded his men to arm themselves, and,
with the aid of his constable and the two marshals,
arrayed the army in three divisions.</p>

<p>At the head of the first division Edward placed the
Prince of Wales, who was supported by the Earls of
Warwick and Oxford. The second was under the Lord
de Roos and the Earls of Northampton and Arundel.
The third, which the king intended as a reserve, he retained
under his own command.</p>

<p>Having thus arrayed his forces, Edward, armed in mail,
save his head which was uncovered, mounted a palfrey,
and riding from rank to rank, with a white wand in his
hand, encouraged the soldiers by his presence, and intreated
them to do their duty valiantly. He then ordered
that they should refresh themselves with what provisions
they had, and retired to his own division; while the men
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
seated themselves on the grass and ate and drank at their
ease. Everything being ready for action, they placed their
helmets and weapons beside them, and awaited the coming
of their foes, who, still deeming themselves secure of an
easy victory, were pushing forward furiously.</p>

<p>It was not, however, till afternoon&mdash;not, in fact, till
three o'clock&mdash;that Philip of Valois, who had left Abbeville
in the midst of a heavy fall of rain, came up&mdash;at the
head of that seemingly countless host, which had gathered
from so many countries to his aid&mdash;with the handful of
invaders he had vowed to crush as a potter's vessel. As
the French approached, the sun, which had been obscured
all the morning, broke through the clouds, and
added to the effect of their chivalrous display. Nor
could anything have been more impressive. Banners
and pennons flew; armour glistened; bridles rang; and
from the armed multitude&mdash;panting for blood and carnage&mdash;rose
loudly shouts of "Kill! kill! kill!"</p>

<p>It happened, on that memorable day, that the Count of
Alençon led the van of the French army, and that in front
of his cavalry he had placed the Genoese, whose cross-bows
were deemed likely to do terrible execution. But,
fatigued with a hasty and long march, the Genoese were
not in the best condition for the work they were designed
to do, and the delay which took place in consequence
caused considerable confusion. Philip, as was his wont
when in any way annoyed, lost his temper, and, as usual
when he did so, his wrath instantly got the better of his
discretion.</p>

<p>"In the name of God and St. Denis," he roared, "order
the Genoese forward and begin the battle!"</p>

<p>Nothing could have exceeded the imprudence of attacking
formidable foes with an army in such disorder as that
of France then was. But Philip's blood was boiling at the
sight of his enemies seated calmly on the grass, and he
was incapable of calculating chances. Accordingly orders
to attack were given; and the Genoese, supported by a
large body of men-at-arms, splendidly arrayed, approached
with a loud shout which was intended to make the English
tremble. But the Genoese were much mistaken. No
notice whatever was taken of the noise. The Genoese
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>
then raised a second shout. It, however, had quite as
little effect as the first. The Genoese then raised a third
shout. But not one iota more attention was paid to it
than had been paid to the first and second. The Genoese
then presented their cross-bows and began to shoot, and
instantly&mdash;suddenly, as if by magic&mdash;the English were in
motion and on their feet. Every archer was stringing his
bow; every footman was brandishing his pike; every
horseman was mounting his steed. All the thirty thousand
stood calmly contemptuous of odds, and sternly
resolute to conquer or die.</p>

<p>No time was now lost by the English in trying conclusions.
Making a step or two forward, at a signal from
their leaders, the archers in the division commanded by
the prince, which was drawn up in the form and manner
of a portcullis or harrow, with the men-at-arms in the rear,
bent their bows, and sent a shower of arrows with such
force in the face of the foe, that the Genoese flung down
their cross-bows, and attempted to retreat. Again Philip
lost his temper, and, with his temper, everything like
prudence.</p>

<p>"Kill these scoundrels," shouted he; "for, by St.
Denis, they only serve to stop our road to victory."</p>

<p>"Yes," cried the Count of Alençon, "let us ride over
the bodies of the Genoese." And, without hesitation, the
men-at-arms charged the cross-bowmen, and cut down the
unfortunate mercenaries right and left.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the King of England, leaving the post of
honour to the Prince of Wales, and without putting on
his helmet, took his station by the windmill which I have
already mentioned, and kept his eye on every part of the
field. Marking the confusion among the French, he sent
a messenger with orders to his son to charge upon them
where their disarray was greatest; and gallantly was the
duty performed. Nothing, indeed, could exceed the heroism
with which the heir of England&mdash;bestriding his grey
barb, inspiring those around him to despise odds, and
defy the press of numbers&mdash;fought to win his spurs that
day. It was an exciting spectacle to see one so young
enacting such a part on such an occasion; and, inspirited
by his example, the English advanced with increasing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>
enthusiasm, and rushed on with a determination before
which their enemies fell or were fain to give way.</p>

<p>But the great lords of France did not relish the idea of
being beaten by a warrior in his teens; and, as the conflict
went on, the prince was exposed to serious danger.
By a simultaneous movement, the Count of Alençon
advanced from one side and the Count of Flanders from
the other, and, coasting, as it were, the archers, bore
down with irresistible force on the prince, at the head of
their riders; while Philip of Valois, guided by their
banners, hounded forward a body of French and
Germans, who, breaking through the archers, engaged in
hand-to-hand encounter with the prince's men-at-arms.
Fortunately, Lord de Roos and the Earl of Northampton
lost no time in bringing the second division to the
rescue. But the peril was still so extreme, that the Earl
of Warwick, apprehending the worst, sent Sir Thomas
Norwich to the king, who was still posted by the windmill.</p>

<p>"Sire," said the knight, "the Earl of Warwick, and
others about your son, are attacked by the French, and
are sorely handled; wherefore they intreat that you will
come to their assistance with your battalion; for, if the
French increase, as they are like, your son and they will
have much to do."</p>

<p>"Is my son dead, or wounded, or felled to the earth?"
asked Edward.</p>

<p>"No, sire, but he is hardly matched; wherefore he
hath need of your aid."</p>

<p>"Well," said the king, "return to him, and to them that
sent you hither, and let them know not to send for me,
nor expect me to come this day, let what will happen, so
long as my son is alive. And say that I command them
to let my son win his spurs; for, if God be pleased, I
wish all the glory and honour of the day to be given
to the boy and to those who are about him."</p>

<p>Meanwhile, young Edward was bearing himself bravely;
and when Sir Thomas Norwich returned and repeated the
king's answer, the prince and his comrades were greatly
encouraged with the confidence the king reposed in them,
and exerted themselves so strenuously, that, as the day
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>
wore away, the battle&mdash;lately so fiercely contested&mdash;began
to wear a most unfavourable aspect for the French. The
Counts of Alençon and Flanders, indeed, fought bravely.
But their efforts were in vain. Down they both went,
never to rise again; down went the Count of Blois and
the Duke of Lorraine; down went the Count of St. Pol
and the Count of Auxerre; and away fled Charles,
Emperor of Germany, leaving his old blind father to his
fate.</p>

<p>But John of Bohemia&mdash;old and blind as he might be&mdash;was
not the man to fly; and, as he learned from his
knights how the battle was going, and how a boy, whose
name he had never heard, was, at the head of a handful
of men, vanquishing the chivalry of Christendom, his
indignation became high and his excitement great.</p>

<p>"Where," he asked suddenly, "is my son?"</p>

<p>"My lord," answered one of his knights, "we know
not; but we believe he is fighting."</p>

<p>"Well, gentlemen," said the king, "you are all my
people, and my friends, and brothers-in-arms this day:
therefore, as I am blind, I request you to lead me so far
into the battle that I may strike one stroke with my
sword."</p>

<p>"My lord," was the reply, "we will directly conduct
you forward."</p>

<p>And the knights, that they might not lose the blind
king in the crowd, interlaced their bridles with his, and,
placing him in front, led him to the charge. But John of
Bohemia was not more fortunate than his friends. Good
use, indeed, he made of his sword. His charge, however,
was as vain as the efforts of the Counts of Alençon and
Flanders had been. After penetrating into the English
ranks, the Bohemian warriors fell in a body; and the
blind king and his knights were found next day among
the slain, with their horses fastened to each other by the
bridles.</p>

<p>It was now about vespers; and the battle, having
raged for hours, was wearing itself out. Hitherto Philip
of Valois had enacted the part of a brave warrior, and
done stern work with sword and lance. But, as evening
sped on, it became evident that all was lost; and John
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
of Hainault saw that there was no hope of safety save
in flight.</p>

<p>"Sire," said he, riding up to Philip, "retreat while it is
yet time, and do not further expose yourself. If you
have lost this battle, another time you may conquer."
And, taking the rein of the vanquished man's bridle, he
led him forcibly from the scene of action, just as the
shades of evening were beginning to settle over the
ground where his adherents lay dead and dying.</p>

<p>By this time, indeed, the struggle was becoming faint,
and ere long it was at an end; and King Edward descended
from the windmill from which he had watched a
mighty and magnificent army go down before his scanty
ranks. Placing himself at the head of his division, he
advanced towards the Prince of Wales, took the young
hero in his arms, and kissed him.</p>

<p>"Sweet son," said he, "God give you good perseverance.
You have most loyally acquitted yourself this day, and you
are worthy to be a sovereign."</p>

<p>"My lord," replied the prince, bowing low, "the honour
of the victory belongs to you alone."</p>

<p>The King of England and the Prince of Wales, having
strictly forbidden all noise and rioting, retired to give
thanks to God for the happy issue of the day; and darkness,
descending over the ground, now slippery with gore,
concealed the carnage; and so well was order kept in the
English camp that the stillness of the night was unbroken,
save by the wounded who were dying, and the riflers who
were prying, and the ravens that were flying over the
field where the princely hunters had learned to their
cost how terrible was the lion of England when he turned
to bay.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a><br />

<small>MY ADVENTURES AT CRESSY</small></h2>


<p>On that memorable day when, at Cressy, King Edward so
gloriously overcame his enemies, and the Prince of Wales
so gallantly won his spurs, I, Arthur Winram, was no
inactive spectator of the conflict that was raging and the
deeds that were being wrought. Nor, so far as I was concerned,
did that day come to a close without such adventures
as give colour to life and youth, and furnish food for
the memory in more advanced life.</p>

<p>When the French host, with banners waving, and clarions
sounding, and crowds of peasants shouting, "Kill!
kill! kill!" advanced upon Cressy, and when the English,
after sitting quietly on the grass, rose undauntedly to
meet their foes, I lost no time in mounting my steed and
taking my place among the squires and pages who surrounded
the Prince of Wales. At that time the clouds
that had for hours obscured the face of day had dispersed,
and the sun, shining between the two armies, flashed on
their armour and weapons. It was a fair sight to behold,
and the eye of the prince gleamed with enthusiasm as he
gazed on the exciting spectacle.</p>

<p>"Now may we be thankful to God and to good St.
George," exclaimed the young hero, "that the sun at
length deigns to shine on our array."</p>

<p>"My lord," said Sir Thomas Norwich with a smile, "that,
it seems to me, is a blessing which has been equally vouchsafed
to our enemies."</p>

<p>"But mark you not the difference, and how much it is
in our favour?" said the prince proudly. "The sun,"
continued he, "is on our backs, and in their faces; and
methinks," added he, "that is a circumstance which they
can hardly deem to their advantage, and for which it
becomes us to be devoutly thankful."</p>

<p>Such was the conversation that took place by the
prince's standard after we mounted our horses, and almost
as he uttered the last words the battle began in earnest.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p>

<p>I cannot pretend to have any accurate recollection of
what took place for hours after the embattled hosts met
in the shock of war. It was in reality my first field; my
blood was hot; my brain was on fire; and my memory
retains nothing beyond a vague idea of the confusion and
carnage caused by the clash of steel, the rush of war-steeds,
and the flights of arrows that darkened the air
and carried destruction into the ranks of the foemen. I
believe, however, that the novelty, the excitement, and
the very terror of the scene had upon me an intoxicating
influence; and I have been told that I fought like one
drunk with new wine.</p>

<p>As the hours sped on, however, I became more calm;
and, some time after the attempt of the Count of Alençon
and the Count of Flanders to turn the fortune of the day
had ended in their fall, and the utter discomfiture of their
forces, I recovered possession of my senses sufficiently to
be aware that it was after the hour of vespers, that I had
left the battle, and that I was keenly pursuing a young
warrior, evidently of high rank, who, seeing that all hope
of victory had departed, was bent on escaping from a field
which his friends had irretrievably lost.</p>

<p>Even in my soberer mood I had no inclination to
favour his project of escape, and I loudly summoned him
to turn and prove that he was not a coward.</p>

<p>"What ho!" cried I, "turn about. You ought to be
ashamed of yourself thus to fly from a single adversary."</p>

<p>For a time the young warrior paid no attention to the
reproaches which I launched at him. After a time, however,
he seemed to think that it was necessary, for his
honour, to give proof of his valour; and, halting, he
turned his horse's head, put his sword under his arm after
the manner of a lance, and charged me with all his might,
hoping to transfix me.</p>

<p>But he was disappointed. I saw my danger in an
instant, and taking my sword by the handle, and exerting
all my skill and dexterity, I contrived not only to elude
the thrust of my adversary, but, in passing, to strike his
sword to the ground.</p>

<p>But here I lost myself. In fact, I failed to follow up
my advantage with sufficient speed, and my antagonist,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>
springing nimbly from his steed, ere I was aware of
his purpose, repossessed himself of his weapon, and
placed himself on the defensive. My blood by this time
was again up; and I had already resolved that, if no
accident intervened, he should not depart from me on
easy terms. But he, believing, doubtless, that, as I was
on the winning side, the danger of delay was almost, if
not altogether, on his, looked around with the air of one
eager to escape from a conflict likely to result in captivity.</p>

<p>"Frenchman," said I, "it is vain to dream of escape.
We part not till we have proved which is the better man."</p>

<p>"Who are you that follow me thus?" asked my adversary,
apparently astonished at my persistency.</p>

<p>"I am an Englishman, and page to my lord the Prince
of Wales," answered I, "and I mortally hate him whom
the French call king; and as there can, therefore, be no
peace between thee, as a Frenchman, and myself, I pray
thee look to thy defence."</p>

<p>"In truth," replied the youth, "I am not, as you deem
me, a Frenchman, but Louis, son of the Count of
Flanders, and merely fighting against the English as an
ally of the King of France."</p>

<p>"Louis of Flanders!" exclaimed I. "By the Holy
Rood, so much the worse for you! Ever has your sire
been England's bitter foe; and it behoves every Englishman
worthy of his country, as I hold myself to be, to
avenge, on your head, the blood of Jacob von Arteveldt,
who, by your father's instigation, was barbarously murdered."</p>

<p>"Dog of an islander!" cried the young prince, stung to
fury, and brandishing his sword, "I cannot longer brook
your insolence. Dismount, and receive the chastisement
you have provoked."</p>

<p>As he spoke, I leaped from my steed. Instantly our
swords met, and we engaged in hand-to-hand conflict&mdash;he
attacking with all the energy which rage could inspire,
and I defending myself with the determination inspired
by the hope of making a captive almost worth his weight
in gold.</p>

<p>And thus on foot, and in the dusk of evening, took
place a fierce encounter, with no lookers-on save our
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
steeds, which stood silently by. So equally were we
matched, that, for minutes, neither of us had the slightest
advantage, and the issue was doubtful in the extreme.
Fortunately, however, for me, I was now by far the
cooler of the two; and at last, not without great difficulty,
I succeeded in disarming him and bringing him to his
knee. Immediately I threw myself upon him, and, with
visions of the grandeur I was to acquire from taking a
prisoner of such rank, I told him, on pain of death, to
surrender, rescue or no rescue, and awaited his answer,
the nature of which I could hardly doubt.</p>

<p>But, as the proverb has it, there is much between the
cup and the lip. Of this I was, on that occasion, destined
to learn the whole truth by bitter experience. At the
moment I spoke the tramp of cavalry reached my ears;
and, almost ere I could turn my head, my prostrate foe
uttered a loud cry for aid, and several horsemen rode
forward.</p>

<p>"I should know that voice," said the foremost of the
party, reining up at the distance of a few yards from the
spot where I was bending over the prince I had destined
for my prisoner.</p>

<p>"Yes, sire, I am Louis of Flanders," cried my vanquished
adversary. "I am Louis of Flanders; and I lie here at
the mercy of an English varlet."</p>

<p>The horseman who had already spoken, and who was
no other than Philip of Valois, turned towards those who
attended him.</p>

<p>"Slay the varlet, and rescue my cousin of Flanders,"
said he in accents of anger; and two of his companions
dismounted and advanced.</p>

<p>It now appeared that I was doomed to instant death;
and I well-nigh gave myself up for lost. But neither my
instinctive sagacity nor my mother wit deserted me. Quick
as thought, my resolution was taken.</p>

<p>"Hold!" shouted I loudly and menacingly. "Beware,
and be not rash, but listen."</p>

<p>The two men, whose mission was to kill me, stayed their
steps, and the others forming Philip's escort were silent.</p>

<p>"Mark," continued I, seeing that I was attended to, and
feeling hope revive, "my knee is on this young lord's
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>
breast; of my hands, one is on his neck, and in the other
is a dagger, the point of which touches his throat."</p>

<p>"It is true," cried the Flemish prince in great alarm, a
feeling which I took care should not diminish.</p>

<p>"You may kill me, doubtless," added I slowly and
sternly, "but not until I have sacrificed a victim. Advance
a step farther, and this young lord dies on the
instant."</p>

<p>I looked my enemies in the face, and, as well as I could
perceive by the dim light, had no reason utterly to despair.
My presence of mind had saved me, for the moment at
least. The two men stood still, and, a brief conference
having taken place among the party on horseback, a
cavalier advanced.</p>

<p>"Sir page," said he, "relax your grasp, and permit the
young prince to rise, and you shall not be exposed to
injury in life or limb."</p>

<p>"No," exclaimed I sternly. "He rises not till I am
assured of life and liberty."</p>

<p>"I assure you that you shall be unharmed," was the
reply; "and as for your liberty, we must, as a matter of
prudence, keep you with us for the time being; but I
promise that, within as short a space of time as consists
with policy, you will be restored to freedom."</p>

<p>I hesitated.</p>

<p>"And whose word have I for such conditions being
fulfilled?" asked I, after a pause, and not without curiosity.</p>

<p>"You have my word," answered the cavalier; "and
I am John of Hainault, whose name is not unknown in
England."</p>

<p>I, with difficulty, curbed my tongue, and suppressed
the reply that sprang to my lips; for the martial Hainaulter
had recently deserted the cause of King Edward
for that of Philip of Valois; and everybody had told
each other with surprise that he had changed sides
from the most mercenary motives. But I felt the full
peril of my position, and answered with the respect
which might be supposed due from me to the uncle of
Queen Philippa, and the man who originally escorted her
to England.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p>

<p>"The word of the Lord John of Hainault," I said, "is
sufficient, and I rely confidently on his honour."</p>

<p>I now hesitated no longer. Rising, I assisted the
Flemish prince to his feet; and, while I surrendered my
sword to John of Hainault, with all the grace of which I
was master, Louis of Flanders approached the stirrup
of Philip of Valois.</p>

<p>"Where is your father, cousin?" asked Philip kindly.</p>

<p>"Alas! sire, he is slain," replied the boy&mdash;"slain before
my eyes;" and he burst into tears.</p>

<p>"Compose yourself, cousin," said Philip kindly; "it
has been the fate of many brave men to die to-day."</p>

<p>"You are right, sire," replied the young count suddenly.
"It is no time to mourn; it is more meet to think of
vengeance."</p>

<p>"Yes, sire," added John of Hainault; "and, that we
may be alive and free to fight another day, let us tarry here
no longer. I say, as I have already said, that, if you have
lost this battle, another time you may be a conqueror.
Let us ride."</p>

<p>"And whither go you?" asked the young Count of
Flanders.</p>

<p>"To the castle of La Broyes," answered John of
Hainault.</p>

<p>"And what are we to make of this English page?"
inquired one of the horsemen.</p>

<p>"Kill him!" cried Philip, bending upon me his eyes
fully and fiercely, like a hawk that has long been kept in
the dark.</p>

<p>"No, sire," protested John of Hainault calmly; "I
have pledged my word for his safety; he must mount and
accompany us as a prisoner."</p>

<p>"By St. Denis!" exclaimed Philip. "Why cumber
ourselves with such as he is, when a thrust would settle the
question at once?"</p>

<p>"My lord," replied John of Hainault gravely, "my
word is passed; and that is conclusive in my view as to
his life being spared, however worthless it may be."</p>

<p>No more time was wasted. I was ordered to mount my
horse. I obeyed readily, making the best of a bad
business, and, disarmed and vigilantly guarded, accompanied
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>
the cavaliers who escorted Philip of Valois from
the field in which he had met with a defeat more terrible
than any that had befallen the warriors of France since
that day when the paladins of Charlemagne were attacked
and routed by a half-Spanish, half-Moorish host, at the
pass of Roncesvalles.</p>

<p>Mournfully and sadly the vanquished warriors rode on
through the fields of Picardy; and so much darker grew
the night as they pursued their way, that, at one time, they
believed they had lost the path, and feared that they
would find themselves at the English camp. Late at
night, however, they perceived before them the lights of
La Broyes, and, with hearts somewhat lightened, they
approached the gate. But, as it happened, the gate was
shut for the night, and the vanquished Valois was refused
admittance into his own fortress.</p>

<p>"Summon the governor," said Philip, in a commanding
tone.</p>

<p>Having been hastily summoned, the governor appeared
on the battlements.</p>

<p>"Who is it that calls at such an hour?" demanded the
functionary, in a mood by no means serene.</p>

<p>"Open, governor, open!" cried Philip impatiently.</p>

<p>"Who is it?" again demanded the governor, in a
querulous tone.</p>

<p>"It is the Fortune of France," answered Philip solemnly.</p>

<p>And the governor, knowing his master's voice, came
down; and the gate was speedily opened; and Philip of
Valois and his friends, and I, their captive, silently entered
La Broyes; and, so far as I was concerned, that melancholy
night ride was ended.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a><br />

<small>AT LA BROYES</small></h2>


<p>I have no doubt I entered the castle of La Broyes with
a merrier heart than any of the party whose prisoner I
happened to be. I was not likely to forget, and I did
not forget, that I had formed one of the dauntless army
which had just won a marvellous victory; and, albeit I
was a captive, I felt&mdash;especially after having supped&mdash;more
than half-inclined to believe my own mishap a trifle
when I thought of the effect that would be produced
in the cities and hamlets, and castles and granges of
England, when through the land ran tidings that England's
king had, without even putting on his helmet, put his
continental enemies under his feet.</p>

<p>I was still musing on this subject&mdash;so grateful to
English pride&mdash;and was on the point of stretching myself
to rest on the floor of the chamber to which I had
been conducted, when John of Hainault condescended
to come and hold some conversation with me. I had
not, of course, any idea of the Hainaulter's motive, and
more than suspected that his object was to gain intelligence
that might be turned to account. However, I
deemed that I was guilty of no indiscretion in convincing
him that I was not wholly without importance in the
court of that country to which, twenty years earlier, he
had escorted Queen Isabel the Fair when she came to
dethrone her ill-starred husband, and to which, somewhat
later, he had conducted his niece as the bride of
King Edward, then on the point of throwing off the
influence of his mother and Roger de Mortimer, and
entering upon that career of victory which enabled
him to take the highest place among the sovereigns
of the age.</p>

<p>I flattered myself that I had reason to be satisfied with
the impression I produced, and, indeed, soon found the
advantage I had gained by asserting my dignity as page
to the Prince of Wales. In fact, John of Hainault's
countenance began gradually to relax, and he expressed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
himself on the event of the day with a frankness hardly
to have been anticipated under the circumstances.</p>

<p>"Well, sir page," said he, laughing somewhat carelessly
as he prepared to go, "it rejoices me to perceive that you
treat your mishap with the indifference which a brave
warrior&mdash;be he stripling or grey-beard&mdash;should treat
temporary captivity. And God wots you have your consolation;
for, certes, the King of England has won a
great victory, and the Prince of Wales has proved himself
a wondrous war-chief, considering his years."</p>

<p>"My lord," replied I with enthusiasm, "may the king
ever so prevail over his enemies, and may the prince ever
prove himself the worthy son of such a father!"</p>

<p>"The King of France," said John of Hainault, looking
keenly at me as he spoke, "is inclined to blame Sir
Godemar du Fay for his defeat."</p>

<p>"In truth," remarked I, smiling, "it baffles me to discover
in what way the unfortunate knight could have
prevented it."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless," continued he, "there are some about
the king who are loudly calling Sir Godemar a traitor;
and the king, enraged at the idea of having been betrayed,
threatens to hang him."</p>

<p>I trembled for the safety of Gobin Agace, who had
served us so well in the hour of need, but I did not deem
myself bound to speak.</p>

<p>"Thinkest thou that Sir Godemar could have played
the traitor?" asked he.</p>

<p>"My lord," I answered, "I am a humble page, and
unable to judge of such high matters of war and state."</p>

<p>"For my part," continued he slowly, "I entertain no
doubt of Sir Godemar's good faith; and I see not how
he could have resisted the English army."</p>

<p>"Verily," said I grimly, "it seems to me the reverse of
surprising, that Sir Godemar failed to do with a handful
of men-at-arms and a rabble of townsmen, what Philip,
Count of Valois, failed to do with the flower of the
French nobility and half the princes of Europe at his
back."</p>

<p>"My friend," said John of Hainault drily, "I advise
you to be more respectful when you allude to the chief of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>
the House of Valois, and to speak of him as King of
France; otherwise, assuredly they will have little scruple
in hanging you on the nearest tree."</p>

<p>"Well, my lord," replied I carelessly, "I am in their
hands, and, doubtless, they can do with me as they please.
But, in that case, my lord the Prince of Wales may make
inconvenient inquiries after the fate of his page; and King
Edward has this day shown that he knows how to avenge
lawless executions."</p>

<p>"<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">Mort Dieu!</i>" exclaimed the Hainaulter in alarm; "I
warn you, for your own sake, not to allow your tongue to
outrun your discretion, or you will never more see the
green fields and oaken forests of your native land."</p>

<p>And wishing me "Good night," he took his departure,
certainly not much wiser than he had come.</p>

<p>I now stretched myself to rest, and slept the sound
sleep of youth. Next morning I rose refreshed, and with
a feeling that I had little to complain of, save that Fortune
had been somewhat unkind in making me a captive in the
hour of victory. But I was not without my consolation,
and I was rather inclined to show contempt towards my
gaolers as men belonging to an inferior nation. But
I had prudence enough to keep this feeling in check, and
so to insinuate myself into their good graces as to learn
something as to the movements of Philip of Valois and
John of Hainault.</p>

<p>It appeared, in fact, that Philip and the martial
Hainaulter had only made a brief halt at La Broyes.
Indeed, Philip neither considered it safe nor politic to
remain long in the place. At midnight, after taking some
refreshment, he again mounted, and, under the direction
of guides familiar with the country, set out for Amiens.
By daybreak he reached that place, and, having halted for
a while to rest from his fatigue, he pursued his way to Paris,
vowing to hang Sir Godemar du Fay, and vainly hoping,
perhaps, to discover some way of redeeming himself and
his fortunes from the disgrace and disaster of a terrible
defeat.</p>

<p>I bore my imprisonment patiently, but could not do
otherwise than blame John of Hainault for having, in
some degree, forfeited his promise, and left me without
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>
hope of release. I was reflecting somewhat bitterly on
the circumstance one day, when the governor of La Broyes
appeared, and informed me that, on the morrow, I was to
be removed from the fortress.</p>

<p>"And wherefore?" asked I.</p>

<p>"I know not," answered the governor, with a significant
shake of the head.</p>

<p>I felt some alarm, but refrained from exhibiting any
feeling. However, I made an effort to obtain information
on another, and not an unimportant, point.</p>

<p>"Mayhap," said I gravely, "you will not deem me impertinent,
as affairs stand, in asking to what place I am to
be removed?"</p>

<p>"To Bernicles," was his reply.</p>

<p>My heart rather sank, for the name suggested to my
imagination that terrible instrument of torture used by
the Saracens. In fact, the only bernicles of which I had
heard is an engine made of pieces of wood pierced with
holes, into which the legs of captives are thrust. They
are put at such a distance from each other as to cause
intense pain; and, the holes being at various distances,
the legs of the victim are forced to a greater or less extension
according to the pain intended to be inflicted. No
wonder I started, and felt some sensation of horror, as I
turned to the governor, and said gravely&mdash;</p>

<p>"I mislike the name. However, when one of your
monarchs&mdash;indeed, that King of France since canonised
and known as St. Louis&mdash;was a prisoner of the Saracens,
and threatened by them with the bernicles, he said, 'I am
your captive, and it is in your power to do with me as you
please.' So say I."</p>

<p>The governor left me; and I, having taken my evening
meal, lay down to sleep, and dreamed that I was on the
point of being put in the bernicles by Philip of Valois
and the young Lord De Ov, and that I was rescued from
their hands by the ladies of Poix, whose champion I had
constituted myself when their father's castle was taken by
the army of invaders.</p>

<p>"Well," murmured I as I awoke, and convinced myself
with some difficulty that it was a dream, "no saying what
all this may end in. Assuredly my prospects are not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>
inviting. Nevertheless, let me not droop or despair. I
have heard men say that fortune, in love and war, often
turns out more favourable than could have been expected.
So let me hope for the best, and trust in God and St.
George."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a><br />

<small>THE SIEGE OF CALAIS</small></h2>


<p>I have related, in a previous chapter, and in its proper
place, that when, on that memorable Saturday on which
Cressy was fought, the English found themselves masters
of the field, they, in obedience to the king's command,
refrained from noise and riotous merriment, and frequently
gave thanks to God for the happy issue of the day, and
for the wondrous victory which had crowned their efforts.</p>

<p>After vespers the French seemed to have vanished from
the ground. At least, they gave no audible sign of being
near the camp of their conquerors. No more hooting or
shouting was heard, nor any more crying out for particular
lords or their banners. Nevertheless, the English made
a point of erring on the safe side, and were on their guard
against a nocturnal surprise. As the night of Saturday
was very obscure, they lighted huge torches, and kindled
large fires; and when the morning of Sunday, the 27th of
August dawned, and the atmosphere was so densely
wrapped in fog that men had some difficulty in recognising
their comrades in arms, even at the distance of a few
yards, their sense of insecurity increased, and, with the
sense of insecurity, the vigilance necessary to avert all
danger.</p>

<p>And what did King Edward under the circumstances?</p>

<p>He called his marshals to his presence, and pointed
out the danger of the French being allowed to collect and
form themselves into a large body; and he ordered his
marshals, at the head of a detachment, to make an excursion,
and prevent any surprise that might be meditated by
the enemy.</p>

<p>The expedition was not without its results. In fact,
the marshals encountered a large body of fighting men,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>
headed by the Archbishop of Rouen and the Grand Prior
of France, who had been informed that Philip of Valois
was not to fight before Sunday, and still remained in
ignorance that he had fought and been discomfited. A
conflict immediately took place; and the Archbishop and
the Grand Prior having fallen to rise no more, their
followers either shared their fate or saved themselves by
flight.</p>

<p>Flushed with victory, the marshals returned to the
English camp, and, meeting King Edward as he was
coming from mass, told him of their adventure, and
reported how matters stood. On learning that there was
now no danger of the French collecting, the king gave
orders for examining into the numbers and condition of
the dead.</p>

<p>By this time the fog was vanishing; and ere long
the full extent of the carnage became known. And
fearful it was to think that, of the mighty army which,
twenty-four hours earlier, was marching to Cressy from
Abbeville to exterminate the invaders with shouts of
"Kill! kill! kill!" more than thirty thousand were
corpses. Of these, eleven were princes, and twelve
hundred knights.</p>

<p>Our king was not a man to war with the dead. He
ordered the bodies of the principal knights to be
carried to the abbey of Montenay, and, at the same time,
proclaimed in the neighbourhood that he should grant a
truce for three days, in order that the French might bury
their dead; and, having halted all Sunday on the field of
battle, he next morning marched with his army in the
direction of Calais, which he was resolved, if possible, to
make his own ere he crossed the narrow seas to his native
land. No opposition was now offered to his progress.
Having marched through the forest of Hardelou and the
country of the Boulonois, Edward and his son reached
Wissant-on-the-sea; and, having rested with his army
during the night of Wednesday at that large town, which
some believe to be the Portus Iccius at which Cæsar
embarked for the conquest of Britain, they next day
appeared before the walls of Calais, with a stern determination,
on the part of the king, not to retire till
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
he had placed the standard of England on its highest
tower.</p>

<p>Now it happened that Calais was a town of marvellous
strength, and that it had the advantage of being strongly
garrisoned. John de Vienne, a knight of Burgundy, was
governor, and with him were a number of knights and
squires, who vowed to fight to the death rather than allow
the place to fall into the hands of the English. But the
brave governor was not quite sure of their provisions
holding out in the event of a long siege, and, therefore,
decided on sending all the poor inhabitants out of the
town, in order to diminish the consumption.</p>

<p>It was a Wednesday morning; and greatly surprised
was the King of England when he was informed that
men, women, and children were issuing in swarms from
the gates. Mounting his steed, Edward hastened to the
spot, and found that upwards of seventeen hundred
human beings were outside the walls, and attempting to
pass through his lines.</p>

<p>"Why have you left the town?" asked he, in a voice
wherein curiosity was mingled with compassion.</p>

<p>"Because we have nothing to eat," was the reply that
rose from a thousand tongues.</p>

<p>"Well," said the king, much moved, "I will allow you
to pass through in safety; but first I will order you all a
hearty dinner, and, ere you depart, I will give to each of
you two sterlings as alms."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the poor Calesians, touched with gratitude,
"may God and Our Lady bless thee and thine!"</p>

<p>And the king was as good as his word; and the Calesians
went forth to seek new homes, scarcely knowing
whither they went.</p>

<p>Such was the scene with which the siege opened.</p>

<p>It appeared evident to King Edward that Calais could
not be taken by storm, and he deliberately prepared for a
long siege. Between the city and the river, and the
bridge, the king caused houses to be built of wood,
thatched with straw or broom, and laid out in streets.
To this temporary town everything was brought likely to
be required for the subsistence of an army. From Flanders
and England arrived cloth, and bread, and merchandize
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
in great variety; and every Wednesday and Saturday
there was held a market, at which those who had money
could buy whatever they desired.</p>

<p>Meanwhile many gallant deeds were done, and many
feats of arms were wrought. Few days, indeed, passed
without witnessing conflicts between the warriors of England
and the warriors of France. Frequently skirmishes
took place near the gates and the ditches, between the
garrison and the besiegers; and so vigilant were the
French who guarded the fortresses around Calais, that at
no time could the English venture abroad without the
certainty of falling in with parties of the enemy. But, of
course, they did constantly venture abroad in search of
adventure, and seldom did so without skirmishes, which
never ended without some being killed and wounded.</p>

<p>Autumn passed away in this manner. But still King
Edward acted with caution and foresight. In vain the
impatient and imprudent urged him to take Calais by
assault. He perfectly comprehended his position, and
expressed his determination to bide his time.</p>

<p>"I know," said he, "that it would be life and labour
lost, and that I must stay here till I starve the town into
a surrender. Besides, Philip of Valois may come at any
time to raise the siege; and I must spare my men, that
they may be ready to do battle valiantly in case of need."</p>

<p>But slow was the process of reducing the Calesians to
extremity. Gradually, indeed, it became apparent that
provisions were stealthily conveyed into Calais; and, after
this conviction, speedily followed the discovery that two
mariners, Marant and Mestriel by name, and both
residents at Abbeville, acted as guides to the men who
were adventurous enough to relieve the garrison. On
being made aware of this, the king vowed to put an end
to the system, which threatened indefinite delay to his
conquest, and took immediate steps with that object.</p>

<p>And this is what King Edward did. He caused a
large castle to be constructed of strong timbers, and
placed between Calais and the sea; he carefully fortified
it with engines of war, including the bombards, now
coming into use; he garrisoned it with forty men-at-arms
and two hundred archers, whose duty it was, night and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>
day, to guard the harbour and the port so closely that
nothing could come in or go out without being sunk or
taken; and, having in this way cut off all communication
between the beleaguered city and the sea, he calmly
awaited the course of events.</p>

<p>"The fruit," said he, "is not yet ripe; but it will be
soon; and, with Calais in our possession, Englishmen will
be able to boast&mdash;nor in vain&mdash;that they carry at their
belts the keys of France and Flanders."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a><br />

<small>MY RELEASE</small></h2>


<p>I awaited with something like resignation the hour of
my removal from La Broyes to Bernicles; but day after
day passed, and I still occupied the chamber in which I
had been left when Philip of Valois and John of Hainault
took their departure. At length I was visited a second
time by the governor of the fortress, and, on looking up,
perceived that his air and aspect were much more friendly
than on the former occasion.</p>

<p>"Young gentleman," began he, advancing, "it grieves
me that I have treated you with a neglect of which
I should not have been guilty had I known that I was so
deeply your debtor."</p>

<p>"Sir," said I, much surprised, "I am not aware at this
moment in what way I have been of service to you."</p>

<p>"Ah," replied the governor, "though you knew it not,
the ladies of Poix are my near kinswomen; and I would
fain show what kindness is in my power to one who, at
great hazard to himself, saved them from the violence of
a brutal soldiery."</p>

<p>"Sir," said I, bowing low, "I pray you to accept my
thanks for your courteous compliment; nathless, I have
yet to learn that the soldiers of England are more brutal
than other soldiers would be under the like circumstances.
For the rest, I did no more than a youth apprenticed to
chivalry is bound to do on such occasions."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p>

<p>"Well," continued the governor, "we will not dispute
on either point. My business with you is simple. I
believe that, of all evils in this life, an Englishman regards
captivity with most horror. Is it not so?"</p>

<p>"Doubtless," replied I, reflecting, "to men of a nation
whose passion has ever been freedom, the idea of being
confined to a narrow space, and within four walls, is the
reverse of grateful."</p>

<p>"And you would do something for liberty?" suggested
he.</p>

<p>"Certes," replied I quickly; "anything in reason and
honour."</p>

<p>"In neither respect should I ask you to offend your
conscience," said the governor frankly. "Now listen."</p>

<p>"I am all attention."</p>

<p>"I hold letters of great moment, written by the Lady
Joan, Countess of Hainault, to her daughter, Philippa,
Queen of England. On them may depend fifty thousand
lives, and it is of the last moment that they should be
speedily and safely conveyed to her hands. Are you
willing to do an errand which, if it result as I would fain
hope, will be the means of putting an end to a sanguinary
war, and bringing about an honourable peace?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly," answered I, "I see no reason why I should
refuse to be the bearer of letters from the Countess of
Hainault to my lady the queen."</p>

<p>"In that case," said the governor, "there is no reason
why, in twenty-four hours, you should not be on the sea,
and tilting over the waves towards England. The condition
which I make in setting you at liberty is so slight
that I hardly deem it can interfere with your doing our
errand. And, mark me, I make the condition light
because I fear not to trust you, for where there is so much
chivalry there must be much truth."</p>

<p>"Name the condition," said I.</p>

<p>"It is simply this&mdash;that you give your promise not
to bear arms against the King of France for a year and
a day."</p>

<p>I hesitated.</p>

<p>"What, youth!" exclaimed the governor, "do you
hesitate?"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p>

<p>"Yes, by St. George! I do; for I know not whether
I can, with honour, make such a promise."</p>

<p>"Tush, youth," said the governor, "you are over-scrupulous.
Think of William Montacute, the great Earl
of Salisbury, and one of your king's foremost barons.
He was long a prisoner in the Châtelet, in Paris; and you
may have heard of Salisbury's captivity. While he lay
in the Châtelet, his countess, whom Englishmen called
Katherine the Fair, had the misfortune to bewitch the
King of England by her beauty, but with no will of her
own."</p>

<p>"The countess," said I, "was chaste as the snow on
the top of Cheviot."</p>

<p>"But, however that may have been," continued the
governor&mdash;"and I question it not&mdash;it was at length agreed
that Salisbury should be exchanged for the Earl of Moray,
on condition of taking an oath never again to serve against
France; and such an oath he took."</p>

<p>"Well," said I, after a pause, "my lord of Salisbury
was a puissant earl, and I am a nameless page; and,
though naught should, or ought to, tempt me to do what my
conscience disapproved, merely because it had been done
by a great lord; yet, seeing not how it can be inconsistent
with my honour to accept your terms, such as they
are, and to do your errand, such as you describe it, I
cannot but deem that, in accepting your terms and promising
to do your errand, I am acting rightly."</p>

<p>"Credit me, you are acting rightly," said the governor.</p>

<p>Next morning I was mounted soon after sunrise, and,
with the Countess of Hainault's epistles to Queen Philippa
in my custody, I was, under the protection of an escort
of horse, riding towards the seaside to embark in a
ship that lay at anchor, and ready to sail for the English
coast.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</a><br />

<small>THE FALCON REVISITED</small></h2>


<p>It was the evening of Saturday, the 10th of October,
1346, when the sun was just setting, as I, having crossed
the Channel, and travelled from Dover to London, and
escaped all perils by sea and land, again found myself safe
and sound in that part of the capital of England known as
Gracechurch.</p>

<p>I alighted, not without the air of a stripling of consequence,
at the sign of the Falcon, and, as I did so, and
parted from my horse, I could not but remember how
brief was the period that had elapsed since first I set foot
in that hostelry, and yet how much in the interval I had
seen and experienced. I was certainly a little more
advanced in years, and looked, perhaps, less boyish,
because taller and stronger, than when I accompanied my
grandsire to see London lighted up on Midsummer Eve,
and to try my skill at the quintain on the day of St. John
the Baptist. But half of the dreams in which I then
was in the habit of indulging had been realised. I had
seen countless knights, with their plumes, and swords,
and prancing steeds, and I had witnessed much of the
pomp and pageantry, and something, also, of the horrors,
of war. Moreover, I had played a part which flattered
my vanity. I had figured in court and camp&mdash;had passed
through perilous adventures&mdash;had stood, sword in hand,
as the champion of noble demoiselles&mdash;had footed the
walls of besieged towns, and had participated in a great
victory, the tidings of which set bells ringing and bonfires
blazing all over England.</p>

<p>What wonder if, in such circumstances, my young heart
swelled with pride, and if I already saw myself, in imagination,
with the crest, and plume, and golden spurs of
knighthood, leading bands of fighting men to battle, and
rushing on to victory in the name of God and St. George?</p>

<p>Musing thus&mdash;for I had my full share of ambition as
well as vanity&mdash;I, with a firm step, entered the hostelry
of the Falcon; and, having seated myself at a table, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>
summoned the drawer to furnish a stoup of wine, I looked
around on the company with the air of superiority which
is soon learned among men taking part in military enterprises
that are crowned with success.</p>

<p>Many of the ordinary frequenters of the Falcon were
there, indulging, as of old, in gossip about the events of
the day, and discussing the news with a degree of excitement
which convinced me that there was something of
great importance in the wind. My attention, however,
was attracted to three persons who sat in silence apart
from the group of citizens, and separate from each other.
One was evidently a yeoman of Kent; the second was a
young priest, with a restless eye and a wild manner; and
the third, whose dress indicated that he ranked as a
squire, was a tall, strong man of forty or thereabouts, with
fair hair and a grey eye, whose glance told plainly as
words could have done that he was deficient neither in
satire nor sagacity. He called for a quart of ale just as
I entered, and proceeded to discuss the liquor with
evident relish.</p>

<p>I was on the point of putting a question to this worthy
gentleman as to the latest news from Calais, and had just
prepared myself to open the conversation by drinking
deep of the wine which the drawer had brought me, when
Thomelin of Winchester entered. I smiled in recognition,
and mine host, observing me, stared as if he had seen a
ghost.</p>

<p>"What!&mdash;eh!&mdash;Arthur, my lad!" exclaimed he, recovering
himself, "can this possibly be you, and in the
body?"</p>

<p>"None other than myself, good Thomelin," answered
I laughingly, "and flesh, and blood, and bone to boot;
you may take my word for it. But now tell me, for I
long to learn, how fares my grandsire, and how fares my
mother?"</p>

<p>"By St. Thomas!" replied he gravely, "not so well as
they are wont to do, for they have heard that you had
fallen in the wars, and are sadly grieved to think of it."</p>

<p>"And yet," said I half-laughing, "here you see me with
a whole skin, and hardly a scar to bear witness to the
perils I have passed."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p>

<p>"And you have come home, young man," interrupted
the squire, speaking with a burr which sufficiently indicated
his Northumbrian birth, and possibly his Danish
origin&mdash;"you have come home at a time when so many
are flocking to Calais to join the king and fight for his
honour?"</p>

<p>"Even so, worthy squire," replied I, not without a
spice of temper in my voice. "It is the fortune of war,
and, certes, it is with no good will of mine own that I am
in London and not before Calais. As ill-luck would have
it, I was taken prisoner on the evening of the day of
Cressy, and I only regained my liberty on condition of
forthwith returning to England, and not again drawing
my sword against Philip of Valois for a year and a day.
What could I do?"</p>

<p>"Nothing but make the best of a bad bargain," answered
the Northumbrian. "But assuredly you have reached
England at a good time for a stripling who is afraid of his
sword rusting in the scabbard; for seldom has England
had greater need of stout hearts and strong hands than
now."</p>

<p>"What mean you?" asked I, my curiosity as to the
news of the day reviving.</p>

<p>"What!" exclaimed Thomelin, excitedly grasping my
arm, "have you not heard that David Bruce, whom the
Scots call king, has come over the Border with all his men
of war and wild Galwegians, and that he is ravaging the
West Marches with fire and sword?"</p>

<p>"Not a word of it," replied I, much amazed.</p>

<p>"It's not the less true, however, as I'm likely to know
to my cost," observed the Northumbrian gravely.</p>

<p>"May the saints, and especially St. George and St.
Edward, defend us!" exclaimed I, after a moment's
pause; "and that this invasion of the Scots should happen
when the king and so many of his nobles are beyond the
seas, might provoke every English saint in the calendar.
But let us hope for the best, seeing that the Lords Neville
and Percy are at home in command of the Northern
counties; and fame belies them if they are not the men to
give the Scots a warm reception."</p>

<p>"I doubt it not, Arthur, my lad!&mdash;I doubt it not!"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>
cried Thomelin with enthusiasm. "Shame be upon the
Neville and the Percy if they did less than their very best
at such a time, and in King Edward's absence, especially
since Queen Philippa has left for York, to show them her
countenance and aid them with her counsel. And, if
they do not, methinks it will be the duty of every Englishman,
no matter how humble a body he may be, to
gird on his father's sword, and go northward to fight for
his king's honour and his country's safety."</p>

<p>"Mine host," interrupted the young priest, breaking
silence for the first time, "thou speakest of what thou
knowest naught, and canst not comprehend. Why should
the poor and the oppressed gird on their swords to defend
a land where kings and nobles do as they list, and where
men who are not kings or nobles are compelled to draw
the water and hew the wood for others, and used worse
than beasts of burden?"</p>

<p>"Beshrew me," said Thomelin, half in jest, half in
earnest, "if it does not seem to me dangerous for a man
to speak of kings and nobles in such a strain, even when
he has a frock and cowl to protect him."</p>

<p>"Besides," urged I quietly, "I believe it is said in
Holy Writ&mdash;I have heard, at least, that it is&mdash;'Curse
not the king, no, not in thy thought; and curse not
the rich in thy bed-chamber; for a bird of the air shall
carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the
matter.'"</p>

<p>"What sayest thou to it, good friend?" asked Thomelin
of the Kentish yeoman.</p>

<p>"For my part," answered the yeoman, speaking with
great caution, "nothing have I to say against the king,
who, doubtless, is a good king, and one likely to add
much to the country's pride; and, for riches, let me say
bluntly that I am not so poor as to deem the possession
of riches a crime. But answer me this, Master Thomelin,
how are men to live, if the king's purveyors continue, as
now, to oppress and plunder at their pleasure? Answer
me that."</p>

<p>"Well, yeoman, I'm sure I know not," replied Thomelin
prudently. "But this I do know, that my kinsman,
Adam of Greenmead, declared that when Edward I.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>
reigned, and Eleanor of Castile was queen, the country
people were not harassed by royal purveyors."</p>

<p>"No," cried the yeoman triumphantly, "not in my
grandfather's time. That is what I tell my neighbours.
But now a man trembles when a horn is heard, lest it
should be that of the king's harbinger. One of them
comes, and he cries he must have oats, and he must have
hay, and he must have litter for the king's horses; and
scarcely is he gone when a second comes, and he must
have hens, and geese, and a variety of things; and a
third comes at the heels of the second, and he must have
bread and meat, and what not."</p>

<p>"My good friends," said the priest, springing to his
feet, and speaking in a loud voice, and with eccentric
gestures, "all this is vain talk. I tell ye that you must
lay the axe to the root of the tree; for things cannot go
on well in England, or ever will, until everything shall be
in common, and the lords no more masters than ourselves.
How ill they have used us, ye know; but for
what reason they hold us in bondage they cannot tell.
Are we not all descended from the same parents, namely,
from Adam and Eve? And what can they show, or
what reasons can they give, why they should be more
masters than we? I tell you that things never will be
well in England till there shall be neither vassal nor lord,
and all distinctions levelled."</p>

<p>"Body o' me, father!" exclaimed Thomelin, interrupting,
"curb your tongue, I pray thee, or you'll get me and
my house into trouble. We will take the rest for granted.
I know," added he mockingly, and then half chanted,
half repeated, the rhyme which has since agitated the
country to its centre, and shaken the throne to its foundation&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'When Adam delved, and Eve span,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Who was then the gentleman?'"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>"On my faith," said the Northumbrian, with a grim
smile, "I cannot but be strongly of opinion that, as affairs
now are, it is mighty well for England that we have
learned to do something more to the purpose than delve
and spin. Now that the Scots are on this side of the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
Border, I trow it will require something more than spades
and spindles to drive them back again; and of this I am
well assured, that they would never go for a few fine words
about Adam and Eve."</p>

<p>"Well answered," exclaimed Thomelin admiringly, and
the company having generally expressed their concurrence
in Thomelin's opinion, the Northumbrian gave a slight
indication of the satisfaction he felt with himself by calling
for another quart of ale, and drinking it off, perhaps
to his own health.</p>

<p>"Who is that mad demagogue?" I asked of Thomelin
in a whisper.</p>

<p>"Oh," replied mine host, "it's only the crazy priest
who is called Jack Ball. Nobody values his words more
than they do a sough of wind."</p>

<p>"And who," asked I, "is the stalwart Northman?"</p>

<p>"John Copeland, an esquire of Northumberland and, I
believe, a doughty man-at-arms as ever faced a foe. He
has been at Westminster on affairs of state connected with
the irruption of the Scots; and he turns his face homeward
to-morrow to take part in the war."</p>

<p>The name of Copeland was not new to me. In fact,
I had often heard it mentioned with honour: for the
Northern esquire had figured in a prominent manner, ten
years earlier, in the operations before the castle of Dunbar,
when Cospatrick's stronghold was being besieged by the
Earl of Salisbury, and defended by Black Agnes, Earl
Patrick's famous countess; and he had, on a memorable
occasion, by his instinctive sagacity, saved Salisbury from
being taken prisoner. Remembering these things I looked
at him with curiosity and interest; moreover, having learned
that the queen had set out for York, and perceiving the
necessity of following with the letters intrusted to my
care, I felt that I could hardly do better than beg the
Northumbrian to permit me to bear him company on the
road.</p>

<p>"And so," said I, opening the business forthwith, "it
seems the queen has set out for York?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly," answered Copeland, "Queen Philippa,
like a courageous dame and a good wife as she is, has
gone northward to the war, to make sure that, in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>
absence of her lord the king, neither his honour nor his
interest suffers."</p>

<p>"Ay, ay," echoed Thomelin&mdash;"a courageous dame
and a good wife, in thought, word, and deed."</p>

<p>"Craving your pardon," said I, again addressing myself
boldly to the great Northern warrior, "I am a stranger to
you, and, perhaps on account of my youth, my name, unlike
your own, is unknown to fame. But I am in the service of
my lord the Prince of Wales, and have fought for the King
of England; and I am charged with a message to the
queen which I am in duty bound to deliver without delay.
May I crave permission to ride northward under your
protection?"</p>

<p>"Surely, surely, youth," answered Copeland cheerily.
"Blithe will I be of your company. You can beguile
the way, which is long, with stories of what you have seen
and done in the wars of France, and, maybe, strike a good
blow in case of any enemies turning up as an obstacle in
our path."</p>

<p>"Well," said I, with a smile, "it would ill become
one whose name is unknown to boast in the presence of
a warrior so distinguished as yourself; but this much, at
least, I will say in my own praise, that I fought, without
flinching, at the gates of Caen, and on the field of Cressy,
not to mention the ford of Blanch-taque; and I have yet
to learn that I have lost courage since that day when
Englishmen won a battle that will be recorded by chroniclers,
and performed exploits that will be celebrated by
minstrels."</p>

<p>"Enough," said Copeland, smiling at my youthful
enthusiasm. "We will take the road northward on the
morrow, and, where we are going, you'll find foes enough
on whom to exercise your valour, and foes, too, who are
worthy of a brave man's steel, be he knight, or squire, or
page; for credit me, who have long known them, and who
love them not, that&mdash;be the Scots good or bad in other
respects&mdash;they fight bravely and well."</p>

<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed I, "that is something I have
learned by meeting you. Methought that, at Halidon,
they fled from our king and his men as deer before the
hunters."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p>

<p>"So they did," replied the squire; "but it's not their
wont; and, let me tell you, they fight not the worse from
being away from their own country, and having some
plunder to fight for. They are little inconvenienced by
long marches. In fact, when they make irruptions into
England, they march from twenty to four-and-twenty
leagues, without halting, as well by night as by day."</p>

<p>"By St. George!" exclaimed I in amazement, "surely
the archers and spearmen must lag behind and tail off as
they go?"</p>

<p>"Ah," replied the Northumbrian, shaking his head
wisely, "they are all mounted&mdash;the knights and esquires
on large bay horses, the common people on little galloways;
and they bring no carriages with them on account
of the mountains they have to pass."</p>

<p>"Wonder upon wonders! But, then, how do they carry
their provisions?"</p>

<p>"Oh, what provisions want they?&mdash;not bread and wine,
I trow. Such are their habits of sobriety, in time of war,
that they will live for a long time on flesh half sodden,
without bread, and drink the river water without wine.
Nor have they any occasion for pots or pans; for they
dress the flesh of cattle in the skins, after they have
taken them off; and, being certain of finding plenty of
provisions in the country invaded, they bring none with
them."</p>

<p>"Proceed."</p>

<p>"Well, every man carries a broad plate of metal under
the flap of his saddle, and a little bag of oatmeal behind
his saddle, and when they have eaten too much sodden
flesh they put the plate over a fire, mix their oatmeal
with water, and make a cake like a biscuit, which they eat
to warm their stomachs; and such is their way of living
while the war lasts."</p>

<p>"Well, sir squire," said I, "I am beholden to you for the
information you have given me. I am a very young warrior,
albeit I have seen sieges and a foughten field, and am
curious about such matters. And beshrew me if it will
not mortify me much if fortune does not favour me with
an opportunity of crossing swords with some of these
Scots, whose customs sound so barbarous; for I should
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
like to prove what mettle there is in men who live on
sodden flesh, and oatmeal, and river water."</p>

<p>"Fear not, youth," replied the squire, with a smile of
encouragement; "when you mount, and take the north
road in my company, you will be in a fair way of having
your wish."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</a><br />

<small>THE CRISIS</small></h2>


<p>Before describing my adventures in the North of England,
I must pause in my narrative to explain how the Scots,
in time of truce, happened to make that sudden inroad
into England which alarmed the country, startled the
court, excited the capital, and caused Queen Philippa to
remove from Windsor to York.</p>

<p>It was when the first Edward was king, and when
Philip the Fair reigned in France, that the chiefs of the
house of Capet, as sovereigns of France, began to encourage
that deadly hate of the Scots towards England which
speedily proved productive of so much mischief to both
countries; and Philip of Valois, on assuming the French
crown, did not fail to imitate the example which, in this
respect, his predecessors had set. From the time of the
battle of Halidon Hill to the year when King Edward&mdash;exasperated,
as he well might be&mdash;embarked for Flanders,
promises of aid, and supplies of arms and warlike stores,
kept the Scots in insurrection, and encouraged them in
their stubborn resistance.</p>

<p>But such a policy could not be long pursued with
impunity; and Philip ought early to have discovered
that, in his case, it was not to be pursued with impunity.
In any case, the loss of his navy at Sluys, and the loss of
his army at Cressy, would have taught an ordinary man
that the dishonest policy which he was practising was sure
to bring still greater disasters in its train. But he was
incapable of profiting by experience.</p>

<p>At the time when the princes and the chivalry of France
were trodden down at Cressy, the crown of Scotland was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
worn by David Bruce, son of the conqueror of Bannockburn;
and at that time he was about the age of twenty-three,
and eager to signalise himself by some such exploits
as had made his father celebrated throughout Christendom.
But, with such a king as Edward III. on the English
throne, this was by no means an easy matter, either in
England or Ireland; and perhaps the royal Scot might
long have talked, without attempting, had he not been
tempted by the representations of his continental ally to
undertake the expedition which, in the autumn of 1346,
caused so much alarm throughout England.</p>

<p>It appears that when King Edward marched his victorious
army to Calais, and sat down before that city with
a determination to take it ere leaving, Philip of Valois
perceived the impossibility of contending single-handed
with such an adversary. In his desperate circumstances,
the vanquished Frenchman was not likely to forget the
existence of the King of Scots; and, having prevailed
on David Bruce to invade England, as the likeliest means
of drawing off part, at least, of the English forces from
the siege of Calais, and sent men to aid and money to
encourage the Scots in their enterprise, he awaited the
result with confidence.</p>

<p>No time was lost by the young King of Scots in carrying
the project into execution. A Parliament having
been hastily held at Perth, and the Scottish magnates
having sanctioned a war, their king drew together a
numerous army, and, about the opening of October,
entered England by the West Marches. A mighty host
it was, all things considered, that marched under his
standard. Three thousand men-at-arms, knights, and
esquires; thirty thousand men on geldings and galloways;
and a large body of Genoese and French auxiliaries;
such was the army at the head of which David Bruce and
his earls and barons came over the Border, to avenge the
defeat of Cressy, and to save the city of Calais.</p>

<p>Much was the mischief which the Scots wrought, and
great was the terror which they spread around. It seemed
that the days of Randolph and Douglas had returned,
and that the Scots were again, year after year, to wreak
their savage fury on the Northern counties. Men bent
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>
their brows and clenched their hands, and women wept
and children wailed, as they fled from their homes to
the woods and mountains, to avoid invaders, many
of whom knew little of mercy, not, perhaps, even the
name.</p>

<p>Commencing operations at the castle of Liddel, the
Scots took that stronghold, put the garrison to the sword,
and beheaded Walter Selby, the governor, in their king's
presence, without so much as suffering him to be confessed.
This done, they pursued their way through
Cumberland and the southern parts of Northumberland,
ravaging and burning; and, still spreading desolation as
they went, they advanced towards the city of Durham.
So far their march had been unopposed, and they had
had it all their own way. At this stage, however, an
army not to be daunted by superior numbers frowned
defiance and demanded revenge. Not only Lord Neville
and Lord Percy, but Baliol, Moubray, D'Eyncourt, and
De Roos were there to bar the way; and at the head of
the force they had mustered was the queen herself&mdash;the
wife and mother of heroes&mdash;whose presence inspired every
man there with the resolution to fight with the courage
and energy of two.</p>

<p>In fact, Philippa no sooner heard that the Scots were
preparing to invade England than she hastened to York,
and summoned all the peers and prelates who were in
the country to meet in the capital of the North. With
their counsel and aid she did wonders, and soon found
herself at the head of an army numbering scarce more
than a third of the invaders, it is true, but composed of
men making up in discipline and valour what they lacked
in numbers, and eager to rival the achievement by which
their countrymen, fighting on the Continent, had acquired
so much fame.</p>

<p>At the head of this formidable force the queen marched
to Durham; and, while the English lay in Auckland
Park, she, in the city of the same name, awaited the
coming of the Scots, who, flushed with a success to
which, in recent years, they had been little accustomed,
regaled their imaginations with the anticipation of a
triumphant issue to their adventurous enterprise.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p>

<p>It cannot be said that the patience of the English was
put to any severe test. The reverse was the case; for the
march of the invaders had been rapid; and on Friday,
the 16th of October, the Scottish vanguard came near the
town, and skirmished with some parties of English who
were abroad.</p>

<p>The Scots fell back, however, on the main army, and,
in retiring, burned some hamlets. The smoke and the
flames exasperated the English, and the soldiers demanded
to be led to battle. But on this point their chiefs were,
fortunately, discreet enough not to gratify their wish.
Neville and Percy were leaders of sapience, and Baliol,
who had been once King of Scots, well knew, from
experience, how to deal with men of the nation he had
ruled.</p>

<p>"No," answered they in reply to the shouts of the
soldiers. "Nothing must be done rashly, especially in
the absence of our lord the king; for such is the crisis
we are approaching, that we hazard, not only our own
lives, but his realm."</p>

<p>As the day passed on, however, messengers from
David Bruce came to say that, "if the English were
willing to come forth, he would wait for them and give
them battle."</p>

<p>"Tell those who sent you," was the reply, "that we
accept the offer, and that we will not keep our enemies
long waiting."</p>

<p>On receiving this message, the King of Scots, who had
previously encamped in the park of Beaurepaire, drew
out his army on Durham Moor, and, setting his men in
order for battle, formed them into three battalions. He
himself commanded the centre host; on his right were
Lord Douglas and the Earl of Moray; on his left was
the High Steward of Scotland&mdash;all warriors whose fathers
had followed the fortunes, and participated in the triumphs,
of his hero-sire.</p>

<p>Having thus arrayed his men, the King of Scots retired
to Beaurepaire, and awaited the coming of Saturday to
encounter his foes.</p>

<p>In vain Lord Douglas recommended him to retire to
the woods, and retreat without an engagement.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p>

<p>"No!" exclaimed the king with disdain. "We are
the sons of the men who conquered at Bannockburn, and
by St. Andrew! we are bound to prove that we have
inherited the valour which they so often displayed on the
crests of foemen."</p>

<p>And so, within a few miles of the armed foes, who had
sprung from hamlet, and grange, and castle to repel his
invasion, the young king lay down to rest, all eagerness
for the hour when he was to try his fortune at the game
of carnage.</p>

<p>Nor was there much danger of his patience being
severely tried; for the crisis of his fate had arrived.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</a><br />

<small>THE EVE OF BATTLE</small></h2>


<p>It was the evening of Friday, the 16th of October, 1346,
when, in the company of Copeland, the Northumbrian
esquire, I reached Durham, and first beheld the city
associated with the memory of St. Cuthbert.</p>

<p>And fine and picturesque, I did confess, was the appearance
which the place presented at the close of that
October day, when threatened by the Scottish foe. The
eye of my comrade gleamed with provincial pride as he
marked the impression produced on me by the sight; and
he exclaimed, in a tone of triumph&mdash;</p>

<p>"A fair city."</p>

<p>"Passing fair," I replied; and, not unwilling to display
the little knowledge I possessed, I added, "and it seems
to me to be, like Rome, built on seven hills."</p>

<p>"God's truth," said Copeland, "I know not on how
many hills Rome may be built; but I have heard men
say that whoso hath seen the situation of Durham has
seen the map of Zion, and may save himself the trouble
of a journey to Jerusalem."</p>

<p>About seventeen miles to the south of Newcastle, and
sixty-seven miles to the north-west of York, in the centre
of the shire of Durham, the river Wear, in one of its
windings, makes a curve in the shape of a horse-shoe,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
and incloses a lofty peninsula, or promontory. On this
promontory, which is formed of seven hills, surrounded
by hills still higher than themselves, stands the city of
Durham, with its castle, its abbey, its churches and buildings,
mirrored in the clear waters of the river, whose
steep banks are clothed with hanging woods.</p>

<p>At a distance of some miles to the south of Durham
is the castle of Auckland, the seat of the bishop, with a
park abounding in deer and wild cattle; while three miles
to the north-west is Beaurepaire, another fair park, in
which stands the house to which the prior is wont, on
occasions, to retreat for quiet and contemplation. At
this crisis both of these parks were camps, and their silence
and privacy were broken by the noise of arms and the
tramp of warriors; for the English army lay at Auckland,
awaiting orders to march, and the King of Scots lay at
Beaurepaire, awaiting the coming of the enemy, and
treating with great disdain, as I have written, the proposal
made by some of his nobles to make for the woods, and
retreat without risking an engagement.</p>

<p>Such was the position of the two armies when having
entered Durham, I proceeded to the castle, and craved an
audience of the Queen of England. At first it appeared
doubtful whether it would be granted; but a hint as to
my being charged with letters of importance from France
opened the doors, and I was conducted to the presence
of the royal lady on whose energy and presence of mind
the fate of England, at that moment, in a great measure
depended.</p>

<p>At the time when Philippa of Hainault was first brought
to England and wedded to King Edward, at York, she
was a girl of seventeen, with a brilliant complexion, and a
tall, graceful figure, whom minstrels praised in verse for
her "roseate hue and beauty bright." Eighteen years,
however, had passed over her head, during which she had
become the mother of ten children, and she retained little
of that youthful beauty which minstrels had celebrated.</p>

<p>But what Philippa had lost in juvenile brilliance she had
gained in matronly dignity; and at thirty-five, what with
her still comely features, her serene aspect, and her stately,
though kindly manners, she looked every inch a queen, of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
whom Englishmen might have said, as they did of her
predecessor, Eleanor of Castile, that "to our nation she
was a loving mother, the column and pillar of the whole
realm."</p>

<p>And never, perhaps, had the Queen of England appeared
to greater advantage than when, at this crisis,
and in the hour of dismay, she, in the absence of her
hero-husband and hero-son, defied all dangers, and ran
all risks, to do her duty to the country over which her
husband reigned, and the kingdom to which her son was
heir.</p>

<p>As I knelt and presented the epistle with which I had
been intrusted by the Governor of La Broyes, she looked
at me with something like surprise, and, taking the letter
from my hand, said gently&mdash;</p>

<p>"Rise, sir page; how is this? I thought you were
lost."</p>

<p>"Yes, madam," replied I, in some confusion; "but you
see I am found again."</p>

<p>"And how came you by this?"</p>

<p>"There, madam, hangs a long tale, with which, mayhap,
it were better not to weary your highness at present."</p>

<p>"I will hear it," said the queen.</p>

<p>And taking this expression of her wish as a command,
I, with the utmost brevity, related my adventures, and the
circumstances under which I had undertaken the duty of
messenger. Having listened attentively, and questioned
me as to what I remembered about the battle of Cressy,
and the bearing of her son on that great day, the queen
expressed her approval of my conduct, and immediately
gave a proof of her confidence in my fidelity and discretion.</p>

<p>"My lord the king," said she, "will naturally be all
anxiety to hear the result of the battle which is about to
be fought; and I must needs, without a moment of unnecessary
delay, despatch a messenger to him with the
tidings, whether of weal or woe."</p>

<p>"Madam," said I, "do not fear&mdash;or, rather, I should
say, do not doubt&mdash;under the eyes of so gracious a lady,
that the English soldiery will do their duty, and the beams
of victory will rest on St. George's cross."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p>

<p>A frown and a smile passed over the queen's face as
showers and sunshine succeed each other on an April day.
My audacity caused the frown; my enthusiasm caused the
smile. But she quickly gained her serenity.</p>

<p>"You are too young to have any title to express opinions
so boldly," she said; "and yet I deny not that much must
be overlooked in the case of those who have fought by my
son's side. However, hold yourself in readiness to proceed
to Calais at a moment's notice."</p>

<p>"Madam," urged I earnestly, and like a condemned
man begging for mercy, "I would fain hope that the
prospect of so high an honour as carrying a message to my
lord the king may not be inconsistent with my drawing
my sword against the Scots, and striking a blow for his
honour and the safety of the kingdom."</p>

<p>"Better not," replied the queen. "It may be cruel to
gainsay you. But you are too young to die, sir page,
and will live, please God, to win distinction some other
day."</p>

<p>I bowed low, but my countenance indicated my disappointment.</p>

<p>"But," continued she, "the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle,
with a body of cavalry selected for the duty, are to attend
me as a guard during the battle. I accord to you the honour
of being one of the party; and it is an honour which I
trust that you, as a disciple of chivalry, in the service of
the Prince of Wales, will not fail highly to value. You are
dismissed."</p>

<p>As she spoke, the queen began to read the epistle of
the Countess of Hainault, over which she had already
glanced; and, having bent my knee, I retired, not without
a feeling of disappointment. Indeed, I must frankly confess
that, however high the distinction of attending the
Queen of England on such an occasion, I should have relinquished
it without a sigh; for so completely had Copeland's
stories of adventures and contests with Scottish
warriors taken possession of my imagination, that I would
gladly, at that moment, have resigned all ambition, and
all hopes of rising in life, under the patronage of royal
personages, for the privilege of riding to battle with the
brave Northumbrian, and charging, sword in hand, by his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
side into the ranks of foemen, wherever the excitement
was highest and the conflict keenest.</p>

<p>I sought Copeland, and, having hastily communicated
the result of my audience, expressed the regret I felt at
being deprived of the gratification of drawing my sword
in his company.</p>

<p>"I grieve to hear it," observed the Northumbrian; "for,
between ourselves, I have formed a scheme for acquiring
fame and fortune at a grasp."</p>

<p>"By St. George!" exclaimed I. "Tell me, I implore
you, how that is to be accomplished. It may serve me on
another occasion."</p>

<p>"Breathe not a word on the subject to living mortal,"
said he. "Hark&mdash;in thine ear&mdash;I know this King of Scots
by head mark. In the battle I will track him as the
russet bloodhound does a marauder; and ere to-morrow's
sun sets, he shall yield himself my prisoner, rescue or
no rescue."</p>

<p>"A most noble enterprise, on my faith," exclaimed I
admiringly, "and one, I ween, that will bring both honour
and profit, if brought to a successful termination. But
you must hold me excused if I remind you that he is not
likely to yield, even to you, on easy terms. I have heard
something of this King David at the English court, and I
gather that, albeit he lacks the mind and subtlety which
made his father great, he lacks not the courage or the
prowess in war which has so long been associated with the
name of Bruce."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</a><br />

<small>FACE TO FACE</small></h2>


<p>Bright and clear dawned the morning of the 17th of
October, 1346&mdash;the Saturday after the Feast of St. Michael&mdash;and
on that morning great was the commotion, great
the excitement, in the city of Durham. At an early hour,
Queen Philippa was astir; and mounting her white palfrey
betimes, she rode, escorted by knights, and nobles, and
prelates, to where the English were encamped in Auckland
Park.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p>

<p>Nor was it without an instinctive prescience that the
beams of victory would fall on the red cross of St. George
ere the sun went down behind the western hills; for the
example of King Edward and his youthful heir had
inspired the nation with a warlike ardour which defied
odds, and every Englishman from Cornwall to the Tweed
regarded himself as belonging to a superior and conquering
race. Twenty years earlier, the terror inspired by the
Scots was such that a hundred Englishmen looked with
dread on half-a-dozen of the men whom the first Edward
had driven before him at Falkirk. But since the days
of Halidon a marvellous change had occurred, and every
man who fought for the martial Plantagenet by whom
that change had been wrought went to battle with a conviction
that victory sat upon his helm.</p>

<p>On reaching the camp in Auckland Park, the queen
gave orders for the army being drawn out in three
divisions, each of which had its proportion of archers and
men-at-arms. Of these, the first was commanded by Lord
Percy, the second by Lord Neville and Lord Hastings,
the third by Lord Moubray and Sir Thomas Rokeby,
Sheriff of Yorkshire. A body of cavalry&mdash;chiefly composed
of tall Northern men, with Danish blood in their veins,
and the Danish burr on their lips&mdash;was kept in reserve, to
give aid to those who might need it most, and intrusted
to the leading of Lord De Roos, and Edward, Lord
Baliol, whose experience in the Scottish wars eminently
qualified him for the post.</p>

<p>These arrangements having been made, and the army
being ready to march against the invaders, Queen Philippa
rode along the lines and addressed herself to the
soldiers. She reminded them that the honour of their
king and the safety of their country were at stake; and
she implored them, in their sovereign's absence, to do
their duty, to fight manfully for his crown, and avenge the
injuries which their countrymen had suffered at the hands
of their barbarous foes.</p>

<p>"O queen," shouted the soldiers in reply, "we will
acquit ourselves loyally in the absence of our lord; and
never shall it be said that we fought the less valiantly because
he was not present to behold our deeds."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p>

<p>"Then," replied the queen, "I leave you to encounter
your enemies and the king's, and I recommend you to the
protection of God and good St. George."</p>

<p>Escorted by the Lords D'Eyncourt and Ogle, Queen
Philippa retired to a short distance to witness the engagement,
and the English, with banners flying, moved forward
in the direction of Merrington, and, halting on the
rising ground, could plainly descry the movements of
the Scots on the hills to the west.</p>

<p>Here the chiefs paused to consider their position, and
hesitated whether they should advance on the Scots or
await the attack of their foes on the ground they occupied;
but, as the marshals and standard-bearers continued
to move slowly forward, the army insensibly followed, and
in this way, without arriving at any decision, they reached
Ferryhill.</p>

<p>At this point an unexpected incident brought matters
to a crisis. Lord Douglas, at the head of a body of
cavalry, had that morning scoured the country as far
as Ferryhill, and was returning to the Scottish camp,
when he suddenly found himself in presence of the
English host, arrayed for battle. His situation was most
perilous. But his courage did not desert him, and shouting
"A Douglas! a Douglas!" he couched his spear,
broke through the English ranks, and, closely pursued in
the direction of Sunderland Bridge, spurred towards the
camp of the Scots. In the chase, five hundred of his
horsemen fell, never more to rise; but Douglas, holding
on his course, reached the tent of his king in safety, and
thither carried intelligence that the English were coming,
and would soon be at hand.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, having re-formed their ranks, the English
pursued their way to the high ground above the Wear;
and then, leaving Durham on the right, they marched in
order of battle to the Red Hills&mdash;irregular acclivities,
rising steeply from the river.</p>

<p>"Here," said the lords in command, "we will abide the
coming of our foes and such an issue as Fortune shall
send us, so help us God and St. George!"</p>

<p>In the interval, the King of Scots, roused by Lord
Douglas, issued orders for marching against the enemy,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>
and, leaving his camp, advanced to the Red Hills to give
battle. As he had arrayed his force, the battalion of the
High Steward of Scotland faced Lord Percy; that led by
the king in person faced Lord Neville and Lord Hastings;
and that under Lord Douglas and the Earl of Moray
faced Lord Moubray and Sir Thomas Rokeby.</p>

<p>It was an awful moment when the embattled hosts stood
face to face, and, in profound silence, gazed for a time on
each other, ere coming hand to hand, and meeting in the
shock of war.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</a><br />

<small>NEVILLE'S CROSS</small></h2>


<p>On the morning of that day when the embattled hosts of
England and Scotland stood facing each other at the Red
Hills, the prior and monks of Durham, occupying a
hillock hard by, elevated the corporax cloth of St. Cuthbert
in sight of both armies, and, kneeling around, prayed
earnestly to their patron saint.</p>

<p>On the spot then occupied by the prior and monks a
graceful monument of stone now commemorates a famous
battle and a signal victory. It was, in fact, erected by
Ralph, Lord Neville, to commemorate the conflict in
which I was in part an eye-witness, in part an actor, and
wherein were wrought high feats of arms, which I am about
to describe, for the encouragement of all valiant hearts,
and to show them honourable examples.</p>

<p>About three hours after sunrise the silence which
reigned for a brief period was broken by a flourish of
trumpets, followed by the shouting of warriors and the
clangour of mail. Impatient to prove himself worthy of
bearing the name and wearing the crown of Bruce, the
young King of Scots ordered his trumpets to sound a
charge, and, ere the sound died away, the High Steward,
at the head of his battalion, composed wholly of cavalry,
and armed with axes and broadswords, advanced upon
that part of the English army arrayed under the banner
of Lord Percy.</p>

<p>At the same moment the archers in front of Lord
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
Percy's men-at-arms took several steps forward, and a
shower of arrows darkened the air. But the effect was
not what was expected. Galled by the shafts, and exasperated
almost to madness, the High Steward and his
cavalry charged forward with shouts of wrath and scorn,
drove the archers back upon the men-at-arms, and,
plying axe and broadsword with ferocious vigour, succeeded
in throwing the whole battalion into such confusion
that Lord Percy in vain said, "My merry men,
fight on!" and, ere the battle had lasted an hour, victory
seemed so decidedly to incline to the Scots, that I, as a
looker-on, felt a degree of alarm I should in vain attempt
to express in words.</p>

<p>"The saints defend us!" exclaimed D'Eyncourt, who
held the queen's rein.</p>

<p>"All will be lost," cried Lord Ogle. "O for one
hour of my lord the king!"</p>

<p>"No," said the queen, calm in the great peril, "the
field is yet ours. Boy page," turning towards me, "ride
fast to the Lord Baliol; tell him to throw his cavalry on
the Scottish van, break their ranks, and disperse them;
but no pursuit. Away! quick! or he will have to fight,
not for victory, but for life."</p>

<p>I bent my head low; I gave my horse the spur, and,
without wasting a moment, communicated Philippa's
command.</p>

<p>"The queen is right," said Baliol thoughtfully. "Gentlemen,"
said he to his followers, "let us charge the High
Steward, drive back the enemy, but no pursuit. Strike
for King Edward and England! On, on! A Baliol! a
Baliol!"</p>

<p>And the tall horsemen of the North spurred against the
Scots.</p>

<p>The effect was instantaneous. The rush was not to
be resisted. Abandoning the advantage he had gained,
the High Steward exercised all his skill to make good his
retreat, and Baliol, without following, allowed him to go
off unmolested. In fact, Baliol's brilliant charge had
turned the fortune of the field; and as Lord Moubray
and Sir Thomas Rokeby attacked Lord Douglas and the
Earl of Moray, Baliol turned his eyes towards the place
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>
where the Lords Neville and Hastings were contending,
with inferior numbers, against the centre of the Scottish
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'a my'">army</ins>, led by the king, and composed of the flower of
Scottish chivalry, and the French auxiliaries whom Philip
of Valois had sent over the sea with malicious intent.</p>

<p>So far, the warriors forming the king's division had
borne their part bravely in the battle. But now their
plight was perilous in the extreme; for the withdrawal of
the High Steward had left them fearfully exposed, and
Baliol, with his hereditary and personal antipathy to the
house of Bruce revived by the excitement and carnage of
the day, wheeling round, charged the main body of the
Scots on the flank with such force that French auxiliaries
and Scottish chivalry gave way, and the battalion, shaken
to its centre, reeled, divided, and broke into confused
fragments; while high above the din sounded the war-cries
of Neville and Hastings, and over the field rang
shouts of "St. George and victory! Strike for King
Edward!"</p>

<p>By this time the position of David Bruce was desperate;
for the rear of his army, under Lord Douglas and the
Earl of Moray, fiercely attacked by Moubray and Rokeby,
and confined by hedges and fences, was precluded from
escape, and utterly routed. At the time, therefore, that
the King of Scots found himself worsted by Baliol, and
looked around for aid, the High Steward had disappeared
from the field; Douglas was a prisoner; and Moray a
corpse.</p>

<p>The royal Scot was perplexed in the extreme. But let
me do the unhappy king justice. No craven fear was in
the heart of the son of Bruce as, in the hour of despair,
he gathered around him the remnants of his host, and
made a last struggle with his victorious adversaries. Forming
his remaining troops into a circle, he faced his foes
with a courage worthy of his birth, and, disdaining the
thought of surrender, fought no longer for victory, no
longer even for life, but for a death that would admit his
name to a place in the roll of heroes.</p>

<p>But the aspirations of the King of Scots after a warrior's
grave were not to be gratified. His doom was not to die
that day. He was not to escape the fate he had defied.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p>

<p>It was about the hour of noon; and I, having done
what in me lay to render complete the triumph of that
day, was riding over the field, strewn with corpses and
slippery with gore, when, on reaching Merrington, my
attention was attracted to a spot where around a warrior
on horseback, fighting desperately against a multitude, a
conflict still raged. It was the King of Scots making his
last futile efforts to avoid captivity.</p>

<p>Already he had been wounded in two places; his sword
had been beaten from his hand, when an arrow brought
him to the ground. As he regained his feet, Copeland,
who was on the watch, sprang from his charger.</p>

<p>"Yield, sir king&mdash;rescue or no rescue," said the
Northumbrian.</p>

<p>"Never," answered the royal Scot; "I will rather die
than surrender."</p>

<p>"Nay," urged Copeland, "you have done all that a
brave man could."</p>

<p>"Varlet!" exclaimed the king, turning fiercely upon
Copeland, "it is not for such as you to judge what a
king ought to do in the hour of despair."</p>

<p>And, as he spoke, he raised his gauntleted hand, and
struck the Northumbrian in the mouth with such force
that two of a set of teeth which were none of the most
fragile were broken by the blow.</p>

<p>"Now, by St. John of Beverley!" cried Copeland,
"were you the foremost king in Christendom, I should
not longer brook delay to indulge your humour."</p>

<p>And throwing himself upon the royal Scot, the Northumbrian
grasped his vanquished foe with a hand of iron.</p>

<p>"Now yield," said he sternly.</p>

<p>"I do yield, since with me it may not better be,"
answered the king; "but I swear to you, by my father's
soul, that I would rather die by your hand."</p>

<p>"Tush, sir king," said Copeland compassionately;
"you will think otherwise on the morrow. Life has its
sweets."</p>

<p>"Not with hope and liberty gone," said the royal
prisoner. "But conduct me to your queen."</p>

<p>"Sire," said Copeland, "you are my prisoner as much
as if I were prince or peer, and I will conduct you where
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>
I think proper, and to no other place, save at the command
of King Edward, my lord."</p>

<p>Copeland now summoned his men, and, having mounted
the Scottish king on one horse, was about to spring on
another when I accosted him.</p>

<p>"Whither," asked I, "are you carrying your captive?"</p>

<p>"Boy," answered Copeland significantly, "I believe
that is a secret your tongue will be all the less likely to
tell if not committed to your ears. Adieu!"</p>

<p>"But what will the queen say?"</p>

<p>"I know not; but this I do know, that I will answer
for his safe keeping to my lord, King Edward, and to no
other person, man or woman."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX</a><br />

<small>ROYALTY IN A RAGE</small></h2>


<p>Great, as may be supposed, was the anxiety, and great
was the consternation, which pervaded the town of
Durham, and extended along the banks of the winding
Wear, on that day when the battle of "Neville's Cross"
was fought at the Red Hills.</p>

<p>From the hour at which Philippa mounted her white
palfrey, and rode towards the Park of Auckland, monks,
and merchants, and women were equally agitated. The
monks who had not accompanied the prior to kneel
around the corporax cloth of St. Cuthbert ascended the
highest towers of the cathedral, and, with eyes strained
towards the embattled hosts, sang hymns, and prayed
earnestly that the patrimony of their patron saint might
be saved; merchants crowded the house-tops, or paraded
the streets, and excitedly lamented the danger to which
their families, and booths, and wares were exposed; and
women wrung their hands, and bewailed their prospective
fate if the town was sacked, and they themselves delivered
over to the mercy of foes who, at other places, had proved
that they knew nothing of mercy&mdash;perhaps not even the
name.</p>

<p>It was an awful crisis, as every one felt; and not even
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>
the oldest inhabitant could remember such a display of
anxiety and dread in a town which was supposed to be
guarded by a patron saint of marvellous potency.</p>

<p>At length the danger passed; and when it became
known that the conflict, maintained for hours with fury, had
terminated in the rout of the invading host, the joy and
thankfulness were not less conspicuous than the dismay
and consternation had been. Shouts of triumph were on
every tongue; and everybody was eager to express gratitude
to Heaven for deliverance from those evils that fall
to the lot of the vanquished. Nor was any time lost in
giving formal expression to the sentiments which filled all
hearts. When I, after the memorable scene in which
John Copeland enacted so prominent a part, rode into
the town, I found that the Lords Neville and Percy
and the other war-chiefs&mdash;with the exception of Ralph,
Lord Hastings, slain on the field&mdash;had attended the
queen and the prelates to the cathedral, and were, in
that sacred edifice, rendering thanks to God and St.
Cuthbert for the great victory that had been vouchsafed
to their arms.</p>

<p>The religious ceremony having been performed with an
earnestness which the circumstances were eminently
calculated to inspire, Philippa and the Lords of the North
returned in procession to the castle. While there endeavouring
to estimate the extent of their victory, and
while ascertaining the number and rank of the prisoners,
many and grave were the inquiries made by the queen
and her captains as to the fate of the King of Scots.</p>

<p>Now it happened that I was the only person capable of
affording information on this very important subject; and,
albeit not without apprehensions that the consequences
of carrying off such a captive with so little ceremony
might prove somewhat awkward to Copeland, I felt and
deemed it a duty to speak the truth plainly. Having,
therefore, intimated that I could throw light on the point
as to which so much curiosity was manifested, I was conducted
to the hall in which the council was held, and,
approaching the queen, bent my knee, not, as I flattered
myself, without some of the grace which I had often
marked and admired in the castle of Windsor.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>

<p>"Rise, page," said Philippa gravely, "and, whatever you
have to say, say briefly."</p>

<p>"Madam," began I simply, "what I saw with my own
eyes that only I wish to relate."</p>

<p>"Proceed."</p>

<p>"Having followed the chase as far as the rising ground
which, I since learn, goes by the name of Merrington,
I there came upon a party who were preventing the King
of Scots from making his escape; and there I myself
saw the said king surrender to John Copeland, whom I
know to be an esquire of Northumberland, and I believe
a stout and valiant man in war."</p>

<p>"His name is not unknown to me," said the queen.
"But wherefore conducts he not the captive to our
presence?"</p>

<p>"Gracious lady," replied I, much confused, "it irks me
to say aught ungrateful to your ears; but since it would ill
become me to conceal the truth, I am under the necessity
of adding that I saw John Copeland not only take
the King of Scots prisoner, but ride off with him from
Merrington."</p>

<p>"And whither?"</p>

<p>"Madam, I know not," replied I, driven to desperation;
"and albeit it would ill beseem me to answer for another,
nevertheless, I cannot but deem that this squire means
naught disloyal; for, on putting the question, he only
answered that he would keep his captive safe, and account
for him to our lord the king."</p>

<p>Not before could I have believed Philippa capable of
so much wrath as she displayed on hearing this. Never,
in truth, had the eye of living man seen the excellent
queen in such a rage. All the fire of her ancestors
seemed to burn within her at that moment; and, though
she did not stamp her foot, or clench her hand, or express
her indignation in loud exclamations, her bent brow and
flashing eye sufficiently attested the ire which Copeland's
conduct had kindled in a bosom seldom agitated with
angry emotions. Recovering, in some degree, her serenity,
but with her countenance still flushed with offended
pride, she turned towards the lords, and, looking round
the circle&mdash;which did not fail to sympathise with what she
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>
regarded as an insult to her dignity as the Queen of
England, and the heroine of the day&mdash;she seemed to
appeal to them for aid to vindicate her privileges.</p>

<p>"Madam," said Lord Percy, in reply to her look, "have
patience for a brief space, and this matter shall be set to
rights."</p>

<p>"Yes," added Lord Neville, "Copeland is rude and
headstrong; but he is a right loyal squire, who, in his
day, hath done England good service, and cannot but
mean well."</p>

<p>"May it so prove, my lords," said the queen recovering
her equanimity; "I will exercise what patience I can.
Meantime, be it yours to take measures for ascertaining
whither he has carried the King of Scots; and I will, with
my own hand, write a letter commanding him to bring
the King of Scots to me at York, and telling him that he
will disobey me at his peril&mdash;for he has not done what is
agreeable to me in carrying off his prisoner without leave,
and that he will have to explain his conduct fully ere he
can hope for my pardon."</p>

<p>"Madam," replied Lord Percy, "what you command
shall be done without loss of time; and I much mistake
my merry men if, used as they are to track foes, they put
your grace's patience to a long test."</p>

<p>"And," added Lord Neville earnestly, "I entreat your
grace to suspend judgment as to Copeland's conduct, for
well I know him to be leal and true, and could even take
upon myself to be his warranty for explaining everything
to your satisfaction."</p>

<p>With this the conference came to a close; and the lords
moved off to celebrate their victory, and make preparations
for disbanding the army that had saved England in
the day of need. At a later hour I was summoned to the
queen's presence, and went, not without a feeling of alarm
that I might, in some measure, be involved in Copeland's
disgrace. I soon found, however, that my alarm was
groundless, and that I was not to be punished for the
rash imprudence of another.</p>

<p>"Page," said Philippa as I entered, "I have sent for
you to say that I hold you have done good service in
informing me of the outrage of which this Northern squire
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>
has been guilty; and I doubt not but that my lord the
king will so account it. Nay, answer not, but listen. At
daybreak, Sir John Neville, son of the lord of that name,
sets forth to journey to Calais, to carry thither news of
the victory which has this day been sent us by God and
St. George. It is but right that my lord the king should
have all information as to the manner in which a royal
prisoner was taken and lawlessly carried off. Be ready,
therefore, to join Sir John Neville's train and accompany
him when he takes the road."</p>

<p>With the best grace I could, I expressed my deep sense
of the honour which the queen was pleased to confer upon
me; and next morning, about cock-crow, I was riding out
of Durham with Neville and his men, and, in their company,
taking the way south to embark at Dover for the
stronghold before the walls of which lay, in hostile array,
the gallant prince whom I had the distinction of serving
and the brave warriors at whose side I had fought at
Cressy.</p>

<p>It was true that, in thus leaving England, I was deprived
of the opportunity of visiting my grandsire's
homestead, and this somewhat damped the joy which I
felt at the prospect of figuring once more in the prince's
train. But I was young, and too sanguine to dwell long
on a subject which was rather suggestive of melancholy
reflections.</p>

<p>"What matters it," soliloquised I, as I rode along,
"whether I appear there now or hereafter? Mayhap the
delay is favourable; and when the time does come, I may
have won some more significant symbol of renown in arms
than aught that decks a page's livery to gladden the heart
of my stout grandsire, and to cheer, if but for a moment,
the heart of my sad, sad mother."</p>

<p>Little, as I thus mused, did I foresee the awfully painful
circumstances under which I was destined next to approach
the homely grange, and set foot in the humble hall whose
roof had sheltered my childhood.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>


<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX</a><br />

<small>AT CALAIS</small></h2>


<p>I must now ask the reader to waft himself in imagination
from Durham to Calais&mdash;to suppose that Sir John Neville
and Arthur Winram have taken shipping at Dover, and
landed near the camp of the besiegers&mdash;and that, while
the knight has, without the loss of a moment, proceeded
to the tent of the king, the page has repaired to that of
the prince, to account for his prolonged absence from
duty, and to tell of the wondrous things which, in the
interval, he has seen and done.</p>

<p>At the door of the pavilion, over which floated the young
hero's standard, I encountered Sir Thomas Norwich, who
eyed me with a start of surprise.</p>

<p>"What, page!" exclaimed he; "where, in the name of
all the saints, have you been?"</p>

<p>"It is a long story."</p>

<p>"Ah! I see. You have been indulging in some more
such mysterious adventures as you had at Caen."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir knight," replied I, shaking my head wisely,
"such adventures, and so many, that I would fain, with
your permission, see my lord the prince to recount them
for his diversion."</p>

<p>"A murrain upon you, boy!" exclaimed Sir Thomas,
frowning. "Deem you that my lord has so little to think
of, that he can find time to listen to your talk about
trifles?"</p>

<p>"Lead me to my lord's presence," said I, in a conclusive
tone, "and I will stake my head on my intelligence
proving of moment enough to secure me an
audience."</p>

<p>The air of mystery which I assumed was not lost on
the good knight; in fact, I believe his curiosity was
highly excited. In any case, without more ado, he drew
aside the curtain of the pavilion, and I speedily found
myself in the presence of the heir of England.</p>

<p>At that time the Prince of Wales, who was buoyant
with all the enthusiasm of youth, and dreaming constantly
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>
of the feats of arms performed in other days by paladins
and heroes of romance, and not without an ardent ambition
to emulate their achievements, was somewhat weary
of the inaction of a siege which, being slowly and
cautiously conducted, furnished no opportunity of performing
the daring deeds in which his soul delighted.
Naturally, therefore, anything that gave novelty to the
scene was acceptable. As I entered, he was listening to
Sir William Pakington, his secretary, who, for his amusement,
read aloud from the book called "Tristrem"; and
the glance of surprise which his countenance wore as he
turned towards me was accompanied with an expression
which seemed to intimate that I was welcome.</p>

<p>"Wonder upon wonders!" exclaimed he; "can this be
my page Winram&mdash;Arthur Winram?"</p>

<p>"The same, my lord, and at your highness's command."</p>

<p>"Methought you had fallen in the battle," said the
prince, smiling; "or beshrew me if, at one time, I did
not fancy that, like your famous namesake, King Arthur,
you had been carried away to Elfland by the faëry
queen."</p>

<p>"No, my lord; Elfland may, for aught I know, be
a pleasant abode for such as have the fortune to get
there; but I have not been beyond the haunts of living
men."</p>

<p>I then rapidly related the adventures of which I had
been the hero from the time at which the young Count of
Flanders had been rescued from my grasp by Philip of
Valois, while flying from Cressy, to the hour when the
King of Scots had been taken prisoner by John Copeland,
while flying from Neville's Cross. The prince
listened with attention, now and then putting a question
to make me explain events more fully; and when
my narrative came to an end, he rose, and for a few
moments paced the floor of the pavilion in a reflecting
mood.</p>

<p>"By good St. George!" exclaimed he, stopping suddenly,
"this news of the defeat of the Scots comes in
good time to scare the blood out of Philip's body,
and to encourage my lord the king to take this place
by storm before the winter sets in. It seems," continued
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>
he, "that when this Scottish invasion was bruited
about, his holiness the Pope remarked that 'the Scots
were the only antidote to the English.' I marvel what
he will say now. Two such victories against such odds,
and in so many months!" he added, "surely neither
history nor song tells of a nation so highly favoured in
hours of peril."</p>

<p>"Not that I wot of, my lord," replied I, whose information
on the subject was not by any means so extensive as
to entitle me to speak with anything like authority.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless," said the prince earnestly, "would to
God that you had taken young Louis of Flanders
prisoner! There is no prince or lord in Christendom
whom my lord the king more eagerly desires to bring over
to the English interest; and the exploit would have made
your fortune."</p>

<p>"My lord, I did my best," answered I calmly; "and,
so long as we fought single-handed, I did not despair.
But when so many adversaries appeared, I deemed that I
was wise in saving my own life at the expense of a little
rough handling to a man of his rank."</p>

<p>The prince laughed gaily, and was about to speak,
when, at that moment, the curtain was drawn, and Lord
De Ov entered. As he did so, we exchanged glances of
mutual defiance; and my hand insensibly stole to the
handle of my dagger.</p>

<p>"My lord, pardon my interrupting your conversation,"
said he, bowing to the prince; "and you, Master Winram,
if that be your name," continued he, scowling on me,
"you are commanded to repair to the king's tent, and
report yourself to the page in waiting; and mayhap,"
continued he maliciously, as we issued from the pavilion,
"you will be able to explain how it came to pass, when
strict orders were issued before Cressy that no man
should leave the ranks in pursuit, that you alone disobeyed
the order."</p>

<p>"My lord," replied I haughtily, "I am prepared to
explain all that to the king or the Prince of Wales, if I
am questioned; but to you, or such as you, I cannot hold
myself in any way responsible."</p>

<p>"Varlet!" cried he, boiling with rage, "but that you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>
are on your way to the king, I should chastise your
insolence on the spot."</p>

<p>"Be patient, my lord," replied I, repressing my rising
wrath with a stern effort, "and the day will come when
you will have no such excuse. Ay&mdash;mark me!&mdash;the day
will surely come."</p>

<p>As I spoke, we parted; and while he stood gazing on
me with a face in which antipathy, to the strongest degree,
was expressed in the bitterest manner, I pursued my way
with an air of calm defiance.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI</a><br />

<small>THE LUCK OF JOHN COPELAND</small></h2>


<p>It was not merely to the king and the Prince of Wales,
and the nobles and knights of England, that the news of
Queen Philippa's victory was a subject of high interest.
Every squire, page, and groom, heard the glad tidings
with delight; and as rumour carried through the English
camp intelligence so flattering to the pride of Englishmen,
there arose one long shout of joy and rejoicing. For my
own part, I had to tell the story hundreds of times, and,
for twenty-four hours at least, found myself a person of no
slight consequence.</p>

<p>I know not what the Calesians thought of the excitement
among the besiegers; but the cheers that everywhere rose
loud and high might have intimated to them that the
English had received news that boded little good to the
beleaguered town. Nevertheless, they held out resolutely;
and, in spite of the prince's prediction, King Edward
evinced no inclination whatever to storm the place.</p>

<p>"No," said the king in a conclusive tone; "I now feel
more secure than ever of my prize. It is true that Philip
of Valois may come to relieve the place; and, truth to
tell, I desire not mine adversary's presence. But, if come
he does, it shall be at his peril."</p>

<p>However, Philip of Valois made no sign of moving to
the rescue of his friends. In fact, it seemed that the ill-fated
prince had played his last card when he urged the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>
King of Scots to invade England; and the disastrous
issue of the enterprise had ruined his projects.</p>

<p>In such circumstances, it appeared that, if distress did
not force the Calesians to surrender their stronghold, the
English army might remain all the winter before the walls
without any change in the aspect of affairs. Such being
the case, the pledge I had given not to draw my sword for
a year and a day became less irksome; and I was gradually
reconciling my mind to the condition on which I had recovered
my liberty, when, towards the coast in the neighbourhood
of Calais, the wind blew a ship on board of
which was no less important a personage than John Copeland,
the captor of David Bruce.</p>

<p>And here I must pause to relate how the Northumbrian
squire, after possessing himself of the King of Scots, at
the cost of two of his front teeth, at Merrington, and
mounted him on horseback, fared with his royal captive;
and how his sagacity enabled him, without losing hold of
his prisoner, to evade the consequences of having aroused
Queen Philippa's wrath to the highest pitch.</p>

<p>No sooner had Sir John Neville reached the camp
before Calais, and presented Philippa's epistle to her royal
husband, than, as I have already intimated, I was interrupted
in my colloquy with the prince, and by Lord De
Ov hastily and not very courteously summoned to the
royal presence, and closely interrogated as to the circumstances
under which the King of the Scots was taken
prisoner and carried northward. I told my story without
concealment or exaggeration, and was gratified to perceive
that King Edward, albeit blaming Copeland for having
been rash, gave him credit for having acted with honourable
intentions.</p>

<p>But, unhappily, the aspect of the affair did not improve
with time. In fact, Copeland seemed bent on ruining
himself by carrying his enterprise too far.</p>

<p>It appeared, on inquiry, that, after capturing David
Bruce, Copeland hurried him away towards the castle of
Ogle, on the river Blythe, and, after reaching that fortress,
placed him under a guard so strong as to preclude the
probability of escape or rescue. So far the matter was
not so awkward. But when a knight, despatched by the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>
queen, presented a letter, in which he was commanded to
give up his captive, he answered in defiant terms.</p>

<p>"The King of Scots," said he to the knight, "is my
prisoner, and I will neither give him up to man nor
woman, except to my own lord, the King of England.
But," added he, "you may depend on my taking proper
care of him, and I will be answerable for guarding him
well."</p>

<p>Naturally such a message exasperated Philippa beyond
measure; and, in high wrath, she wrote to King Edward,
complaining that Copeland had acted so outrageously,
and set her commands so utterly at defiance, that she
could not brook his insolence.</p>

<p>The king was somewhat perplexed. Sympathising, in
a slight degree, with the queen's indignation, but reluctant
to act severely towards Copeland, he perhaps felt some
hesitation as to what he should do. It was necessary,
however, to decide without delay; and the king deemed
it most prudent to send orders to Copeland to repair
forthwith to Calais. The squire hastened to obey; and,
having left David Bruce vigilantly guarded in his castle of
Ogle, ere long presented himself at Calais, and, having
desired to be conducted to the king, soon found himself
face to face with the husband of the royal lady whose
resentment he had provoked.</p>

<p>It was a memorable moment when Copeland and the
king met, and for an instant the squire's brave heart must
have beat quick as he looked on his sovereign's countenance;
but Edward's manner was sufficiently gracious to
assure him that he had lost but little favour, and that he
was not likely to meet with strong reproof.</p>

<p>"Ah, welcome!" exclaimed the king; "welcome, my
brave squire, who, by his valour, has captured my adversary,
the King of Scots!"</p>

<p>At this point, Copeland, perceiving how the interview
would probably terminate, fell on his knees.</p>

<p>"My lord," said he gravely, "if God, in His great
kindness, has given me the King of Scots as a prisoner&mdash;having
permitted me to conquer him in arms&mdash;no one
ought to be jealous of it, for God can, when He pleases,
send His grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p>

<p>"Go on, John," said the king in a tone of encouragement;
"I listen."</p>

<p>"Well, my lord," continued the squire more boldly,
"do not take it amiss if I did not surrender the King of
Scots to the orders of my lady the queen; for I hold my
lands of you, and my oath is to you, not to her, except it
be through choice."</p>

<p>"Rise, John," said the king, after musing for a moment,
"and assure yourself that the loyal service you have done
us, and our esteem for your valour, are so great as to serve
for an excuse, were any needed; and shame fall upon
those who bear you an ill-will. However, you will now
return home, and take your prisoner, the King of the
Scots, and convey him to my wife."</p>

<p>"Right willingly, my lord," replied Copeland, who saw
that everything would end as he wished.</p>

<p>"And, by way of remuneration," added the king, coming
to the point, "I assign lands, as near your house as you
can choose them, to the value of five hundred pounds
sterling a-year, for you and your heirs, and I nominate
you a squire of my body and household."</p>

<p>"My lord, how can I express my thanks for your
favours?" cried the squire in ecstasies.</p>

<p>"As for that," said Edward, "seeing that you are a
brave warrior, I ask you to furnish twenty men-at-arms;
and, on that condition, I grant you a pension of a
hundred pounds yearly, to be paid out of the customs of
Berwick."</p>

<hr class="tb" />

<p>It was on the third day after his arrival at the camp
before Calais, and when he was about to embark to return
to England, that Copeland sought me out to say "Farewell."</p>

<p>"Well, sir squire," said I, laughing, "it seems that, after
great hazard, you have managed everything to your heart's
content."</p>

<p>"Assuredly," replied he. "I ever predicted that such
would be the issue; and now nothing remains to be done
in the business but to return home, assemble my friends
and neighbours, and convey the captive king to York,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>
with some such excuse to my lady the queen as will
soothe her woman's pride."</p>

<p>"So far," observed I, "you certainly have had luck on
your side."</p>

<p>"Ay, boy," said he, smiling grimly, "you now see I
understand better than you how to get fame and fortune."</p>

<p>"God's truth!" exclaimed I, "after what has passed I
should be a dolt to dispute it. But all men have their
peculiar gifts; and I opine that it is only a man born and
bred in the north who could have planned such an
achievement, and carried it out so shrewdly."</p>

<p>"Well spoken, my brave youth," said Copeland; "and I
believe you likewise have gifts that might make a man of
you, if you went the right way about it; but trust me
that all your fine dreams of chivalry and ambition to
perform fine feats of arms will not easily get you five
hundred a-year in land, and a pension of a hundred a-year
out of the customs of Berwick."</p>

<p>"Perhaps, not; but my dreams, as you call them, may
result in something better&mdash;in my name being recorded
by chroniclers, and celebrated by minstrels."</p>

<p>The Northumbrian squire laughed loud at what he
deemed my fantastic notions, and laid his hand on
my arm.</p>

<p>"Hark ye, boy," said he, looking in my face. "I know
something of mankind, and I venture to predict of you,
that&mdash;young and foolish as you are&mdash;you will live and
learn how to climb the tree, so as ever, when you fall, to
fall as a cat does&mdash;that is, on your feet; so that I have
faith in your future."</p>

<p>"Many thanks for your compliment," said I, half
scornfully.</p>

<p>"But listen," continued Copeland kindly. "When
this siege is over, and you tire of idling at Windsor
or Eltham, and sigh for strife and real warfare, come
north to my castle on the Blythe; and, if you meet not
with dainty chivalry, you will meet with a hearty welcome,
and enemies who will give you work to do, when we
mount our steeds, and ride forth together to couch our
spears against the Scot."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p>

<p>"Many thanks for your courtesy," replied I, as he shook
my hand ere parting; "and, if I avail myself of your
offer, I trust you will not fail to put me in the way of
making my fortune by capturing a king."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII</a><br />

<small>ARRIVALS</small></h2>


<p>About three days before the Feast of All Saints there
was much commotion in the camp before Calais. Everything
wore a gayer aspect than on ordinary occasions, and
an unwonted degree of excitement lighted up the grim
faces of the English soldiery. In fact, there had just
taken place an important arrival in the person of Queen
Philippa; and, even had she come alone, the heroine of
Neville's Cross would have been received with enthusiasm.
But she was not unaccompanied when she came to Calais;
for with her came a great number of ladies, who gladly
left England and their homes to see their fathers, husbands,
brothers, and kinsmen who were engaged in the
siege.</p>

<p>It appears that, so far as the King of Scots was
concerned, everything had ultimately been settled to
Philippa's satisfaction. On reaching England, Copeland,
as he had intended, assembled his friends and neighbours,
conducted David Bruce to York, and there, in the king's
name, presented his royal captive to the queen with such
handsome excuses, that she expressed herself quite satisfied.
Nor, after having settled that matter, did Philippa
linger in the North. Having provided for the defence of
York, Durham, and other towns in the province beyond
the Humber, she immediately set out for London, carrying
the royal Scot in her train.</p>

<p>Arrived in the capital of England, the King of Scots
was, with much ceremony, conducted to the Tower.
Twenty thousand soldiers escorted the prisoner; the companies
of the city, in their appropriate dresses, took part
in the procession; and David Bruce&mdash;riding a tall black
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>
horse, that he might be seen of all men&mdash;slowly passed
through London, and disappeared from the crowd within
the gate of the great metropolitan fortress.</p>

<p>Measures having been taken to render the prison
absolutely secure, and to preclude everything like a
possibility of escape, Philippa left London for Dover;
and, embarking with a favourable wind, she soon reached
Calais. On the arrival of the queen, King Edward held a
grand court and ordered magnificent entertainments for
the ladies who had come with his royal spouse.</p>

<p>Naturally, the court and the entertainments caused much
talk, raised much curiosity, and excited much interest in
the camp. But they were not the only subjects of conversation
which Philippa's arrival furnished. From England
with the queen came her eldest daughter, Isabel, then
a girl of fifteen, and fair to look upon; and everybody
whispered that she was destined as the bride of the
Count of Flanders. At all events, it was known that the
Flemings were most anxious that their young count
should espouse the English princess; and it was believed
that the King and Queen of England were, for many
reasons, as eager as the Flemings that the match should
take place.</p>

<p>At that time I may mention that the Count of Flanders
was still at the court of Philip of Valois, brooding over
the death of his father, and dreaming of vengeance.
The Flemings, however, were not daunted by this circumstance,
which certainly did not favour this project. To
the French court they sent such messages as they
believed would lure their prince home.</p>

<p>"If," said they, "you will return to Flanders, and
follow our advice, we will make a great man of you."</p>

<p>The young count listened, reflected, yielded, and returned
to the dominions over which his father had
exercised sovereign sway.</p>

<p>At first everything went smoothly enough. The chief
towns of Flanders made much of their count, and laid
such rich presents at his feet that his eyes were dazzled,
and so far all was well. But on one point they were
determined&mdash;namely, that they&mdash;and not he&mdash;should
select his bride, and that the bride should be none
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>
other than the English princess who was now, with her
mother, in the camp before Calais.</p>

<p>Unfortunately, as it happened, the Count of Flanders
had two strong objections to the matrimonial union which
his subjects were so anxious to bring about. In the first
place, he wished to marry a daughter of the Duke of
Brabant; and, in the second place, he was utterly averse
to marry Isabel of England.</p>

<p>"I will never," said he, almost in tears&mdash;"I will never
marry a daughter of the man whom I hold responsible
for my father's death."</p>

<p>"But," said the Flemings, "this English alliance will
best enable us to resist the oppressions of the French,
and our connexion with England is much more profitable
than could be a connexion with any other country."</p>

<p>Nevertheless, the Count of Flanders remained obdurate;
and the Flemings, equally stubborn in their way, not
only adhered to their purpose, but gave their hereditary
ruler to understand that he was neither more nor less than
a prisoner&mdash;nay, more, they intimated that he was likely
so to continue until he listened to reason, and consented
to be guided by them.</p>

<p>"You will never," said they, "have your liberty, unless
you take our advice; and if your father had taken our
advice he might have been one of the greatest princes of
Christendom, instead of being&mdash;what he became&mdash;a
vassal of France."</p>

<p>Naturally, the count found his position extremely perplexing,
and his captivity wearisome, and, under the
influence of continual importunities on the part of the
Flemings, his resolution began to give way.</p>

<p>"Well," said he, one day, "I begin to think you are
in the right, and that the advantages to be gained from
an alliance with England are very great."</p>

<p>Gratified to hear the count express himself in such
language, the Flemings relaxed his bonds, gave him
a little more liberty, and allowed him to recreate himself
with field sports, especially that of hawking, which was
his favourite pastime. But he felt that he was still a
prisoner. Whenever he rode out to fly his hawk, he
found himself vigilantly guarded; and, ere long, to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>
relieve himself from a predicament which daily became
more awkward, he consented to do all that the Flemings
required of him, and, with the best grace he could
assume, intimated his willingness to espouse the English
princess, whose name he disliked, and whose face he
had never seen.</p>

<p>And now, for a time, matters went on as favourably as
the Flemings could have desired, and ambassadors were
sent to Calais to inform the King and Queen of England
that the count was ready to espouse the princess. Edward
and Philippa were delighted beyond measure with the
intelligence, and did not conceal their satisfaction.</p>

<p>"What good sort of people the Flemings are!" exclaimed
they gratefully.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the Earl of Northampton and the Earl of
Arundel, having been sent into Flanders, made all
arrangements in the most skilful manner. In vain the
Duke of Brabant threw obstacles in the way, invoked the
interference of Philip of Valois, and did everything in his
power to put a stop to these <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociations</ins>. The Flemings
were neither to be coaxed nor coerced from following
their project; and at length it was agreed that a conference
should take place between the King and Queen of
England and the Count of Flanders, attended by the chief
men of the country. Bergues St. Vinox was fixed upon as
the place of meeting, and thither from Calais went the
king and queen with a brilliant train and in great state,
to take their prospective son-in-law by the hand.</p>

<p>On reaching the place appointed for their conference,
the King and Queen of England found the Count of
Flanders, who, with the leading men of the chief towns,
had come with great pomp to bring the business to a
conclusion. Courteous salutations having passed, King
Edward took the count aside, and spoke to the boy of the
death of his father at Cressy.</p>

<p>"As God shall help me," said the king solemnly, "I
never heard, on the day of the battle, that the Count of
Flanders was among my foes, nor on the morrow that he
had been there."</p>

<p>With this assurance the young count appeared satisfied,
and the subject of the marriage was, without delay, introduced.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>
No dispute arose; and, certain articles having
been agreed on and sworn to, the Count of Flanders was
formally betrothed to Isabel of England, and engaged to
espouse her at an early date. The day, indeed, was put off
till King Edward should have more leisure. But the king
and the count separated apparently in high good-humour
with each other, and no doubt was entertained that, at an
early period, the marriage would be celebrated with a
pomp and splendour becoming the rank of the parties.</p>

<p>It was while the king and queen were absent at this
conference, that I, lounging listlessly about the camp,
met Sir Thomas Norwich, with whom I had recently
become as friendly and familiar as our different ages and
ranks would admit of our being. Many a time the good
knight had spoken jocularly of my encounter with the
Count of Flanders, and now he resumed the subject,
which, at the moment, was by no means the most agreeable
in the world.</p>

<p>"Boy Winram," said he, "you have been so far lucky in
your career; but I fear me you will fall into the background,
now that this count is coming to wed the king's
daughter."</p>

<p>"By my hallidame!" replied I, "such is the thought
that haunts me. But change of fortune seems to be the
lot of human beings all over the world; and Fortune, who
so frequently turns her wheel against princes and men of
high rank, also condescends at times to play her tricks
with those of lower degree. So I submit. But of one
thing, sir knight, connected with this affair, I feel fully
assured."</p>

<p>"What?"</p>

<p>"That Louis of Flanders has a French heart, and that
he will never take the hand of an English bride with
hearty good-will."</p>

<p>"Dangerous words, which you had better not repeat,"
said Sir Thomas, looking cautiously round.</p>

<p>"Mayhap they are dangerous words," replied I; "but
look to the end, and you may see them come true."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII</a><br />

<small>NO ROAD</small></h2>


<p>Autumn deepened into winter, and winter was succeeded
by spring; and spring ripened and mellowed into summer,
with its long, bright, merry days: and every month
rumour brought to the camp of the English before Calais
tidings that Philip of Valois was coming with a mighty
army to relieve the beleaguered town. But month followed
month, and season succeeded to season, and still Philip
failed to make his appearance; and the warriors of
England, growing somewhat vain-glorious, exclaimed with
sneers that "hawks come not where eagles hold eyrie;"
and the Calesians, on the verge of famine, well-nigh gave
way to despair, when suddenly, on a summer day, news
reached the camp that the foe, so long looked for, was at
last coming, with princes, dukes, and counts, and an
overwhelming force at his back, to save Calais and avenge
Cressy.</p>

<p>It was a little before Whitsuntide, when Philip of
Valois, having summoned all the knights and squires
of France to assemble at Amiens, repaired to that city
with his sons, the Dukes of Normandy and Orleans, held
a grand council of war, and, after much deliberation,
resolved to march to the relief of Calais. But, with some
vague idea of the difficulties to be encountered&mdash;for all
his ideas of war were vague&mdash;he sent ambassadors to
Flanders, and asked for part of his army a free passage
through the Flemish territory, his object being to send
troops by way of Gravelines, that they might reach Calais
on that side, fight with the English and reinforce the
garrison. But the Flemings, not to be tempted from their
fidelity to the King of England, decidedly refused to
comply with the request; and Philip, baffled as to this
part of his project, determined to push forward his enterprise
by advancing towards Boulogne.</p>

<p>At Arras, however, he took up his quarters for a short
time to gather in the forces which were hastening to his
standard; and from Arras he advanced slowly to Hesdin,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>
his army and baggage extending over three miles of
country. Resting at Hesdin for a day, he moved forward
to Blangy, and, having again halted at that place to
mature his plans, he threw off hesitation, passed through
the country of Faukenberg, and leading his men straight
to Sangate, posted them on the hills, between Calais and
Wissant.</p>

<p>It will readily be imagined that, at this time, the excitement
in the camp of the English was high. Impressive,
moreover, was the spectacle which the army of Philip
presented to those who rode out to watch their movements.
Night had fallen when the French took up their
ground, and I can bear witness that it was a beautiful
sight to see their banners waving and their arms glistening
in the moonlight.</p>

<p>"A most noble army, my lord," remarked Sir Thomas
Norwich to the Prince of Wales, with whom and a body
of riders he had come to view the approach of the
foe.</p>

<p>"A most noble army on my faith!" replied the prince,
with admiration. "But," added he, after a pause, "it
can avail Calais naught. The position of my lord the
king is too strong to be attacked with advantage by mortal
man, and Philip of Valois must either retire without
striking a blow, or prove himself mad by rushing on
destruction, and leading his followers like sheep to the
slaughter."</p>

<p>Nor, in speaking in a tone so confident, was the prince
guilty of aught like presumption. Nothing, in truth,
which skill, and prudence, and labour could do to render
the English army absolutely secure, had been left undone
by the English king. At the commencement of the
siege there were two roads by which the French might
have approached Calais. One of these was by the downs
along the sea-shore, and the other by the bridge of
Nieullet, which afforded a passage over the marshes and
ditches further up the country. But neither one nor the
other had been neglected. Along the shore Edward
posted his fleet, with archers, and artillery, and bombards,
the noise of which frightened the enemy; and at
the bridge of Nieullet he posted his cousin, the Earl
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>
of Derby, with such a force of archers and men-at-arms
as were likely to keep it against all comers.</p>

<p>Not wholly informed as to the position of the English
or perhaps, when at a distance, contemptuous of their
power, Philip of Valois, while encamped at Sangate, sent
his marshals to examine the country, and ascertain the
most favourable passage towards the foes whom he came
to crush; but they returned, with dismay in their faces,
to inform him that no attempt could be made without the
certainty of an infinite loss of men.</p>

<p>"But," cried Philip, after hearing them, "why not cross
the marshes between Sangate and the sea?"</p>

<p>"Because, sire," answered the marshals firmly, "the
marshes are known to be impassable, and the idea is not
seriously to be entertained."</p>

<p>"Well," exclaimed Philip angrily, "by St. Denis! it
seems that I cannot get to my adversary the King of
England, but that is no reason why he should not come
to me."</p>

<p>And, after pondering for a day and a night, he commanded
four of his lords, one of whom was Eustace de
Ribeaumont, to go to King Edward and challenge him
to leave his camp, and fight on the hill of Sangate.</p>

<p>According to their instructions, the four lords mounted
their steeds, passed the bridge of Nieullet, and, on reaching
the English camp, found the king surrounded by his
barons and knights. Dismounting, they approached, with
many reverences, and stood before the king.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Edward, smiling, "ye are welcome.
Pray tell me what is your errand, for I would fain know
at once."</p>

<p>"Sire," said Eustace de Ribeaumont, speaking for all,
"the King of France informs you, through us, that he is
come to the hill of Sangate in order to give you battle,
but he cannot find any means of approaching you."</p>

<p>Edward looked round on his barons and knights, and,
as he did so, he smiled complacently.</p>

<p>"Therefore," continued Ribeaumont, "the King of
France wishes you to assemble your council, and he will
send some of his, that they may confer together, and fix
on some spot where a general combat may take place."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Edward dryly, "I have already taken
counsel with my barons and knights, and my answer to
the demand of Philip of Valois is brief. I perfectly
understand the request made, through you, by my adversary,
who wrongfully keeps possession of my inheritance,
which, be it known to you, weighs much upon me. You
will, therefore, tell him from me, if you please, that I
have been on this spot near a twelvemonth. Of this, I
am assured, he was well informed; and, had he chosen,
he might have come here sooner. But, God's truth! he
has allowed me to remain so long that I have expended
large sums of money, and have done so much that I must
be master of Calais in a very short time. I am not, therefore,
inclined in the smallest degree to comply with his
caprices, or to gratify his convenience, or to abandon
what I have gained, or what I have been so anxious to
conquer. If neither he nor his army can pass by the
downs nor by the bridge, he must seek out some other
road. I am not bound to find him a way."</p>

<p>The French lords bowed low on receiving King
Edward's answer, and, having mounted their horses, were
courteously escorted to the bridge of Nieullet, and sent
on to their own camp. On reaching Sangate they related
to Philip of Valois the result of their mission, and gave
such an account of the formidable preparations made to
oppose them, that the bold countenance of the Valois
fell.</p>

<p>"By heavens!" exclaimed he, gesticulating violently,
"this passes all patience; but, one day, I will make
mine adversaries dearly rue all they are doing."</p>

<p>Having uttered his threat, which the unhappy man was
not destined to execute, Philip acknowledged the impossibility
of any successful attempt to raise the siege
of Calais, and forced himself to the determination of
abandoning the enterprise which had created so much
stir throughout France. Breaking up his camp, he
marched, much crestfallen, from Sangate, and away in
the direction of Amiens, there to disband his army.
But the English were not inclined to let him off so
easily. Attacking the rear of the retreating force, they
wrought the French much mischief, and brought off
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>
prisoners, horses, and waggons full of wine and other
provisions.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the Calesians were in the last stages of distress,
and when they saw Philip depart, leaving them to
their fate, they uttered a long wail, expressive of horror
and grief. It was, indeed, abundantly evident that all
hope of succour had vanished, and, at the instance of the
despairing inhabitants, John de Vienne, governor of the
town, mounted the walls, and, displaying a flag, made a
signal that he demanded a parley.</p>

<p>"Now," said King Edward joyfully, "the fruit is at
length ripe, and the wind is about to do its work."</p>

<p>And he ordered Sir Walter Manny to hold a parley with
the French governor.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV</a><br />

<small>SURRENDER OF CALAIS</small></h2>


<p>It was the morning of the 3rd of August, 1347; and
there was woe and lamentation within the walls of Calais.
After having held out sternly for well-nigh a year, the town,
left to its fate by Philip of Valois, already exposed to some
of the horrors of famine, and now almost at the mercy of
the King of England, was on the point of surrendering to
the besiegers, and under such circumstances as made the
necessity appear all the more cruel.</p>

<p>In fact, the parley which John de Vienne, the governor,
had demanded, and which he had held in the usual form
with Sir Walter Manny, had not resulted as anticipated
by the Calesians; for King Edward insisted on an unconditional
surrender, and, at first, would listen to no other
terms. In vain Sir Walter Manny and the nobles of
England pleaded for the unfortunate town. The only
condition to which Edward would consent was one which
added to the melancholy of the occasion, and melted the
sternest hearts.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Edward in a conclusive tone, "I
am not so obstinate as to hold my opinion against you
all."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p>

<p>Every eye sparkled with satisfaction, as the idea that
the king was about to yield to their wishes, occurred
to all.</p>

<p>"Sir Walter," continued Edward dryly, "you will therefore
inform the Governor of Calais that the only grace
that he may expect from me is, that six of the principal
citizens march out of the town with bare heads and feet,
with ropes round their necks, and the keys of the town
and castle in their hands. These six citizens shall be at
my absolute disposal; the remainder of the inhabitants
pardoned."</p>

<p>When the decision at which the royal conqueror had
arrived was made known to John de Vienne, he ordered
the bell to be rung; and, having assembled all the men
and women of Calais in the town hall, he informed them
of the answer which he had received, and that he could
not obtain any more favourable conditions. Mournful
was the scene which ensued. Immediately the assembly
raised the cry of despair; and the distress was so great
that even the fortitude of John de Vienne gave way, and
he wept bitterly. After a short pause, however, Eustace
St. Pierre, one of the richest men in Calais, and one of
the most virtuous, rose slowly, and with serene dignity
addressed the populace.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen, both high and low," said Eustace gravely,
"it would be a very great pity to suffer so many people to
die through famine, if any means could be found to prevent
it; and it would be highly meritorious in the eyes of
our Saviour if such misery could be averted."</p>

<p>A low murmur of approbation ran through the assembly,
and all present kept their eyes fixed on the countenance
of the speaker.</p>

<p>"And such being the case," continued Eustace, "and
such faith have I in finding grace before God, if I die to
save my townsmen, that I venture to name myself as one
of the six."</p>

<p>As may be supposed, a mighty effect was produced by
this speech; and, as Eustace concluded, the populace
were almost inclined to worship him. Many, indeed, cast
themselves at his feet with tears and groans, and sought to
kiss the hem of his garment. Nor was this example lost
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>
on those who, like himself, had hitherto held their head
highest in the now imperilled community. With little
delay, and as little reluctance, five of the principal citizens
rose, as Eustace had done, and volunteered, like him, to
give themselves up for their fellow-townsmen, and if
necessary, seal the sacrifice with their blood.</p>

<p>No time was now lost in bringing matters to a conclusion.
Mounting a hackney, John de Vienne conducted
the six citizens to the gate, and, having passed through,
led them, barefoot and bare-headed, with halters round
their necks, and the keys of Calais in their hands, to the
barrier, and delivered them to Sir Walter Manny, who was
there waiting.</p>

<p>"Sir knight," said John de Vienne, "I, as Governor of
Calais, deliver to you with the consent of the inhabitants,
these six citizens; and I swear to you that they were, and
are to this day, the most wealthy in Calais. I beg of you,
gentle sir, that you would have the goodness to beseech
your king that they may not be put to death."</p>

<p>"On my faith," replied Sir Walter, much affected, "I
cannot answer for what the king will do with them; but
you may depend on this, that I will do all in my power to
save them."</p>

<p>And now the barriers were opened, and Sir Walter
Manny, leading the six citizens to the royal pavilion, presented
them to the victor king.</p>

<p>Immediately on coming into Edward's presence, the six
citizens fell on their knees, and, with uplifted hands, implored
mercy.</p>

<p>"Most gallant king," cried they, in accents that moved
every heart, "see before you men of Calais, who have
been capital merchants, and who bring you the keys of the
castle and the town."</p>

<p>All the lords and knights of England who surrounded
their king on the occasion wept at the sight. At first,
however, it seemed that the citizens were doomed. In
fact, Edward greatly disliked the Calesians, not only for
the blood and treasure they had cost him during the
siege, but for the many injuries which, in other days, their
cruisers had done the English at sea; and, far from sympathising
with the pity expressed, he eyed them with angry
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>
glances, and ordered them to be straightway led to execution.
But loud murmurs arose from the barons who stood
around; and one noble, bolder than the others, protested
frankly. It was the young Lord Merley.</p>

<p>"My lord," said he, "reflect before doing in this
matter what can never be undone, nor, as I believe,
justified. Remember, my lord, what was said by your
grandsire of illustrious memory, when advised to show
mercy to men infinitely more criminal than these citizens.
'Why,' said he, 'talk to me of showing mercy? When
did I ever refuse mercy to mortal man who asked it? I
would not refuse mercy even to a dog!'"</p>

<p>Edward, however, shook his head, and appeared inexorable.
But Sir Walter Manny, trusting to his influence,
ventured on a last appeal.</p>

<p>"Gentle sir," said Sir Walter, "let me beseech you to
restrain your anger. You have the reputation of great
and true nobility of soul. Do not tarnish your reputation
by such an act as this, nor allow any man to speak of you
as having so tarnished it. All the world would say that
you have acted cruelly if you put to death six men who
have surrendered themselves to your mercy to save their
fellow-citizens."</p>

<p>"Be it so," replied the king, with a significant wink,
"and meantime let the headsman be sent for."</p>

<p>At that moment the fate of the citizens appeared to be
sealed; and they must have given up all hope. But they
had still another chance of escape. Almost as the king
spoke, Queen Philippa approached, and, falling upon her
knees, implored her husband to show mercy to the unhappy
men.</p>

<p>"Ah, gentle sir," said the queen, with tears in her eyes,
"since I, in spite of great dangers, have crossed the seas
to meet you, I have never asked you one favour. Now I
do most humbly ask, as a gift, for the sake of the Son of
the Blessed Mary, and for your love of me, that you will
be merciful to these six men."</p>

<p>For some time the king regarded his spouse without
speaking, and as if struggling with himself. At length he
broke silence, and, as he spoke, all present listened to his
words, as if the life of each depended upon the answer.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p>

<p>"Lady," said he, "I wish that, at this moment, you
had been anywhere else than here. But you have intreated
in such a manner that I cannot refuse you. I
therefore give these citizens to you to do as you like
with them."</p>

<p>As the king concluded, all the nobles and knights
breathed more freely; and the queen, having conducted
the citizens to her apartments, caused their halters to be
taken off, and clothes to be given to them, and ordered
that they should be served with dinner; and then, having
presented each with six nobles, she commanded that they
should be safely and honourably escorted out of the
camp.</p>

<p>Meanwhile Edward, now secure of his prize, turned to
Sir Walter Manny and the two marshals, and handed
them the keys which had been brought by the six citizens.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said he, "here are the keys of the town
and castle of Calais. Go and take possession."</p>

<p>"And what of the governor and inhabitants?" asked
they.</p>

<p>"As to them I will explain my views," replied the king.
"You will first put into prison the governor and the
knights whom you find there; and then all the other
inhabitants you will send out of the town, and all soldiers
who were serving for pay. I am resolved to repeople the
town, and to people it with English, and none but
English."</p>

<p>Forthwith, and right willingly, Sir Walter Manny and
the marshals proceeded to execute the king's commands.
With a hundred men they entered Calais, and took
formal possession. John de Vienne and his knights
having been taken into custody, arms of every sort were
brought to the market-place, and piled up in a heap; and
the inhabitants of all ages and sexes were ordered to
leave the town, with the exception of an old priest and
two other old men, who were well acquainted with the
place and its customs and likely to be useful in pointing
out the different properties.</p>

<p>At the same time, directions were given for preparing
the castle to receive the King and Queen of England;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>
this done, Edward and Philippa mounted their steeds,
and entered the gates in triumph. All were gay and
exultant; trumpets and tabours sounded loudly; and the
standard of England waved from tower and turret.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV</a><br />

<small>A RUNAWAY BRIDEGROOM</small></h2>


<p>While the English were prosecuting the siege of Calais,
and Philip of Valois was preparing to march, when too
late, to relieve the town, and while King Edward was
rendering his position too strong to be approached even
by the boldest of foes, the match between the young
Count of Flanders and the Lady Isabel of England continued
to excite much interest, and to furnish material for
many a dialogue. It was understood that the ideas of
the Count of Flanders on the important subject of matrimony
had undergone a total change, and that he had
become not only reconciled to his fate, but all eagerness
for the celebration of a marriage to which he had formerly
expressed such a very decided aversion; and preparations
were heartily made, on one side at least, for the great
event which was to bind Flanders still more closely to
her chief commercial ally. No expense was spared. The
King of England provided rich gifts of cloths and jewels
to distribute on the wedding-day, and the queen was
similarly employed, as she was anxious to acquit herself
on the occasion with honour and generosity.</p>

<p>In the meantime the Count of Flanders had returned
to his own country, and at Ghent he was residing under
the eye of his somewhat imperious subjects. But he was
no longer a captive, nor even an object of jealousy. Not
only had he done what they wished, but he talked in
such a way as highly to gratify them. He professed to
be much pleased at everything which, at their instance,
he had done&mdash;pleased with the English match, and also
with his prospective bride; and he declared that the
alliance with England was perfectly agreeable to him, in
such terms that they, believing all he said, refrained from
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>
keeping any strict watch over him, and left him to pursue
his sports without let or hindrance.</p>

<p>Now, as I have before said, the Count of Flanders was
marvellously fond of hawking, and seldom allowed a day
to pass without indulging in his favourite sport. With
him it was not pursued merely as a recreation, as with
most princes, but it was a passion. No one was surprised,
therefore, when one day in the week in which he
was to receive the hand of the English princess, he
mounted his horse and fared forth, as usual, with a slight
attendance; which was rather a train than a guard, and
with a falconer by his side, each with a hawk on his wrist,
made for the fields outside the city.</p>

<p>No sooner did the party enter the fields in search of
game than a heron rose. The falconer immediately flew
his hawk, and the count, having done likewise, pretended
to be absorbed in calculating the probable result. Watching
the birds attentively as they pursued their game, and
shouting "Hoye! hoye!" he followed them at a gallop till
he was at some distance from his attendants, and deliberately
put in execution a project he had formed for making
his escape.</p>

<p>Fortunately for the count, not the slightest suspicion
was entertained that he any longer felt discontented with
his position, and his attendants ascribed his gallop to his
ardour for hawking. No sooner, however, did he gain
the open field, than he struck spurs into his horse, went
off at a pace which set pursuit at defiance, and pursued
his way without stopping till he reached the county of
Artois, and knew that all danger of being captured was
past.</p>

<p>But the Count of Flanders did not linger in Artois.
Forward to the court of France, where his heart had ever
been, went he joyfully, and chuckled with glee as he
related to Philip of Valois all that had happened.</p>

<p>"You have acted wisely, cousin," said Philip. "As for
your betrothal, heed it not. A forced contract is of no
avail; and for the rest, I will ally you otherwise, and more
to your honour and profit."</p>

<p>So spake Philip of Valois; but not so spake the warriors
of England, when the Flemings, enraged and mortified,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>
came to Calais with tidings of their count's escape, and
with befitting excuses to the English king.</p>

<p>"Shame upon the dog of a Fleming!" cried every one;
"he has deceived and betrayed us."</p>

<p>"It is true," said the king, more calmly than might
have been expected. "Nevertheless," added he, "we
must not blame the Flemings, who are our friends; but
we are bound to cultivate their friendship in spite of what
has happened on this occasion; for what has happened
has not been with their consent or connivance. On the
contrary, they are much, and justly, enraged with their
count's conduct."</p>

<p>And so King Edward accepted the excuses of the
Flemings, and the matter ended; and, ere twelve months
passed over, the Lady Isabel learned that her runaway
bridegroom had espoused the daughter of the Duke of
Brabant.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI</a><br />

<small>HOW CALAIS WAS REPEOPLED</small></h2>


<p>Melancholy, I must confess, it was on that memorable
August day, even in the eyes of the conquerors of Calais,
to see the citizens expelled from the homes which hitherto
they had called their own, and compelled to wander forth,
not knowing whither they went. Nor with them did they
carry aught to aid them in forming new settlements.
Everything they possessed was left behind; and, atoning
for their fidelity to Philip of Valois by the loss of wealth
and goods, as well as houses and heritage, men, women,
and children, of various ages and conditions, passed, weeping,
through the opened gates, to seek among strangers
for new abodes and new friends.</p>

<p>All who witnessed their departure commiserated their
hard fate. Even King Edward, albeit exasperated at the
Calesians, must, in his heart, have deplored the stern
necessity under the influence of which he acted. But, as
I have said, the king had expressed his determination to
repeople Calais with English, and so thoroughly was his
mind made up on the subject, that nothing could have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>
turned him from the plan he had formed for securing his
conquest to England, and making it advantageous to
Englishmen.</p>

<p>In order to contribute to the result which he contemplated,
the king gave to Sir Walter Manny and the Earl
of Warwick, and other lords and knights, very handsome
houses in Calais, that they might aid him in the work,
and intimated his resolution to lose no time in doing his
part.</p>

<p>"Immediately on reaching England," said the king, "I
will hasten to send hither a number of substantial citizens,
with all their wealth, and exert myself in such a manner
that the inhabitants shall be wholly English. Not even a
dog not of English breed should remain in the city if I
could help it."</p>

<p>At the same time the king gave orders for dismantling
the temporary town and fortifications which he had raised
during the siege, and also the great castle which he had
erected in the harbour. Having done this, and repaired
the gates and walls, he took such measures for guarding
the gates and defending the walls as he deemed essential
to the security of the town, and then flattered himself that
he had nothing more to fear.</p>

<p>"Nothing," said he, "save treachery from within, could
now deprive me of this town, which has cost me so much
time and money to gain; and to provide at once against
treachery, I intend to appoint as its governor a man in
whose perception and fidelity I have full confidence."</p>

<p>Accordingly, the king appointed to the important post
of Governor of Calais a Lombard, named Aymery de
Pavie, whom he had brought up from youth, whom he had
greatly befriended, whom he had highly promoted, and
who was destined to requite so many favours with the
very blackest ingratitude.</p>

<p>It was a grave mistake on the king's part, I must admit,
to appoint an avaricious Lombard to such a post; and he
well-nigh atoned for his misplaced confidence by the loss
of a conquest which he was so proud to have made, and
which any king might have been proud to make. But in
the meantime everything seemed fair, and Aymery de
Pavie received the keys of Calais from the royal conqueror
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>
with the air of a man who was incapable of thinking a
dishonourable thought. However, there were then Englishmen
and warriors of fame in Calais who had little faith
in the Lombard's honesty, and who murmured that, in
trusting a foreigner so much, the king was showing less
than his wonted sagacity. None, however, ventured to
speak, save in a whisper, on a subject so delicate, and not
an echo of what was said ever reached the king's ears.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, many men&mdash;both English and French&mdash;were
tired of the war, and talking about "peace;" and
Pope Clement, in the exercise of his discretion, deemed
it a fitting time to interfere. Before the surrender of
Calais, indeed, and ere yet Philip of Valois had left the
Calesians to their hard fate, the Pope had sent two
cardinals to make an effort at <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociating</ins> a peace. But
Edward would listen to no terms likely to interfere with
his gaining possession of Calais; and the cardinals,
after wasting three days in a fruitless attempt at <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociation</ins>,
gave up the business in despair, and returned to
Avignon.</p>

<p>But Clement did not abandon his design. No sooner,
indeed, did the Pope learn that Edward had gained his
object&mdash;in so far as Calais was concerned&mdash;than he resolved
on renewing his attempt to terminate the war. With this
object he sent into France, as his ambassador, the Cardinal
Guy of Boulogne, who, meeting Philip of Valois at Amiens,
exercised all his tact and skill to induce the vanquished
prince to agree to a peace on practicable terms, and then
appeared at Calais to try his powers of persuasion on the
King of England.</p>

<p>At first the cardinal had not much reason to congratulate
himself on the success of his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociations</ins>. His mission,
in fact, was one of great difficulty; for Philip hated
Edward's name as death, and Edward's contempt for
Philip was by no means so slight as to be easily concealed.
But the cardinal comprehended his own position and
theirs, and felt sure that he would succeed in the end.</p>

<p>And so, indeed, it came to pass. Both parties, after
reflecting deliberately, arrived at the conclusion that, for
the time being, at least, they had had enough of the war.
The English were&mdash;as well they might be&mdash;contented
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>
with the victories they had won, and anxious to return to
their homes; the French, depressed and disheartened
with defeat and disaster, were the reverse of eager to
continue a struggle in which they instinctively felt they
were almost certain to have the worst.</p>

<p>Such being the circumstances in his favour, the cardinal
persevered, and, with so skilful a mediator as Guy of
Boulogne whispering into their ears, both Philip of Valois
and King Edward began gradually to listen more earnestly
to his representations and his counsels.</p>

<p>At length the cardinal's endeavours were, in some
degree, rewarded, and he had the gratification of bringing
the rivals to consent to a truce for two years. On the
28th of September, 1347, the truce was signed with all
due form, and the King and Queen of England, with the
Prince of Wales and the Lady Isabel, embarked for England.
The squires and pages of the prince prepared to
follow more leisurely.</p>

<p>And on reaching England, where he met with a boisterous
welcome, King Edward did not forget to neglect his
scheme of repeopling Calais. Forthwith he adopted
measures for putting it into execution. Thirty-six citizens
of worth and substance, with their wives and families,
were sent, in all haste, to inhabit the conquered town, and
others speedily followed in large numbers, so that in
manners, and customs, and language, Calais differed little
from any town in England.</p>

<p>And, as time passed on, the temptation to cross the
narrow seas became every year stronger. In fact, King
Edward was all anxiety to see Calais prosper and grow
rich under his rule; and he, to stimulate its trade,
so multiplied the privileges of the English colonists, that
adventurous Englishmen flocked eagerly to it as the place
where, of all others in Europe, industry was best rewarded,
and where fortunes were most easily gained.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII</a><br />

<small>A MYSTERIOUS VISIT</small></h2>


<p>It was the evening of Saturday, the 16th of October, 1347&mdash;the
day preceding that which was the anniversary of the
battle of Neville's Cross&mdash;and Calais was about to be left
to the keeping of Aymery de Pavie and the garrison with
which he had been furnished to guard the town against
any attempt to recover it by force or stratagem.</p>

<p>Next day the squires and pages of the Prince of Wales
were to embark; and I, by no means sorry to exchange
the dulness of the conquered town for Westminster and
Windsor, was seated, in solitude, in one of the chambers
of the castle appropriated to the prince's household,
reflecting on the events of a twelvemonth which, assuredly,
had been somewhat eventful, and endeavouring, with
juvenile enthusiasm, to anticipate what the coming year
would bring forth, when I was suddenly aroused from my
reverie by the sound of light footsteps, and, looking up
with a start, I found that a woman of tall and elegant
form was before me.</p>

<p>I rose mechanically, and, as in duty bound, bent my
head with all the respect which an apprentice of chivalry
owes to the sex which he has solemnly sworn to serve, and
protect, and defend. But I did so with very peculiar
feelings. In truth, though my visitor was closely veiled,
I had an instinctive belief that the figure was not wholly
unknown to me, and that it was associated with memories
the reverse of agreeable. I had no time, however, to recall
circumstances, or to speculate on probabilities, for, without
delay, she raised her veil, and looked me full in the
face; and, as she did so, I recognised, with astonishment,
the woman whom I had seen on the night of my
mysterious adventure at Caen.</p>

<p>I started again, and this time as if an adder had stung
me; but I rapidly remembered the resolutions I had
formed as to that memorable occasion; and, quickly
recovering my serenity, I motioned her to a seat, resumed
mine, and spoke first.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p>

<p>"Methinks, madam," said I, in a significant tone, "we
have met before."</p>

<p>"It is true," she replied, without evincing the slightest
agitation. "But it is not of our having met that I would
speak. So far as that meeting is concerned, let bygones
be bygones, and let us speak of something of more importance
to you&mdash;mayhap, also, to me. It is meet that you
should know I have on my mind what deeply concerns
you, and therefore am I here."</p>

<p>"Gramercy for the interest you show in me, madam,"
exclaimed I calmly. "I would fain hope, however, that
what you have to say may be spoken without my drinking
to strengthen my heart against failing during the narrative;
for, on my faith, I cannot but deem that wine drunk in
your presence becomes wondrously intoxicating."</p>

<p>And I looked at my fair visitor with an air of superiority;
for, in truth, I felt, at the moment, that I could not
twice be deluded by the same person. Nevertheless, she
was utterly unmoved, and, after a pause, resumed.</p>

<p>"A truce to jesting, young sir," said she, "and listen
to me with attention, for know that I am in possession of
that secret which, of all others, you desire to gain possession
of&mdash;I mean the secret of your birth."</p>

<p>I felt my heart beat tumultuously, and my blood flow
quicker through my veins, as she spoke; but, still remembering
Caen, and resolved not to give way to excitement,
I restrained myself, as I often in my day have done
a too-eager steed, and answered calmly.</p>

<p>"Mayhap," said I, "this secret is, after all, of small
value; and to me&mdash;as you may suppose&mdash;it every day has
become, and will become, of less value."</p>

<p>"And wherefore, young sir?"</p>

<p>"It is in obscurity," continued I, "that men ponder
and most perplex themselves with such points, and rear
castles in imagination. Now, in my case, life is all action
and ambition. Boy as I am, I have placed my foot firmly
on the ladder of life, and I neither fear to climb nor doubt
my strength so to do; and what other inspiration does a
man want than the consciousness of brave deeds and
duties faithfully performed?"</p>

<p>"It is bravely spoken," said she, without change of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>
tone or countenance; "and yet, could you guess all that
my tongue could tell, you would not speak of the consequence
so lightly."</p>

<p>"Now, by all the saints!" exclaimed I, losing patience,
and with it all command of my temper, "wherefore,
woman, tantalise me thus? If you know aught that
relates to my birth&mdash;be it good or bad&mdash;speak, and I will
listen; or, if you will not speak frankly, cease to tempt
my curiosity with vague hints, which ever elude the grasp
of my comprehension, as the rainbow eludes the grasp of
the child."</p>

<p>"Be patient," said she, "and, in this far, I will explain.
The secret, as I tell you, is in my possession, but as yet
it is not mine to tell&mdash;it is another's. When my mother
was on her death-bed, she committed it to me with her
latest breath; but, as it concerns one greater than my
mother, it cannot be told till Death has claimed that personage
as his prey. Nay, interrupt me not," she continued,
as my impatience was on the point of breaking
forth in words; "when that event happens&mdash;and ere long it
must happen&mdash;I will seek you out and find you, no matter
whether you are in court, or camp, or even in prison; for
I also have an interest in the truth being known, and
more closely than you fancy are our fates linked together."</p>

<p>"You are mysterious," remarked I with a sneer, for I
was greatly disappointed at the result of the communication;
and, albeit my curiosity was sharpened, and my
imagination excited, I recovered, outwardly at least, my
calm demeanour.</p>

<p>"Ha!" exclaimed she, in a tone which indicated that
she was offended at my sneer, "it seems that you are
somewhat incredulous of my statement. Peradventure,
you will give more credit to my words when I give you
a token you cannot mistake. I tell you that a mark was
set upon you in the cradle, which you are likely to carry
to the grave."</p>

<p>I raised my head in silent curiosity.</p>

<p>"Yes," she continued, "it appears on your right
shoulder, and is the form of a lion."</p>

<p>Now I could no longer doubt that this woman, whom
I had met under circumstances which were assuredly not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>
calculated to give her a favourable place in my opinion,
really knew something, more or less, of the tragedy connected
with my birth, and, in some measure, had my fate
in her hands; and the idea that my future, as it were,
should be in any degree dependent on one who had conspired
against my liberty, if not my life, was not only
perplexing, but overwhelming. In my agitation, I rose
and walked to the casement, hoping to calm my thoughts
by looking out upon the clear October night. In this
position I rapidly regained my equanimity, and that kind
of mental energy which enables us to form resolutions.</p>

<p>"By St. George and St. Cuthbert, under whose patronage
I have fought against my country's foes," I exclaimed,
with a sudden gleam of hope, "this woman cannot be
without a heart. I will appeal to her humanity to tell me
as much, at least, of what relates to this secret as may
enable me to penetrate the rest. Nor do we now part till
I have proved whether or not prayers and intreaties will
open her lips to satisfy me in respect of the rank which
my father held."</p>

<p>But in this attempt I was not to have the satisfaction
of succeeding. When I turned round, the woman stood
facing me, with her veil still raised, and an earnest
expression on her countenance.</p>

<p>"Lady," said I imploringly, "I pray you to tell me
frankly who you are, and how you happen to know more
of my affairs than I myself know."</p>

<p>"Ask not now," replied she, "who I am, or whence I
come, or whither I go. In good time you shall learn all.
But," continued she, "hearken to what I have to say,
and, in whatever light you regard me, disregard not the
words I now speak. I am an Englishwoman, I have an
English heart, and I would fain impart by your agency
a warning to England's king, to whom I and mine have
been beholden. Let King Edward, I say, beware! or
the prize on which he so highly prides himself will escape
his grasp. Already treachery is at work. Calais is sold
for French gold; and if the king looks not to its security,
and that right early, Calais will, ere long, be in the hands
of his foes."</p>

<p>At this startling intelligence I bent my head, and
mused for a few moments as to its probability. When
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>
I again looked up, my visitor was gone. I followed
instantly, but still too late; she had disappeared. My
curiosity, however, was so highly excited that I rushed on,
and meeting Robert Salle&mdash;who was then attached as a
squire to Aymery de Pavie, and who, being one of the
strongest and handsomest Englishmen of his day, afterwards,
though merely the son of a mason, acquired great
renown for his ability and courage, and took knighthood
from King Edward's own hand&mdash;arrested his steps.</p>

<p>"Sir squire," asked I hastily, "marked you any woman
pass this way?"</p>

<p>"Assuredly," answered he, much marvelling at my
excitement, "Eleanor de Gubium did pass&mdash;she whom
men call the fairest English-woman in Calais."</p>

<p>"And who," inquired I eagerly, "may this Eleanor de
Gubium be when in her own country?"</p>

<p>"Beshrew me if I can tell," replied the squire; "only
this is certain," added he with a smile, "that she is one of
whom my lord the governor is so enamoured that men
say she has bewitched him; and he commits to her the
innermost secrets of his heart."</p>

<p>"You mean Sir Aymery de Pavie?" said I, more agitated
than ever.</p>

<p>"Surely none other," he replied curtly. "Who else
than Sir Aymery de Pavie should I mean? I trow there
is but one Governor of Calais."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII</a><br />

<small>CALAIS IN PERIL</small></h2>


<p>Much marvelling at the unexpected warning I had so
strangely received, and attaching the more importance to
the communication the longer I considered the matter, I
felt, after long reflection, that I should not be by any means
justified in locking it up in my own breast and keeping it
to myself.</p>

<p>It was true, and I felt strongly, that I could not, under
the circumstances, tell a very satisfactory story; for Eleanor
de Gubium had been mysterious, and I somewhat dreaded
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>
the ridicule to which my narrative of her visit might
expose me, even if it did not involve me in more unfortunate
consequences. But from childhood my grandsire
had impressed on me the necessity of doing what I perceived
to be my duty at all hazards; and no sooner was I
in England than I hastened to the palace of Westminster,
where the king was then holding his court, and, seeking
out the Prince of Wales, told plainly to him what had
been told to me.</p>

<p>I quickly perceived that my story made no impression
on the mind of the prince, and that he considered I had
been fooled by a mad woman or by an impostor. At
first, indeed, he was inclined to laugh to scorn the idea of
Calais being in danger; but, on second thoughts, he intimated
his intention of communicating my statement to
the king; and when, without delay, he did so, the result
was not what he seemed to expect. Not so lightly did
King Edward treat the matter as the prince had done.
Far from despising or neglecting the warning, he summoned
me to his presence, questioned me closely, though
more courteously than was his wont in such cases, as to
the particulars of my story, and, by his manner and words,
indicated his conviction that there was treachery at work
which must be defeated.</p>

<p>"On my faith," said the king, bending his brow and
shaking his head, "this must be looked to, and that
speedily; and, seeing that no man is so likely as Aymery
de Pavie to know what is passing in Calais, he must be
ordered to cross the seas and come hither without loss of
time."</p>

<p>"Sire," said I, beginning to be alarmed at the serious
aspect the affair was assuming, "I crave pardon of your
highness when I beg you to bear in mind that I have
cast suspicion on no man, but merely related what was
said to me."</p>

<p>"You have done what was your duty," replied the king
somewhat sternly, "and well will it be for others if they
can prove that they have done theirs."</p>

<p>And now not an hour was lost in despatching a messenger
to Calais; and, with all possible speed, Aymery de
Pavie, in obedience to the king's command, came to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>
England, and made his appearance at the palace of Westminster.</p>

<p>Not having the least idea, however, of the nature of the
business on which he had been summoned to England,
and aware of the high favour which he had hitherto enjoyed
at the English court, the Lombard entered the
royal presence with perfect confidence, and, having bent
his knee, stood calmly awaiting the king's commands.</p>

<p>"Ha, Sir Aymery! Sir Aymery!" said the king, taking
the Lombard aside, "wot you what was the response of
the oracle of Delphi, when consulted by a king of the
olden times, known as Philip of Macedon, on the best
way of carrying on war?"</p>

<p>"Sire, I know not," answered the Lombard, with a
smile.</p>

<p>"Well, Sir Aymery," continued the king, "it was, if I
remember aright, to make gold his weapon, and he would
conquer all. Moreover, the advice proved most advantageous
to his affairs, and he afterwards owned that he
had taken more towns with money than with arms; that
he never forced a gate till after having tried to open it
with a golden key; and that he did not deem any fortress
impregnable into which a mule laden with treasure could
find entrance."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the Lombard, slightly colouring, and beginning
to give way to agitation, "of all this I was
ignorant."</p>

<p>"I doubt it not, Sir Aymery," resumed the king&mdash;"I
doubt it not; but I imagine that such is not the case
with Philip of Valois. In truth, it seems to me that my
adversary has bethought him, in his troubles, of the
response of the oracle, and determined to try the system
pursued with such success by his namesake of Macedon.
What say you, Sir Aymery?"</p>

<p>The Lombard was silent with surprise and consternation,
and appeared to tremble and gasp for breath.</p>

<p>"Answer me, sir," said the king sternly. "Deem you
my words but idle air?"</p>

<p>"Sire," replied the Lombard, with a last desperate
effort not to betray himself, "I am in all things yours to
command."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p>

<p>"By St. George and my grandsire's sword! and so,
methinks, you ought, if you knew more of gratitude than
the name, Sir Aymery," exclaimed the king angrily. "I
brought you up from a child; I showed you much favour;
and I entrusted to you what I hold dearest in the world,
save my wife and children&mdash;I mean the town and castle
of Calais; and, to requite all my kindness, you have sold
them to the French. Now for this, I say, you deserve
death."</p>

<p>At this stage the Lombard suddenly drew energy from
the excess of his despair, and, flinging himself on his
knees, raised his hands in supplication.</p>

<p>"Ah, gentle king," cried he, "for God's sake have
mercy upon me! All that you have said is very true. I
confess that I have entered into a treaty with the French
to deliver up Calais for twenty thousand crowns; but, as
it was not to be fulfilled till December, and I have not
received a single penny, there is still time to break the
bargain."</p>

<p>"Mayhap, Sir Aymery," said the king; "nevertheless,
no punishment could be too severe for your ingratitude
and the treachery you have meditated; and, were Philip
of Valois in my place, he would send you straight to the
gallows. But do as I bid, and I promise that your life
shall be spared. Nay, speak not, but listen. It is my
wish that you continue this treaty; that you say nothing of
my having discovered your treason; and that you inform
me of the day on which you engage to deliver up Calais."</p>

<p>"Sire, I will obey you in all things," cried the Lombard,
inspired with feelings similar to those that animate the
heart of a man suddenly rescued from the danger of being
swallowed up in the sea.</p>

<p>"Well, then," added the king, "on these conditions
I promise you my pardon, and, that you may earn it, your
first duty is to return to your post at Calais, to keep the
nature of our interview secret, even from the wild winds,
and, on peril of your life, not again to be false to me for
a moment, even in your thoughts."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the Lombard earnestly, "I swear on my
soul, to handle the business so that it shall turn out
wholly for your advantage."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX</a><br />

<small>THE LORDS DE OV</small></h2>


<p>From the first hour of my arrival at Westminster, after
returning from Calais, I had naturally been eager to visit
my grandsire's homestead, of which, in the midst of
battles and sieges, I had often dreamt pleasant dreams
when stretched at rest on a foreign soil. But I felt,
in some degree, responsible for the warning I had brought
to England as to Calais being in peril; and during the
time that elapsed between my communication to the
Prince of Wales and the arrival of Aymery de Pavie I did
not deem myself quite at liberty to leave the palace.
No sooner, however, did I ascertain this much, at least,
that the result of the Lombard's interview with the king
had justified my intelligence, than I asked, and obtained,
permission to repair, for a brief period, to the scene of
my childhood.</p>

<p>Resolving to set out betimes next day, I availed myself
of the interval to proceed to the Falcon, and hear such
tidings of my kinsfolk as Thomelin of Winchester could
impart. As I left the courtyard of the palace in a joyous
mood, I encountered Lord De Ov, who was entering on
horseback and with high feudal pride; and again he eyed
me with a display of malice which renewed all the
perplexity which his conduct had so frequently created in
my mind.</p>

<p>"Why, in the name of all the saints, has this haughty
young lord selected me, of all people, as the object of his
hatred?" I asked myself for the hundredth time, and
continued to question myself in vain, as I strode along
the bush-grown Strand, and made for Gracechurch.</p>

<p>On reaching the Falcon, I found, to my disappointment,
that Thomelin of Winchester was not at his hostelry, and,
on inquiring more closely, I learned, somewhat to my
alarm, that he had been summoned by my grandsire some
days earlier, that he had set out in haste, and that he had
not returned. Musing over this intelligence, and by no
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>
means in so joyous a mood as that in which I left Westminster,
I was issuing from the Falcon, when a small
body of horse halted at the door; and, looking up, I, by
the twilight, recognised in their leader no less memorable
a man than my Northern friend, John Copeland, now a
knight banneret, and famous for his adventure with the
King of Scots.</p>

<p>I doffed my bonnet as I made the discovery, and held
the knight's stirrup as he dismounted from his strong
steed.</p>

<p>"Ha, master page!" cried he, recognising me in turn,
"you have not come North to try your prowess against
the Scots, as I asked you. Nevertheless, we have met
again."</p>

<p>"Even so, sir knight," I replied frankly. "And yet, to
tell the truth, if I have refrained from coming North, it
was not from any expectation of seeing you in the South,
considering the high duties you are now called on to
perform."</p>

<p>"And wherefore should you see me not in the South,
boy?" asked Copeland. "Deem you," added he, not
concealing the pride he felt in his elevation, "that the
king, when he comes home, hath nothing to say to a man
whom he trusts to hold such posts as Warden of Berwick,
and Governor of the Castle of Roxburgh?"</p>

<p>"Nay, on my faith," replied I, laughing, "far be it
from me to hazard any such assertion. Rather let me
give you joy of your prosperous fortunes."</p>

<p>"Thanks, master page; and mayhap&mdash;as men, whether
young or old, are ever envious&mdash;you would like to add
that prosperity is not always a proof of merit. But be
that as it may, I will, in this hostelry, rest my long limbs
for a while ere I proceed to Westminster, and gladly
drink a cup with thee for the sake of old acquaintance."</p>

<p>I accepted the invitation, and without delay we were
seated and quaffing the wine of Bordeaux in the guest-room
of the Falcon.</p>

<p>"Beshrew me, boy!" remarked Copeland, looking at
me keenly as he raised his cup to his lips and took a long
draught, "it grieves me to perceive that, young as you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>
are, you have the marks of care on your face. What ails
you?"</p>

<p>"I can scarce tell," replied I sadly; "but this I know&mdash;that,
one short hour since, my heart was light and
merry as the month of May."</p>

<p>"And what has since happened to sadden your brow?"
asked he kindly.</p>

<p>"More than one thing has happened to discompose
me; for, in truth, to be frank with you, I met, as I came
hither, a young lord, of whom I know little, save that he
is mine enemy, and that his hate seems as bitter as it is
causeless. Now, as I wish to live in charity with all men,
if I could, I own that, had I no other cause for sadness,
this alone would vex my spirit."</p>

<p>"Of whom speak you?" asked Copeland, with unveiled
curiosity.</p>

<p>"Of the young Lord De Ov," answered I.</p>

<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the Northernman.</p>

<p>"What?" asked I; "know you aught of him?"</p>

<p>"Ay," answered Copeland slowly and grimly, "more,
by St. John of Beverley! than he would care to hear;
but nothing, I own, to enable me to guess why he should
bear malice towards such as you."</p>

<p>"But what know you of him?" asked I eagerly.</p>

<p>"This, at least," replied Copeland in a low tone, "that
he feels his seat less soft than a bed of down, and that his
temper is severely tried at times."</p>

<p>"In what way?" asked I.</p>

<p>"Why, simply because men say&mdash;or, at least, whisper,
if they dare not say it aloud&mdash;that he is not the true heir
of the barons whose titles he bears and whose lands he
possesses. But you must have heard something of the
story?"</p>

<p>"Not a whisper," said I. "I pray you relate it. I am
all attention."</p>

<p>"I will relate it," said Copeland; "but understand,
master page, that what I say is under the rose: it is not
safe to speak freely of the great."</p>

<p>"Credit me, sir knight, you are safe with me," exclaimed
I firmly; "I am incapable of betraying any man's
confidence."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p>

<p>"Well, then," began Copeland, "you must know that,
in the year 1330, soon after King Edward&mdash;the second of
the name&mdash;was cruelly murdered in Berkeley Castle&mdash;for
a cruel murder it was&mdash;Isabel the queen and Roger de
Mortimer, with whom Queen Isabel was deemed much
too familiar, held sway in the country."</p>

<p>"I have heard that such was the case," said I.</p>

<p>"At that time," continued Copeland, "rumours, which
assuredly were false, ran about to the effect that King
Edward was still alive, and that he was a prisoner in
Corfe Castle; and a conspiracy, in which many good men
took part, was formed to restore him to liberty."</p>

<p>"Even so," said I; "of this I have heard vaguely."</p>

<p>"At the head of that conspiracy," continued Copeland,
"was Edmund, Earl of Kent, the young king's uncle, who,
believing his brother to be still alive, rashly went to Corfe
Castle, and asked the governor of the fortress to conduct
him to Sire Edward; for which indiscretion he was tried
at Winchester and executed."</p>

<p>"I have heard that sad tale," said I, interrupting;
"how the earl's sentence caused such indignation that
even the headsman declined to do his office; how he
remained four hours on the scaffold before any one could
be found to enact the part of executioner; and how,
finally, a malefactor from the Marshalsea, on being
bribed with a promise of pardon, undertook to behead
him."</p>

<p>"It was even as you relate it," said Copeland, resuming;
"and it happened that one of the men of rank
engaged in the conspiracy of which the Earl of Kent was
head, was Edward, Lord De Ov, a brave warrior, whose
wife was a daughter of the house of Merley. Now, it
was generally considered that this Lord De Ov&mdash;who,
I may mention, was marvellously skilful in those chivalrous
tricks which you, and striplings like you, value so highly&mdash;might
have escaped to France, as the Lord Viscount
Beaumont and others did about the same time, and lived,
like them, to return to England in happier days; but, unluckily
for his chances of escape, he had a younger
brother named Roger, who, from base motives, betrayed
him. So, instead of getting off, he was taken, while lurking
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>
on the coast, carried to Winchester, and hanged in that city
on a high gibbet."</p>

<p>"My curse on the brother who could be guilty of such
treachery!" exclaimed I, my blood boiling with indignation.</p>

<p>"But," continued Copeland, heedless of my interruption,
"this was not all. Edward, Lord De Ov, had
a wife and infant son; and for Roger's purpose it was
necessary to make away with them also; and accordingly
the widow was decoyed away by Margery, one of the
queen's gentlewomen, who pretended that she had been
sent for by her husband, and, carrying with her the
infant son, left her husband's castle at Winchester. For
years neither mother nor son was heard of. At length,
however, they were reputed to have died, and corpses,
said to be theirs, were brought North, and buried in the
chapel of the castle; and Roger De Ov became lord of
all. But Roger soon after pined and died; and, when
he went the way of all flesh, his son, who is now
lord, succeeded to his feudal power. But men still say
that, somewhere or other, the widow and son of Edward,
Lord De Ov, yet live, and that one day or other there
will be an overturn; and now you comprehend wherefore
my lord sits less easy in his seat than he might otherwise,
do, and how there may be people living whose demands
put his temper to the test."</p>

<p>"Assuredly," said I, "the story is sufficiently plain,
albeit involving a mystery."</p>

<p>"And, if I mistake not," remarked Copeland significantly,
"there are at least two people alive who could
clear that mystery up to satisfaction."</p>

<p>"Who may they be?" asked I.</p>

<p>"One," answered he in a whisper, "is no less a personage
than Isabel the queen, now residing, in gentle captivity,
at Castle Rising."</p>

<p>"And the other?" I inquired eagerly, for my curiosity
was by this time excited.</p>

<p>"The other," answered he, "is a person of fewer years
and lesser rank than Queen Isabel. She is daughter of a
Northern squire who was an honest man, and mine own
kinsman, and married the queen's gentlewoman of whom
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>
I spake. I cast my eyes by chance on the damsel when
in the camp before Calais, and recognised her in an
instant. Nay, more, I made enquiries, and learned that
her beauty exercised enormous influence over the heart
of Aymery de Pavie, and that her threats exercised as
much over the conduct of Lord De Ov, insomuch that
one did as she liked from love, and the other from
fear."</p>

<p>I involuntarily uttered an exclamation of surprise, and
my agitation was so great that it well-nigh got the better
of my discretion and of all the resolutions I had formed.
However, I regained my equanimity, and calmly renewed
the conversation.</p>

<p>"And what name bears this wondrous demoiselle, sir
knight? by what name is she known?" asked I, with what
coolness I could command.</p>

<p>"The demoiselle is known by the name of Eleanor de
Gubium," was Copeland's reply.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL</a><br />

<small>TOO LATE</small></h2>


<p>My imagination, such as it was, completely got the better
of what reasoning faculty I possessed as Copeland concluded,
and, having accompanied him to Westminster
with a brain on fire, I never slept that night. I persuaded
myself, in the absence of all evidence, that I was the
victim of a monstrous piece of injustice; I walked about
my chamber like an enraged lion pacing its cage, and I
grew feverish with impatience for the break of day. Early
next morning, while the palace was still hushed in repose,
I was on horseback, and on the way to my grandsire's
homestead.</p>

<p>As I rode along I strove to collect my thoughts and to
prepare myself for the anticipated interview with those
whose faces I had of late so often and so earnestly longed
to behold. But my efforts to recover calmness were in
vain. Within twelve short hours my whole ideas had
undergone a change. Copeland's Northern voice still
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>
rang in my ears; his tragic story occupied my mind; my
imagination ever and anon conjured up the probability of
its being a matter in which I had both part and lot, and
rapidly converted probability into certainty; and all sentiments
of tenderness for home and kindred gave way before
my intense desire to penetrate the mystery which I fancied
was now illumined by a ray of light.</p>

<p>"Ere sunset," I exclaimed to myself in a tone of exultation,
"I shall learn all that concerns me, or know the
reason why."</p>

<p>A long journey, as I must have felt, lay before me. But
no consideration of the kind influenced me even so far as
to make me spare the good steed I bestrode. On I
spurred, as if the Furies had been behind, and Paradise
before. But, fast as went my steed, faster still flew my
thoughts, and faster than either rushed the warm blood
through my veins. I scarce noted anything by the way;
and the herdsman driving out his cattle, the waggoner
with his team of oxen, the charcoal-burner with his cart,
the chapman with his pack-horses, the pilgrim leaning on
his staff, and carrying the palm branch to deposit on the
altar of his church, made way for me, and stared in silent
amaze as I passed, probably fancying me one of those
spectre huntsmen of whom legends tell.</p>

<p>As I sped on my way, and entered the great forest of
Windsor, a hare crossed my path. Of evil omen such a
circumstance is generally regarded, and at another time I
might have felt some slight alarm. Now, however, one
idea possessed my whole heart and mind; I was in a mood
to laugh at omens; and, spurring on and on with hot
speed, rousing the deer and the wild cattle, I pursued my
way, indifferent to the belling of deer and the bellowing
of cattle. At length as the day was speeding on towards
noon, I reined up my jaded and exhausted horse as I approached
the home of my childhood.</p>

<p>But now, for the first time, my heart misgave me. No
longer did the homestead seem to present to my eye the
same cheerful aspect as of old&mdash;all was silent and melancholy.
An instinctive feeling that something was wrong
flashed through me, and filled me with sudden fear. I
sprang from my steed and rushed to the door, shouting
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>
loudly, and, as I did so, Thomelin of Winchester appeared
with a face which confirmed all my fears.</p>

<p>"Alas!" said he, shaking his head, "you have come too
late."</p>

<p>I had already guessed all, and was at no loss to interpret
his words. The Great Destroyer had visited the
homestead, as he was ere long to visit almost every house
in the kingdom, and demanded his prey, and both the
grey-haired warrior and the melancholy widow had fallen
victims to his rapacity.</p>

<p>"What mean you, Thomelin?" asked I wildly, for I
scarce knew what I said. "Can it be that my grandsire
and my mother are no more?"</p>

<p>"Both," replied Thomelin solemnly. "Both have
gone to their long home. May God have mercy on
their souls!"</p>

<p>I said "Amen" and crossed myself devoutly as
Thomelin spoke; but even at that moment, which was
sad and bitter, the idea uppermost in my thoughts was
that which for hours had been presenting itself in such a
variety of forms.</p>

<p>"And the secret of my birth, good Thomelin," said I,
taking his hand, "know you anything certain as to that?"</p>

<p>"Nothing certain, as I live," answered he earnestly.
"Only of this I am, and have ever been, well assured, that
Adam of Greenmead was not your grandsire, nor was your
mother kinswoman of mine."</p>

<p>"And who, then, was my mother?" I demanded.</p>

<p>"Nay, that is more than I could tell, if both our lives
depended on my so doing," he replied. "Whatever the
secret, it has perished with those who kept it so faithfully."</p>

<p>I uttered a groan, and well-nigh sank under my mortification.</p>

<p>"In truth, Thomelin," murmured I, "you were right
in saying that I had come too late. But God's will be
done!"</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI</a><br />

<small>HOW CALAIS WAS SAVED</small></h2>


<p>At the time when Aymery de Pavie unworthily figured as
governor of the town and castle of Calais, Geoffrey de
Chargny, a French knight of high distinction, was stationed
at St. Omer by Philip of Valois to defend the frontier
against the English.</p>

<p>Now, it occurred, not altogether unnaturally, to Geoffrey
de Chargny, that, as the Lombards are by nature avaricious,
Aymery de Pavie might, with a little art, be bribed to
surrender Calais; and when, albeit it was a time of truce,
he, without scruple, made the experiment, he succeeded
so well in his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociations</ins> that the Lombard executed a
secret treaty, whereby, proving false to the King of England,
he covenanted to deliver the stronghold into the
French knight's hands, on condition of receiving, as a reward
for his perfidy, the sum of twenty thousand crowns.</p>

<p>So far the project seemed to prosper; and, even after
Aymery de Pavie returned from England, all went so
smoothly that De Chargny considered that he had reason
to congratulate himself on his skill, and to entertain no
doubt of final success. In fact, the Lombard appeared
all anxiety to bring the business to a successful issue,
and appointed the last day of the year for fulfilling the
treaty.</p>

<p>Everything having been thus arranged, at the close of
December, Geoffrey de Chargny, dreaming sanguinely of
the elevation to which he believed his exploit was to raise
him in the eyes of his countrymen and his country's foes,
left St. Omer at the head of a formidable force, and, accompanied
by Sir Odoart de Renty, Sir Eustace de
Ribeaumont, and many other knights of fame, marched
towards Calais, and, halting near the bridge of Nieullet
just as the old year was expiring, sent forward two squires,
on whose sagacity he relied, to confer with the Lombard,
and ascertain how matters stood.</p>

<p>"Is it time for Sir Geoffrey to advance?" asked the
squires.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p>

<p>"It is," was the answer; and, after this brief conference,
the squires hastened back to intimate to their leader
that the hour for his grand achievement was come.</p>

<p>On hearing what was the answer of the Lombard, De
Chargny lost no time. At once he gave orders to advance;
and, leaving a strong force of horse and foot to keep the
bridge of Nieullet, and posting the crossbowmen whom
he had brought from St. Omer and Aire in the plain
between the bridge and the town, he sent forward Odoart
de Renty, with a hundred men-at-arms, and a bag containing
the twenty thousand crowns, to take possession of
the castle, and marched forward cautiously, with his
banner displayed, to the gate that leads from Calais to
Boulogne.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, onward hastened Odoart de Renty; and
no sooner did he and his men-at-arms reach the castle
than Aymery de Pavie let down the drawbridge, and
opened one of the gates to admit them. Without hesitation
they entered, and Odoart handed over the bag
containing the crowns.</p>

<p>"I suppose they are all here?" said the Lombard,
flinging the bag into a room which he locked; "but to
count them I have not now time. We must not lose a
moment, for presently it will be day. To make matters
safe, I will conduct you at once to the great tower, so
that you may make yourself master of the castle."</p>

<p>While speaking, Aymery de Pavie advanced in the
direction of the great tower of the castle; and, as he
pushed back the bolt, the door flew open; but, as Sir
Odoart and his comrades found to their horror, it was not
to admit them. In fact, the shout that arose from
hundreds of voices immediately convinced the French
that the business was not to terminate so satisfactorily as
they had anticipated, and they began to comprehend that
there was a lion in the way.</p>

<p>Nor is it difficult to account for such having been the
case. From the day of his return to Calais, Aymery de
Pavie, as if to atone for his perfidy, had maintained the
promise he had given to the King of England; and
Edward was no sooner informed of the night on which,
according to the secret treaty, Calais was to be surrendered
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>
to the French, than he prepared to go thither.
Taking with him three hundred men-at-arms and six
hundred archers, he embarked at Dover with the Prince
of Wales and Sir Walter Manny; and, having landed at
Calais so privately that hardly a being in the town knew
of his arrival, he placed his men in ambuscade in the
rooms and towers of the castle.</p>

<p>"Walter," said the king, addressing the brave Manny,
"it is my pleasure that you act as the chief of this enterprise,
and I and my son will fight, as simple knights,
under your banner."</p>

<p>Now the King of England, attended by his son and
Sir Walter Manny, posted himself, with two hundred
lances, in the great tower to which the Lombard led the
French, and no sooner was the door thrown open than
they raised the shout of "Manny! Manny to the rescue!"
and rushed upon the intruders. Resistance being quite
vain, Sir Odoart and his companions yielded themselves
prisoners, while the king turned to his son&mdash;</p>

<p>"What!" said he scornfully, "do the French dream of
conquering Calais with such a handful of men? Now let
us mount our horses, form in order of battle, and complete
our work."</p>

<p>It was scarcely yet daybreak; and the morning of the
1st of January was intensely cold, as Geoffrey de Chargny,
seated on horseback, with his banner displayed and his
friends around him, waited patiently at the Boulogne gate
to enter and seize Calais.</p>

<p>"By my faith, gentlemen!" said he angrily, "if this
Lombard delays much longer opening the gate, we shall
all die of cold."</p>

<p>"True," said another knight; "but, in God's name, let
us be patient. These Lombards are a suspicious sort of
people, and perhaps he is examining your florins to see if
there are any bad ones, and to satisfy himself that they
are right in number."</p>

<p>At this moment an unexpected spectacle presented itself.
The gate suddenly opened, trumpets loudly sounded,
and from the town sallied horseman after horseman, armed
with sword and battle-axe, and shouting loudly, "St. George
for England!" and "Manny to the onslaught!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p>

<p>"By Heavens!" cried the French in amazement, as
many turned to beat a retreat, "we are betrayed!"</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," cried De Chargny, "do not fly; if we
fly we lose all."</p>

<p>"By St. George!" shouted the English, who were now
close enough to hear, "you speak truth. Evil befall him
who thinks of flying!"</p>

<p>"You hear, gentlemen?" said De Chargny. "It will
be more advantageous to us to fight valiantly, and the
day may be ours."</p>

<p>And as he spoke, the French, at his orders, retreating
a little, and dismounting, drove their horses away from
them that they might not be trampled on, and formed in
close order, with their pikes shortened and planted before
them.</p>

<p>On seeing this movement on the part of the French,
King Edward halted the banner under which he was, and
dismounting, as did the prince, prepared to attack on foot.</p>

<p>"I would have our men drawn up here in order of
battle," said he to Sir Walter Manny, "and let a good
detachment be sent towards the bridge of Nieullet; for
I believe a large body of French to be posted there."</p>

<p>And, the king's orders being passed on without delay,
six banners and three hundred archers left the force and
made for the bridge.</p>

<p>And now came the tug of war. Advancing with his
men on foot, and his son by his side, the king assaulted
his foes battle-axe in hand; and sharp and fierce was the
encounter as English and French mingled hand to hand
and steel to steel. Many were the brave deeds performed
in the grey morning, and on both sides the warriors
fought with high courage. But, of all the combatants,
none displayed more valour and dexterity than the king
himself. Fighting incognito under the banner of Manny,
and singling out Eustace de Ribeaumont, he maintained
with that strong and hardy knight a desperate conflict.
Long they fought, the English king with his battle-axe,
the French champion with his mighty sword. Twice the
king was beaten to his knee, and twice he sprang to his
feet to renew the combat. Even after having been
separated in the confusion of the battle, they contrived
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>
again to meet, and again to close in a fierce and resolute
conflict.</p>

<p>But, meanwhile, fortune had gone so decidedly against
the French that all their hopes vanished. Many were
slain. Geoffrey de Chargny and others were taken prisoners;
and, when Sir Eustace paused for an instant to
look round, he perceived that he stood almost alone amid
a host of foes.</p>

<p>"Yield!" said the king. "You are vanquished, and
have done all that a brave man could."</p>

<p>"It is true, sir knight," said Sir Eustace, surrendering
his sword. "I see that the honour of the day belongs to
the English, and I yield myself your prisoner."</p>

<p>While this struggle was taking place at the Boulogne
gate, a fierce fight went on at the bridge of Nieullet. In
fact, the party of English detached by the king having
first attacked the crossbowmen, drove them from the
ground with such force that many of them were drowned
in the river, and then rushed on the defenders of the
bridge. But the knights of Picardy, who kept the bridge,
were less easily dealt with than the crossbowmen; and,
for a time, they maintained their post with determination,
and performed so many gallant actions as to move the
envy of their assailants. Their courage, however, was vain;
and at length, hard pressed by the English, they mounted
their horses, and, pursued by their foes, fled fast away.</p>

<p>It was now broad day, and King Edward, still maintaining
his incognito, returned to the castle of Calais, and
gave orders that the prisoners taken in the battle should
be brought into his presence. Much marvelled the
French knights to find that the King of England was
among them in person, and much diverted were the
English at the amazement expressed by their vanquished
adversaries.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said the king, raising his hand for
silence, "this being New Year's Day, I purpose in the
evening to entertain you all at supper, and I hope you will
all do honour to the occasion, and make good cheer."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the French knights, bowing low, "you are
a noble prince, who know how to honour your enemies as
well as your friends."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p>

<p>Accordingly, when the hour for supper arrived, the
tables were spread in the castle hall; and the king, bareheaded,
but wearing, by way of ornament, a rich chaplet
of pearls, seated himself at table, and gathered the captive
Frenchmen around him; while the Prince of Wales and
the knights of England served up the first course, and
waited on the guests.</p>

<p>But this was not all. When supper was over, and when
the tables were drawn, the king remained in the hall, and
conversed with the prisoners, each in turn, and, while
marking his sense of the unfair conduct of Geoffrey de
Chargny, he took care to mark, in a manner not to be
mistaken, his appreciation of the valour and prowess of
Eustace de Ribeaumont.</p>

<p>"Sir Geoffrey," said the king, looking askance at the
baffled knight, "I have little reason to love you, as you
must know. You wished to seize from me, last night, by
stealth, and in the time of truce, what had given me
so much trouble to acquire, and cost me such sums of
money. But, with God's assistance, we have disappointed
you, and I am rejoiced to have caught you thus in your
attempt. As for you, Sir Eustace," continued Edward,
turning to his vanquished antagonist with a smile on his
countenance, "of all the knights in Christendom whom I
have ever seen defend himself, or attack an enemy, you
are the most valiant. I never yet met in battle any one
who, body to body, gave me so much trouble as you have
done this day. And," added he, taking off his chaplet,
and placing it on the knight's head, "I present you with
this chaplet as being the best combatant of the day,
either within or without the walls; and I beg you to wear
it this year for love of me. I know that you are lively,
and that you love the company of ladies and damsels;
therefore, wherever you go, say that I gave it to you.
I also grant you your liberty free of ransom, and you
may set out to-morrow, if you please, and go whither you
will."</p>

<p>Such was the result of Geoffrey de Chargny's project
for gratifying Philip of Valois by gaining possession of
Calais.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII</a><br />

<small>A PRINCESS IN PERIL</small></h2>


<p>My excitement, which for many hours before I reached
the homestead, where I came just in time to hear that
I was too late, had been intense, gradually subsided; and
such was the reaction which took place that, for days and
weeks, my depression was well-nigh intolerable. I had
no heart to return to Westminster; and having, on the
plea of recruiting my health and spirits in the air I had
breathed during childhood, obtained from Sir Thomas
Norwich leave to absent myself from my duties as page,
I walked and rode about the forest of Windsor, indulging
in melancholy musing over the past, and as indifferent to
the future as I had previously been enthusiastic and sanguine.
In vain I essayed to rouse myself from lethargy.
I felt as if nothing could ever again revive my hope, and
restore me to that energy which is hope in action. I had
already passed weeks in this frame of mind, when fortune
threw me in the way of a terrible adventure, in which I
won some honour, and nearly lost my life.</p>

<p>It was autumn; and albeit the harvest was gathered in,
and the leaves were falling from the trees, the sun shone
with sufficient brightness to gladden the heart of man,
and to impart to the landscape a cheerful aspect; when,
having occasion one day to visit the little town of Windsor,
I mounted my black steed and rode through the
forest. When, absorbed in reflection, I was wending
my way up one of the glades, my horse, while pacing
proudly along the grassy path, suddenly shied; and,
looking round, I perceived that he had been startled by
the green dress and white bow of an archer, who emerged
from the wood, closely attended by a black mastiff of
prodigious strength, and capable of being a powerful friend
or a terrible foe.</p>

<p>I observed that the archer eyed me with a glance of
recognition; and, drawing up, I, with a consciousness
of having seen him before, gave him "Good day," and,
with a slight effort of memory, I called to mind that he
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>
was one of the Englishmen who, stationed in the prince's
division, had drawn their bows at Cressy; that I had
often observed and praised his dexterity during the expedition
into France; and, moreover, that he was one of
those who had been since taken into the king's service,
by way of rewarding them for their marvellous achievements
during the war with Philip of Valois. Remembering
such to have been the case, I entered into conversation
with him, and while I rode slowly, and he walked at my
stirrup, with his mastiff at his heels, through the forest, in
the direction of Windsor, he talked of the battles and
sieges in which he had taken part.</p>

<p>Now this archer, whose name was Liulph, was of yeoman
extraction and Saxon descent; and I have no doubt that,
if he had lived in earlier centuries, when a bitter sense of
the distinction between the victor and vanquished races
kept the kingdom in hot water, he would have figured as
an outlaw of Sherwood, and possibly rivalled the exploits
which have made the names of Robin Hood and his
merry men so famous. But England was no longer what
it had been in the days of Robin Hood and his merry
men; for the first Edward had succeeded in teaching
English archers to draw their bows only against the
enemies of their country, and they had not forgotten the
lessons of that great king.</p>

<p>It happened, however, that Liulph was not only a stout
and handsome young man, but intelligent for a person of
his rank, and of an inquiring turn of mind; and being on
this occasion anxious to learn something of St. George,
under whose patronage he had fought the French, he put
several questions, which, I fear, would sadly have perplexed
many who shouted the name most loudly in the
hour of conflict. Fortunately, however, I was in a position
to return satisfactory answers, and related that St. George
was a Christian and a native of Cappadocia; that, making
an expedition into Libya in quest of adventure, he arrived
just in time to save the king's daughter from a terrible
dragon which had devoured many of the inhabitants;
and that, becoming famous throughout Christendom as a
warrior-saint, he was, as time rolled on, acknowledged as
patron of the old Dukes of Guienne, from whom, in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>
female line, the Plantagenets derive their descent; and
that, therefore, King Edward, when instituting the Order
of the Garter, and placing it under the protection of the
Trinity and certain saints, recognised St. George as the
chief, and in his honour founded, at Windsor, the chapel
that bears his name.</p>

<p>As I brought my narrative to a termination, we were
approaching the castle of Windsor, and were, indeed, so
close that I could see the stronghold through the trees.
At the same time I descried, at no great distance from
the place we had reached, a party of ladies; and, aware
that Queen Philippa and her daughters were residing at
the castle, I had no difficulty in recognising the Lady
Isabel, who in the previous year had been betrothed to,
and then deserted by, the young Count of Flanders. On
seeing the princess and her ladies I reined back my
steed, and, not wishing to intrude on their privacy, was
turning to make for the town by another direction, when
an exclamation, expressive of alarm, which broke from
Liulph, directed my attention to a circumstance which
made my blood run cold, and all but froze every vein in
my heart.</p>

<p>I have already alluded to the wild cattle which, jointly
with the deer, tenanted the forest, and I may say that, so
familiarised were people with their presence, they caused
no fear. Generally, indeed, when not wantonly disturbed,
they grazed quietly without showing the least inclination
to mischief, and so seldom did they exhibit anything resembling
mortal antipathy to human beings, that even the
weak and timid felt no apprehension from being in their
neighbourhood.</p>

<p>But to every rule there are exceptions, and, at times
when there was the least likelihood, the ferocious nature
of the wild cattle showed itself&mdash;and this was especially
the case with such of them as were known to, and somewhat
dreaded by, the foresters as "banished bulls." In
fact, these animals having, as they advanced in years,
rendered themselves odious to their comrades by their bad
temper, and been in consequence expelled from the herd,
became savage while grazing in solitude, and easily excited
to sudden frenzy.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p>

<p>Now it happened, on the autumn day of which I write,
that when the king's daughter and her ladies were walking
in the forest, and so near the castle that they deemed
themselves as safe as if they had been on the ramparts, a
"banished bull," having ventured closer to the town than
was the wont of his kind, was grazing all alone among
the trees. White as a swan was this bull, with short legs
and thick hams, and a shaggy mane that curled like the
sea billows, and a massy neck like the trunk of some old
knotted tree; but his hoofs were black, and jet black
were the horns that, like two daggers, stood out from his
broad and wrinkled front.</p>

<p>And suddenly this bull, disturbed by the sound of
voices, raised his head; and, as he caught sight of the
scarlet cloak worn by the princess, he gave signs, not to
be misunderstood, of being bent on mischief.</p>

<p>Rearing his head, while his eye, a moment earlier dark,
glared red as the mantle which arrested his attention and
excited his ire, he stretched out his neck, and with a loud
bellow moved slowly forward, pawing the sod with his
hoof and gradually quickening his pace, till, having
lashed himself into a fury, his movement became a violent
rush, and, like sheep at the approach of a wolf, the ladies
dispersed, screaming with terror and affright. But the
princess did not move. Facing the ferocious brute, she
folded her arms, and with her eyes raised to Heaven, as
if uttering a last prayer, she stood in expectation of
immediate destruction. It seemed, indeed, that there
was no chance of any obstacle intervening between her
and death.</p>

<p>But, meanwhile, neither the archer nor I was an idle
spectator of her peril. Quick as thought Liulph's bow
was strung, and an arrow in his hand; not less quickly
my sword left its sheath and the spur pressed my horse's
flank. Almost as I dashed to the rescue, an arrow, aimed
at the bull's vital part, just at the junction of the skull
and the spine, whistled through the air. But, dexterous
as the archer was, his shaft failed to hit his mark, struck
the bull within an inch of the eye without inflicting a
wound; and while I threw myself in his way, resolute at
least to die in staying the rush, the animal, more furious
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>
than ever, came roaring on, with eyes of fire and tail
erect.</p>

<p>I was not, however, daunted. Rising in my stirrups as
the bull approached, and feeling as if there was but one
blow between me and death, I aimed with all my might
at the part which the archer had missed. But I was not
more fortunate than he had been; and as my sword,
having lighted on bone hard as rock, flew to pieces, my
antagonist, stunned but unhurt, drew back to prepare for
a more furious rush. Drawing my reins tight, I exerted
all my horsemanship to avoid the full shock. But this
time he was not to be resisted. Frantic with rage and
foaming at the mouth, he charged upon me with terrific
violence; and, transfixed with both horns, my horse rolled
backward, bearing me to the ground.</p>

<p>My fate now appeared to be sealed; and as the bull,
with his horns in the bowels of my fallen steed, stood
over me bellowing furiously, I gave myself up for lost.
But I had an ally, on whose aid I could not, in my
excitement, reckon. With a fierce growl, a loud bark,
and a rapid bound, the mastiff came to the rescue, seized
the bull's lip, and, the teeth tenaciously retaining their
grasp, in spite of desperate struggles, prevented the
animal from raising his head to pursue his success.</p>

<p>By this time I breathed anew; and, freeing my limbs
from my bleeding horse, I rose on my knee and grasped
my dagger to bring the conflict to a close. Nor was
there, this time, any mistake. One flash, and my steel,
cold and keen, had penetrated my terrible antagonist's
neck; one plunge, and, bellowing with pain, my terrible
antagonist rolled heavily on the ground. As, covered
with blood, I gained my feet, trembling with excitement,
side by side lay the black steed and the white bull, their
hides smeared with their own and each other's gore, their
limbs wet with the death sweat, and quivering convulsively;
and beside them, at his master's foot, stood the
mastiff, with panting frame and protruding tongue, silently
watching their expiring struggles.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, though unwounded, I grew faint with the
bruises I had received and the exertion I had undergone;
and hardly had the princess, taking courage to approach
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>
the spot, opened her lips to acknowledge the service I
had rendered her in the moment of peril, than I became
dizzy, lost all consciousness of what was passing, and
sank senseless on the ground.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII</a><br />

<small>THE PLAGUE OF FLORENCE</small></h2>


<p>Not under circumstances the most joyous did King
Edward reach England, after having baffled the ambition
of Geoffrey de Chargny, and saved Calais from falling into
the hands of Philip of Valois. Even while the tidings of
his exploit on the morning of New Year's Day rang over
England, and ministered to the national pride, Englishmen
were in the utmost alarm at the approach of an
enemy not so easily dealt with as the continental foe, so
often trampled in the dust. Already that terrible pestilence,
commonly known as "the plague of Florence,"
where, perhaps, its ravages were most terrible, had reached
the shores no longer in danger from invaders in human
form.</p>

<p>Never within the memory of man&mdash;never, perhaps,
since the waters of the Flood subsided, and the Ark
rested on the mountains of Ararat, and Noah and his
sons came forth to repeople the earth, has Heaven so
severely punished the sins of the nations as at the terrible
period of which I write. From East to West an epidemic
malady of unprecedented virulence ravaged the world,
taking a wider range, and proving infinitely more destructive,
than any calamity of the kind recorded in history, and
spreading terror and desolation wherever it went.</p>

<p>It was in Asia, and in the year 1346, the year of
Cressy, that this pestilence first appeared. But to Asia
its ravages were not long confined. Entering Europe, it
travelled rapidly westward, and, sweeping off Saracens,
Jews, and Christians in its course, visited country after
country and city after city. Already exhausted by war
and humiliated by defeat, France suffered dreadful
horrors. One-third of the inhabitants are said to have
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>
perished; and, in Paris alone, fifty thousand human
beings fell victims.</p>

<p>Nor was victorious and prosperous England exempt
from the visitation which fell so heavily on her vanquished
and impoverished foe. Far different was the case. At
first the pestilence made its presence felt on the coasts of
Dorset and Devon; but on the coast it did not long linger.
Finding its way, on the one hand, to Norwich, and, on
the other, to Bristol and Gloucester&mdash;all three seats of
the woollen manufactures, flourishing under Queen
Philippa's patronage&mdash;it wrought terrible havoc in these
hives of industry, and finally, taking possession of
London, caused such mortality that the living could
scarce bury the dead. In one churchyard&mdash;that of the
Charter House&mdash;several hundred funerals took place
daily.</p>

<p>All over Christendom there seemed to hang a curse.
In many places the pestilence swept away a fourth of the
population; in others a third disappeared during its
prevalence; and, in several, not more than one inhabitant
out of ten survived its inroads. Even the beasts of the
field yielded to its influence. Sheep and cattle perished
as well as human beings; and in some places the air was
so polluted that it was all but impossible to inhale it without
catching the infection. Under such circumstances
every bond of attachment seemed to burst asunder.
Servants fled from their masters, wives from their husbands,
and children from their parents. Nothing could
exceed the awe which was inspired by the invisible
destroyer.</p>

<p>At length the calamity, after passing through various
stages, reached the worst, and gradually a change took
place, and men began to look around them, and once
more breathe freely. Forthwith a great reaction took
place: people said, "Let us eat, drink, and be merry";
and many who but lately, when their danger appeared
imminent, had been calling on the rocks to fall on them
and cover them, now hastened to break loose from all
restraint, set all laws at defiance, rushed into excess
without scruple, and fearlessly ate the bread of wickedness
and drank the wine of violence.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p>

<p>At the same time, fanaticism, raising her head, sent
forth her votaries, and the consequences were fatal and
unfortunate in more ways than one.</p>

<p>A fierce persecution of the Jews at once commenced
in France and other countries where they were to be
found. Accused by the populace of having caused the
plague by poisoning the rivers and fountains, the unhappy
Hebrews were hunted, burnt, and massacred by thousands.
Never has the multitude been animated by so savage a
spirit as then urged them on to cruelty and bloodshed.
Every Jew appeared to be marked out for destruction;
and the spirit of persecution, spreading daily, became so
fierce and general that the Jews, having no hope of
escape elsewhere, crowded towards Avignon, and sought
safety&mdash;nor in vain&mdash;in the territories of the Church and
under the protection of the Pope.</p>

<p>Meanwhile it was prophesied that, for one hundred
years, people with iron scourges were to come to destroy
the Jews; and now there appeared, in Germany, a sect of
enthusiasts, of both sexes, who carried the iron scourges,
but who, instead of applying them to the backs of the
Jews, applied them to their own. Finding their way
from Germany into Flanders, and from Flanders into
England, these men and women&mdash;known as Flagellants&mdash;travelled
in companies, and set reason and decency at
defiance. Believing, or pretending to believe, that their
sufferings were agreeable to the Divinity, they appeared
in the squares and public places of cities and towns,
naked to the girdle, and, while chanting, in a piteous
tone, canticles of the nativity and passion of the Redeemer
of Mankind, scourged themselves with their
iron hoops, to expiate, as they said, the sins of the
world.</p>

<p>In the midst of all this confusion, and persecution, and
fanaticism, an event occurred which produced consequences
of importance. One August day that pale
spectre, which visits the castles of kings as impartially as
the cottages of the poor, appeared at Nogent-le-Roi,
where Philip of Valois then was. In his palace at that
town, which is situated on the Eure, five leagues from
Chartres, Philip, at the age of fifty-eight, breathed his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>
last. Immediately his eldest son, John, previously known
as Duke of Normandy, was hailed as King of France, and
a new scene opened.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV</a><br />

<small>JOHN, KING OF FRANCE</small></h2>


<p>Memorable as the name of John of Valois will ever be
in history, as associated with a terrible defeat, and with
the countless woes which that defeat entailed upon the
nation he aspired to rule, he yet deserves the praise of
the valiant for his personal courage, for his chivalrous
character, and for his noble saying, that, "if truth and
good faith were banished from all the world, they should
yet be found in the breasts of kings."</p>

<p>At the time when Philip of Valois, leaving his kingdom
exhausted by war and humiliated by disaster, expired at
Nogent-le-Roi, John had reached the age of thirty, and
won renown as one of the foremost knights of his day.
His education in youth had been carefully conducted;
he was thoroughly instructed in all the laws of chivalry;
and he was not without experience in war. At Cressy,
indeed, his sword had not shone in the battle so fatal to
the princes of France and the potentates of Europe.
But from his twentieth year he had figured as a leader of
armies; and in Hainault, in Brittany, and in Gascony he
had been matched against warriors of skill and valour.
Nature, however, while endowing him with high qualities,
had not only denied him those which make a fearless
knight a great war chief, but given him many which prevented
him from acting with calmness and judgment.
Brave, gallant, dauntless in fight, and with a hand strong
to smite, he lacked discretion and the faculty of calculating
chances; and he was too proud, rash, vindictive, and
impetuous to hearken in hours of danger to the counsel
of those who were wiser than himself.</p>

<p>Such being the faults and failings of John of France,
even flattery itself could not represent him as a man
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>
capable of playing for kingdoms and crowns with England's
famous king, or with England's king's gallant son.
But it was with no lack of confidence in himself, and
with little apprehension as to the future, that, after having
laid his father at rest among the old Kings of France
near the altar of the church of St. Denis, he repaired to
be crowned at Rheims.</p>

<p>It was on a Sunday in September that John, with his
queen, Joan of Boulogne, was invested with the symbols
of royalty in that cathedral which had witnessed the
baptism of Clovis, and anointed with that oil which,
according to tradition, was brought down from heaven in
the holy ampulla to the good St. Remy of Rheims, when
he was about to consecrate the conquering Frank, who,
moved by the persuasions of his Christian wife, Clotilda,
turned from the worship of Odin, and became "the
eldest son of the Church." Nothing could have exceeded
the grandeur of the coronation ceremony, nothing
the magnificence of the feasts which John gave when
he returned to Paris, and took up his residence in
the Hôtel de Nesle. Impoverished as was the royal
treasury, no expense was spared; and John really
seemed to be mocking the claims of his dead father's
conqueror by the display and noise which he made
in assuming those regal honours of which, had he been
a wiser man, he would have said, "I scarcely call these
things mine."</p>

<p>Nor, at that time, could the danger be deemed so far
distant as to encourage even the most credulous to
indulge feelings of security. Doubtless there was a truce
between England and France; but it was, to say the
least, very brittle, and likely soon to be broken, and its
existence did not prevent men from undertaking enterprises
calculated to bring about a renewal of the war of
which, so far, France had had so much the worse.
Among others who had made themselves conspicuous in
this way, Geoffrey de Chargny had highly distinguished
himself.</p>

<p>It seems that Aymery de Pavie, after his unfortunate
secret treaty for the sale of Calais, retired to Fretun, his
castle in the neighbourhood, and there, with Eleanor
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>
de Gubium as his guest, lived at his ease. Fancying
that the French had forgotten him, and deeming himself
perfectly safe, he took no more precaution than if
he had been in London or at Westminster. He lived
long enough to rue his recklessness, but not much
longer.</p>

<p>In fact, Geoffrey de Chargny, who, after the failure of
his project in Calais, was carried prisoner to England,
but subsequently ransomed and restored to his own
country, never for a moment forgot the trick which
Aymery de Pavie had played, and never for a moment
gave up the idea of inflicting a severe punishment.
Hearing, on his return to France, that the Lombard was
living at ease in the castle of Fretun, Chargny, who had
been reinstated in his post at St. Omer, did not let the
matter sleep; but, collecting a band of men-at-arms, he
left St. Omer one evening, and, reaching Fretun about
daybreak, surrounded the place, and, passing the ditch,
prepared to enter by force.</p>

<p>"Now," said Chargny to his comrades, "no plunder.
Remember the truce. All we want is the perfidious
Lombard."</p>

<p>Aymery de Pavie, who had stretched himself to rest
with a feeling of absolute security, and with no idea that
his perfidy was remembered to his disadvantage, was
sound asleep, when he was awoke by one of his servants,
who entered the chamber pale with fright.</p>

<p>"My lord," said he, "rise instantly; the castle is surrounded
by armed men, who are attempting to enter."</p>

<p>"Enter my castle, and in time of truce!" exclaimed
the Lombard, astonished. "By my faith, they shall
repent their hardihood!"</p>

<p>Much alarmed, Aymery de Pavie sprang up and hastily
armed himself; but it was vain. Ere he was ready even
to strike a blow the toils were upon him, and, looking
out, he perceived that the courtyard was filled with armed
men. Escape was impossible; resistance was vain; he
found himself roughly seized; and, after struggling for a
moment as a cony struggles in a net, he yielded to fate,
and was led forth a captive.</p>

<p>Highly gratified at the prospect of a speedy revenge,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>
De Chargny conducted the Lombard and his fair companion
to St. Omer, and resolved at once to strike the
decisive blow. Immediately the knights and the people
of the country were assembled; and the captive, having
been led to the market-place, was put to death with much
cruelty, amid the jeers of the crowd.</p>

<p>But no notice was taken of De Chargny's lawless
adventure. It was John himself who took the step that
roused Edward's wrath, and ultimately brought matters to
a crisis. No sooner, indeed, did he feel the crown of
St. Louis on his head than he was guilty of an act of despotic
violence which, he ought to have seen, would
involve a quarrel with an enemy whose active hostility,
he might have been aware, it was madness under the
circumstances to defy.</p>

<p>I have mentioned that when, in 1346, King Edward
landed at La Hogue, and when the English, marching
through Normandy, seized the town of Caen, one of the
prisoners taken by them was the Count of Eu, Constable
of France. Carried to England, the constable was lodged
in the Tower of London. But his captivity was not without
its consolation. Being a gallant knight and accomplished
gentleman, he was always well received at the
English court, and treated with much courtesy by the
king and queen. Naturally, however, the count could not
forget that he was a prisoner; and, expressing much
anxiety to return home, he was released on his parole,
and allowed to repair to France to raise the money
necessary to pay his ransom.</p>

<p>Accordingly, the constable, little dreaming of the consequences,
embarked for France, and, reaching the coast,
made his way to Paris, and presented himself to the new
king, whose father he had faithfully served. Whether or
not he was really guilty of any disloyalty towards the
House of Valois is difficult to decide. It was rumoured,
however, that he confessed something of the kind to
Walter de Brienne, Duke of Athens; and one Tuesday,
when in the Hôtel de Nesle, he was suddenly arrested
by the Provost of Paris, and imprisoned.</p>

<p>The constable was not long kept in suspense. Indeed,
John of Calais dealt with the Count of Eu almost as
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>
summarily as Geoffrey de Chargny had dealt with Aymery
de Pavie. On Thursday, about the hour of matins, he
was conducted to the courtyard of the Hôtel de Nesle,
and there, in presence of several earls and knights, beheaded
as a traitor.</p>

<p>If John exhibited courage in the execution of the constable,
he showed little of that prudence which he might
have learned from reflecting on the fate of his father.
The constable, as he well knew, was the King of
England's prisoner, released on parole; and Edward
would have belied his reputation if he had allowed his
death to pass without demanding satisfaction. It soon
appeared that the Plantagenet was in no humour to be
set at defiance. When the news reached England, he
made no secret of his intention to treat John as he had
treated Philip, John's father.</p>

<p>"Ho, ho!" exclaimed the king, as his anger rose and
his eye flashed, "my adversary's son has put the Count of
Eu to death. By good St. George! when this truce
expires, I will show him how I can avenge the execution
of my prisoners on parole."</p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV</a><br />

<small>RENEWAL OF THE WAR</small></h2>


<p>It was not only the King of England whose enmity John
of Valois, after taking possession of the throne of France,
had provoked by indulging his vindictive temper. Hardly
had he assumed the symbols of royalty, when, by neglecting
to pay his daughter's dowry, he involved himself in
a bitter quarrel with his son-in-law, whose friendship
it was his interest to cultivate even at some sacrifice of
pride.</p>

<p>Now this son-in-law happened to be no less remarkable
a personage than the King of Navarre, who was also
Count of Evreux, and who was known as Charles the
Bad; and he at once proved himself a potent and unscrupulous
foe. In fact, when his personal enemy,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>
Charles de la Cerda, was appointed Constable of France,
the King of Navarre showed his contempt for the authority
of the King of France by seizing the constable at Aigle,
and putting him to death; and, when cited before a Bed
of Justice to answer for the crime, he gathered around
him the Norman nobles, who were his friends and partisans,
and set the royal summons at defiance. The
quarrel, however, was accommodated, and a reconciliation
took place. But between two such men there could not
be any lasting amity. The King of Navarre was ever
thwarting his father-in-law's government, and John accused
his son-in-law of doing many things contrary to the honour
of the crown and the welfare of the realm. At length
John took his kinsman at advantage, and a step which
brought matters to a crisis.</p>

<p>And the occasion was not ill-chosen for his purpose.
Charles, the dauphin, having been invested with the
duchy of Normandy, repaired to Rouen to take possession;
and, in the great hall of the castle, he gave
a feast to the King of Navarre, to John, Count of Harcourt,
Navarre's favourite, and to other Norman nobles
who were Navarre's friends. Suddenly, in the midst of
the feast, John, who had ridden from Chartres with his
marshal and his armed guards, entered the banqueting
hall, and caused the whole party, with the exception
of the dauphin, to be arrested and shut up in various
chambers. Having then sat down at table, and leisurely
dined, he ordered the Count of Harcourt and four other
nobles to be carted to a field behind the castle, and
executed before his eyes. Next day, after placing their
heads on a gibbet in Rouen, he set out for Paris, carrying
with him the King of Navarre, whom he imprisoned in
the Louvre.</p>

<p>But it speedily appeared that he had acted rashly.
Avengers instantly sprang up in the person of Philip of
Navarre and Godfrey Harcourt. Philip of Navarre was
brother of the incarcerated king, and Count of Longueville;
Godfrey Harcourt was uncle of the beheaded count,
and the same Norman baron who, in 1346, acted as
marshal of the English army, and guided the English
to the very gates of Paris. Both of them immediately
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>
entered into an alliance with Edward, acknowledged him
as King of France, and did homage to him as such; and
it became evident that John had drawn on the kingdom,
whose destinies he had aspired to sway, a storm the
effects of which were likely to be felt as far and wide as
that which his sire had caused by the murder of the
Breton nobles.</p>

<p>Ere this the truce between England and France was
reckoned among the things of the past. It was in June
that the truce expired; but it was not till the reapers had
done their work, and the harvest was gathered into
the barns, that England began to arm for a renewal of the
war. Then, however, no time was lost. Three armies
were mustered, and destined to attack France from
different quarters. The first, under the king, was to land
at Calais; the second, under the Prince of Wales, in
Gascony; and the third, under the Earl of Derby, in
Normandy, to co-operate with Philip of Navarre and
Godfrey Harcourt.</p>

<p>In the autumn Edward landed with his force at Calais,
having taken with him his two sons, Lionel of Antwerp
and John of Gaunt, that they might see something of real
war. But in this the young princes were disappointed.
The king, indeed, marched twenty-two leagues into the
country; and, reaching Hesdin, a strong town in Artois,
he destroyed the outworks. But no enemy appeared
to give him battle; and, finding that the country was
wasted, and that an army could not be subsisted in its
march, he was fain to return to Calais, and soon after
found it prudent to abandon the idea of operations, and
embark for England.</p>

<p>More fortunate than the king's expedition, but, like his,
without glory, was that of the Prince of Wales. It was
the month of October when the young hero landed in
Gascony and raised his banner. Advancing as far as
Toulouse, he there crossed the Garonne, and threw his
army upon Languedoc. His enterprise was perilous; for
the King of France had sent thither the Count of
Armagnac with a force much superior in number; but the
prince, far from being daunted by the intelligence, pushed
on the more boldly, attacked Carcassonne, marched on to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>
Narbonne, and, over-running the country without his foes
showing their faces, returned to Bordeaux with much
plunder and a host of prisoners.</p>

<p>Hardly had France recovered from the alarm created by
the landing of the King and the Prince of Wales when
the Earl of Derby debarked his fighting men on the coast
of Normandy, and, entering the country of Coutantin,
commenced operations in conjunction with Philip of
Navarre and Godfrey Harcourt. At first the English earl
and the Norman lords carried everything before them,
taking towns and castles as they went. But their force
did not exceed four thousand men; and when John, raising
a large body of men-at-arms and infantry, came to the
rescue of his adherents, the Earl of Derby, who was then
at Verneuil, found it prudent to depart from that place,
and, passing Aigle, made for Tub&oelig;uf.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, John, hurrying through Condé, marched
straight to Verneuil, and followed the earl to Tub&oelig;uf.
But there he halted, and, being informed that he could
not, with advantage, pursue farther, as there were immense
forests, in which the English and their allies could find
refuge, he turned back, and, after taking all the towns and
castles in Lower Normandy which belonged to the King
of Navarre as Count of Evreux, he returned to Paris, congratulating
himself on the success of his expedition. But,
meantime, John's enemies were preparing for fresh enterprises;
and he, ere long, received intelligence which
kindled his ire.</p>

<p>"Sire," said a French knight, whose appearance proved
the speed with which he had been riding, "I bring you
tidings of your enemies."</p>

<p>"Ah!" exclaimed John eagerly. "Where are they?"</p>

<p>"It is of the young Prince of Wales I would speak,
sire," continued the knight, who, knowing his master's
fiery temper, was not without apprehension as to the effect
which his communication might produce.</p>

<p>"Well, the young Prince of Wales," said John&mdash;"what
of him?"</p>

<p>"Sire," replied the knight, hesitating no longer, "the
Prince of Wales has left Bordeaux, and his army is fast
advancing towards the fertile country of Berry."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p>

<p>"Berry!" cried John, stamping with rage. "By God
and St. Denis! I will make him rue his audacity. I will
go against him without a day's delay; and woe to him;
for I swear, by all the saints, to give him battle whenever
and wherever I can find him."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI</a><br />

<small>A TOWN LOST AND WON</small></h2>


<p>It was not my fortune to accompany the Prince of Wales
in that expedition which, in the autumn of 1355, he made
in the South of France. At this time I was with the
King of England, at Calais, and engaged in the enterprise
which circumstances, not under his control, compelled
him to abandon, after reaching Hesdin and destroying
the outworks.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, on Edward's return to Calais, it seemed
that there was still some hope of the French once more
bearding the lion of Cressy. In fact, John of Valois
summoned an army to assemble at Amiens, and, advancing
as far as St. Omer, sent his marshal to challenge the
king to a general battle. But events proved that the
French were not in earnest, and that the challenge was
sent for no other purpose than to keep the king inactive
at Calais until preparations could be made for the Scots
crossing the Tweed, and ravaging the North of England,
so as to compel Edward to cross the seas, and hasten to
the rescue of his subjects.</p>

<p>At this crisis I was all vigilance; and, having my suspicions
that John of Valois was playing the game which
his sire had attempted with so little success, I exercised
all my ingenuity to gain intelligence. My efforts were not
in vain; and one day, while the king, still under the
delusion that he was to have an opportunity of combating
his enemies, was in the courtyard of Calais Castle, with
his sons, Lionel and John, and looking on while the
young princes were diverting themselves with chivalrous
exercises, I carried to him the alarming intelligence that
John of Valois, in order to induce his allies of Scotland
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>
to make a diversion in his favour, had despatched to that
country a knight, named Eugène de Garentière, with sixty
picked men-at-arms, and forty thousand crowns to be expended
in mustering an army.</p>

<p>On hearing of this new danger, Edward entered the
castle, and, after duly considering the matter, ordered me
to depart instantly to England, to make with all speed to
the North, and to warn Sir John Copeland to draw fighting
men together, to exercise the utmost vigilance against
surprise, and to be ready in case of a regular invasion, to
take steps for giving the Scots battle.</p>

<p>"But," said the king, "it is rather a surprise than any
regular invasion that I apprehend; for, after the result of
their march to Durham, and their rout at Neville's Cross,
they will shrink from any great enterprise, and recur to
their old system of making sudden and rapid inroads."</p>

<p>I embarked for England without loss of time; and, so
far as I was concerned, no delay occurred in the execution
of the king's behest. But I was all too late to prevent
mischief. As Edward had foreseen, the Scots did not
occupy themselves with extensive preparations. Having
shared the French crowns among them, the chief nobles
and Robert Stuart, who acted as guardian of Scotland
during the captivity of the King of Scots, determined on
an immediate incursion, and accordingly sent a force to
the Border, under Lord Douglas and Sir William Ramsay,
a knight of prowess and courage.</p>

<p>But the Scots were cautious. In order to insure success
it was necessary to resort to stratagem; and, well knowing
that such was the case, Douglas, on reaching the Merse,
halted at a place called Nisbet Moor, and sent forward
Ramsay with a body of horse, who, fording the Tweed,
pushed as far as Norham, burned the little town, defied
the castle, and then, pretending to fly, allured Sir Thomas
Dacre and an English force over the Border and into the
Merse, and ultimately, fighting as they went, to Nisbet
Moor, where, ready for action, the main body of the Scots
lay in ambush.</p>

<p>And no sooner, indeed, did Dacre and his band reach
this place than the Scots sprang upon them and made a
fierce attack, with shouts of "Douglas! Douglas for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>
ever! Ye shall die, ye thieves of England!" It was in
vain that the English struggled against the numbers
opposed to them. Surprised and surrounded, they were
speedily overcome; and Dacre, after killing Haliburton
and Turnbull, two Scottish knights of consequence, was
forced to yield and surrender his sword.</p>

<p>Elate with this advantage, such as it was, the Scots
determined to pursue their success. But they coveted
something more substantial than barren honour, and,
eager for spoil, they turned their eyes towards Berwick.</p>

<p>Natural it was that the Scots should have bethought
themselves of the town which, at the beginning of his
reign, and after his victory at Halidon, Edward had torn
from their grasp; for, as a stronghold in English hands,
it was to them an awkward neighbour. Not only did it
form a formidable barrier in the East Marches to the
incursions of the Scots, but checked their operations in
other quarters; and the boldest of them shrank from the
consequences of an inroad by the Middle or West
Marches, when they reflected on the probability of the
Captain of Berwick sallying forth in retaliation, at the
head of his garrison, and sweeping the country to the
gates of Edinburgh.</p>

<p>And, in another respect, it was a tempting prize; for the
king, eager to repair the injuries sustained by its trade during
the Scottish wars, had granted the town great privileges;
and, availing themselves of their privileges, the townsmen
had grown prosperous and rich. Such being the case, the
Scots felt that there was nowhere a better chance of booty.</p>

<p>At this time Sir Alexander Ogle was Captain of Berwick,
and Sir Robert Boynton governor of the castle. Neither
of them seems to have been apprehensive of danger, and
probably both of them deemed the place perfectly secure,
even in case of an assault being attempted. On the first
point, however, they deceived themselves, and on the
second they forgot that they had to deal with men no less
crafty than courageous.</p>

<p>It was late in the year 1355, and Thomas Stuart, who
called himself Earl of Angus, having collected a fleet,
embarked with a multitude of armed men, and on a dark
night sailed into the mouth of the Tweed. The hour
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>
favoured his adventure. It was just as the first dawn of
returning day was perceptible, and the town was hushed
in repose, that the Scots, accompanied by Garentière and
his Frenchmen, disembarked on the northern bank of the
river, and moved stealthily and unobserved to the foot of
the walls. Reaching a part called the Cowgate, and
making use of scaling ladders, they climbed the walls,
and, overpowering the sentinels, leaped into the town.
But at this stage of affairs the alarm was sounded, and
Ogle, rousing his men, appeared to oppose them sword in
hand. A desperate conflict then took place in the streets
and lanes; and the Scots, after slaying Ogle and two
other English knights, remained masters of the town.
But the Scots had purchased their victory dearly. Even
taken at advantage, and overborne by numbers, the reputation
which that famous garrison enjoyed had been well
maintained. In yielding to numbers, they had proved their
valour and prowess; and, when the sun rose and revealed
the carnage, the conquerors found that, in the encounter,
they had lost six knights of note, besides a host of
inferior men.</p>

<p>Moreover, Ogle's resistance had been of infinite service
to the inhabitants, for great, as may be supposed, was
their consternation when they became aware that the
Scots were upon them. Roused from sleep, and springing
from their beds, the townsmen carried off the women
and children, and ran for their lives in terror and
despair. Some escaped by the gates, others ran to the
castle; and the Scots found themselves in possession
of the wealth, the thought of which had excited their
cupidity and stimulated their ardour.</p>

<p>But the situation of the Scots was not, in all respects,
pleasant. The castle held sternly out, and all their
efforts to take it proved failures. Moreover, the garrison
sent to ask the counsel and aid of Copeland; and, in
concert with him, a plan was formed for introducing into
the castle a number of English warriors, who might enter
the town by what was called Douglas Tower, and recover
the place by strength of hand.</p>

<p>However well conceived, the project came to naught.
By some process intelligence of what was passing reached
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>
the Scots; and, on learning the intentions of the garrison,
and after having been masters of Berwick for a week,
they hastened to seize the Douglas Tower. Having done
so, with the assistance of Garentière and his Frenchmen,
they defended both town and tower so resolutely that no
impression could be made.</p>

<p>But matters could not possibly remain as they were, and
John of Valois soon had reason to congratulate himself
on the success of Garentière's mission. So great was the
importance of Berwick, that Edward, on hearing how
affairs were, abandoned his schemes on the Continent,
and embarked for England, to take measures for the
recovery of the place, and, after staying three days in
London, set out on his way northward.</p>

<p>It was on an early day in January, 1356, when the king,
having kept his Christmas in Newcastle, and summoned
the fighting men of the North to his standard, came
before Berwick at the head of his army, accompanied by
his two sons and Sir Walter Manny, while his fleet
appeared in the Tweed. Repairing to the castle,
while Manny set miners brought from Dean Forest to
work, Edward prepared to let down the drawbridge and
attack the town from the castle, while Sir Walter, with the
aid of the miners of Dean, was employed in advancing
a mine below the walls. But a brief period proved that
neither operation was necessary. Indeed, when the Scots
perceived the combination of art and force that was to
be used against them, the sight was enough. With one
voice they cried that it was time to surrender, and only
begged that they might be permitted to march out with
safety of life and limb.</p>

<p>Not wishing to drive matters between himself and the
Scots to extremity, Edward, indignant and angry, as he
might well be, at their unprovoked aggression, granted
their prayer; and terms of capitulation having been agreed
to, they were allowed to march out and return to their
own country.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, after Berwick had in this way been lost
and won, and when the townsmen, returning to their
homes, complained loudly of the injuries they had sustained,
the King of England considered it expedient to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>
take precautions against future inroads; and, leaving men
to garrison the town and repair the fortifications, he set
out for the castle of Roxburgh, where he was to hold a
conference with Edward Baliol, who, as legitimate heir of
the ancient Kings of Scotland, still claimed the Scottish
throne.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII</a><br />

<small>"A DOUGLAS!"</small></h2>


<p>At the castle of Roxburgh, situated hard by the confluence
of the Tweed and the Teviot, and the scene of
many a royal festival in the days of William the Lion and
the Alexanders, the King of England remained for some
time, revolving his plans for the settlement of Scotland;
and there Baliol, now an old man and childless, and unprepared
to assert his hereditary right to the crown and
kingdom, made it over to Edward by formally delivering
the crown which had been placed on his head at Scone, and
some of the soil of the kingdom which his ancestors had
enjoyed, and, at the same time, declared him heir to all the
estates of the house of Baliol on both sides of the Tweed.</p>

<p>This ceremony, which was not destined to have much
influence on the course of events, took place in the
presence of the Bishop of Durham and the Abbots of
Melrose and Dryburgh; and the king, learning that the
Scots had assembled to oppose his progress, prepared to
raise the banner of Scotland and march against them.</p>

<p>But it was generally the habit of the warriors of Scotland
to conceal their movements; and Edward, having
on this occasion only a vague idea in what direction the
Scots were to be found, and becoming eager for intelligence,
ordered that two squires should ride forth and
reconnoitre. Accordingly I was sent, in company with
Robert Salle, the youth of whom I have spoken as
attached to Aymery de Pavie when Governor of Calais,
with instructions to discover, if possible, at all risks,
where the Scots were to be found.</p>

<p>Between Salle and myself a close friendship had sprung
into existence during Edward's expedition to Calais; and
as both of us had emerged from obscurity, and as we both
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>
owed to our skill and courage what reputation we enjoyed,
we naturally sympathised on many points. But I did not
fully share the antipathy which, in his more dreary
moods, he, as the son of a mason, felt for men who had
inherited high names and great possessions; and as I
sometimes, under the influence of imagination, talked as
if there was a gulf between us, we could not always avoid
discussions of a more warm kind than was agreeable.
On the present occasion our tendency in this respect was
destined to lead us into an awkward predicament.</p>

<p>As may be supposed, our mission was not without
perils, which only the utmost vigilance could guard
against; and, considering how little we knew of the
country, we certainly should have remembered our danger.
But, young and adventurous, we thought lightly of the
hazard as we rode on through mud and mire. At first
we examined every hill and dale with searching eyes.
But, when no human being appeared, we became more
careless, and it was not till after pursuing our way for
hours, and as we were skirting an extensive wood, that I
instinctively felt that danger might be nigh.</p>

<p>"Beshrew me if I like the aspect of this place!"
exclaimed I suddenly. "I would that Copeland, our
northern hero, or some man familiar with the country,
were here to guide us safely!"</p>

<p>"By St. George!" replied Salle, "I confess I begin to
be somewhat alarmed; but, be the peril what it may, we
hazard nothing but our lives."</p>

<p>"True," said I; "but life has its sweets, and I am not
yet so weary of mine as to feel indifferent to the possibility
of losing it&mdash;least of all, needlessly; for, as the
Orientals say, there is no hope of living again, seeing
that man is not a water-melon, and that, when once in the
ground, he cannot grow again."</p>

<p>"And yet," remarked Salle, "I have heard that ancient
sages were wont to say, 'Let no man be envied till his
death;' and, for my own part, I see not how a warrior
could better die than for his king and country."</p>

<p>"A noble sentiment, doubtless," said I, "and one to
be carefully cherished; but methinks it is better to live
to serve one's king and country in manhood and age than
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>
to die uselessly for them in youth. Moreover, you know,
I have still to penetrate the mystery of my birth, and that
is a motive for wishing to live."</p>

<p>"Tush!" exclaimed Salle querulously; "why harp
for ever on that string? What matters it what has
been a man's birth, if his heart is noble and his hand
strong?"</p>

<p>"Little, mayhap," I replied; "still, I would fain have
the consciousness of an interest in the past, and be at the
bottom of the mystery, the solution of which might give
me such an interest."</p>

<p>"You never will penetrate your mystery," said he in
a conclusive tone.</p>

<p>"Now," replied I, repressing an angry feeling that
stirred in my breast, "I hold not with you; for few
secrets can escape an investigator who pursues the inquiry
with determination; and it ever seems to me that there is
a voice telling me that the truth which I pant to learn will
one day be revealed; and, therefore, I continue the search
after it with the ardour of a Knight of the Round Table
in quest of the Sangreal."</p>

<p>"And what, I pray you, was the Sangreal?" asked Salle
with a sneer.</p>

<p>"Nothing less than the sacred vessel from which the
Redeemer of Mankind and his disciples ate the last
supper," replied I, crossing myself devoutly; "and which
Joseph of Arimathea brought, with the spear used at the
crucifixion, when he came to England to convert the
inhabitants to Christianity, and planted, near the abbey
of Glastonbury, the miraculous thorn which blossoms
every year at Christmas."</p>

<p>"And did the Knights of the Round Table succeed in
their quest of this Sangreal?" inquired Salle.</p>

<p>"Yes, in truth did they," answered I, proud of my
lore; "it was at length achieved by a knight named
Galahad, aided by Sir Bors and Sir Percival, both
champions of high renown in Christendom."</p>

<p>"On my faith," said Salle, almost contemptuously, "I
never heard the names of these knights before, nor do I
hold myself the less cheap that their names were unknown
to me."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p>

<p>"And on my faith," exclaimed I, provoked to anger,
"I did not deem that in England there existed a single
aspirant to fame in arms who had not heard of the
Sangreal."</p>

<p>"You forget that I was not reared daintily in kings'
palaces," rejoined he, "but in a camp."</p>

<p>I bit my lip and refrained from replying to the taunt,
but, as I thought of Cressy and Neville's Cross, my heart
swelled with indignation.</p>

<p>It must by this time have been four o'clock, and we had
been riding for hours without catching sight or hearing
tidings of the enemy; when, just as this dialogue terminated,
and we were turning a corner of the wood we had
been skirting, we suddenly saw, before our eyes, an army
marching northward. Reining instantly up, we drew back
to escape observation, and as the winter sun, which was
setting, flashed upon crested helms and rows of spears,
the spectacle was inspiriting.</p>

<p>"Now," said I, pointing to the retreating host, "let him
that is weary of life try a jeopardy."</p>

<p>"On my faith," replied Salle bluntly, "to me it seems
that we are in sufficient jeopardy where we are;" and,
pointing to a horseman who emerged from the wood, he
added, "let us fly."</p>

<p>"It is too late," said I, looking round in alarm. "See
you not that we are circumvented?" And as I spoke we
were surrounded on all sides; for the horseman was a
knight, and with him he had not fewer than thirty lances.</p>

<p>"Who are you?" asked the knight, riding forward and
roughly seizing my rein; "speak, sirrah."</p>

<p>"Sir knight," answered I, endeavouring to be calm,
"my comrade rejoices in the name of Robert Salle, and
men call me Arthur Winram; and we are squires of
England."</p>

<p>"On my troth," he exclaimed, eyeing me as if I had
been an inferior being, "you speak boldly for one of your
years and condition; and for your comrade, I trow that
he is not dumb, that you, albeit the younger of the two,
should answer so readily for him. But say at once what
is your errand, and speak truly. Otherwise you will fare
the worse; for trees are more plentiful here than carrion,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>
and the Scottish ravens are not, for the time being, too
well provided with food. Now I listen."</p>

<p>"In truth, then, sir knight," began I after a brief pause,
"our errand is simple enough. We come from the camp
of the English to look for the Scots."</p>

<p>"And you have found us," exclaimed the knight with
a hoarse laugh; "and by St. Bride!" added he, "let me
comfort you with the assurance that you shall not leave
us at your pleasure."</p>

<p>"Gramercy for your courtesy, sir knight," replied I, my
spirit rising. "And since you so relish our company,
albeit our acquaintance is somewhat of the briefest, deign
to say, I pray you, into whose hands we have had the
fortune to fall."</p>

<p>"My name is Douglas," replied the knight sternly;
"a name at which Englishmen are wont to tremble."</p>

<p>"Faith, sir knight," said I, with a smile which I doubt
not was provoking, "if Englishmen ever were afflicted
with that failing, they have had time to recover from it
since Dupplin, and Halidon, and Neville's Cross."</p>

<p>"Varlet!" exclaimed the knight, his anger rising high,
"bandy not such words with me, before whose father's
sword Englishmen were wont to fly as deer before the
hounds."</p>

<p>And in truth, as I afterwards learned, the knight was
Archibald Douglas, the illegitimate son of him whom the
Scots called "the good Sir James," and who, while on the
way to Palestine with the heart of Bruce, was slain by
the Saracens in Spain; and I, moreover, learned that the
knight himself meditated an early pilgrimage to the Holy
Land.</p>

<p>But at the moment I knew nothing of Archibald Douglas
save the name, and that we were his prisoners. Giving us
into the custody of his companions, he charged them to
conduct us to a castle, the name of which I did not catch,
to guard us well, and not, as they valued their lives, to
allow us to escape.</p>

<p>"The varlets," he said, "have, if I mistake not, seen
more than they would care to tell, and could give their
king&mdash;upon whose head may my curse rest, now and for
ever&mdash;such intelligence as would enable him to defeat all
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>
our plans." And as the knight spoke he rode off, with
the greater part of his followers, towards the Scottish
army, while we, under the escort of six of his men-at-arms,
took our way towards the castle which was destined to be
the scene of our captivity.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII</a><br />

<small>BURNT CANDLEMAS</small></h2>


<p>It was said of the first Edward, that, while figuring
conspicuously between a weak father and a wilful son, he
needed no such foils to set forth his real worth; that,
personally as well as intellectually, he towered above his
fellows; that his step was another man's stride; that he
was most judicious in all his undertakings, being equally
wise to plot as valiant to perform; that, under Divine
Providence, he was happy in success, at sea and on land,
at home and abroad; and that, in all his actions, he
proved himself capable of governing, not England only,
but the whole world. Moreover, it is said that he was
so fortunate with his sword at the opening of his reign,
that, ere the close, he awed all his enemies with his
scabbard, and the renown of his exploits; and if the
praises bestowed on the first Edward cannot, on all points,
with justice be rendered to the third, it is due to the
memory of the hero of Halidon and Cressy to say that,
after passing the thirty-fifth year of his life, he was one
whose name was so terrible to his enemies&mdash;both French
and Scots&mdash;that they would no more have thought of
facing him in pitched battle than they would have thought
of encountering his illustrious grandsire.</p>

<p>It was, therefore, with sensations the reverse of agreeable
that the guardian and chief men of Scotland learned
that Edward had reached Roxburgh with a formidable
force. In fact, supposing that the king would shirk the
hardships of a winter's campaign north of the Tweed,
and anticipating that, after restoring the fortifications of
Berwick, he would return to his capital, they drew to
a head, and prepared, as soon as he turned his face
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>
southward, to renew their predatory incursions. On finding
how much they were mistaken in their calculations,
they resolved on leaving the country to its fate, and withdrawing,
with what valuables they could remove, to the
region lying beyond the Firth.</p>

<p>But, in order to carry their plan into execution, the
Scots felt that it was necessary to gain time, and with this
view they resorted to a device which did them little
credit. In fact, they deliberately sent ambassadors to
the king at Roxburgh, with proposals from Lord Douglas
and other nobles to treat about submitting to his
authority; and, having by this trick obtained a respite of
hostilities, they employed the time in laying waste the
country, and in accomplishing their removal to what was
a place of comparative safety. Having done so, they
were mad enough to exasperate the king by sending him
a defiance.</p>

<p>It was rashly done, as the event proved too clearly.
No sooner did Edward discover the trick that had been
played upon him than he expressed the utmost indignation;
and, when he received the message of defiance, his
anger was fierce. Arraying his army in three divisions,
the king left Roxburgh, with the banner of Scotland displayed
before him, and a determination to make the
country which had defied his power feel the weight of his
hand. Advancing as far as Edinburgh, he there halted,
and, indulging in the expectation that the guardian and
Scottish nobles would pluck up courage to give him
battle, awaited their coming; but those patriotic magnates,
having exposed their countrymen to the utmost
peril, thought only of their own safety, and left others to
suffer, as they best could, all the horrors of war.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, the plight of Edward was not enviable.
No provisions were to be had for love or money, and the
fighting men of England, who when at home never drank
water save by way of penance, had no other drink for
fifteen days. Still, the king had the prospect of supplies;
for his fleet, laden with provisions and necessaries, was
expected to arrive in the Firth. But the elements proved
hostile to the invaders. A violent storm arose, and the
wind, blowing from the north, drove back and dispersed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>
the ships so effectually, that the English lost all hope of
being relieved by sea, and indicated a decided wish to
turn their faces towards Berwick.</p>

<p>By this time, indeed, matters had reached such a stage
that Edward had no alternative; and he gave orders for a
retreat. Accordingly the army began its march southward,
and the Scots had every prospect of getting rid of
the invaders on cheap terms. But they had not learned
to leave well alone. Day by day, and night by night,
the retreating army was harassed by small parties; and so
dexterous were the Scots in this kind of warfare, that not
an Englishman could straggle from the ranks without the
certainty of being cut off.</p>

<p>The king, whose blood now boiled with rage, expressed
the utmost resentment; and, no longer making any effort
to keep his temper, he discharged his wrath on the
country through which he passed. Every town that lay
in his way, whether great or small, was given to the
flames; every village was reduced to ashes; and, for
about twenty miles from the sea-coast, the country for a
long period bore such traces of the conflagration, that
the Scots have continued to describe the February of
that season as Burnt Candlemas, in memory of the devastation
which the English then wrought, while departing
in anger from a land which they could not conquer.</p>

<p>For a time the Scots appeared bent on retaliation; and
during the winter, notwithstanding Copeland's vigilance,
they set many a Northumbrian village in a blaze. But
the year was fruitful of events of which they little dreamt
when, at the instance of John of Valois, they mounted
their horses, fought at Nisbet Moor, and seized upon
Berwick.</p>

<p>Ere Candlemas again came round great changes had
occurred, and the continental ally to whom they had
been so servile was too poor to bribe, and too powerless
to succour. It was now February, and before October a
great battle had been fought, and a great victory had been
won, which prostrated the energies of France, daunted
the ferocious spirit of Scotland, and rendered England
even more celebrated than before, not only throughout
Christendom, but among the Saracens and the nations of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>
the East, as the cradle of heroes and the nursery of conquerors.</p>

<p>And there arose circumstances in considering which the
Scots deemed it prudent to refrain from inroads, and
Edward, even if he had felt a wish, had no occasion to
chastise their audacity. Never, indeed, after the spring
of 1356, did the king engage in war with that obstinate
and refractory nation. It is possible that, even at that
period, and while pursuing the enterprise, he was tired of
struggles which could not be brought to a satisfactory
issue; and that he was in reality bidding "Farewell to
Scotland" when he left them to celebrate a "Burnt
Candlemas."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX</a><br />

<small>OUR CAPTIVITY</small></h2>


<p>It was not in the direction taken by the Scottish army
that we were conducted as prisoners by the Scottish
men-at-arms, but to a castle standing on the banks of
a stream called the Leader, and hard by the tower
within the walls of which, in the thirteenth century,
dwelt Thomas of Ercildoun, a bard of mighty fame, who
enjoyed the reputation of being gifted with a prophetic
faculty, and who is said, while at supper in the castle of
Dunbar, to have predicted the death of Alexander, King
of Scots, and who, on being asked when the war in Scotland
would come to an end, answered, "When the cultivated
country shall become forest; when wild beasts shall
inhabit the abodes of men; when the Scots shall not be
able to escape the English, should they crouch as hares in
their form; and when they shall be drowned in their
flight for fault of ships."</p>

<p>As we approached Mount Moreville, which, in earlier
days, was the castle of Hugh de Moreville, a great
Norman noble, who figured as Constable of Scotland, and
founded the abbey of Dryburgh, and as we rode through
the village that had risen under the protection of the
stronghold of the Morevilles, night had for some time
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>
fallen, and darkness overshadowed the earth. But the
rumour that Englishmen were being led to captivity
brought forth men and women, and even children, who
greeted us in harsh accents, with epithets of no complimentary
kind, and loudly chanted a song, which I learned
had, forty years earlier, been in fashion among the Scots,
and which still retained much of its popularity, albeit it
was a song of triumph over potent foes humiliated by a
disaster which had been sternly and terribly avenged in
three foughten fields:&mdash;</p>

<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Maidens of England, sore may ye mourn<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn,<br /></span>
<span class="i30">With Heve a low!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What ho! weneth the King of England,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So soon to have all Scotland,<br /></span>
<span class="i30">With a rumby low!"<br /></span>
</div></div>

<p>Smiling, as one who had fought at Neville's Cross
might well smile, in scornful disdain at this barbarous
dirge, I passed through the barriers, Salle riding by my
side in doleful mood at the thought of being separated
from freedom by stone walls and iron bars; and, having
passed the drawbridge and dismounted in the courtyard,
we were led into the hall of the castle.</p>

<p>While Salle, much downcast, and I, somewhat crestfallen,
were kept waiting in the great hall of the castle of
Mount Moreville till arrangements were made for lodging
us securely in one of the strong rooms of the tower, I
gradually became aware that the inmates were not all
Scots. In fact, some of the French who had accompanied
Eugène de Garentière were quartered in the castle, and
among them Lancelot de Lorris, a young knight, who,
young, handsome, expert in arms, and much in love with
a demoiselle of his own country, had come to win his
spurs in combat with the English, and had taken one
of those romantic vows so common at the period not to
eat bread from a table-cloth, nor to sleep in a bed, nor
to look the lady of his love in the face, till he had performed
certain feats of chivalry against the garrison of
Roxburgh.</p>

<p>As we entered the hall the Frenchmen, some seated,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>
some standing by the fire that burned on the hearth and
blazed up the huge chimney, were playing dice, and talking
boastfully enough of their feats in love and war. On
seeing us, however, they, with one accord, moved to the
middle of the floor and stared at us, smiling and whispering
to each other, and displaying more curiosity than was
agreeable to my comrade.</p>

<p>"Gallants!" growled Salle, patting the heads of two
hounds that had roused themselves and risen from their
recumbent posture on our entrance, "have you before
never seen an English prisoner, that you stare at us as if
we were elephants or camels, or beasts of prey? By good
St. George, I err grievously if you would not be more shy
of approaching were we but mounted on our horses and
armed with swords."</p>

<p>It seemed that the language in which Salle conveyed
his question and uttered his comment was not comprehended
by the Frenchmen; for they merely looked at
each other and shook their heads. Suddenly, however,
the countenance of Lancelot de Lorris was lighted up
with a smile of surprise, and the young knight, who, I
observed, bore a chain on his arm to indicate that he
was under thraldom to his chivalrous vow, stepped forward.</p>

<p>"By our lady of Rybamont!" said he, addressing
me, "it seems to me, gentle squire, that we have met
before."</p>

<p>"It may so have chanced, sir knight," replied I,
speaking in his own tongue, and with studied courtesy,
for I wished to make amends for my comrade's growl,
"but, if so, my memory serves me not as to time and
place."</p>

<p>"Ah!" said Sir Lancelot, shaking his head gravely, "it
was at a time which no warrior of France can recall but
with sadness, and at a place which, credit me, I long again
to behold as an exile the home whence he had been
banished&mdash;the castle of Corbie."</p>

<p>"I now remember me," replied I, and not without a
flush of pride; for on that day I had won some renown as
the champion of imperilled ladies.</p>

<p>"And trust me," said Sir Lancelot cordially, and with
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>
a tear in his eye&mdash;for it was one of the ladies of Poix to
whom he pledged his love, and in whose honour he was
eager to do noble deeds&mdash;"there are many, myself among
the number, who remember how chivalrously you did
your devoir as an aspirant to chivalry, and, by our lady of
Rybamont! were you here free, and at liberty to do as
you liked, instead of a prisoner, naught would please me
better than on the morrow to mark my esteem for your
valour by indulging you with an encounter outside the
barriers of this castle for death or life."</p>

<p>"Gramercy, sir knight," replied I, laughing heartily,
"you over-estimate my prowess when you deem me
worthy of such a distinction: and yet," added I, "should
we chance to meet in time to come on some field where
French and English men struggle for renown and victory,
in no wise could I imagine good St. George favouring
me more highly than by placing me face to face and
hand to hand with a warrior at once so courteous and
so brave."</p>

<p>Smiling, as if pleased with the answer, Sir Lancelot de
Lorris showed that, however readily he would, under
other circumstances, have given me a passport to another
world, he was not indifferent to my comfort in this.
Leading myself and my comrade to the huge chimney, he
did everything to console us in our captivity, and his
example was not lost on his countrymen, who stood
around breaking jests on the poverty of the land and the
badness of the fire.</p>

<p>"By my faith," said John de Helennes, a squire of
France, "the night is raw and cold; and my very bones
seem to freeze."</p>

<p>"In truth," remarked another French squire, known as
Eustace the Strong&mdash;who prided himself on being like
that King of France called Pepin le Bref, whom he did
resemble in this at least, that, though his stature was
small, his strength was enormous&mdash;"Scotland is not a
country to be in during winter. I never knew what hard
living was till now."</p>

<p>"But certes," said John de Helennes, "that is no
reason why we should have such a fire in such weather;
for, being but now in the courtyard, I saw several asses
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>
driven in, laden with billets of wood for the use of the
garrison."</p>

<p>"Holy Mary!" exclaimed Eustace with a look of indignation.
"Do you tell me that fuel in plenty is so near,
and that warriors of France are left to starve in the
cold? Shame upon us if we right not ourselves in such
a case."</p>

<p>And, as the strong Frenchman spoke, he sallied forth
to the courtyard, seized one of the asses with panniers,
carried it into the hall, and, pushing towards the chimney,
flung the ass and its load, with its feet uppermost, on the
dogs of the hearth, to the great delight of the bystanders,
who, with the exception of Sir Lancelot, overlooked the
cruelty of the action, and applauded the display of
strength.</p>

<p>By this time our term of reprieve was at an end; and,
arrangements having meanwhile been made for lodging us
securely, we, after taking leave of Sir Lancelot, were conducted
up a flight of stone stairs, and into a dimly-lighted
chamber, with huge doors and narrow windows, the strong
bolts and strong gratings of which seemed to forbid every
thought of escape.</p>

<p>"My malison on Dame Fortune for playing us this
scurvy trick," said my companion, as the gaoler departed,
drawing bolt and bar carefully behind him. "If there is
anything I have ever dreaded more than I have hated
Scot and Frenchman, it has been the thought of captivity;
and now here we are, mewed in an enemy's stronghold,
without hope of freedom, and in the hands of men belonging
to the nations I have ever detested."</p>

<p>"My friend," replied I soothingly, "be patient, I intreat
you, and speak not of being without hope; captivity is
the hard fate of many a brave warrior; and circumstances
can open stronger doors than the one which bars us from
liberty."</p>

<p>But days and weeks passed over, and winter went, and
spring came, and the fields became green, and the leaves
appeared on the trees, and we learned that the King of
England and his army had returned home, and we were
still prisoners, when, one day, an event occurred which
lent something like novelty to our existence, and stimulated
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>
me in some efforts I had made to gratify our anxiety
to escape.</p>

<p>I have said that Sir Lancelot de Lorris had vowed to
perform certain deeds of chivalry against the garrison of
Roxburgh, and no sooner had King Edward left the
country than he began to make excursions with the object
of accomplishing his vow. Pushing up one day to the
stronghold, of which Sir John Copeland was governor,
the French knight adventured so far as to strike upon the
gate of the fortress and defy the garrison. On that day
Copeland had left the castle to exercise his functions of
Sheriff of Northumberland, and no notice was taken of
the French knight's bravado. But when the Governor
of Roxburgh returned, and learned what had occurred, he
lost no time in returning the visit.</p>

<p>It was a day in spring, and the sun was shining
pleasantly on pool and stream, when I, looking between
the strong iron gratings that secured the window of our
prison, observed a knight, accompanied by a band of
horsemen, approach the castle, and hover on the lee outside
the barriers in an attitude of defiance. I had no difficulty
in recognising Copeland, and, entertaining little
doubt as to the errand on which he had come, I called
the attention of Salle to his presence, and awaited the
result of his adventure with almost breathless interest.</p>

<p>Nor was Copeland long kept waiting. Elate with the
anticipation of encountering so hardy a knight, Sir Lancelot,
on hearing that the Governor of Roxburgh requested
a tilt, immediately accepted the challenge, and, arraying
himself for combat, sallied out, attended by Eustace the
Strong and the other Frenchmen, all armed and mounted.</p>

<p>I have seldom beheld a more handsome cavalier than Sir
Lancelot looked on this occasion, as, with his pennon displayed,
he rode through the barriers with his target on his
neck and a lance in his hand, full of gaiety and joyous
with the prospect of conflict.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, Copeland, having looked to his saddle-girths,
laid his lance in rest, and answered Sir Lancelot's
cry of "Our lady of Rybamont!" with a shout of "St.
George for England!" Then trumpets sounded, and the
two champions rushed against each other. In this course,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>
and in the second which they ran, both charged gallantly,
and neither could be said to have any advantage over his
antagonist; and, as their targets rang with a clash as they
met, their companions shouted applause at their skill, and
even I could not refrain from clapping my hands.</p>

<p>But when the English and French knights wheeled
their coursers, and, charging for a third time, met with a
furious onset, the result was far different. For a moment,
so fierce was the shock that it was impossible to perceive
what had occurred. But soon all doubt was at an end.
Copeland had been so forcibly struck on his helmet that
he bent back and shook in his saddle; but his spear had
been driven with terrible effect; and Sir Lancelot, pierced
through shield and armour, dropped from his steed with
a deep and mortal wound.</p>

<p>On seeing the young knight fall, the French, in sore
displeasure, raised a cry for revenge; and, headed by
Eustace the Strong, they spurred forward to encounter
their adversaries. Undauntedly, however, Copeland met
them, sword in hand, smote Eustace to the earth, and,
literally felling down all before him, drove them, in spite
of a desperate resistance, within the barriers, and then,
sheathing his sword, prepared to be gone.</p>

<p>"Adieu, sirs," said he, waving his hand as he turned
his horse's head to regain his company. "Much it grieves
me to have troubled you with my presence. But it would
ill have become me, as King Edward's captain, to allow
either Scot or Frenchman to strike upon the gate of a
fortress committed to my keeping, without hastening, with
all speed, to mark my sense of the chivalry that prompted
such an adventure. Adieu! I thank you."</p>

<p>Some hours later our evening meal was brought by the
gaoler, and I seized the opportunity to ascertain how
fared those who had fallen before Copeland's weapon.</p>

<p>"The squire is little the worse for the clout he got,"
replied the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'goaler'">gaoler</ins>. "As for the young knight, he will
never see France more; he has already departed for a
fairer country."</p>

<p>"Gone to his long home," said I, with a pang of
mournful regret. "I grieve to hear it with all my heart."</p>

<p>"And, in good sooth, so do I," exclaimed Salle
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>
earnestly. "I sincerely lament his fall; for, now that
he is dead, I will say of him that, had he been ten times
a Frenchman, he was still a gallant young knight, courteous
in words, generous in thought, handsome to look at, and
expert with his lance; and may Christ have mercy on his
soul!"</p>

<p>"Amen!" added I, crossing myself. "And in truth
his death is the more mournful that he seemed so much
in love."</p>

<p>"Ay," said the gaoler, "it was woesome to see him
when he lay on the rushes in the hall, and felt that he
was sinking fast; he took his pennon, and giving it to
John de Helennes, said, 'Take this, which is dyed with
my best blood, to the lady of my love, by whom it was
broidered, and tell her what has befallen me, and that,
though I failed to accomplish the vow that kept me from
her presence, yet I died with honour in the attempt.'
And then," added the gaoler, "he laid his head on the
rushes, and died."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L</a><br />

<small>CHASED BY BLOODHOUNDS</small></h2>


<p>Having tasted captivity before, I was in a mood much
less doleful than my comrade when I found myself confined
to a dingy chamber, and cut off from communication
with my countrymen, who were marching with
their king in hostile array through the realm of Scotland.
But ere long I began to find the confinement as irksome
as it was to him, and to concentrate all my faculties on
a project of escape. In order to execute it, I perceived
the necessity of securing the co-operation of our gaoler.</p>

<p>Now it happened that this man, who went by the name
of Roger Redhand, was a native of the country to the
south of the Tweed; and having, years before, fled from
Northumberland, after some defiance of law which exposed
him to danger, he had since found safety as an
exile in Scotland. Moreover, he was, though born an
enemy of their nation, much trusted by the Scots among
whom his lot had fallen; and they had, as a sign and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>
testimony of mutual treaty, gone through the ceremony
of drinking with him from a cup in which some drops of
their blood were mingled with his, and having by this
process become, as they thought, his kinsmen in some
degree, believed that they had for ever secured his
fidelity.</p>

<p>Nevertheless, I did not by any means despair of working
on the patriotism of Roger Redhand; and with great
caution I ventured on the experiment. At first, however,
my efforts were ineffectual. But I did not, therefore,
give up the game; and Salle, whose horror of a man
serving the enemies of his country was naturally intense,
grew angry at my persevering with a scheme which promised
no success.</p>

<p>"Beshrew me, friend," said he roughly, "if it angers
me not sorely to condescend to parley and bandy words
with that renegade. As well try to bleed a stone as to
strike one spark of patriotism in his breast."</p>

<p>"Patience, my gallant comrade," replied I. "His love
of country is not dead, but asleep; and I am far from
despairing of rousing it so far, at least, as to make him
the instrument of restoring us to freedom. But make not,
meddle not in the matter; or, with your strong prejudices
and your fiery temper, you may ruin all, and we may remain
in captivity till doomsday."</p>

<p>And I soon after learned that Roger Redhand had
seen better days; that he was son of a squire in the
North of England; and I found that I was not wholly
mistaken in my calculations. Dormant and difficult to
arouse the exile's patriotism was, but it was not extinct;
and gradually my exertions were rewarded so far that it
slightly caught fire, then glowed and kindled into a flame,
and ultimately, as I recalled and pictured the scenes of
his youth, when Douglas and Randolph ravaged the
North of England with savage fury, slaughtering and
plundering the inhabitants, it burned so fiercely that
I had some difficulty in restraining his impulses. But
I felt so strongly the necessity of discretion, that it was I,
and not he, who now hesitated. At length, however, we
came to terms; and I promised him a considerable
reward, and my influence to obtain a pardon for him, on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>
condition of his opening our prison doors, and conducting
my comrade and myself in safety to the castle of Roxburgh.</p>

<p>At the time this bargain was struck the year was
speeding on apace; and it was early May when, at murk
midnight, Roger Redhand, closely muffled as Marchmen
are in the habit of muffling themselves when not wishing
to be recognised, cautiously unbarred the door of the
chamber in which we were lodged, and whispered that
the hour for the great venture was come. Without speaking
a word, we rose, followed him, as he glided noiselessly
down the stone stairs, and then through a postern into a
wild park, that in one direction bounded the precincts of
the castle. At that moment, overpowered by the darkness,
and without a weapon, I confess I felt that our
prospects were not inviting, and expressed something like
apprehension.</p>

<p>"Fear not," whispered Roger Redhand, almost cheerfully;
"the night favours us. I know the way so well that
I could traverse it blindfold. Only one danger there is,
against which there is no guarding. If our escape is discovered,
and the bloodhounds are put on our track, this
night may be our last, and, ere to-morrow's sun sets, our
carcases may be food for ravens and wolves. But
courage!"</p>

<p>"Ay, courage!" said I, my spirit rising. "Lead on;
we fellow."</p>

<p>No further words passed. Pursuing a south-easterly
direction, Roger Redhand walked rapidly onwards, and
we, not without frequently stumbling, contrived, with
some exertion, to keep pace with him. Everything
seemed to go prosperously; and just as the moon rose
we crossed the Tweed, and, pushing resolutely on in the
track of our guide, had travelled several miles when,
finding we were on the bank of a rivulet, I halted to
quench my thirst and recreate my energies with a draught
of the pure stream.</p>

<p>"Now, thanks to God and good St. George for our
deliverance," said I, as, refreshed, I resumed the journey;
"for, at last, methinks we are safe from pursuit."</p>

<p>"I would fain hope so," replied our guide; "but let us
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>
not dally with danger, nor forget the proverb which tells
us not to halloo till we are out of the wood."</p>

<p>Almost as he spoke, Roger Redhand stopped suddenly,
as if in alarm, and looking in the direction of the wind,
pointed back, and, shaking his head as if to admonish us
to be silent, listened attentively. For a few moments no
sound broke the stillness of the night, save the rushing of
the rivulet and the screams of the birds and beasts
that haunted its banks. At length, however, our guide
drew himself up excitedly; and now there was no
possibility of mistaking the nature of the danger, or the
significance of his last words. Far away as it seemed,
but coming down the wind with terrible distinctness,
the bay of a bloodhound, deep-mouthed and menacing,
broke the silence, and sounded in our ears like a death
knell.</p>

<p>Drawing a dagger from his bosom, and baring his
strong arm, Roger Redhand deliberately inflicted a
wound, and spilt some drops of blood on our track.</p>

<p>"What, in the name of the saints, mean you by that?"
asked I.</p>

<p>"Blood destroys the fineness of the scent," answered
he. "I have even seen prisoners sacrificed to save their
captors, when closely chased by foes. But it does not
always succeed. So on, on!" added our guide; "we
may yet escape if we have luck."</p>

<p>And forward he pressed, crossing and recrossing the
streamlet at places considerably distant from each other,
with some idea of throwing the pursuers off the scent, but
all, as it seemed, to no purpose. The sagacity of the dog
was not to be baffled either by blood on the path or
by the running stream. And we felt that, guided by its
unerring instinct, our pursuers were close upon our track.
Our fate seemed sealed; but even at that moment I
scorned to yield to despair.</p>

<p>Nearer and nearer came the deep bay. Indeed, every
time we paused to listen it resounded more loudly through
the wood, and, in our perplexity, we halted to take counsel
of each other.</p>

<p>It was an awful moment, and our agitation was great.</p>

<p>"We are lost!" exclaimed Salle, in accents of mournful
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>
despondence; "and without even the satisfaction of being
able to strike a blow for life."</p>

<p>"No, not lost," replied I, though feeling that I was
hoping against hope. "It is true that great is the sagacity
of the bloodhound, but not so great that it cannot be
baffled by the wit of man."</p>

<p>"You are right," said our guide, suddenly rousing himself,
and raising his head. "It can be done. I have
heard the Scots tell how Robert Bruce, their king, acted
when pressed as we are, and how he escaped. Have all
your wits about you; let us into the water; do as you see
me do; and beware, above all things, of touching the
banks. Now be quick and cautious. Our lives hang
on a single chance; but courage and discretion will yet
save us."</p>

<p>By this time we had reached a wooded valley which was
intersected by the stream; and, dashing into the water,
our guide waded up its course for some hundred yards,
while we followed in silence; and then, renewing his
caution as to not touching the banks, he sprang upon the
twisted branches of an elm, and, swinging himself dexterously
from tree to tree, while we, with some difficulty,
followed his example, at length leaped to the ground
at some distance from the spot where we had entered the
stream.</p>

<p>"Now," said he, pursuing his way and waving us on,
"if you have done as I have done, and not touched the
ground, we are saved."</p>

<p>"We are saved!" cried Salle triumphantly.</p>

<p>"But our escape has been a narrow one," remarked I.</p>

<p>And, indeed, it soon appeared that the stratagem had
succeeded; and, at the same time, it became evident that
we had not resorted to the stratagem a moment too soon.
As, after climbing an acclivity, we reached the summit of
the rising ground, the moon, previously somewhat clouded,
shone brilliantly; and when, sheltered by trees from the
possibility of being observed, we looked down into the
valley from which we had emerged, we could distinctly
descry our pursuers on horseback keenly urging on the
hound, and hear their voices, as, speaking rapidly, and
sometimes all at a time, they attempted to account for
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>
having lost the scent. But all proved quite unavailing.
The dog, completely thrown out, stood utterly at fault,
and, in spite of incitement and encouragement, failed in
every effort to regain the scent it had lost.</p>

<p>"Forward," whispered our guide. "By the voices of
our pursuers, I know that they are dispersing to search the
thickets; and since some of them might, by chance, find
their way up the steep, it is not well, as I said before, to
dally with danger, and it is well by hastening on to avoid
the risk of being descried."</p>

<p>And at his instance we pursued our way with the
sensations of men saved, at the last instant, from the
awful peril of drowning, and keeping to by-paths and
solitary places, we left danger behind, and at morn stood
tired and jaded, but safe and sound, within the strong
castle of which Copeland was governor.</p>

<p>"Welcome, gentlemen," said Copeland, who, on being
informed of our escape, came to receive Salle and myself.
"I rejoice you have escaped, though I am little like to
have much of your company."</p>

<p>"And wherefore?"</p>

<p>"Because, whenever it is known that you are in the
land of the living and at liberty, both of you are certain
to have instructions to proceed south without delay to
embark for Guienne. But who is the muffled man?"</p>

<p>"One to whom we are much indebted," said I.</p>

<p>"And one whose face is not wholly unknown to Sir
John Copeland," said our guide, throwing aside his muffler
and showing his face.</p>

<p>"Ah, Roger! Roger!" exclaimed Copeland in accents
of sad reproof, "it grieves me to think that the day should
ever have come when your father's son had to hide his
face from living mortal, and that mortal an Englishman
and a Copeland."</p>

<p>"Reproach me not with the past," said the other
imploringly, "but listen to my prayer, and grant it for
the sake of those who sleep where the weary are at rest."</p>

<p>"Yes, sir knight," said I earnestly, "upbraid him not.
Let bygones be bygones."</p>

<p>"Nay," exclaimed Copeland, "I am not the person to
be hard on a broken man, whose conscience, doubtless,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>
reproaches him often enough. And now, Roger," added
he, "I listen to your prayer. What is it you require of
me?"</p>

<p>"Your good word and influence to win me a pardon,"
was the answer.</p>

<p>The Governor of Roxburgh paused, meditated, and then,
looking full at the petitioner, smiled grimly, with a peculiar
expression on his countenance.</p>

<p>"By holy St. Cuthbert and good St. George, Roger!"
said he in a low voice, "I would as lief ask King Edward
for Berwick or Calais as for your pardon, as your case
now stands; but," added he significantly, "if you take a
pardon for the time being, and go to fight for the Prince
of Wales in France, I will, for the sake of our kindred
blood, equip you for the war, and even recommend you to
the prince as strongly as I can in honour do, all things
taken into account. Go, then, to Gascony, and fight for
a pardon, while others are fighting for honour and victory,
and then your day may come. Many broken ships have
come to land, and, be that as it may, you were wont to be
brave in the face of a foeman; and credit me that a man
never asks pardon from a king with such grace as when
he has proved his strength and courage against the king's
enemies."</p>

<p>"Be it as you have said," replied the outlaw, much
affected.</p>

<p>"And, Roger," added Copeland, "in token that I deem
you capable of redeeming your good name, I, in presence
of these valiant squires, give you my hand as that of a
friend and kinsman, who, if you stoutly battle to redeem
your fair fame, will aid your efforts to the utmost. So
help me God, and St. Cuthbert, and St. George!"</p>

<p>And, as the Northern knight suited the action to the
word, Roger Redhand's eye first gleamed with gratification,
and then became dim with tears.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI</a><br />

<small>AT BORDEAUX</small></h2>


<p>Not long was I allowed to linger at the castle of Roxburgh,
though, at the time of my escape from Mount
Moreville, there was on the borders of Scotland much
work for English warriors to do. Retaliating the invasion
of their country by the King of England, the Scots, scarce
taking time to recover from their fright, rushed to arms
and commenced their inroads, and many a Northumbrian
village blazed in revenge for the havoc so recently wrought
in Lothian. On the Marches men almost slept in their
mail. The little barons, who held their lands and towers
south of the Tweed for the service of winding a horn to
intimate to the inhabitants that the Scots were approaching,
had to "watch weel;" and the garrison of Roxburgh
and its brave governor were often roused at dead of
night to mount their horses, and contend with the assailing
foe.</p>

<p>But, however exciting and instructive this kind of warfare
might have proved, I was destined for service beyond
the sea; and, leaving Copeland to struggle with the Scots,
and Salle to attach himself to the garrison of Berwick,
whose slumbers, like those of their neighbours, were
often broken by the sound of trumpets and the war-cry
of foes, I reached London, and, having been charged
with letters for the Prince of Wales, I embarked for
Guienne.</p>

<p>It was on the 1st of July that I set foot in Bordeaux,
where the prince then was, and beheld, for the first time,
the province of which it was regarded as the capital. Nor
can I forget how pleasing was the effect which the novelty
of the scene produced upon me, as I found myself in
the commercial emporium of Southern France, staring
with surprise at the quaint dresses of the inhabitants,
and gazing with interest on the busy quays, the strong
walls, the immense gates and towers, the noble castle,
the broad river running round the castle walls, and the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>
hills beyond the city, clothed with woods and vineyards.
All the various objects, presented for the first
time to my view, gilded, as it were, with the summer's
sun, had their charm; and, under the influence of mingled
emotions, I could not but exclaim, "Who, save a coward,
would not fight for such a land as this?"</p>

<p>It is not wonderful that, the country being such as it
was&mdash;so fruitful, so productive, so pleasant, and so
picturesque&mdash;the King of England was eager to retain
what had been saved, and to regain what had been lost,
of the bright and beautiful territory which came to his
ancestor, the second Henry, with the hand of Eleanor of
Guienne. But, in truth, it was not merely because the
land was bright and beautiful, ever blossoming and ever
perfumed, with a sunny sky and a genial climate, and
shady groves and gay vineyards, appearing in the eyes of
strangers a terrestrial paradise, that it haunted the imagination
and stirred the ambition of our Plantagenets.
Far, indeed, and quite free were these politic princes from
the weakness of allowing fancy to lead them captive,
when dealing with the interests of the nation with whose
history all their great triumphs in war and peace were
associated in the mind of Europe. Policy, not fancy,
prompted their efforts to retain and recover; for rich and
fertile was the region watered by the Garonne and the
Adour, and of mighty importance to their island home
was the trade carried on between Bordeaux and the ports
of England. It was of commerce, and the wealth which
commerce creates, that our English kings thought; and it
was because they deemed the possession of Guienne, with
that old city on the left bank of the Garonne as its
capital, essential to the prosperity of the country over
which they reigned, that the Plantagenets clung tenaciously
to the fragment of that empire which, in the days
of their ancestor, the son of Geoffrey of Anjou and the
Empress Maude, had extended from the Channel to the
Pyrenees.</p>

<p>When I reached Bordeaux, to draw my sword, under
the banner of England's heir, for the right of England's
king to the territory which Philip Augustus had wrested
from King John, the Prince of Wales was lodged in the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>
abbey of St. Andrew, and his people were quartered
within the city. Accordingly, I rode through the streets
to the abbey, and, meeting Liulph, the archer, the companion
of my struggle with the wild bull in Windsor
Forest, I informed him of my desire to see the prince.
Forthwith Liulph communicated my desire to a squire
named Bernard, who was not without influence, and, at
my request, conducted me to the presence of the young
hero whose brows were, ere long, to be decked with
trophies still prouder than the feather which he had won
when its former owner, the blind King of Bohemia, fell
in his memorable charge at Cressy.</p>

<p>"Welcome, Master Winram," said the prince, as I presented
the letters with which I had been intrusted.
"What news bring you from England?"</p>

<p>"Such, my lord, as it irks me to tell," replied I.
"Never have the Scots been more insolent in their
bearing&mdash;never more ferocious in their inroads. Again
and again they have crossed the Border, burning and
ravaging the country. Even now, it may be, the sky is red
with the fires they have kindled in the North."</p>

<p>"And no sign of a truce&mdash;no prospect of a treaty?"
said the prince with curiosity.</p>

<p>"None, my lord," answered I with emphasis. "Nor,
to speak frankly," continued I earnestly, "do I opine,
from what I have seen and heard, that, even if the Scots
conclude truce or treaty, they will ever do so with any
serious intent to be bound by one or the other, so long
as their hatred of England and their predatory incursions
are encouraged and rewarded by him whom they call
King of France."</p>

<p>"Ha! by St. George!" exclaimed the prince thoughtfully,
"I have for some time held such to be the case;
and, if these letters from England confirm what you say,
and what I believe, I know but one way that I can take
to bring John of Valois to his senses, and render him
powerless to bribe our enemies to destroy the life and
property of Englishmen; and, by the memory of my
sainted namesake who sleeps at Westminster, I will take
that course, and steel my heart against compunction for
the misery I may cause. For, mark you, it is only by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>
destroying the provinces whence John of Valois draws
the wealth with which he carries on the war to my
prejudice as Duke of Guienne, and to the exclusion of my
lord and father from the throne of France, which is his
rightful inheritance, that we can influence his actions; and,
therefore, if affairs wear not a new face ere a week passes,
I have resolved, and it is my fixed purpose, to raise my
banner and sally forth, and sweep the country as far, even,
it may be, as the fertile province of Berry."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII</a><br />

<small>THE PRINCE IN BLACK ARMOUR</small></h2>


<p>One morning in July, 1356&mdash;orders having previously
been issued that every man should be ready to march
at the word of command&mdash;the trumpets of the Prince of
Wales sounded, and, forthwith, all was bustle and excitement
in Bordeaux. At break of day horses were saddled
and warriors armed, and the leaders, having mustered the
men who followed their banners, prepared to march into
the provinces that owned John of Valois as King of
France.</p>

<p>I would fain name some of the most renowned knights
and nobles of Hainault, of Gascony, and England, who
were with the Prince of Wales in this expedition. From
Hainault were Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, the Lord de
Guystelle, the Lord de Phaselle, and the Lord de
Morbeque; from Gascony were the Captal de Buch, the
Lord d'Albret, the Lord of Pumiers, the Lord de Chaumont,
and the Lord de Montferrand; from England were Sir
John Chandos, Sir Robert Knolles, Sir Walter Woodland;
James, Lord Audley; Reginald, Lord Cobham; Thomas,
Lord Berkley; Roger, Lord De Ov; and the great Earls
of Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, Suffolk, and Stafford.
As their armour glanced and their banners shone in the
rising sun, the sight was pleasant to behold. About
twelve thousand men formed the army which was to
accomplish such memorable exploits. Part of these were
Gascons and part English, the Gascons being much more
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>
numerous than the English, who were, for the most part,
archers and engineers qualified by experience to direct
the bombards that had done good service at the siege
of Calais. But both Gascons and English were then
animated by a spirit of hostility against the French, and
armed with equal ardour; and all were under such
discipline as had never been exercised in modern warfare;
for the young hero who was the soul of that army was
unrivalled as a war-chief, and much had he studied how
war had been carried on in the days when Rome made
herself mistress of the world; and so thorough was his
success, that his ranks moved with an order and precision
which raised the wonder and envy of the oldest and most
experienced captains of the age.</p>

<p>It was about this time that, in order to give <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">éclat</i> to his
fair complexion, and set off his handsome countenance
to advantage, the Prince of Wales assumed that black
armour from which he derived the name by which he has
since been popularly called; and I would fain give some
notion of his appearance when, after having mounted at
the monastery of St. Andrew, he rode forth to lead his
army from the gates of Bordeaux. No longer the stripling
who appeared at Smithfield to lend countenance to the
sports of the Londoners, and who won his spurs while
fighting so gallantly in the van at Cressy, the Prince of
Wales was now in his sixth lustre, and had grown year by
year in strength, in courage, and in comeliness. His form
was tall, athletic, and finely proportioned; his face fair to
look upon, and lighted up with expression and intelligence;
while nothing could have been more impressive than his
grand air and chivalrous bearing. Every gift he had
derived from nature and inherited from his ancestors had
been carefully cultivated, and it was well-nigh impossible
to observe him without feeling the full truth of the words
used by his father on the field of Cressy&mdash;"You are
already worthy to be a king."</p>

<p>At the time of which I write, the chain mail worn at
the Crusades and in the Barons' Wars was no longer
in fashion; and the Bigods and Bohuns, and the first
Edward, would have opened their eyes as wide, and stared
with as much surprise, as Robert Curthose and Richard
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>
C&oelig;ur de Lion at the garniture in which their heirs
mustered at Bordeaux. Every part of the body was
defended by plate armour; and from crown to toe the
knight was cased in steel. Plates entirely defended the
legs; and pointed shoes of overlapping steel plates
guarded the feet. The leathern gauntlets were similarly
cased with steel, and provided with steel tops, while on
the knuckles were small spikes, knobs, and ornaments,
called gadlings. A breastplate, termed a plastron, kept
the chain shirt from pressing on the chest when the plates
for breast and back, which rendered the shirt necessary,
were not worn; and a short apron of chain hung from the
waist over the hips. Such was the defensive armour in
use during the reign of King Edward; and such was the
armour worn by his hero-son. Imagine the Prince of
Wales, such as I have described him, with his tall figure,
his vigorous frame, his fair hair, his bright eye, his refined
features, his frank expression, and his elegant air; array
him in such armour as was then in fashion&mdash;but black in
colour, and embossed with gold&mdash;put over all the guipin,
or upper garment, fitting closely to the body and confined
round the waist by a magnificent belt, to which his dagger
was attached on one side, his sword on the other; place
a golden lion on his broad breast, and a basinet on his
high head; mount him on a steed black as a raven and
somewhat fierce&mdash;and you will have before you the son of
Edward and Philippa as he set forward on that enterprise
which was to result in a victory never likely to be forgotten
so long as skill and valour in the hour of peril, and
courtesy and generosity in the hour of triumph, are held
in regard by mankind.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p>



<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII</a><br />

<small>THE INCURSION</small></h2>


<p>It was, as I have intimated, late in the month of July,
when the Prince of Wales, marching out of Bordeaux,
ascended the Garonne as far as Agen, and then, turning
to the left, overran the provinces of Quercy, Limousin,
and Auvergne, sparing not the country; for the object of
his incursion was to weaken the French by destroying
their resources, and thus bring the war to a speedy conclusion.</p>

<p>Rich and fertile as ever the sun shone on looked the
land through which the prince rode in hostile array. It
was summer, and the days were long, and bright, and
merry. The harvest was well-nigh ready for the sickle.
The corn was waving in the fields; the grapes were
swelling on the stem; the fruit was reddening on the
bough. But the invaders were in no mood to spare
either corn, or grapes, or fruit. The harvest was trodden
down by the horsemen; the villages and farm-houses
were given to the flames; the very cattle on the hills
were slaughtered; and every man who was thought rich
enough to pay a ransom was taken prisoner, to be carried
to Bordeaux. All this time the prince rode on at his
ease, and without any opposition. When he entered any
town which was well provisioned, the English rested some
days to refresh themselves; and, ere taking their departure,
they staved the heads of the wine-casks that were
full, and burnt the wheat and oats, so that nothing was
left for the enemy. It was not the Prince of Wales whom
the French had to blame for all this; for their real
enemies were the chiefs of the House of Valois, whom
they had, in defiance of King Edward's claims, too readily
recognised as their sovereigns.</p>

<p>Great, meanwhile, was the terror of the inhabitants.
The people of Montpellier fled to Avignon to place
themselves under the protection of the Pope. Trembling
for his own safety, the Pope ordered his palace to be
fortified and his gates to be covered with iron, and,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>
hoping to influence the invaders, sent, offering money, to
the prince to spare Perigord.</p>

<p>"My father," answered the prince, "has plenty of
money, and does not want yours. But I will do no more
than what I came to perform, namely, to chastise those
who are in rebellion against our just rights."</p>

<p>Pursuing his career of devastation, the Prince of Wales,
emboldened by the success of his operations, penetrated
into Berry, a province in the very heart of France.
Reaching the city of Bourges, he skirmished at the gates,
but without taking the place, and then passed to Vierzon,
which he took by storm. But weeks had now elapsed
since his departure from Bordeaux, and his incursion was
talked of far and wide; and, while resting his men for
three days at Vierzon, he learned, not without some slight
apprehension, that John of Valois&mdash;that valiant man of
war&mdash;had reached Chartres, and was about to take the
field at the head of a great army, with the object of intercepting
his march and giving him battle.</p>

<p>Not an hour did the prince lose in forming a decision
as to what was to be done at this crisis. Having held a
council of war, he immediately resolved to leave Vierzon,
and to return, without waste of time, to Bordeaux by way
of Touraine and Poitou, and with this view he marched
towards Romorantin, a considerable town on the Saudre,
where there was a strong castle, held for John of Valois
by two warriors of renown, known as the Lord of Boucicault
and the Hermit of Chaumont. The torn of Romorantin,
when attacked by the English van, yielded without
a struggle. But this was not enough; and the prince,
coming up, expressed his determination to obtain possession
of the castle.</p>

<p>"Go," said he to Sir John Chandos, "and hold a parley
with the garrison."</p>

<p>Without delay the knight proceeded to the barriers of
the castle, and no sooner had he intimated that he wished
to speak with those who were in command than the Lord
of Boucicault and the Hermit of Chaumont came down
to the bars, and declared that they were at his service.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Chandos, saluting them in due
form, "I am sent to you by my lord the Prince of Wales,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>
who wishes to behave courteously towards his enemies,
and says that, if you will surrender this castle and yourselves,
he will show you mercy and give you good company."</p>

<p>"On my faith," replied the Lord of Boucicault, shaking
his head and smiling, "we have no sort of inclination to
accept such terms, nor to commit such an act of folly as
surrendering without any necessity; and, moreover, we
are able and determined to defend ourselves."</p>

<p>On hearing this, Chandos returned to the prince; and,
on learning what was the answer, the prince ordered his
men to their quarters, that they might be ready on the
morrow to commence the assault. Accordingly, the
marshal's trumpets having sounded at sunrise, the men-at-arms
prepared themselves for action, and the archers
advanced under their respective banners, and made a
sharp attack on the castle. Indeed, they brought down
so many enemies, and their aim was so unerring, that
scarcely a French warrior ventured to show himself on
the battlements; and some got on hurdles and doors,
with pickaxes and mattocks in their hands, to undermine
the walls. No sooner, however, did the French become
aware of what was going on at the foot of the walls,
than they commenced flinging large stones and pots of
hot lime on the assailants; and, though the attack was
resolutely persevered in, so little advantage was, for some
time, gained, that the besiegers began to lose heart. At
length the prince came to direct the assault in person,
and so mightily encouraged the English by his voice and
example, that they redoubled their exertions. Still the
resistance was obstinate; and there were some men of
experience who evinced an inclination to give up an
enterprise likely to cost more time than the prize was
worth, when an event occurred which led to a total
change in the mode of attack, and brought matters to a
conclusion.</p>

<p>I have mentioned, in the chapter telling of my arrival
at Bordeaux, that one of the squires who attended the
Prince of Wales at the monastery of St. Andrew, in that
city, was named Bernard; and this squire, owing to the
services he had rendered, was held in high esteem by
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>
his master. Now it happened that, when the castle of
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Romarantin'">Romorantin</ins> was being assaulted, Bernard, while standing
near the ditch by the prince's side, was struck by a stone
thrown from the castle, and fell dead on the spot.</p>

<p>"By good St. George!" exclaimed the prince, "I swear
not to be trifled with in this wise. I will not move hence
until I have the castle and all in my possession."</p>

<p>Some of the wise and prudent shook their heads; but
at this moment I, Arthur Winram, who had at the time
dismounted near the spot, stepped forward.</p>

<p>"My lord," said I, addressing the prince, "it seems to
me that this is an occasion on which we might for ever
use lances and arrows in vain; and I put it to your highness
if it would not be well to order bombards to be
brought forward, and aquereaux and Greek fire to be shot
from them."</p>

<p>"Right," replied the prince, after a moment's reflection;
"let it be done"; and forthwith, to the consternation of
the garrison, the bombards made their appearance.</p>

<p>The experiment was even more successful than I had
anticipated. Rapidly the bombards did their work. Very
soon the lower court of the castle was in a blaze; and the
fire, reaching a large tower that was covered with thatch,
gave indications not to be mistaken that it would speedily
envelope the whole castle. Amazed and terrified, the
garrison uttered cries of consternation, and the Lord of
Boucicault and the Hermit of Chaumont, perceiving that
they must either surrender or perish in the flames, no
longer hesitated. Coming down, they yielded themselves
to the prince, who, while allowing the other knights and
squires in the castle to go at liberty, made the lord and
the hermit ride with him and attend him as his prisoners,
and, leaving Romorantin, marched forward as before,
ravaging the country, in the direction of Anjou, and
Touraine, and Poitou.</p>

<p>But, ere the prince could reach Poictiers, the danger
which had for some time been threatening his little army
of invaders was drawing near; and rumour brought vague
intelligence that John of Valois was at hand.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV" id="CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV</a><br />

<small>THE COMING FOE</small></h2>


<p>While the Prince of Wales was, with what speed he
could, retreating from the scene of his exploits, in the
hope of reaching Bordeaux, John of Valois, bent on intercepting
the young hero's march, and vowing to destroy
his army, was following his track with less instinctive
sagacity, indeed, but with as thorough a tenacity of purpose,
as the bloodhound by which we had been chased
after our escape from the castle of Mount Moreville on
that memorable night in early May. Never, in truth, had
that fiery warrior shown more eagerness and determination
than in hastening to the conflict which was to decide his
fate.</p>

<p>From the hour in which he received intelligence of the
prince's incursion, John was all excitement and activity.
No sooner did he learn that the heir of England was
marching towards Berry, and carrying all before him, than
he mustered all his energies to meet the crisis, and to strike
a sure and shattering blow at the pride and honour of the
nation by whose king the race which he represented had
been humbled to the dust. After issuing a special
summons to all nobles and knights who held fiefs under
him to assemble, without fail, on the borders of Touraine
and Blois, and not, on any pretext whatever, to absent
themselves, on pain of incurring his highest displeasure,
he gave orders for securing the towns and bridges on the
Loire, so as to prevent the English passing that river.
In order to hasten the preparations for his enterprise, he
left Paris with a large body of men whom he then had
under arms; and, taking up his quarters within the walls
of Chartres, while his army encamped in the fields outside
the town, he awaited the arrival of his adherents,
and meanwhile applied himself diligently to the task of
obtaining accurate information as to the movements
of the enemies whom he was dooming to destruction.
And soon to the royal standard of France came princes
and chiefs of great name, and captains of high renown,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>
conspicuous among whom were the Duke of Athens, Constable
of France; the Lords de Nesle and D'Andreghen,
Marshals of France; the Dukes of Orleans and of Bourbon;
the Counts of Tancarville, and Dammartin, and Vantadour,
and Ponthieu; and last, but not least, Lord Robert
de Duras, Bertrand du Guesclin, the famous Breton
warrior; John de Saintré, esteemed the most accomplished
of French knights; and Geoffrey de Chargny,
celebrated for having, albeit in vain, attempted to recover
Calais; and Eustace de Ribeaumont, who, at Calais, had
fought hand to hand with King Edward, and who still
wore the chaplet of pearls which, on that occasion, he
had so valorously won from his victor. All these, and
hundreds more already bearing names terrible in war,
gathered round John of Valois at Chartres; and by his
side were his four young sons&mdash;Charles, Duke of Normandy;
Louis, Duke of Anjou; John, Duke of Berry;
and Philip, Duke of Burgundy&mdash;eager for battle, and not
doubtful of victory. What wonder that, so surrounded,
and with sixty thousand men ready to obey his word of
command, the royal warrior, as he listened to accounts of
his youthful adversary's exploits, became more and more
impatient for the hour of carnage and revenge?</p>

<p>And it was not merely by the nobles and knights of
France that John of Valois was encompassed as he indulged
in anticipations of triumph over the prince who
had led the van of the army that quelled the haughty
insolence of his sire. Around him were warriors from
another land, whose kings had long been in alliance with
his ancestors, and whose barons looked to him for protection,
and regarded him with reverence. At that time the
enthusiasm for crusades, once general in Christendom, had
reached Scotland; and a band of Scots, headed by Lord
Douglas, Sir Archibald Douglas, son of "the good Sir
James," and Sir William Ramsay, a knight of great fame,
had taken the Cross, and left their country to combat the
Saracen. On reaching the Continent, however, they learned
that John was about to march against the English; and,
finding the sound of the trumpet of war irresistible, they
forgot their religious vows, and offered their swords to aid
in emancipating France from her English conquerors.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>
Warm was the reception with which they met; high was
the distinction with which they were treated; and under
the standard of France they now rode to the war, rejoicing
in the opportunity of dealing, on French soil, a blow to
their enemies of England.</p>

<p>At length the time drew nigh for bringing the enterprise
to a conclusion; and John of Valois, having learned that
the English were in Touraine, and intent on making their
way through Poitou to reach Gascony, left Chartres, and,
marching to Chauvigny, six leagues from Poictiers, on
Thursday, the 15th of September, took up his residence in
the town, while his army encamped in the meadows that
border the river Vienne.</p>

<p>And now, nothing likely to contribute to the success
of his enterprise having been omitted, John no longer
tarried from the encounter, for which he longed not the
less eagerly that the chances were all on his side. On
the morning of Friday, while his marshals performed their
office and kept order in the ranks, he passed the bridge
of Chauvigny with forty thousand horse, while the rear of
his army passed by the bridge of Chatteleraunt; and all,
as they reached the opposite side of the river, took the
road to Poictiers, and delighted their souls with visions
of the Prince of Wales carried in chains to Paris and
adding to the triumph of the conqueror on his return to
the capital.</p>

<p>It happened, however, that a small body of Frenchmen
did not leave Chauvigny that day. So great, indeed, was
the crowd, that the Count of Joigny and three other
barons found it impossible to pass the bridge with the
main army, and, submitting to the delay with what
patience they could, returned to their quarters, and
remained during Friday night in the town. Betimes next
morning, however, they mounted and followed in the track
of the army, which was three leagues in advance, and, in
order to reach Poictiers, made for the open fields and
heaths surrounded by woods, and pursued their way,
fearing no interruption. But Poictiers they were not
destined to reach. While in the open fields and heaths
they met with an adventure which to some of them
resulted in death, to others in captivity; and this adventure
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>
led to another, the rumour of which arrested the progress
of John of Valois when about to enter Poictiers, and
induced him to turn back to the plains of Beauvoir, where
Fate, while flattering his pride, heating his blood, stimulating
his ardour, raising his hopes, and tempting him
to rashness, busily prepared the events which reduced
him to despair and conducted him to captivity.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV" id="CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV</a><br />

<small>AN UNWELCOME DISCOVERY</small></h2>


<p>It was the morning of Saturday, the 17th of September,
1356, and the Prince of Wales, having rested for the night
at a village near Poictiers, mounted at nine in the morning
to continue his march towards Bordeaux. Nor, though
John of Valois was at that time so near, had the English any
such intelligence of his approach as could be relied on. In
fact, the French were so exasperated with the incursion
that they would give nothing like exact information, and
the scouts on whom the prince depended could give
nothing but the most vague notion of the movements
of the enemy. All was surmise and uncertainty. One
thing only was a matter of notoriety&mdash;nobody pretended
to doubt that John was in arms, and at the head of
a mighty host. Still the English were undismayed; and
still their dauntless young leader hoped to make good his
retreat, and to save them from the peril of an encounter
of which the chances were deemed altogether desperate.</p>

<p>In the various endeavours made, at that crisis, to obtain
tidings of the foe, I had not been idle; but my efforts,
like those of my neighbours, had resulted in failure, and
I had lost all hope of being of service in the matter,
when I was startled by the arrival of Roger Redhand, who,
equipped by John Copeland for the war, made his way to
the prince's army through countless dangers, and brought
intelligence of such moment that I immediately repaired
to the prince's tent to communicate it without loss of
time. The prince, at the moment, had his hand on
the mane of his black steed, and was about to mount;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>
but on seeing me approach he paused and turned round
with an inquiring look.</p>

<p>"My lord," said I gravely, "I bring news."</p>

<p>"Good or bad?" asked the prince, affecting to appear
gay, though he was strongly impressed with the responsibility
of his position.</p>

<p>"Good or bad as you take it, my lord," replied I;
"but, for my part, I regard it in such a light that I would
to God it were other than it is."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless," exclaimed the prince, "speak out
frankly. Of late I have felt that there was danger in every
breath of wind, and would rather know the full extent of
it at once, that I may consider in what manner it may
best be coped with."</p>

<p>"In truth, then, my lord," said I, "John, Count of
Valois, who calls himself King of France, yesterday passed
the bridge of Chauvigny with his four sons, twenty-five
dukes and earls, upwards of six score of banners, and
more than sixty thousand men; and he is now approaching
Poictiers with the certainty of intercepting your march,
and with the determination of making you fight or yield."</p>

<p>"God help us!" exclaimed the prince, "for we are, indeed,
in extreme peril. But it must be boldly met, and
we must consider what is best to be done under the
circumstances."</p>

<p>Far too prudent to neglect any precautions likely to
conduce to the safety of his army, the prince now
summoned the Captal of Buch and Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt,
and ordered those brave warriors, with sixty men,
well armed and mounted, to make observations and seek
adventures; and I attended the Captal in the expedition.
After riding through a wood by a rutty road, we, by
accident, reached the heath which the Count of Joigny
and his comrades were traversing, and found ourselves in
the presence of a formidable body of enemies. Nor did
they, as might have been expected, for a moment mistake
us for friends. Putting on their helmets, and unfurling
their banners, they fixed their lances in rest, and struck
spurs to their horses.</p>

<p>"Now," said I, regarding the chances of an encounter
as wholly desperate, "there is but one way of turning this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>
adventure to some account, and that is, by flying and
alluring them to follow us till we reach the prince."</p>

<p>"By the head of St. Anthony, it is well thought of!"
exclaimed the Captal.</p>

<p>And wheeling our horses, we made for the rutty road,
and dashed through the wood, while the French, shouting
loudly and making a great noise, pursued with all the
speed they could. But their clamour suddenly ceased
when, opening our ranks, we allowed them to pass
through, and they discovered how they had been deluded.
It was too late, however, to think of retreat. Indeed,
some of them, in their ardour, had advanced so far that
they were right upon the banner of the prince ere they
became aware of the stratagem. A sharp conflict ensued,
and the French fought well; but many of them were
slain; and the Count of Joigny, after being made prisoner,
confirmed the tidings that John of Valois was at hand,
and bent on giving battle.</p>

<p>All doubt as to the presence of the French being now
dispelled, the Prince of Wales took such measures as the
emergency seemed to demand. Collecting all stragglers,
and issuing orders that no one should, on any pretext,
advance or skirmish before the battalions of the marshals,
he despatched the Captal of Buch and Sir Walter Woodland,
with a select band of two hundred horsemen, of
whom I was one, to observe where the French were
encamped; and, pricking forward, we soon came in sight
of the seemingly countless multitude that covered the
plains while moving towards the city. But, numerous as
they were, the Captal of Buch was in no mood to retire
without giving them a taste of his steel.</p>

<p>"By the head of St. Anthony, gentlemen!" said he,
"it would be a shame to return to the prince without
performing something against the enemy."</p>

<p>"May I never again be embraced by my mistress," said
Sir Walter Woodland, "if I do return without having
unhorsed, at least, one foe!"</p>

<p>"By good St. George, knights and gentlemen!" said I,
the thought of what Copeland would have done in such a
case rushing through my mind, "it is mere waste of time to
hesitate. Upon them!"</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p>

<p>And, without further delay, we charged forward on the
rear of the French with such effect that many were unhorsed;
some were taken prisoners; and so much impression
was made that their main army began to be in
motion ere we retreated; and John of Valois, having
news of the skirmish as he was on the point of entering
the gates of Poictiers, reined up, turned back with his
whole force, and made for the open fields, with vows of
vengeance on his lips.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, returning to the prince, the Captal of Buch
informed him as to the appearance presented by the
French, and their probable numbers.</p>

<p>"God be our aid," said the prince calmly. "For ourselves
we can only do one thing to save ourselves&mdash;and
that is, to fight them in the most advantageous manner."</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI" id="CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI</a><br />

<small>POICTIERS</small></h2>


<p>On the rounded extremity of a chain of hills, surrounded
on all sides by narrow ravines, through which flow the
waters of the river Clain, an affluent of the Vienne,
stands the capital of Poitou, a province which came with
Eleanor, heiress of Guienne, to Henry Plantagenet, the
first of his race who reigned in England, and which
escaped from the grasp of their luckless son, King John,
in his struggle with Philip Augustus.</p>

<p>A fair city Poictiers is, and remarkable for its widely-extending
walls. In truth, it might claim to be one of the
largest cities in France, if judged merely by the space
which the walls inclose. But its steep and winding streets
and large squares cover only a small portion of the ground
included, much of which consists of fields and gardens:
and neither the population nor the wealth of the place is,
by any means, such as a stranger would naturally suppose
when viewing it from the outside. But Poictiers had
something to boast of in the shape of historical memorials.
While the cathedral, built by Henry Plantagenet, reminds
men of the days when a King of England ruled from the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>
Orkneys to the Pyrenees, there are remnants of a civilisation
that existed before the name of Plantagenet or of
England was known. Here an arch, there an aqueduct,
at another place the relics of an amphitheatre, recall to
memory the age when Rome was great, and when evidences
of Roman grandeur and dominion were everywhere
visible.</p>

<p>Nor is Poictiers wanting in historical associations
which recall the days of Frankish conquest and prowess
in war; for, in the sixth and eighth centuries, its neighbourhood
witnessed two famous fights. Near Poictiers,
in the year 507, Clovis won a great victory over the
Visigoths; and near Poictiers, in 758, Charles Martel
won a great victory over the Saracens. It was now to be
the scene of a battle in which the French were to sustain
a more signal defeat than ever they inflicted, and in
which the heir of Clovis and Charles Martel and his
chivalry were to have still worse fortune than befell
Charlemagne and his paladins at the pass of Roncesvalles.</p>

<p>But as yet no such disaster was dreamt of even by the
least sanguine; and, in spite of the lesson they had been
taught, the cry of the French, as before Cressy, was
"Kill&mdash;kill&mdash;kill." There was little apprehension of defeat
in the streets and squares of Poictiers; almost as
little, perhaps, in the ranks of that mighty army which
was slowly encamping in the dusk of evening under the
banner of France on the plains outside the excited city.
The old lion had turned to bay at Cressy, and torn his
hunters to pieces. And the young lion should pay dearly
for his father's victory.</p>

<p>But within the walls of Poictiers there was, at least,
one person, who, albeit regarding the situation of the
English as desperate, believed that a battle ought to, and
might be prevented. Some time before the Prince of
Wales took Romorantin, the Pope sent Cardinal Perigord
into France to endeavour to make peace between John of
Valois and the enemies whom his vindictive violence had
raised up, especially the King of Navarre, who was still
detained in prison at Paris. But the mission came to
nothing. After several interviews, the cardinal, finding
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>
that all his pacific counsels were rejected, returned to
Tours, and was there when he learned that John and the
Prince of Wales were both advancing towards Poictiers,
and that a meeting seemed inevitable. On hearing this,
the cardinal, true to his character of peacemaker, hastened
to Poictiers; and now, as the two armies took up their
quarters for the night, with every prospect of a battle on
the morrow, he resolved, ere they could come to blows, to
make a great effort, by offering his mediation, to prevent
the effusion of Christian blood.</p>

<p>And while the cardinal meditated the night closed over
the city and over the plain.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVII" id="CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII</a><br />

<small>SUNDAY MORNING</small></h2>


<p>After discovering that John of Valois was between him
and Gascony, and halting at Mapertuis, the Prince of
Wales, with a determination to make the best of circumstances,
took up a strong position, and posted his men in
a vineyard, which could only be approached by a lane
bounded by hedges, and so narrow that scarcely four
horsemen, even if unopposed, could make their way along
it abreast. To this lane the prince directed his particular
attention, fortifying the hedges on either side, and lining
them with archers, who were placed under the orders of
Liulph of Windsor, and whose bearded arrows were likely
to do terrible execution on such of the enemy as were
venturesome enough to be the earliest assailants. At the
same time he barricaded his camp with the bombards and
waggons, posted his men-at-arms with great skill among
vines and thorns, just where the narrow lane terminated
in the vineyard, and having drawn up in front of them a
body of archers, who were formed in the shape of a portcullis,
or harrow, he caused many mounds and ditches to
be made round the place, in order to protect them from
assailants; and, thus intrenched, he awaited the coming
of the foe with a calmness worthy at once of the heir of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>
the Plantagenets, and, in spite of his youth, beyond all
comparison the foremost war-chief in Christendom&mdash;his
own great father not excepted.</p>

<p>Such as I have described it was the position of the
English when Sunday morning dawned&mdash;that day when,
according to French calculations, the English were either
to yield to mercy or to rush upon their destruction. As
yet, however, there was a chance of accommodation.
At all events, the peace-maker was at hand.</p>

<p>But meanwhile John of Valois was arraying his men.
No sooner, indeed, did the sun rise than he was in
motion, with the determination of bringing the matter to
a decisive issue. In fact, believing that the English were
absolutely at his mercy, the royal warrior was all impatience
to crown his enterprise with a great victory.
Rising early, he caused a solemn mass to be sung in his
pavilion; and having, with his four sons, taken the sacrament,
he summoned his nobles and knights, and held a
council of war. After much deliberation, it was resolved
that each lord should display his banner in the name
of God and St. Denis, and that the whole army should
advance.</p>

<p>And now the marshals caused trumpets to be sounded,
and all the men-at-arms mounted their horses, and made
for that part of the plain where the standard of France
fluttered in the breeze; and never, assuredly, even in this
age, so remarkable for chivalrous displays, had there been
seen so grand a display as was made by the flower of the
French nobles on that occasion, as, arrayed in brilliant
armour, and mounted on magnificent steeds, with banners
and pennons flying, they set their men in battle order.
By the advice of the Constable of France and the marshals,
the French army was divided into three brigades.
Of these, the first was commanded by the two marshals;
the second by the Duke of Normandy, John's eldest son,
with whom was the Constable of France; the third by John
in person. And on that day, when the princes and the
nobles of France looked so gay and brilliant, grander and
more magnificent than all&mdash;although nineteen others were
armed like himself, in order to distract the attention of
the English archers&mdash;was John of Valois. Arrayed in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>
splendid armour, glittering with gold, and bestriding a
white steed&mdash;the symbol of sovereignty&mdash;the royal chief
was the observed of all observers as he rode along the
ranks, accompanied by Geoffrey de Chargny, to whom, as
the bravest and most prudent knight of his country, had
been entrusted the duty of bearing the royal standard of
France.</p>

<p>At this moment, when fully anticipating an immediate
and easy victory over the few thousand Englishmen, who
had scarcely wherewithal to make a meal, John was suddenly
seized with a desire to know what his enemies
were doing, and, with the object of gratifying his curiosity,
summoned Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont and two
other knights.</p>

<p>"Sir Eustace," said he, "ride forward as near these
English as you can, and examine their countenance,
taking notice of their numbers, and observing which will
be the most advantageous way for us to combat them,
whether on horseback or on foot."</p>

<p>Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont and his comrades bowed
their heads and departed; and there was a pause till they
returned.</p>

<p>"Well," asked John of Valois eagerly, "what news
bring you?"</p>

<p>"Sire," said Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont, speaking for
the others, "we have accurately examined the numbers
and appearance of the English, and they may amount,
according to our estimate, to about two thousand men-at-arms,
four thousand archers, and fifteen hundred footmen.
We do not imagine that they can make more than one
battalion. Nevertheless," added Sir Eustace gravely,
"they are formidable; for they occupy a very strong
position; and they are posted with such judgment that
they will not be easily attacked."</p>

<p>"And in what manner would you advise me to attack
them?" asked John.</p>

<p>"On foot, sire," replied Sir Eustace. "Except three
hundred of the boldest and most expert men of your
army, who must be well armed and excellently mounted,
in order, if possible, to break the body of archers; and,
when the archers are broken, then your battalions must
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>
advance quickly on foot, attack the English men-at-arms
hand to hand, and combat them valiantly. This is the
best advice that I can give you."</p>

<p>"Thus shall it be, then," said John; and, riding with
his marshals from battalion to battalion, he selected, in
conformity with their opinions, three hundred knights and
squires of the greatest repute in his army, each well armed,
and mounted on the best of horses; and, at the same
time, formed the battalion of Germans, who, under the
Counts of Saltzburg and Nassau, were to remain on horseback
and assist the marshals. These arrangements made,
and the rest of the men-at-arms having dismounted, John,
agreeably to the custom of the age, spurred his white
charger to the head of his army, and, raising his hand
for silence, harangued his adherents.</p>

<p>"Men of Paris, Chartres, Rouen, and Orleans," said
John, with his head uncovered and his eyes glancing fire,
"you have been in the habit of threatening loudly what
you would do to the English if you could find them, and
you have expressed a strong wish to meet them in arms.
Now, at length, your wish shall be gratified. I am about
to lead you towards them, and let me see how bravely
you will revenge yourselves for all the mischief and damage
they have done you. Be assured we will not part without
fighting."</p>

<p>"Sire," shouted the French, "with God's aid we will
most cheerfully meet them, and avenge all the injuries
they have done us."</p>

<p>"And now," said John, "let every man who is on foot
take off his spurs; and let those who are armed with
lances shorten them to the length of five feet, so as to be
more manageable; and then let us upon our foes in the
name of God and St. Denis!"</p>

<p>Promptly the commands of John of Valois were obeyed.
Every man took off his spurs; every man shortened his
lance; and the French were on the point of marching
towards the vineyard in which the Prince of Wales was
posted, when suddenly, with a splendid train, up to the
spot galloped the Cardinal Perigord, who, making a low
reverence, intreated John, with uplifted hands and for the
love of God, to pause for a moment and hearken.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p>

<p>"Most dear sire," said the cardinal earnestly, "you have
here with you all the flower of knighthood of your kingdom
against a mere handful of people, as the English are, compared
to your army. You may have them on other terms
than a battle; and it will be more honourable and profitable
to you to gain them by pacific means than to risk
such a fine army and such noble persons as you have with
you. In all humility, therefore, I beseech you, by the
love of God, that you will permit me to go to the Prince
of Wales, and remonstrate with him on the dangerous
situation in which he has placed himself."</p>

<p>"By St. Denis!" replied the king, "it is very agreeable
to me; but make haste back."</p>

<p>"Sire," said the cardinal, "you have no occasion to be
so impatient to fight the English. They cannot escape
you. I therefore intreat you to grant them a truce from
this time till to-morrow's sunrise."</p>

<p>"No," said John, shaking his head.</p>

<p>"No, no!" shouted hundreds of French warriors, with
violent gesticulations.</p>

<p>But the cardinal spoke so eloquently, and appealed so
strongly to the generosity of the French to spare enemies
who were so obviously at their mercy, that at length John
of Valois and his council consented to grant a truce for
the day; and, while the cardinal rode off hastily to confer
with the prince, John ordered his pavilion of red silk to
be pitched, and, dismounting from his white charger,
dismissed his army to their quarters, and entered the
pavilion to confer with his marshals and to await the
result of the cardinal's mediation.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII" id="CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII</a><br />

<small>THE PEACE-MAKER</small></h2>


<p>On foot, in the midst of his army, in the thickest part of
the vineyard, where he had posted his men, as I have
already stated, stood the Prince of Wales, calm and
serene in the midst of danger. Never, perhaps, in the
whole course of his eventful life, was the young hero
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>
more calm and serene than when it was announced to
him that the Cardinal of Perigord was dismounting and
about to come into his presence. And when, without
delay, the cardinal approached, he was evidently greatly
impressed; and, making a low reverence, which the
prince returned with much affability, he indicated his
errand, and forthwith entered upon the business of
mediation.</p>

<p>"Fair son," said the cardinal, "if you have well considered
the great army of the King of France you will
permit me to make up matters between you, if I possibly
can."</p>

<p>"Sir," replied the prince, "my own honour and that
of my army saved, I am ready to listen to any reasonable
terms."</p>

<p>"Fair son," said the cardinal, who seemed to rejoice at
the prince's words, "you speak well, and if I can I will
bring about a treaty; for it would be a great pity that so
many worthy persons as are here should meet in battle
when the quarrel might be peacefully settled."</p>

<p>Finding that the Prince of Wales was well inclined to
listen to proposals of peace, and to give them a rational
consideration, the cardinal returned to John of Valois;
and all Sunday he rode from one army to the other, and
exerted his art and eloquence to effect a reconciliation.
Many proposals were discussed. Much to his disappointment,
however, he made no progress. Indeed, John's
demands were such that the prince could not have consented
to them without sacrificing his own pride and the
dignity of his country; and as the day wore away it
became evident that the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociation</ins> would arrive at no
satisfactory conclusion.</p>

<p>"I can listen to no other terms," said John, violently,
"than that four of the chief persons of the English army
should be given up to my will, and that the Prince of
Wales and all his army should surrender themselves
unconditionally."</p>

<p>"Sir," said the prince to the cardinal, when this proposal
was repeated to him, "you know full well that it is
impossible for me to agree to such terms. But I offer to
surrender all the towns I have taken in France during my
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>
expedition, to give up without ransom all my prisoners,
and to swear not to bear arms against France for the
space of seven years."</p>

<p>"No," exclaimed John, after holding conference with
his council; "this offer is not satisfactory. But if the
Prince of Wales and a hundred of his knights will surrender
themselves as my prisoners, I promise to allow the
English to pass on without a battle."</p>

<p>"No," replied the prince with much disdain; "I can
do nothing to the prejudice of my honour, for which I
am accountable to my father and to my country; and as
for surrendering myself a prisoner, in that case I should
have to be ransomed; and I swear, by good St. George,
that none but liars shall ever have it in their power to tell
that England had to pay a ransom for me."</p>

<p>It now appeared that the cardinal was not destined to
accomplish the work which he so earnestly desired. But
so completely was his heart set on peace that he once
more returned to the French army, still hoping by his
exhortations to pacify the leaders of the embattled hosts.
His reception, however, was this time the reverse of complimentary.</p>

<p>"Return to Poictiers," cried John of Valois and his
council, "and attempt not to bring us any more of your
treaties or pacifications, or it may fare the worse with you."</p>

<p>"Fair son," said the cardinal, coming to the Prince of
Wales to inform him of the result of his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original spelling">negociations</ins>, "I
have done all that a man could do to bring about peace.
But I cannot pacify the King of France. There must be
a battle: so exert yourself as much as possible."</p>

<p>"Such are my intentions, and such the intentions of
my army," replied the prince, "and may God defend the
right!"</p>

<p>The cardinal now took leave, and rode away towards
Poictiers. In his train, however, there were some knights
and men-at-arms who were much more inclined to the
French than to the English. Aware that a battle was
imminent, they selected as their leader the Castellan of
Amposta, who was then attached to the cardinal, and,
between the camps and the city, stole quietly away to
join the French.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p>

<p>On hearing of this the Prince of Wales was highly
enraged. Not unnaturally blaming the cardinal, who had
so strongly expressed his neutrality, the prince, in his
anger, concluded that he had been deceived, and did not
fail to express himself strongly on the subject.</p>

<p>"By my faith," said he angrily, "it seems that, notwithstanding
his fine words, this priest has been exercising
all his cunning to deceive me. But let him beware;
for, by my father's soul, ere the sun sets to-morrow I may
send him such a token as will convince him that I am
not one to be fooled with impunity."</p>

<p>"My lord," said those in whose presence this threat
was uttered, "restrain your wrath; for we cannot tell
whether or no the cardinal was aware of the desertion of
his company till he arrived at Poictiers."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIX" id="CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX</a><br />

<small>CHANDOS AND CLERMONT</small></h2>


<p>While the Cardinal of Perigord was riding from one
camp to another, vainly endeavouring to make peace, the
knights on neither side were wholly idle. Many, both
from the French and English ranks, availed themselves
of the truce which had been agreed to, and rode forth,
skirting their enemy's army, and examining the dispositions.</p>

<p>Sir John Chandos was one of the English knights who
mounted and left the army of the Prince of Wales to inspect
the host of John of Valois; and it was my fortune
to accompany that famous warrior. Now it chanced that,
while Sir John Chandos rode near one of the wings of the
French army, John, Lord of Clermont, one of the French
marshals, was out on horseback viewing the English; and
both of them had the same device on their surcoats&mdash;namely,
a blue Madonna worked in embroidery, surrounded
by sunbeams. Meeting as they were returning
to their quarters, both stood still, and each gazed on the
other in some surprise. For a time there was silence;
but at length the Lord of Clermont recovered sufficiently
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>
from his surprise to speak, and to speak much more
boldly and loudly than I thought consistent with chivalrous
dignity, under the circumstances.</p>

<p>"Chandos!" shouted the French marshal, dismounting,
and looking fierce and menacing, "how long is it since
you have taken upon you to wear my arms?"</p>

<p>"In truth," replied Sir John, also dismounting, not
without contempt in his tone, "I might as lief ask that of
you; for it is as much mine as yours."</p>

<p>"I deny that," cried Clermont angrily; "and were it
not for the truce between us, I would soon show you that
you have no right to wear it."</p>

<p>"Ha!" exclaimed Chandos, making a great effort to
keep his temper, "you will find me to-morrow on the field,
ready prepared to defend, and to prove by force of arms,
that it is as much mine as yours."</p>

<p>"By our Lady!" said Clermont, preparing to mount,
"such are the boastings of you English, who can invent
nothing new, but take for your own whatever you see
handsome belonging to others."</p>

<p>"On my faith!" exclaimed Chandos, whose temper
was giving way, "these are biting taunts; but I answer
such language, not with words, but blows!" and, as he
spoke, both parties moved on to their respective camps.</p>

<p>Now I had listened to the whole colloquy with something
like amazement, that two men so eminent should
indulge in such high words on such a subject. I, who was
supposed to have no arms, daily saw the arms which
I believed myself entitled to bear carried by another;
and I, who had no name, save that which I had won
while wrestling for the ram on the green at Windsor,
daily heard the name which I felt certain was mine by
right applied to a person whom I had every reason to dislike
and distrust. It was impossible, under such circumstances,
to sympathise very strongly with Sir John Chandos
in the indignation he felt at another man questioning his
right to bear a blue Madonna; but I appreciated his great
qualities, and, feeling sincerely shocked at the Lord of
Clermont's manner, I had no hesitation in expressing myself
strongly.</p>

<p>"Beshrew me," exclaimed I with indignation, "if I
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>
could imagine aught more insolent than that French
knight's challenge."</p>

<p>"In truth," replied Sir John, "it recalls to my mind
a story I have heard of Garci Perez de Vargas, one of the
stoutest knights who aided Ferdinand of Castile in the
conquest of Seville. But you also may have heard it?"</p>

<p>"Never," said I.</p>

<p>"Well," continued Sir John, "it appears that Garci
Perez had a dispute with another knight, who, bearing the
same arms as Garci, thought fit to assert that he had no
right to wear them. A sally being made by the Moors,
the complainant, with others, made his escape; but Garci
stood firm to his post, and did not return to the camp till
the Moors were driven back into the city. When he did
return, he came to the place where his rival was, and,
holding up his shield, all bruised and battered, pointed to
the spot where the bearing was effaced, saying, 'Sir, it
must now be confessed that you show more respect than
I do for this coat of arms; for you keep yours bright and
unsullied, while mine is sadly discoloured.' The knight,"
added Sir John, "was so sorely ashamed, that henceforth
Garci Perez bore his achievements without gainsaying or
dispute."</p>

<p>"On my faith!" exclaimed I admiringly, "this Garci
Perez had a most noble way of taking his revenge."
And, thus conversing, we made our way, just as the sun
was setting, back to the English camp, where the prince,
no longer hoping to avoid a battle, was maturing the
plans he had previously formed for fighting to the best
advantage.</p>

<p>It was while we reached Mapertuis that the Cardinal of
Perigord, having utterly failed with his pacific counsels,
was riding towards Poictiers, and that the Castellan of
Amposta and the knights and men-at-arms were stealing
away to join the French army.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LX" id="CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX</a><br />

<small>THE ARRAY OF THE ENGLISH</small></h2>


<p>The night of Sunday passed without any incident worthy
of record; and cold and clear dawned the morning of
Monday, the 19th of September, 1356&mdash;a day likely to
be long remembered by one nation with pride, by the
other with mortification.</p>

<p>From the moment that the Cardinal of Perigord took
his departure, without being able to bring John of Valois
to any reasonable terms, the Prince of Wales perceived
that an engagement was inevitable, and lost no time in
regrets for what could not be remedied. Nor was it the
prince's interest to encourage further delay; for, as regarded
provisions, the hostile armies were very differently
situated. The French, who had plenty, were living at
their ease; the English, who had hardly any, and who
had not the means of procuring either food or forage,
were in danger of perishing from want, or of being starved
into submission. Nothing but a battle and a victory
could relieve the English from their perplexities; and to
fight a battle and obtain a victory the prince bent all his
energy and all his intelligence.</p>

<p>I have stated that, on halting at Mapertuis, the Prince
of Wales posted himself in a vineyard that could only be
entered by a narrow lane; and that, having fortified the
weak places with his bombards and baggage-waggons, and
lined the hedges of the narrow lane with archers to harass
the approaching foe, he skilfully posted his men-at-arms in
the vineyard among vines and thorns, and in front of
them placed a body of archers, drawn up in the form of
a portcullis, or harrow, and dug ditches and threw up
mounds to defend the archers against the attack of cavalry.
On Monday morning the prince did not see reason to
make any alterations in his order of battle; but he
ordered some knights of skill and valour to remain on
horseback, and with six hundred archers on horseback
post themselves on a little hill to the right, and, by passing
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>
over the summit, to get round that wing of the French
which, under the Duke of Normandy, was posted at the
base of the hill. Having seen that his order was obeyed,
the prince returned to the middle of the vineyard, and
there remained on foot with the knights and men-at-arms,
all of them being completely armed, with their horses
near, to be mounted in case of need.</p>

<p>And now, having given his standard to be borne in the
battle by Sir Walter Woodland, the Prince of Wales,
attended by James, Lord Audley, and Sir John Chandos,
with his black armour braced on, save the helmet, which
was carried by Simon Burley, his favourite squire, stood
forth, and, raising his hand to command attention&mdash;agreeably
to the custom observed on the previous day by John
of Valois&mdash;addressed himself to those who shared the
dangers of his situation.</p>

<p>"Sirs," said the prince, elevating his voice to make his
words heard as far as possible, "it seems evident to
me, after all that has passed within the last twenty-four
hours, that this man, who calls himself King of France,
and usurps my father's rights and dignity, holds me and
my army in great contempt. Nor, considering how small
a body we are compared to our enemies, should I marvel
at their confidence if I did not remember how a host of
men were overthrown by a handful on that day when
Philip of Valois came to give battle to my lord and father
on the plains of Cressy. Wherefore, sirs, what though
we be a small body of men compared to our foes? Do
not let us be cast down on that account; for the battle is
not always to the strong, nor does victory always follow
numbers; but where the Almighty pleases to bestow it,
there does it fall. If, through good fortune, the day be
ours, we shall gain the greatest honour and glory in this
world; and if the contrary should happen, and we fall, I
have a father and brothers, and you also have friends and
kinsmen, by whom our fall will surely be avenged. For
my part, I have already said, and I now repeat, that I
will not fall into the hands of our enemies alive, and that
England shall never have to pay a ransom for me.
Therefore, sirs, I entreat all of you to do your devoirs
bravely, like freemen and Englishmen; and, come what
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>
may, you shall see me this day prove myself a good and
hardy knight, so help me God and good St. George!"</p>

<p>Almost as the prince concluded, and reverentially kissed
the cross on his sword, the trumpets of the French
marshals sounded, and the army of John of Valois,
which had been for some time forming in the plain of
Beauvoir, began to advance; and, ere the loud cheer
caused by the prince's spirited harangue died away, the
marshals, at the head of their men-at-arms, were spurring
forward, with the object of penetrating through the narrow
lane into the vineyard.</p>

<p>At that moment Lord Audley turned to the prince.</p>

<p>"Sir," said he, "I have ever most loyally served my
lord your father and yourself, and shall, so long as I have
life, continue to do so. But I must now acquaint you
that formerly I made a vow, if ever I should be in battle
with your father or any of his sons, that I would be foremost
in the attack, and either prove myself the best combatant
on his side or die in the attempt. I therefore beg
most earnestly, as a reward for any services I may have
rendered, that you will grant me permission honourably to
quit you, that I may post myself in such wise as to
accomplish my vow."</p>

<p>"Sir James," replied the prince, graciously holding out
his hand, "I readily grant your request; and may God
ordain that this day you shine in valour above all other
knights!"</p>

<p>And Lord Audley, setting off and riding forward with
only four squires, whom he had retained to guard his
person, placed himself in front of the English to fight
with the battalion of the marshals; and Sir Eustace
d'Ambreticourt pushed forward to a similar position,
hoping also to be the first to engage. But Sir John
Chandos remained at the right hand of the prince to aid
and advise him, and intimated his determination never
during the day, on any account, to leave his post.</p>

<p>And then began the battle of Poictiers.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXI" id="CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI</a><br />

<small>ROUT OF THE MARSHALS</small></h2>


<p>It was now nine o'clock on the morning of Monday; and
with trumpets sounding, and armour glancing in the sun,
and banners waving in the wind, the French cavalry
headed by the marshals came on, laying their lances in
rest, and shouting their battle-cries. Their object was
to break the archers who were drawn up in the form of
a harrow in front of the men-at-arms; and, being unaware
that the hedges were lined with bowmen, they advanced
intrepidly into the lane, and prepared to charge. But as
they little knew the peril they were incurring, so it
speedily appeared that they were quite unprepared to
meet any that might unexpectedly occur. No sooner
were they fairly in the lane than Liulph of Windsor gave
the signal, and forthwith from either hedge started hundreds
of archers, with green jackets and white bows, as if
they had emerged from the bowels of the earth, and
straightway from the white bows barbed arrows flew like
showers of hail. The movement was almost magical in
its effect. In an instant the marshals were in consternation;
and in another instant this consternation was turned
into terror. Riders and horses were equally confounded,
amazed, and startled. The men lost their presence of
mind, and gazed round in horror; and their steeds, galled
with the pain of their wounds, plunged, snorted, refused
to advance, and wheeled round, carrying their riders to
and fro.</p>

<p>In vain several knights and squires, with strong wills
and strong arms, attempted to force their way forward to
the point where the prince was stationed. All their efforts
were vain. The confusion was too thorough; and while
the French were still in panic and dismay, into the midst
of them rode Lord Audley and Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt,
with their squires, smiting to the ground all who
opposed them; and forward on foot rushed the English
men-at-arms, doing terrible execution, and capturing and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>
slaying knights and squires at their pleasure. Resistance
was useless under the circumstances. Men and horses
sank to rise no more. Nor did the French marshals fare
better than their comrades. While shrieks of dismay and
pain rent the air, and intimated to the great army of
France the fate that had befallen their van, the Lord
d'Andreghen, after being roughly handled, was taken
prisoner; and the Lord Clermont, after bravely fighting
under his banner as long as he was able, was ultimately
struck down and killed on the spot.</p>

<p>"Now, thanks to God and St. George," exclaimed the
prince, joyfully, "the day promises to be ours; and ours
it shall be, if courage can make up for want of numbers.
But let us not delay in pursuing the advantage we have
gained. Mount and ride," said he, turning round, "and
lose not a moment in ordering the men-at-arms and archers
on the hill to attack the second battalion of the enemy.
Haste, haste! ride as if for your life."</p>

<p>Without a word I, Arthur Winram, sprang on my steed,
and spurring through thorns and vines, and over hedge
and dyke, carried the prince's order to the knights; and
almost ere I had time to return the movement was executed.
Descending the hill and making a circuit, the
men-at-arms and mounted archers suddenly showed themselves
on the flank and rear of that division of the French
commanded by the Duke of Normandy, and the effect
was such as can hardly be described. Aware that their
first battalion was routed, the French knights and men-at-arms
hastened to mount their horses, and panic seized the
whole division. With vivid recollections of Cressy passing
through their minds, the nobles around the Duke of
Normandy detached eight hundred lances to escort the
heir of France and his brother from the field; and their
departure was taken as the signal for a general flight.</p>

<p>"All is lost, and it is time for every man to look to his
own safety," was the cry; and leaving John of Valois and
the third battalion to their fate, knights, and squires, and
men-at-arms fled hurriedly and in disorder.</p>

<p>"By my faith," exclaimed I gaily as I watched the
flight, "that is a pleasant sight to see. Our English
archers never fail their country in the hour of need."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p>

<p>"Nevertheless," observed Sir John Chandos, who was
tiring of inaction, "to me it seems not meet that the
archers should have all the peril and all the honour of the
day."</p>

<p>"In truth," said the prince, musingly, "these archers
have been of infinite service; for had they not shot so
thickly and so well that our enemies knew not on which
side to turn, our position would have been forced. But
now methinks it is full time to mount our horses and
charge upon our enemies, to complete the work so well
begun."</p>

<p>"Sir," said Sir John Chandos, "you speak truly: it is
time to mount and make for your adversary, who calls
himself King of France; for where he is, there will be the
main stress of the business. I know well that he has too
much valour to fly, and, if it please God and St. George,
he must remain with us as our prisoner."</p>

<p>"Meanwhile," said the prince, "he must be well fought
with; wherefore let us mount with all speed, and advance
to the encounter."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXII" id="CHAPTER_LXII">CHAPTER LXII</a><br />

<small>THE PRINCE IN THE BATTLE</small></h2>


<p>And now the word of command was passed from rank to
rank, and the English men-at-arms who had hitherto
remained inactive, hastened to mount their horses. Everything
being in readiness, the Prince of Wales, in his black
armour, sprang into the saddle, and, attended by his
knights and squires, and by Sir John Chandos and Sir
Walter Woodland, his standard-bearer, spurred his coal-black
steed to the head of the men-at-arms, and receiving
his helmet from Simon Burley, placed it on his head, and
prepared to charge for victory and honour.</p>

<p>"Now, sir," said Sir John Chandos, addressing the
prince, "already the day is almost ours, and God will put
victory in your hands; and you have before said that you
will prove yourself a hardy knight."</p>

<p>"Yes, John," replied the prince, smiling; "so let us
get forward, and I promise that my friends will see more
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>
of my back than mine enemies, for I ever like to be
among the foremost." And then turning to Sir Walter
Woodland, he added, "Banner, advance in the name of
God and St. George."</p>

<p>As the prince spoke the standard-bearer obeyed; and,
with trumpets sounding, the young warrior led his men
from the vineyard, and dashed into the plain to encounter
the foes who, an hour earlier, had regarded him as if he
had already been a captive or a corpse.</p>

<p>Issuing from the narrow lane, and charging across the
moor to where the French were formed in large bodies,
the prince and his riders assailed the division under the
Duke of Athens, Constable of France; and, the constable
and his knights standing firm, a sharp encounter took
place.</p>

<p>"St. George for Guienne!" shouted the English.</p>

<p>"Montjoye, St. Denis!" replied the French.</p>

<p>But the conflict was soon over. The constable, after
fighting bravely, fell, and most of his knights were slain
around him.</p>

<p>Pursuing their career, the prince and his riders next
came in contact with the German cavalry, under the
Counts of Saltzburg, Nassau, and Neydo, and the Germans
fared as ill as the French had done. The three counts
were slain, and the Germans, seeing their leaders fall,
took to flight.</p>

<p>Not stopping to make prisoners, the prince, with
Chandos by his side, charged on&mdash;his friends rallying to
his standard, and his enemies flying from his war-cry.
What remained of the second division of the French was
speedily dispersed; and the Duke of Orleans, who was
in command of a body of reserve, fled from the field
without an effort to stay the progress of the conqueror.</p>

<p>But, as Chandos had predicted, John of Valois did
not fly. Even in the midst of panic and flight, he maintained,
as a knight and a soldier, the character which he
enjoyed throughout Christendom. Mounted on his white
steed, arrayed in royal armour, and accompanied by
Philip, his youngest son, John, at the head of his division,
faced the English and Gascons under the Earl of
Warwick, and fought dauntlessly and well. But his courage
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>
and prowess could not turn the fortune of the field. Around
him his men fell in heaps; and when he, after receiving
two wounds in the face, was beaten to the ground, the
survivors lost hope, and began to escape towards Poictiers.</p>

<p>But still John of Valois was in no mood either to fly or
to yield. Rising from the ground, and with his son still
by his side, he rallied his broken ranks, and, with his
battle-axe in his hand, advanced on foot to renew the
conflict, not without the hope of Fortune declaring herself
on his side.</p>

<p>By this time the battle had lasted about three hours,
and it was nearly noon; and the Prince of Wales, seeing
that his enemies were flying in all directions, had halted
after one of his charges, and, with a few men-at-arms
around him, was calculating the results of the engagement,
when suddenly, on foot, with the fury of a lion,
and battle-axe in hand, John made his last desperate
effort to retrieve the day; and, as the prince turned to
renew the conflict, his eye was lighted up with that joy
which warriors feel in the prospect of a stern encounter
with foemen worthy of their steel. But few around the
prince shared his enthusiasm. In fact, it was a most
critical moment, and one thrust with a spear, one blow
with a battle-axe, might have changed the fate of the day.
Fortunately, however, the Earl of Warwick, returning
from the pursuit, charged the French in the flank, and
they, giving way, fled, in utter confusion and despair,
towards Poictiers, the pursuit continuing to the gates of
the city.</p>

<p>And now the field was won, and the French were
flying and the English pursuing on all hands, when the
Prince of Wales suddenly perceived the body of Lord
Robert de Duras lying near a bush; and as Lord Robert
de Duras was nephew of the Cardinal of Perigord, and
as the prince believed that the cardinal had played him
false on the previous day, his ire kindled at the sight.</p>

<p>"Place this body on a shield," said he, addressing two
squires, "and see it carried to Poictiers, and present it to
the Cardinal of Perigord, and say I salute him by that
token."</p>

<p>"My lord," remonstrated Sir John Chandos, "do not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>
think of such things at this moment, when you have to
look after others of such importance. Besides, the
cardinal may, perhaps, convince you that he is not to
blame."</p>

<p>"In truth," said the prince, "I lose all patience when
I think of having been so trifled with. But be that as it
may, John, it seems that the field is all our own, for I do
not see any banners or pennons of the French, nor are
there any bodies considerable enough to rally and molest
us."</p>

<p>"However," continued Sir John Chandos, "it will be
proper for you to halt here and plant your banner on this
bush, that it may serve to rally your forces, which seem
much scattered. And you may rest yourself a little, as
you are much heated."</p>

<p>Accordingly the banner of the Prince of Wales was placed
on the bush, and a small pavilion of red silk was pitched
hard by, and the prince, taking off his helmet, entered;
and the minstrels began to play, and the trumpets and
clarions to sound; and the prince ordered liquor to be
brought to him and the knights who were present; and
they every moment increased in number, for each stopped
there with his prisoners in returning from the pursuit;
and at length came Lord Cobham and the Earl of Warwick.</p>

<p>"My lords," asked the prince, as they entered the
pavilion, "do you know what has become of the King of
France?"</p>

<p>"No, sir, not with certainty," replied they. "But we
believe he must either be killed or made prisoner, since
he never quitted his battalion."</p>

<p>The prince looked grave at this answer; for, naturally
enough, he was anxious to hear of the captivity rather
than the death of John of Valois, and his countenance
expressed the feelings by which he was animated.</p>

<p>"My lords," said he, "I beg you to mount your horses
and ride over the field, and bring me such intelligence of
him as you can obtain."</p>

<p>"Sir," replied they, "we will most willingly do so;"
and, leaving the pavilion, they mounted and went off to
ascertain the fate of the vanquished Valois.</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span></p>




<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXIII" id="CHAPTER_LXIII">CHAPTER LXIII</a><br />

<small>ADVENTURES IN THE FIELD</small></h2>


<p>I have related how, when the French marshals advanced
towards the vineyard at Mapertuis, with the object of
forcing the position occupied by the Prince of Wales, Sir
Eustace d'Ambreticourt, and James, Lord Audley, being
both eager to signalise their prowess in front of the battle,
spurred forth to encounter the approaching foe; and I will
now relate the adventures which befell them in the field.</p>

<p>It was the ambition of Ambreticourt to be the first
to engage the enemy that day; and, while Lord Audley
was pushing forward against the marshals, the Hainaulter
fixed his shield, laid his lance in rest, and, spurring his
steed, galloped towards the battalion of German cavalry.
As he did so, Louis von Coucibras, a German knight,
observing his approach, dashed out from the ranks of the
Count of Nassau, and met him in mid career. The shock
was so violent that both of them were unhorsed and rolled
to the ground; but Ambreticourt, so far, had the best of
the encounter. In fact, the German, who was severely
wounded in the shoulder, could not rise; and Sir Eustace,
springing nimbly to his feet, hastened towards his prostrate
antagonist. But here his fortune for awhile deserted him;
for at that moment five German horsemen rode forward,
struck the Hainaulter to the ground, seized him as their
prisoner, and carried him to the Count of Nassau. Much
less attention, however, was paid to Ambreticourt than he
considered was his due. Indeed, the Germans very coolly
took some pieces of harness, tied him to one of their cars,
and left him in that unworthy plight while the conflict was
raging before his eyes.</p>

<p>For hours Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt remained fastened,
like a dog, to the car. But at length he was released
when the Prince of Wales, from defending his position,
became the assailant, and, mounting his black steed, made
that splendid charge which bore down all opposition, and
scattered the German cavalry as the hawk does pigeons.
Ambreticourt was recognised by his own men, rescued,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>
and remounted. Nor did the brave knight fail to make
up for lost time. Many were the gallant deeds he performed;
many were the prisoners he took; and, when the
battle was over, no one could boast more truly of having
done his duty.</p>

<p>But it was to Lord Audley that the prize of valour fell;
for meanwhile he was by no means idle. Attended by his
four squires, he commenced operations by charging the
battalion of the marshals as they advanced into the narrow
lane, and, sword in hand, wrought wonders. After fighting
for a considerable time with Lord d'Andreghen, whom he
handled with more roughness than the French marshal
had been accustomed to experience, he precipitated himself
into the very thickest of the conflict&mdash;not hesitating
to encounter any odds. Soon his face and body were
severely wounded; but he still continued to advance, and
fought on till he was covered with blood; and it was not
till the close of the battle that he yielded to fatigue and
loss of strength, and sheathed his sword. By that time,
indeed, he was easily managed; and his four squires,
leading him out of the crowd, conducted him to the side
of a hedge, and, lifting him from his horse, placed him
gently under a tree that he might recover his breath.
Having done this, they took off his armour, examined his
wounds, dressed them, and, sewing up the most dangerous,
procured a litter to convey him to his tent.</p>

<p>Now, in the hour of victory, the Prince of Wales did
not forget Lord Audley, and the vow which that morning
he had fared forth to perform. When he was seated
in the pavilion of red silk, and had despatched Lord
Cobham and the Earl of Warwick to ascertain the fate of
John of Valois, he turned to the knights and squires who
were around him.</p>

<p>"Does any one know what has become of the Lord
James Audley?" asked the prince with much interest.</p>

<p>"Yes, my lord," replied I; "I have seen him. He is
very badly wounded, and lying in a litter hard by."</p>

<p>"By my troth," said the prince, "I grieve to hear he is
so sore wounded. But hasten to him, I beg you, and see
if he is able to be carried hither; otherwise I will, without
delay, go and visit him."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p>

<p>I hastened from the pavilion, and found the wounded
warrior.</p>

<p>"My lord," said I, "the prince is most desirous of
seeing you."</p>

<p>"A thousand thanks to the prince for condescending
to remember so poor a knight as myself," replied Lord
Audley; and having summoned eight of his servants, he
ordered them to carry him in his litter into the prince's
presence.</p>

<p>As the litter was borne into the pavilion the Prince
of Wales rose, and tears stood in his blue eyes as he bent
over the wounded man and embraced him.</p>

<p>"My Lord James," said he with emotion, "I am bound
to honour you very much, for this day, by your valour,
you have acquired glory and renown above us all, and
you have proved yourself the most puissant and the
bravest of knights."</p>

<p>"Sir," replied Lord Audley, "you have a right to say
whatever you please, and I wish it were as you have
said. But if I have this day been forward to serve you, it
has been to accomplish a vow, and it ought not to be so
much thought of."</p>

<p>"My Lord James," said the prince, "I and all the rest
of us deem that you have shown yourself the bravest
knight on our side in this battle; and I, to mark my appreciation
of your valour, and to furnish you with the
means of pursuing your career of renown, retain you
henceforth, for ever, as my knight, with five hundred
marks of yearly revenue, which I will secure to you upon
my estates in England."</p>

<p>"Sir," replied Lord Audley, his voice faltering as he
spoke, "may God make me deserving of the good fortune
you bestow on me!"</p>

<p>By this time Lord Audley found that the interview was
becoming more than his remaining strength would enable
him to bear; and, after taking leave of the prince, he was
carried by his servants from the pavilion. Scarcely had
he disappeared when a hurried whisper ran round; and
the Prince of Wales, rising with a dignity which no prince
in Christendom, not even his own great father, could have
rivalled or imitated, turned his face towards the entrance;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>
and, as he did so, before him stood a warrior, with his
crest broken and his armour bruised and stained, leading
a boy by the hand.</p>

<p>It was John of Valois, with his youngest son, Philip
of Burgundy.</p>

<p>And the prince, making a low obeisance, said&mdash;</p>

<p>"All hail the boldest and most determined champion
among the chivalry of France!"</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXIV" id="CHAPTER_LXIV">CHAPTER LXIV</a><br />

<small>A ROYAL CAPTIVE</small></h2>


<p>It was noon, and the battle was virtually over; and,
albeit the English were already as secure of victory as
if every enemy had lain dead on the field, on one spot,
hard by a little hillock, a fierce struggle was still maintained.
It is true that, after rescuing the Prince of
Wales from sudden peril, the Earl of Warwick had driven
the French before him with such force that, as I have
said, most of them never paused in their flight till they
reached the gates of Poictiers. Nevertheless, John of
Valois fought on, indulging in vague hopes and forming
desperate resolutions. But fate was decidedly against
him; and his nobles and knights, bravely as they contended,
could do nothing to make their position less
desperate than it already was. In attempting to break
through the crowd and join their sovereign, the Counts
of Tankerville, Ponthieu, and Eu were made prisoners.
By the hand of Lord Cobham perished the Count of
Dammartin; down, as his sword again descended, fell
Geoffrey de Chargny, who had fought gallantly all day,
with the standard of France in his hand; and, through
the gaps which were thus made in the French army,
rushed the English and Gascons in such numbers that
they intermingled with their foes, and outnumbered them
in the proportion of five to one. It was utterly impossible
for John, bold and strong as he was, to hold out longer
under such circumstances, and his danger was great.
However, the eagerness to take him prisoner was excessive
among those who knew him; and, while he was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>
pulled about from one to another without the least respect
for his royal pretensions, some of those who were near
shouted loudly&mdash;</p>

<p>"Surrender yourself, surrender yourself, or you are a
dead man!"</p>

<p>Fortunately for John, there was among the English a
young knight of St. Omer, who bore the name of Denis
de Morbeque, and who had, five years earlier, been
banished from France for killing a man in a fray; and
fortunately for himself this knight was at hand. Recognising
John, and anxious to save him, Sir Denis, exerting
all his strength, pushed rapidly through the crowd.</p>

<p>"Sire, sire," said he in good French, "surrender yourself;
it is your only chance."</p>

<p>"But to whom shall I surrender myself?" said John,
turning round. "Where is my cousin, the Prince of
Wales? If I could see him I would speak to him."</p>

<p>"Sire," replied Sir Denis, "the prince is not near; but
surrender to me, and I will lead you to his presence."</p>

<p>"Who are you?" asked John with interest.</p>

<p>"Sire," answered the knight, "I am Denis de Morbeque,
a knight of Artois; but I serve the King of
England, because I have forfeited all I possessed in
France, and no longer consider myself as belonging to
the kingdom."</p>

<p>"Well, sir knight," said John, giving Sir Denis the
glove from his right hand, "I surrender to you. Conduct
me to the prince."</p>

<p>But this proved no easy matter, for several cried, "I
have taken him," and there was much pushing and thronging
about the spot; and both John and his young son
Philip, who clung resolutely to his father's side, were
unable to free themselves from the numbers who claimed
them as prisoners.</p>

<p>In fact, the dispute every moment became louder and
fiercer, and ever and anon threatened the most disagreeable
consequences; for both English and Gascons were
bawling at the top of their voices, and it appeared likely
enough that they would ultimately proceed from words to
blows.</p>

<p>"He has surrendered to me," shouted one.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span></p>

<p>"It is I who have got him," cried a second.</p>

<p>"No, no!" exclaimed others; "we have him."</p>

<p>And as each put in his claim, he attempted to make
it good in such a fashion that John found his situation
the very reverse of pleasant.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said he, as his patience wore
out, "I pray you cease this riot, and conduct me and my
son in a courteous manner to the Prince of Wales. You
shall all be rewarded. I am so great a lord that I can
make you all sufficiently rich."</p>

<p>At these words, which every one heard, the crowd was
in some degree appeased; but disputes were again breaking
out, and John's position was becoming every moment
less agreeable, when suddenly Lord Cobham and the
Earl of Warwick, who, while riding over the field, had
observed the tumult, spurred up to the place.</p>

<p>"What is the matter?" asked they.</p>

<p>"It is the King of France, who has been made
prisoner," was the reply; and immediately more than
a dozen knights and squires stepped forward, each claiming
the royal captive as his own.</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," said Warwick, bending his brow and
raising his voice menacingly, "this behaviour is most
unseemly; and, in the name of the Prince of Wales, I
command you all to keep your distance, and not to
approach unless desired to do so."</p>

<p>And, as the crowd fell back, Warwick and Cobham
dismounted, and, advancing to the prisoner, conducted
him quietly to the red pavilion in which the prince was
resting from the fatigues of the day.</p>

<p>When the two earls escorted their captive and his son
into the pavilion, the Prince of Wales was conversing
with his knights on the events of the day. On becoming
aware of John's presence, however, he rose and made a
very low obeisance, as has been related, and, ordering
wine and spices to be brought, presented them to the
captive with his own hand, and endeavoured to minister
what comfort he could.</p>

<p>"In my opinion," said he, "you ought to be glad that
this battle, albeit it has not ended as you desired, has
redounded so much to your fame; for you have, this
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>
day, had an opportunity of acquiring a high renown for
prowess, and have in the field far surpassed all the best
knights of whom the chivalry of France can boast."</p>

<p>At these words, John, whose violence seemed to have
died out of him, smiled as if in sad reproof; but his
young son Philip, who inherited this violence in a high
degree, glared on his father's conqueror with the savage
ferocity of a young tiger.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXV" id="CHAPTER_LXV">CHAPTER LXV</a><br />

<small>HOW I RESCUED MY WORST ENEMY</small></h2>


<p>At the time when John of Valois, fighting on foot, with
his battle-axe in his hand, rallied his broken ranks, and
made that sudden and unexpected attack on the Prince
of Wales which, for a moment, threatened to change the
fortune of the field, I, Arthur Winram, was separated
from the comrades in arms with whom I had charged, and
whirled to where the English and French were confused,
intermingled, and dealing blows without being well aware
whether they were aimed at friends or foes. At this crisis
I found myself engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with
Sir John de Saintré; and albeit he was esteemed the most
accomplished knight in France, I contrived not only to
return blow for blow, but to press him so hard that he
was not sorry when we were separated by the crowd.
Much to my disappointment, I could not take him prisoner,
and, falling into other hands, however, he was well
treated; but his wounds and bruises ruined his health,
and he never recovered from the effects of the combat.</p>

<p>By that time the Earl of Warwick had come to the
relief of the prince, and the French, scattered by the
charge, were flying in crowds towards Poictiers; but the
citizens of Poictiers shut their gates, and would suffer no
one to enter; and a fearful struggle took place on the
causeway, where the French were so hard pressed that
they surrendered without hesitation.</p>

<p>One party, however, who seemed to have no inclination
to yield, were contending desperately with an Englishman
of rank, whose violent temper had placed him in great
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>
jeopardy. Indeed, he was not only sore beset, but beaten
from his horse, and already with one knee on the ground.
Nor could there be any mistake as to who he was. I had
no doubts on that point. I knew at once, by his splendid
armour, by his lion crest, and by the armorial bearings on
his surcoat, that he was Roger, Lord De Ov; and, regarding
him at that moment simply as an Englishman in peril
of dying under the weapons of the enemies of his country,
I shouted, "St. George! St. George!" and spurred in to
the rescue. As I not only cleared a space around me by
the vehemence of my charge, but sent the assailants, with
one exception, flying back, my sword descended on a
squire of prodigious strength, with such effect that he
measured his length on the ground.</p>

<p>"Yield thee, Sir Squire!" said I, leaping from my
steed.</p>

<p>"What is your name, and who are you?" asked he
somewhat fiercely.</p>

<p>"My name is Arthur Winram, and I am a squire of
England," I answered.</p>

<p>"I surrender to you," said the squire: and, as he rose,
I recognised Eustace the Strong, whom I had seen at the
Castle of Mount Moreville, and who had performed the
feat of carrying the ass, with its panniers full of billets,
into the hall, and flinging it on the dogs of the hearth.</p>

<p>"In truth, Eustace," said I, after we exchanged greeting,
"it is strange that you should be my prisoner, and
still stranger that I should have taken you while rescuing
my worst enemy."</p>

<p>Meanwhile Lord De Ov had recovered his feet, and as
I turned round, he was regarding me with a scowl of hate.</p>

<p>"Varlet!" said he, "deem not that I hold myself in
the least measure grateful to you; for I swear by my
father's soul that I would rather have died ten deaths than
owed life to your interference."</p>

<p>"My lord," replied I, as I prepared to mount my horse
and conduct my prisoner to a place of safety, "you owe
no gratitude to me for saving your life, for I can easily
understand how miserable the life of such as you are
must be, with kindred blood shed by your father on your
hands, and on your conscience the crime of having robbed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>
the widow and disinherited the orphan. Come, my lord,
you see I am better informed as to the state of your mind
than you supposed."</p>

<p>"Dog!" exclaimed he, as furious with rage, he drew
his sword, "draw, and let us fight it out! I can no
longer brook the sight of you, or tread the same earth, or
breathe the same air."</p>

<p>But I folded my arms on my breast, and gazed at him
with a calm scorn before which his eye fell and the point
of his sword dropped.</p>

<p>"Nevertheless, Lord Roger De Ov," said I, "such
penance you must continue to do for the sins of your
father and your own until it is my good pleasure to relieve
you. The time is not yet come; but it will some day;
and then may God have mercy on your soul, proud lord,
for your body will be mine!"</p>

<p>And, leaving him standing as if transfixed to the ground,
I sprang upon my steed, and rode away with Eustace
the Strong towards the spot where the prince had placed
his banner on a bush and caused his squires to pitch his
red pavilion.</p>



<hr class="chap" />
<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVI" id="CHAPTER_LXVI">CHAPTER LXVI</a><br />

<small>THE SCOTS AT POICTIERS</small></h2>


<p>I have mentioned, in an earlier part of my narrative,
that, when John of Valois was on his way from Paris to
Poictiers to intercept the Prince of Wales, some Scottish
nobles and knights, including Lord Douglas, Sir Archibald
Douglas, and Sir William Ramsay, who had assumed
the Cross and were under a vow to repair to the Holy
Land, so far forgot the oaths they had taken as to come
and offer their swords to aid the cause of France; and
I have said that they were gladly welcomed by their
ancient allies. Moreover, they were treated with high
distinction, and, on the day of battle, Lord Douglas and
the Scots were assigned an honourable post in that battalion
of the French army which John of Valois commanded
in person, and in the conflict they fought bravely.
But, when defeat stared the French in the face, Lord
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>
Douglas, who had by no means anticipated such a close
to an enterprise in favour of which the odds were so great,
and into which he had thrown his energies, became
excessively alarmed, and nervously eager to escape.</p>

<p>"By St. Bride!" said he, "I dread so much falling
into the hands of the English, that, rather than become
their prisoner, I should elect to die at once."</p>

<p>Accordingly, Lord Douglas, when he saw that the
engagement must end in the discomfiture of the French,
lost no time in attempting to save himself by flight, and,
with many of his companions, succeeded in escaping.
But some of his friends had no such good fortune. Both
Sir Archibald Douglas and Sir William Ramsay were
taken prisoners; and the former being in magnificent
armour, was naturally supposed by his captors to be some
great lord who could pay an immense ransom.</p>

<p>Nothing, indeed, but the extraordinary presence of mind
which was displayed by his comrade in captivity could have
saved Sir Archibald Douglas from the inconvenience of
enduring a long imprisonment, or paying a large ransom.</p>

<p>But in this wise did Ramsay contrive to set his companion
in arms at liberty.</p>

<p>It was several hours after the battle had been won and
the victory secured, and the English were about to disencumber
Archibald Douglas of his sumptuous armour, when
Ramsay, stepping suddenly forward, eyed his fellow-prisoner
with a look of fierce indignation, and, pretending
to be in a violent rage, seized him by the collar.</p>

<p>"You impudent rapscallion!" said he, affecting to treat
Douglas as a servant, "how comes it, in the name of the
fiend, that you are thus decked out in your master's
armour?"</p>

<p>Douglas, perceiving the scheme at a glance, did not
answer, but looked the picture of convicted imposture and
conscious guilt.</p>

<p>"Come hither, knave, and pull off my boots," continued
Ramsay, determined to lose no time in executing
the project so well conceived.</p>

<p>Nor did Douglas fail to play his part skilfully. In fact,
perceiving that his escape was becoming almost a matter
of certainty, he approached as if trembling, and, kneeling
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>
down, pulled off one of the boots; and, while he was
busy with the other, Ramsay, seizing that which was on
the ground, beat him soundly.</p>

<p>"How is this?" asked the English who were present;
"surely the person whom you have just beaten is a lord of
high rank?"</p>

<p>"What!" cried Ramsay with the utmost scorn, "do you
call him a lord? He is a scullion and a base knave, and
I warrant he has rifled his master's corpse. Go, you
villain, to the field, search for the body of my cousin, your
master, and when you have found it return hither, that I
may give him decent burial."</p>

<p>"But his ransom?" said the English.</p>

<p>"Well," answered Ramsay, "I will pay the sum of forty
shillings, which is more than he is worth&mdash;body, bones,
and all."</p>

<p>Not entertaining the slightest suspicion of the trick that
was being played at their expense, the English accepted
the ransom that was offered, and Ramsay, having once
more soundly buffeted his comrade, sent him about his
business.</p>

<p>"Get you gone, sirrah!" cried he, pushing him roughly
away; and then whispered, "Fly!"</p>

<p>Douglas did not require a second hint.</p>

<p>Now it happened that Eustace the Strong had been
quartered in the same place as the Scots; and, knowing
well who they were, he was greatly diverted with the scene
that was enacted before his eyes; and, when I visited him
somewhat later, he talked merrily on the subject.</p>

<p>"What?" asked I; "mean you that the Scot has
escaped without paying his ransom?"</p>

<p>"In truth," replied Eustace, "he has escaped, but his
ransom has been paid for him, and it amounted to forty
shillings; and, certes, Sir Squire, if you would name as
moderate a ransom for me, I should not long continue
your prisoner; for I have a wife at home who is an
Englishwoman, and I would not that she fancied her
countrymen had cut me into mincemeat."</p>

<p>"On my faith, Eustace," said I, "I cannot do you the
injustice of rating you too low; but I will, at sunrise,
name such a ransom as you can easily pay without hurting
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>
your fortune, and you can have your liberty to-morrow if
you promise to pay the amount to me before Christmas,
at Bordeaux."</p>

<p>"Thanks for your courtesy," replied Eustace gladly;
"and, trust me, I will not fail to requite it."</p>

<p>"And now," said I, "if I could only reclaim the
Scottish bird that has flown!"</p>

<p>"Archibald Douglas is too knowing a bird to let you
put salt on his tail, under the circumstances," answered
Eustace; "as well try to catch a wandering star."</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVII" id="CHAPTER_LXVII">CHAPTER LXVII</a><br />

<small>THE VICTORS AND THE VANQUISHED</small></h2>


<p>It was to recall his people from the pursuit that the Prince
of Wales set his banner on a bush, and ordered to "sound
trumpets to the return." Nevertheless, it was not till
after vespers that the chase was at an end, and that the
English returned to their camp.</p>

<p>Ere this, however, the result of the conflict, so far as
the French were concerned, was accurately known, and it
was bruited about that, while not fewer than six thousand
men of all sorts were left dead on the field, seventeen
counts and a multitude of barons, knights, and squires
were prisoners, with John of Valois and Philip his son.
Indeed, when the English collected, they found they had
twice as many prisoners as themselves. A very few persons
of distinction among the English were missing. One of
these was Roger, Lord De Ov.</p>

<p>Day drew to a close; the lights began to twinkle in the
city of Poictiers; evening fell over the plains between
Beauvoir and Mapertuis; and where lately the battle had
raged with such vehemence all was now silent; and, while
Ramsay and Douglas were deluding their captors, the
Prince of Wales gave a supper in his pavilion to John of
Valois and many of the French nobles, and knights, and
squires who had been taken. Nor was there now any lack
of good cheer among the English, most of whom had not
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>
tasted bread for three long days; for the French had
brought with them plenty of provisions, not even neglecting
to provide themselves with wine to celebrate the victory
which they were not destined to gain.</p>

<p>Nor was it merely provisions which fell into the hands
of the English. In fact, the French had come to Poictiers
not only magnificently arrayed, but magnificently furnished
with articles of luxury. Great and of high value
was the spoil, including rich jewels, gold and silver plate,
and trunks stuffed full of furred mantles, and belts weighty
from their gold and silver. If it had not been known that
the French came with a certainty of conquering, it might
have been supposed that they had brought their wealth
with them to bribe their victors to clemency.</p>

<p>When the hour of supper arrived the feast was spread,
and the tables were covered with the viands that formed
part of the spoil. Every preparation having been made,
the prince conducted John of Valois and his son to the
pavilion; and, having seated them at an elevated table,
at which also were placed the Count of Tankerville and
the Count of Ponthieu, he caused the French nobles, and
knights, and squires who were captives to range themselves
at the other tables; and, this done, he himself insisted on
serving John with his own hand, and resisted all intreaties
to sit down.</p>

<p>"No," said he, in the spirit of that chivalry of which
he was the most renowned representative; "I do not deem
myself worthy of such an honour; nor does it appertain
to me to seat myself at the table of so great a prince or so
valiant a champion as you have, by your actions, proved
yourself this day."</p>

<p>"By Our Lady!" said the French knights admiringly,
"it will, in truth, be said of the prince as has been said of
his father, that he is a most noble gentleman who knows
how to honour his enemies as well as his friends."</p>

<p>And the English, who had witnessed his interview with
James, Lord Audley, highly applauded the sentiment.</p>

<p>But still John of Valois looked sad and disconsolate,
and even the good wine which he himself had brought,
with an idea of quaffing it under very different circumstances,
failed to elevate his mood; and the prince,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>
sympathising with his captive's melancholy, endeavoured
to administer comfort.</p>

<p>"Sire," said he, "make good cheer, and let not your
meal be the less hearty because God Almighty has not
gratified your wishes as to the event of the day; for it has
frequently been the fate of the most famous warriors to
taste defeat as well as victory. Wherefore be not cast
down, nor give way to despondence, seeing that my lord
and father is a prince of noble and generous soul, and will
show you every honour and friendship in his power, and
will arrange your ransom reasonably, and on such terms
that you will always henceforth remain friends."</p>

<p>John of Valois bowed courteously, but he did not utter
a word; and he looked the picture of woe, for his intense
pride had been wounded to the quick.</p>

<p>"Moreover," added the prince, still eager to console, "I
do not speak to flatter you, but simply speak the truth,
when I say that, of all the warriors of France, you have
this day given your adversaries most to do, and won the
highest renown; and all those on our side who have
observed the actions of each party unanimously allow
this to be your due, and, in reflecting on the deeds
of arms wrought this day, they award you the prize and
garland."</p>

<p>As the Prince of Wales concluded, there were murmurs
of praise from every one present; and the French knights
failed not to do justice to the chivalry of their youthful
conqueror.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXVIII" id="CHAPTER_LXVIII">CHAPTER LXVIII</a><br />

<small>THE MARCH TO BORDEAUX</small></h2>


<p>Next morning the Prince of Wales gave orders for resuming
the march to Bordeaux, which had been, three
days earlier, interrupted in so unwelcome a manner; and
the English, packing up and loading their baggage and
booty, decamped from the scene of their marvellous
victory.</p>

<p>Meanwhile great alarm prevailed in Poictiers, and during
the night the Lord of Roy entered the city with a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>
hundred lances to guard it in case of attack. But the
apprehension of the citizens was groundless, and the valour
of the Lord of Roy was not put to the test. Some of the
more fiery among the English, indeed, would have relished
the excitement of taking the city by assault, but the prince,
calm in triumph as he had been in danger, was more
prudent.</p>

<p>"No," said he, "no need to attack fortresses by the
way. Our numbers are few, and methinks we shall do
great things if we convey the King of France and his son,
and all our booty, in safety to Bordeaux."</p>

<p>Accordingly, the prince passed on, and, meeting with no
resistance, proceeded by easy marches, through Poitou and
Saintonge, and, on reaching Blaye, crossed the Garonne.</p>

<p>One day, during the march, the prince summoned me
to his side, and, having intimated his intention of despatching
me to England with intelligence of the victory won at
Poictiers, he turned the conversation on Lord Audley.</p>

<p>"How fares the noble knight?" asked the prince.</p>

<p>"In truth, my lord," replied I, "he is still weak from
loss of blood, but he has proved that his munificence is on
a par with his valour."</p>

<p>"What mean you?" inquired the prince with curiosity.</p>

<p>"Just this, my lord," I answered, "that, when carried
to his tent after the battle, he called the four squires who
had attended him, and said, 'Gentlemen, it has pleased
the prince to give me five hundred marks as a yearly
inheritance, although for such gift I have done him very
trifling service. What glory I may have gained has been
through your means, on which account I wish to reward
you. I therefore,' added Lord Audley, 'give and resign
into your hands the gift which the prince has bestowed on
me. I disinherit myself of it, and give it to you simply,
without the power of revoking it.'"</p>

<p>On hearing this the prince was greatly interested, and
sent for Lord Audley. Accordingly, the wounded knight
was brought forward in his litter, and the prince, having
received him very graciously, proceeded to the subject of
the grant.</p>

<p>"My Lord James," said he, "I have been informed
that, after you had taken leave of me and returned to your
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>
tent, you made a present to your four squires of the gift I
presented to you."</p>

<p>"Sir," replied Lord Audley, "you have heard the
truth."</p>

<p>"But," continued the prince, "if it be true, I should
like to know why you did so, and if the gift was not
agreeable to you."</p>

<p>"My lord," answered Audley, "I assure you it was
most agreeable, and I will tell you the reasons which
induced me to bestow it on my squires."</p>

<p>"Go on, my Lord James," said the prince, seeing that
the knight hesitated.</p>

<p>"Well," continued Lord Audley, "these four squires
who are here have long and loyally served me on many
great and dangerous occasions, and, till the day I made
them this present, I had no way of rewarding them; and
never in my life were they of such help to me as at
Poictiers; for, sir, I am a single man, and can do no
more than my powers admit, and it was through their aid
that I accomplished my vow, and should have paid for
doing so with my life if they had not been near me.
When, therefore, I consider their courage and fidelity, I
should not have been grateful had I not rewarded them.
Thank God, sir, I have sufficient to maintain my state,
and wealth has never yet failed me. I can only ask
pardon if in this I have acted contrary to your wishes,
and promise that, as hitherto, my squires and myself will
serve you faithfully."</p>

<p>"My Lord James," said the prince, "I do not in the
least blame you for what you have done. On the contrary,
I highly appreciate your bounty to the squires whom
you praise so much."</p>

<p>"Sir, I thank you," said Lord Audley, glad to hear the
prince was satisfied.</p>

<p>"Moreover," added the prince, smiling graciously, "I
not only most readily confirm the gift you have made to
your squires, but further insist on your accepting, for
yourself, six hundred marks yearly, on the same terms and
conditions as the former gift."</p>

<p>Lord Audley's heart was too full to admit of his answering,
but his silence was much more eloquent than words
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>
could have been; and I, riding by the side of his litter,
could not help saying to myself&mdash;</p>

<p>"This is indeed a rare kind of contest, where merit in
the subject and munificence in the prince strive which
shall be the greater."</p>

<p>On reaching Bordeaux, the Prince of Wales conducted
John of Valois to the monastery of St. Andrew; and
mighty were the feasts at which the clergy and citizens
entertained the prince, and great was the joy with which
they received his royal captive. Soon after their arrival
the Cardinal of Perigord reached Bordeaux as ambassador
for the pope. But the prince was highly enraged at the
cardinal, on account of his men, under the Castellan of
Amposta, having fought against the English at Poictiers,
and, for a fortnight, sternly refused to see him. At length,
through the mediation of the Captal of Buch, the cardinal
was admitted to an interview, and exculpated himself so
clearly that the young conqueror declared himself perfectly
satisfied.</p>

<p>All winter the Prince of Wales remained with the
English and Gascon lords at Bordeaux. There was much
feasting, and most of the knights, who had acquired large
sums as the ransom of prisoners, spent, in riot and merriment,
all that their swords had gained them. But this I
only know from report; for, within a few hours after the
prince conducted John of Valois through the gate of
Bordeaux, I was on the sea, and sailing for the English
coast.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXIX" id="CHAPTER_LXIX">CHAPTER LXIX</a><br />

<small>THE PRINCE AND HIS CAPTIVE</small></h2>


<p>No news could have excited more joy and enthusiasm
than pervaded England when rumour carried through the
land tidings that the English had, against fearful odds,
won another battle on the Continent, and that the king's
adversary was a captive in the hands of the king's son.</p>

<p>In every church thanks were solemnly offered for the
victory of Poictiers; in every town and village the victory
was celebrated with festivities; and on every hill bonfires
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>
blazed in honour of the conquerors. Nothing could
exceed the respect paid to such of the warriors of Poictiers
as, during the winter, returned from Bordeaux. I, being
the first, came in for rather more than my full share of the
glory; and, as the bearer of the earliest intelligence, I was
knighted by King Edward, who did not on this occasion
forget the service I had previously rendered in saving his
daughter from the horns of the wild bull in the forest of
Windsor.</p>

<p>And now there was much anxiety to ascertain what was
to be done with John of Valois, and when the Prince of
Wales was to bring him and his son to England. But on
this point considerable obstacles arose. In fact, the Gascons
were most unwilling that John should be taken away
from Bordeaux, and did not hesitate to express themselves
strongly on the subject.</p>

<p>"Sir," said they to the prince, "we owe you, as becomes
us, all honour and obedience; but it is not our intention
that you should carry the King of France from us, who
contributed so largely to place him in the situation where
he now is. Thank God, he is in good health, and in
a good city; and we are strong enough to guard him
against any force which France could send to rescue
him."</p>

<p>"Gentlemen," replied the prince, "I do not doubt
your power to guard him; but the king, my father, wishes
him to go to England, and, as we are both very sensible
of the services you have rendered, you may depend on
being handsomely rewarded for them."</p>

<p>"Nevertheless," urged the Gascons, appearing to grow
more stubborn every moment, "we cannot consent to his
departure."</p>

<p>"What, in the name of the saints, is to be done?"
asked the prince, taking Lord Cobham and Sir John
Chandos aside.</p>

<p>"Sir," said Lord Cobham, "you must consider the
avaricious nature of the Gascons in dealing with them."</p>

<p>"Yes," added Sir John Chandos, laughing, "there is
only one way of dealing with such men: offer them a
handsome sum of florins, and they will comply with all
you wish."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p>

<p>Accordingly a hundred thousand florins were distributed
among the lords of Gascony; and in April the
prince embarked, with his captive, for England. Landing
at Sandwich, they travelled on to Canterbury; and
having remained there for three days, to refresh themselves
and offer at the shrine of Thomas à Becket, they
pursued their way, by short journeys, to London.</p>

<p>Meanwhile the news that the Prince of Wales and
John of Valois had landed in England reached King
Edward, and spread abroad; and, as they approached
London, the public curiosity became great. At length,
on the 24th of April, they entered London, John riding
the white charger which, like himself, had been taken at
Poictiers, and the prince bestriding a black pony, and
treating his captive with marked respect. John was
richly dressed, and wore a crown of ornament on his
head; the prince was plain even to affectation, and his
head was uncovered as he entered the city. But, after
all, this was so much dumb show; and the populace
instinctively felt such to be the case; and nobody could
examine the countenances of the two with attention and
intelligence without ceasing to feel much surprise that the
man who, on the decisive day, had an army of sixty
thousand, was a captive, and that the youth who, on the
decisive day, had an army of eight thousand, was a conqueror.
One had all the weakness of a Valois, the other
all the strength of a Plantagenet.</p>

<p>Riding through London, while the crowd surged and
swayed, in their eagerness to get a closer view, John and
his son Philip were conducted to the Savoy, and, after
being lodged in that palace, were visited by the king and
queen, who did all in their power to console John in
his captivity. Nor did the unfortunate man disdain
their kind offices. Indeed, adversity had softened his
temper, and he was disposed to make the best of circumstances.
But it was different with his son. Young
Philip's natural ferocity became more intense every hour,
and some extraordinary scenes resulted from his unrestrained
violence.</p>

<p>On the very day after the arrival of John of Valois in
London, and while he was feasting with the court at
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>
Westminster, Philip made such a display of temper as
shocked everybody who witnessed his conduct. Observing
that the cup-bearer served King Edward with wine
before his father, he started from the table, and attempted
to box the cup-bearer's ears.</p>

<p>"Varlet!" cried he, foaming with fury, "you have no
right to serve the King of England before the King of
France; for, though my father is unfortunate, he is still
the sovereign of your king."</p>

<p>Edward and Philippa endeavoured to seem diverted at
the boy's rudeness, and laughed over the awkward incident.
But, a few days later, he fastened a quarrel on
the Prince of Wales, while playing at chess, which was
more awkward still. The king and queen, however, decided
the dispute in his favour; but nobody aware of the
circumstances could doubt that the boy was bad by
nature, and that his education had not been such as to
eradicate the vices which he inherited.</p>

<p>"On my faith," said the Lord Merley to me as we one
day talked over the quarrel which he had with the prince
at chess, "I wish the Gascons had kept that young tiger
to tame at Bordeaux; for, if his ferocity continues, I see
no way of dealing with him but putting him in a cage,
and committing him to the care of the keeper of the wild
beasts in the Tower."</p>

<p>"In truth, my lord," replied I, laughing, "I should be
inclined to agree with you if I did not remember how
fiercely and bravely he fought by his father's side at Poictiers
long after his three elder brothers were flying from the
field, as if the foul fiend had been behind, and ready to
devour them."</p>

<p>"Doubtless," said Lord Merley, "he possesses courage;
but such as, whether in young or old, is the courage, not
of a brave man, but of a wild beast."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p>



<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXX" id="CHAPTER_LXX">CHAPTER LXX</a><br />

<small>DEATH OF QUEEN ISABEL</small></h2>


<p>Soon after the Prince of Wales brought John of Valois as
a captive, to London, Isabel the Fair, mother of King
Edward, died at Castle Rising, in Norfolk. No great impression
was produced by the news; for the royal lady
was not known, even by sight, to the generation which
won and celebrated the battles of Cressy and Poictiers;
and, but for the annual visits of the king to his mother,
her existence would almost have been forgotten. Ever
since the execution of Roger de Mortimer she had lived
at Castle Rising, secluded from the world. Her comfort
was, indeed, attended to, and she was enabled to maintain
a household suitable to her state, with ladies, and knights,
and esquires of honour to attend her; and at times she
was allowed to witness plays, which were exhibited for
her diversion in the court of the castle. But she was forbidden
to go abroad, or to show herself in public; and,
as I have said, but for King Edward's visits, Englishmen
would have forgotten the woman whom their fathers
branded as "the she-wolf of France."</p>

<p>But, however that may have been, about the time when
Queen Isabel was buried with much pomp in the church
of the Grey Friars, in London, I was, one evening, seated
in my chamber at Westminster, speculating on the probability
which there was of the Prince of Wales going
to take up his residence in Guienne, of which he had
been created Duke, and of my attending him to Bordeaux,
when a visitor was announced, and a lady entered. I
immediately recognised Eleanor de Gubium, and I started
as I remembered how she had pledged herself, as soon as
the queen was no more, to find me out, whether in court
or camp, and reveal the secret of my birth. It is true
that my curiosity had considerably diminished, owing to
the information which I had obtained from Sir John
Copeland and others, but still as I recognised this woman,
whose conduct towards me had been so mysterious, I felt
something of the old eagerness to know all.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p>

<p>"Lady," said I, as I rose to receive her, "you remember
your promise, and you have come to redeem it."</p>

<p>"In coming," replied she, "I have two objects. The
first is to do an errand; the second is to clear up a mystery.
I will first do mine errand, and then I will clear up
the mystery."</p>

<p>"And what is your errand?" asked I.</p>

<p>"My errand," she answered, "is to pay the ransom of
my husband, who was your prisoner at Poictiers."</p>

<p>"On my faith," said I, bluntly, "it seems to me that
there must be some mistake; inasmuch as I had but one
prisoner; and he was a French squire, known as Eustace
the Strong; and he was to have paid his ransom at
Bordeaux before Christmas."</p>

<p>"Even so," replied Eleanor; "I am the wife of him
whom you call Eustace the Strong; and, since the ransom
was not paid at Bordeaux, seeing that you were not there
to receive it, I have brought the gold to Westminster."</p>

<p>And as she spoke she placed on the table a bag containing
the sum for which we had covenanted.</p>

<p>"Verily," exclaimed I, "this is passing strange, and
much am I taken by surprise, for I never thought of again
hearing of Eustace the Strong, still less of your coming
hither to pay his ransom in the character of his wife."</p>

<p>"However, sir knight," said she, suddenly rousing herself
to energy, "we have more important business. You
say you remember the pledge I gave; and now I am
ready to tell how you were saved from a cruel and an
obscure fate."</p>

<p>"And what might that fate have been?" asked I.</p>

<p>"A fate which, to one of your aspiring vein," replied
she, "would have been misery itself. When Edward,
Lord De Ov, was executed at Winchester for participating
in the conspiracy of the Earl of Kent, Roger De Ov,
being, by the favour of Roger De Mortimer and Queen
Isabel, put in possession of the castle and baronies of his
murdered brother, was all anxiety to remove that brother's
widow and son from his path, and the path of his heirs;
and my mother, who was a Frenchwoman, and one of the
queen's gentlewomen, was intrusted with the duty of conveying
them beyond sea. The widow was to have been
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>
placed in a religious house, and the son to have been
separated from her, and brought up among the handicraftsmen
of a town in Flanders, in utter unconsciousness of
his country and kindred. No chance of golden spurs had
such a project been executed. Confess, sir knight."</p>

<p>"None, in truth," muttered I, "but, lady, proceed.
I am impatient to hear all."</p>

<p>"Well," continued Eleanor, "it would have been executed
but for the interference of my father. Being a squire
of the North, and attached to the house of De Ov, he
would not hear of the murdered lord's widow or son being
conveyed from the country; and so, while my mother
pretended to execute the command, he went to Adam of
Greenmead and implored him out of his loyalty to the
Merleys, from whom sprang the lady, to shelter and
protect her and her son so secretly that their existence
in England should never be discovered. Briefly, then,
the yeoman consented, and, at great risk&mdash;for few
dared then to defy the vengeance of the queen, or her
favourite&mdash;he received Edward Lord De Ov's widow and
orphan at his homestead, giving out that one was his
daughter, the other was his grandson; and there you remained,
your identity known to me alone, till, in an evil
hour, I, galled by some taunting words of young Roger
De Ov, threatened him with producing the true heir, and,
unhappily, told enough, not only to raise his suspicions,
but to set him on your track. Hardly were you admitted
as one of the prince's pages ere he was aware of your
being the injured and disinherited kinsman; and you
know the rest, and will pardon me for having, when mad
and under the influence of a temptation I could not withstand,
lent myself to aid in alluring you into his power,
though I dreamt not then that his views in regard to you
were so diabolical, and I should never have consented to
his wishes being gratified."</p>

<p>"Lady," said I, as she concluded, "I have listened to
your tale, and it is all very much as I suspected; and,
having mused long over the circumstances, I declare on
my faith, that I see not how I can avail myself of the
knowledge without ruining my prospects, such as they are.
If I understand you aright, I could not reveal my wrongs
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>
to the world without mixing up the name of Queen
Isabel with the story in a way that would do her little
credit; and how could I, favoured as I have been by the
king and his son, do aught that would bring fresh obloquy
on the memory of a woman who was mother of the one,
grandmother of the other?"</p>

<p>"What!" exclaimed she, manifesting much surprise,
"would you not risk royal favour and a descent on the
ladder of life to prove yourself the heir of an illustrious
surname and a magnificent castle and baronies on the
banks of the Wear?"</p>

<p>"For the surname," answered I proudly, "I am so
pleased with that which I have made for myself, that
I should hardly relish exchanging it for another; and for
the castle and baronies, I have concluded, after reflection,
that with the king's favour gone, they would be further
out of my reach than they are now."</p>

<p>"Shame upon your indifference!" cried Eleanor with a
flashing eye. "Had my father foreseen that you would
show a spirit so unworthy of a De Ov, he would hardly
have hazarded his life, and the life of another, to save you
from the fate to which you were destined. Nor suppose,
for a moment, that inaction in your case secures you
safety. I, who know your enemy right well, tell you for
your comfort that he will never desist from his efforts till
your ruin is accomplished."</p>

<p>"But my Lord De Ov has disappeared," said I calmly;
"mayhap he is dead; and I neither war with the dead nor
expect the dead to war with me."</p>

<p>"Delude not yourself," replied she scornfully. "Roger
De Ov lives, and lives with as strong a desire as ever to
witness your ruin. He is now prisoner in the house of
the Templars at Luz; but ere long his ransom will be
paid, and he will be at freedom. And then look to
yourself."</p>

<p>"In truth," said I, musing, "this does alter the case,
and I must look to myself."</p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p>



<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXXI" id="CHAPTER_LXXI">CHAPTER LXXI</a><br />

<small>WHAT BEFELL LORD DE OV</small></h2>


<p>Eleanor De Gubium was not mistaken as to the fate of
Lord De Ov. On the day when the battle of Poictiers
was fought and won he had been under the necessity of
surrendering, rescue or no rescue. In fact, no sooner was
the haughty baron saved from the danger of perishing by
the sword of Eustace the Strong than he incurred the danger
of dying by the lance of John de Helennes, that squire of
Picardy whom I had met at Mount Moreville, when he was
attached to Sir Lancelot de Lorris, and when he was intrusted
by that gallant knight with his bloodstained
banner to convey to one of the ladies of Poix.</p>

<p>It seems that at Poictiers, John de Helennes fought in
the division of John of Valois, and bore himself bravely;
but when he saw his countrymen dispersing on all hands,
and perceived that the day was irrecoverably lost, he
bethought himself of flight; and meeting his page with
a fresh horse, mounted, with the object of making a
speedy escape. But in this endeavour he was destined to
be rudely interrupted; for Lord De Ov, smarting from
wounds of the depth of which himself was quite unconscious,
being by this time remounted and not in the most
celestial mood, no sooner observed the squire spurring
away from the lost field, than, setting his spear in rest, he
dashed after the fugitive with the hope of taking him
prisoner.</p>

<p>"Sir squire," cried the English baron, in a loud and
menacing voice, "I pray you return and meet me fairly.
You cannot escape thus; for my steed is the fleeter of the
two; and if you turn not I will smite you in the back,
like a craven."</p>

<p>"By my halidame, you never shall!" cried John de
Helennes on hearing this challenge; and, halting, he
wheeled round his steed to meet his pursuer face to face.</p>

<p>Now it was the object of Lord De Ov to fix his lance
in the target of John de Helennes, while John's object
was to strike his adversary's helmet&mdash;a mark much more
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>
difficult to hit, but which, when hit, makes the shock more
violent and difficult to resist; and, when they met with all
the force they were capable, Lord De Ov failed to fix his
lance in the squire's target, while John, striking his
antagonist fairly and truly on the helmet, brought him
to the ground with such violence that the baron rolled
over and over, grasping the grass with his hands as he did
so. Upon this the squire sprang from his horse, and,
drawing his sword, advanced on his prostrate foe.</p>

<p>"Surrender yourself, rescue or no rescue," said the
squire, eager to insure himself a captive who, from his
appearance, was likely to pay a handsome ransom.</p>

<p>"First tell me your name," replied Lord De Ov, who,
seeing the necessity of making the best of circumstances,
immediately placed his temper under control.</p>

<p>"My name is John de Helennes," said the squire,
"and I pray you to tell me who you are."</p>

<p>"In truth," answered the other, "I am Lord De Ov,
and have a handsome castle on the river Wear, near
Durham."</p>

<p>"Lord De Ov!" exclaimed John de Helennes, who
was delighted to hear that his vanquished foe was a personage
of rank and wealth; "I well know your name as
one of the great barons in the North of England; and
you shall be my prisoner."</p>

<p>"Well," said Lord De Ov, "I willingly surrender
myself, for you have fairly conquered me; and I will be
your prisoner, rescue or no rescue."</p>

<p>"In that case," said John de Helennes, "I will place
you in safety, and, as you appear to be wounded, I will
take care that you are healed."</p>

<p>Having thus arranged matters to his satisfaction, John
de Helennes sheathed his sword, and, having bound
up the wounds of Lord De Ov, placed him on horseback,
and led him at a foot pace to Châtelherault, and there
rested for fifteen days while the captive lord's wounds were
healed and medicine administered.</p>

<p>Gradually, under the kind treatment of his captor, Lord
De Ov began to recover from his wounds and bruises; and
when he was sufficiently strong to travel, John de Helennes
placed him in a litter and conducted him safely to the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>
ancient house of the Templars at Luz, where the cure
was completed. But it was not until twelve months had
passed that Lord De Ov was recovered so thoroughly as
to think of returning to England. At the end of that
time, however, though still somewhat lame, he prepared
to depart from Picardy. Before leaving he paid, as his
ransom, the sum of six thousand nobles; and, on the
profit which he made out of his noble captive, John de
Helennes became a knight. It is not necessary as yet to
tell what became of Roger, Lord De Ov; it is sufficient
to say that he was rapidly approaching the edge and crisis
of his fate.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXXII" id="CHAPTER_LXXII">CHAPTER LXXII</a><br />

<small>MARRIAGE OF THE BLACK PRINCE</small></h2>


<p>It was natural that the king and people of England
should at this time feel anxious that the heir to the
crown of the Plantagenets should unite his fate with
some princess worthy of sharing his rank: and, ere this,
several matches which seemed not unsuitable had been
proposed. In the fifth year of King Edward's reign a
marriage had been talked of between his son and a
daughter of Philip of Valois; in the twelfth year of
King Edward's reign a marriage was proposed between
his son and a daughter of the Duke of Brabant, and in
the nineteenth year of King Edward's reign, a marriage
was proposed between his son and the daughter of the
King of Portugal. But each of these matrimonial
schemes came to naught, and the heir of England, after
leading the van at Cressy, and winning the battle of
Poictiers, still remained without a wife to share his
counsels or a son to cheer his hopes. Nor did he evince
any desire to form such an alliance as the nation, which
regarded him with so much pride, seemed to expect; for,
from boyhood, the Prince of Wales had cherished a
romantic affection for his fair cousin Joan, Countess of
Kent; and, circumstances having proved unpropitious to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>
their union, he seemed to steel his heart against any
second attachment. But destiny is stronger than circumstances;
and, after years of melancholy reflection and
vain regrets, the prince had, at length, an opportunity of
wedding the lady of his heart.</p>

<p>Joan, Countess of Kent, was a princess of the house of
Plantagenet, and one of the most comely and captivating
women of whom England could boast. Indeed, at an
early age her beauty won for her the name of the Fair
Maid of Kent. She was daughter of Edmund, Earl of
Kent, son of the first King Edward, and, having been
born about the time when her father perished on the
scaffold, during the domination of Queen Isabel and
Roger de Mortimer, she was, of course, a year or two
older than the hero whose heart she had so thoroughly
captivated.</p>

<p>It is said that the course of true love never does run
smooth, and of this the prince and his fair kinswoman
were doomed to experience the truth. In fact, King
Edward and Queen Philippa had other views for their
son, and the obstacles in the way of a marriage were such
that the prince despaired of overcoming them; and, while
he, debarred from indulging in the passions of the heart,
gave his time and thoughts to war and ambition, Joan,
after waiting for a few years with the vague hope of
some change occurring to render their union possible,
bethought herself of making up for lost time, and so
managed matters that she became the object of contention
between two men, each of whom claimed her as wife.
Of these, one was Sir Thomas Holand, a knight of
Lancaster; the other was William, Earl of Salisbury, son
of that fair countess in whose honour King Edward
instituted the Order of the Garter.</p>

<p>Naturally the dispute was warm, and caused much
scandal; for it appeared that Joan, after being solemnly
betrothed to Salisbury, had given her hand to Holand,
who, albeit of inferior rank, was a handsome and accomplished
chevalier, and when Holand went to the continent
Salisbury took possession of the bride. At length the
pope was appealed to; and his holiness having settled
the dispute by pronouncing the Countess of Kent to be
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>
wife of Holand, Salisbury indicated his acquiescence in
the decision by marrying another woman.</p>

<p>Affairs having reached this stage, no hope remained to
the Prince of Wales save to forget the past; and in this
respect he, no doubt, did in some degree succeed.
Nevertheless, the romance was not at an end. Soon after
the battle of Poictiers, Holand went the way of all flesh,
and Joan Plantagenet, now thirty-two, but comely and
captivating as in girlhood, was free to give her hand to
whom she pleased.</p>

<p>Of course such a woman was not likely to be without
wooers, and it speedily became known that one of the
nobles attached to the prince's service sought her in
marriage. This noble was Roger, Lord de Ov. Nor, in
aspiring to the hand of her who had been sung of as
the Fair Maid of Kent, was he deemed guilty of presumption.
Young, handsome, courteous in hall and
strong in battle, with a great name and broad baronies,
he was not the person whom the widow of a Holand was
likely to reject on the score of dignity. But it appeared
that the widowed countess was not to be so easily won;
and the noble, finding that his suit did not prosper,
implored the prince to interfere in his behalf. The result
was not what might have been anticipated; for the lady
rejected the advice with a disdain which was almost too
much for the prince's patience.</p>

<p>"Fair kinswoman," said he, "it seems to me that you
scarce know your own mind."</p>

<p>"My lord," replied the countess with much animation,
"never did I know my mind better: when I was under
ward I was disposed of by others, but now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>

<p>"But now?" said the prince, whose imagination rapidly
conducted him back to the time when he himself was the
most ardent of her admirers.</p>

<p>"Now," continued she, making a great effort to speak
out, "I am mistress of my own actions, and I cannot
but call to mind that I am of the royal blood of England.
I cannot therefore cast myself away beneath my rank;
and I am fully resolved never to marry again, unless I can
marry a prince of virtue and quality."</p>

<p>Needless would it be to dwell on the scene that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>
followed. Suffice it to say that as the countess spoke the
prince felt the old flame rekindle in his heart, and when
she concluded he was kneeling at her feet.</p>

<p>But still the course of true love was not to run smooth.
No sooner did the prince set his heart on a union
with his fair kinswoman than formidable obstacles presented
themselves. Both the Court and the Church
were decidedly hostile. The king and queen were more
averse than ever to their son wedding a woman whose
reputation was not the better for the wear; and the
Church objected, not only on account of the nearness of
blood, but because the prince, by appearing as godfather
to the sons of the countess, had for ever precluded himself
from becoming her husband. Both obstacles, however,
were overcome. After some delay the king and queen
gave a reluctant consent; and, after some persuasion, the
pope gave a dispensation and an absolution, to admit of
the marriage being celebrated.</p>

<p>It was in the royal chapel at Windsor that the ceremony
took place; and soon after the Prince and Princess
of Wales departed for the castle of Berkhamstead. For a
time they kept their state at that royal manor; but a Parliament
being held in the winter to form establishments for the
king's son, objected to the prince's residing in England.</p>

<p>"We consider," said the Parliament, "that the Prince
of Wales keeps a grand and noble state, as he is well
entitled to do, for he is valiant, and powerful, and rich. But
he has a great inheritance in Guienne, where provisions
and everything else abound, and we therefore deem that
he ought to reside in his duchy, which will furnish him
with the means of maintaining as grand an establishment
as he likes."</p>

<p>On hearing that such an opinion had been expressed
by the Parliament of England, the Prince of Wales at
once consented to repair to Guienne, and immediately
made preparations for the voyage. Before he and the
princess left Berkhamstead, the king and queen visited
them at that manor to say farewell; and it was on this
occasion that Sir John Froissart heard the prophecy which
he has inserted in his chronicle of the wars in England
and France.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p>

<p>"A curious thing," says he, "happened on my first
going to England, which I have much thought on since.
I was in the service of Queen Philippa; and when she
accompanied King Edward and the royal family to take
leave of the Prince and Princess of Wales at Berkhamstead,
on their departure for Guienne, I heard an old
knight, in conversation with some ladies, say&mdash;</p>

<p>"'We have a book called Brut, which, among other
predictions, declares that neither the Prince of Wales, nor
any of King Edward's sons, will be King of England,
but that the descendants of the Duke of Lancaster will
reign.'"</p>

<p>But enough. Why should I forestal the day when
England had to mourn the death of her hero, or anticipate
the evil times on which his ill-starred son fell? At present
all is hopeful and promising, and no shadows cross the
path of the royal pair as they depart to embark for the
land from which they are to return under circumstances
so sad. Away melancholy memories, and let me still think
of him as he was when he kept his state at the monastery
of St. Andrew, ere he marched forth to win that
victory which set his name once more ringing throughout
Europe, and ruined his prospects to re-seat Don Pedro on
the throne of Castille.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXXIII" id="CHAPTER_LXXIII">CHAPTER LXXIII</a><br />

<small>THE CHALLENGE</small></h2>


<p>It was the month of May, and Gaston Phæbus, Count of
Foix, was the guest of the Prince and Princess of Wales;
and thither also had come Roger, Lord De Ov; and
I, having just returned from an expedition to Angoulême,
was seated at dinner in the city of Bordeaux, the day
being a Wednesday, when Sir Richard de Pontcharden,
the Marshal of Guienne, came to me, and said&mdash;</p>

<p>"Winram, know you of what things you are openly
accused?"</p>

<p>"On my faith I do not, Sir Richard," replied I; "and
beshrew me if I can guess to what you allude."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p>

<p>"In truth," said Sir Richard, kindly taking my hand,
"I fully credit what you say. Nevertheless, I deem it
right to warn you that, since your departure, there has
been a plot discovered for delivering some towns up to the
French, and that of this plot your name is bruited about
as one of the authors."</p>

<p>I was literally struck dumb with amazement; and I
gazed on the marshal in silence.</p>

<p>"Why gaze you on me thus?" asked he.</p>

<p>"By my sooth," replied I, suddenly recovering my
speech, "I may well indeed be astonished at such a
charge, considering that even the existence of such a plot
was unknown to me. But who may be my accuser?"</p>

<p>"I know not," answered Sir Richard, significantly; "but
this I do know, that the prince partly believes it, and
that, were I in your place, I should hasten to the prince's
presence, and demand his name forthwith."</p>

<p>"You are right," said I with energy. "Not a moment
must be lost in meeting this calumny and this calumniator
face to face, and, it may be, hand to hand."</p>

<p>And without hesitation I proceeded to crave an audience
of the prince, and was, without delay, admitted to his
presence.</p>

<p>As I presented myself, I felt how truly the marshal had
spoken. It was evident that I was the object of strong
suspicion. Even if I had not been warned, I should have
felt instinctively that something was wrong. Never had
young Edward's aspect been to me so grave or so ungracious.
But I was too strong in the consciousness of
my innocence to be cast down, even before the frown
of a prince and a Plantagenet. In truth, I was perfectly
calm; and, after bending my knee, I drew myself to my
full height, and spoke clearly and boldly.</p>

<p>"My lord," said I, not without scorn of the thought of
being suspected, "it has come to my knowledge that
I have, in my absence, been accused of conspiring with
the enemies of England. I am here to deny the charge,
and to demand to be placed face to face with my
accuser."</p>

<p>The prince did not answer even a word; but he ordered
Lord De Ov to be summoned; and when my adversary
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>
appeared, which he did almost on the instant, I felt, with
something like exultation, that at length there was a
prospect of our quarrel being brought to a decisive issue,
and that, with a just cause, I could not fail to conquer.</p>

<p>The prince, meanwhile, turned to me, and, with the
frown still on his brow, said gravely&mdash;</p>

<p>"There stands your accuser."</p>

<p>And now I cannot relate what passed; but a furious
dispute, which the presence of the prince scarcely served
to moderate, certainly did take place; and I recited all
the hostility Lord De Ov had evinced towards me, and
the persecution to which I had been exposed at his hands,
not forgetting the incident of Caen, on which I was loud,
if not eloquent. But I did not stop even at this point.
I traced the enmity to its origin. Vehemently I narrated
all the wrongs which my father had suffered, and which
I had vowed to avenge, and astounded the prince by
stating in a voice of thunder, that this man, who now
laboured to ruin my fair fame, bore the name and occupied
the place which were mine by hereditary right. At
length matters reached such a stage that I threw down
my glove, and appealed to the god of battles; and Lord
De Ov expressed his willingness to submit the quarrel to
the arbitrament of the sword.</p>

<p>But for a time there appeared, notwithstanding my
entreaties, some doubt whether a combat would be permitted
under the circumstances. In fact, the prince,
who was perplexed by the turn which the quarrel had
taken, entertained serious scruples. Fortunately, however,
he consulted his guest, the Count of Foix; and
Gaston Phæbus, who enjoyed a high reputation for
wisdom, after some meditation, decided in favour of
allowing the duel.</p>

<p>"In truth," said he, "I think that this is a case in
which an appeal to the god of battles ought to be permitted;
for it is a case which no man, without great
discretion and knowledge, could undertake to decide, one
way or another; and at all times, the judgment of God
is more likely to be just than the judgment of the very
justest man."</p>

<p>"In the name of truth and justice," exclaimed the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>
prince, "let the combat, then, take place; and may God
and St. George defend the right!"</p>

<p>"Yes," replied the count; "it is decidedly a quarrel
which can best be decided by a duel for death or life."</p>

<p>Accordingly, everything was settled; and, Monday
being fixed on as the day for the mortal combat, the
accuser and the accused were placed under arrest till
the time appointed, and preliminaries were <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'aranged'">arranged</ins> for
the trial by battle.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXXIV" id="CHAPTER_LXXIV">CHAPTER LXXIV</a><br />

<small>TRIAL BY BATTLE</small></h2>


<p>I have said that it was the month of May, and the grass
was green in the meads, the corn in ear, and the flowers
in seed, when arrangements were made for the combat,
which the Count of Foix had approved, and which the
Prince of Wales had sanctioned; and, in a wide open
space on the banks of the Garonne, the lists were erected
and preparations made; and galleries were raised on one
side for such lords as wished to be spectators; and, on
the appointed day, the barons of Gascony and England
and the citizens of Bordeaux came forth to witness a
spectacle which promised much excitement.</p>

<p>It would hardly become me to relate my own exploits
on such an occasion, even if my feelings had been such
as to admit of my remembering distinctly what passed.
But the truth is, that, calm as I might have seemed to
observers, my anxiety was intense, and I scarce saw,
scarce heard, anything around me, so completely was
my mind bent and my attention concentrated on the
coming conflict. I therefore deem it prudent to borrow
an account of the duel from a chronicler who witnessed it
without favour, and who described it with impartiality.</p>

<p>"At the hour appointed, Sir Arthur Winram and Roger,
Lord De Ov, the two knights who were to perform this
deed of arms, rode to where the tilts were to be performed,
and entered the lists so well armed and equipped
that nothing was wanting. Their spears and battle-axes
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>
were brought to them, and each being mounted on the
best of horses, placed himself about a bow-shot from his
antagonist; and they pranced about most gallantly, for
they knew that every eye was upon them.</p>

<p>"Having braced their targets, and examined each other
through the visors of their helmets, they spurred on their
horses, spear in hand; and though they allowed their
horses to gallop as they pleased, they advanced in as
straight a line as if it had been drawn with a cord, and
hit each other on the visors with such skill and force that
all present allowed it was gallantly done. Lord De Ov's
lance was shivered into four pieces, which flew to a greater
height than they could have been thrown. Sir Arthur
Winram likewise struck his antagonist, but not with the
same success; and I will tell you why. It was because
Lord De Ov had but slightly laced on his helmet, so that it
was only held by one thong, which snapped at a blow,
leaving him bareheaded.</p>

<p>"Each knight passed the other; and Sir Arthur Winram
bore his lance without halting; and they returned
to their stations, when Lord De Ov's helmet was fitted on
again, and another lance given to him, while Sir Arthur
grasped his own, which was not worsted. When ready,
they set off full gallop (for excellent were their horses,
and well did they know how to manage them), and again
struck each other on the helmets, so that sparks of fire
came out from them. Neither of their lances did this
time break, and Sir Arthur received a very severe
blow: and his lance hit the visor of his adversary without
much effect, passing through and leaving it on the
crupper of the horse, and Lord De Ov was once more
bareheaded.</p>

<p>"After this tilting, the knights dismounted, and made
ready to continue the combat with swords; and they
made a very handsome appearance, for they were both
stout and expert men at arms. Fighting on foot, they
behaved with much courage. Sir Arthur Winram was, at
the first, severely wounded, and his friends were much
alarmed; but, notwithstanding this disadvantage, he
fought so stubbornly that he struck down his adversary,
and was on the point of thrusting his sword through his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>
body, when the prince threw down his warder, and shouted,
'Hold! slay him not, unshriven and unabsolved. He is
fairly vanquished.' Then Sir Arthur demanded of the
spectators if he had done his duty; and when they replied
that he had, the knight approached the prince, and after
thanking him and the lords present for coming to see
justice done, went, albeit sore wounded, to make his
offering in the Church of St. Andrew."</p>

<p>I need not particularly narrate the events which followed
this combat for life or death; how, in a few days
after it was fought, the prince was convinced, by evidence
which could not be doubted, that the plot in which I
was accused of participating had no existence; and how
King Edward, on hearing of everything connected with
the business, swore that, come what might, justice should
be done me, and that speedily. Ere the close of June
my adversary had left Bordeaux for England, and so had
I. But he returned to his native land to take the habit
of a monk in a religious house which his ancestors
had endowed; I to assume the name which I had received
at the baptismal font, and, as son of Edward,
Lord De Ov, to take possession of the castle and baronies
in which, since the Norman Conquest, the chiefs of the
house of De Ov had maintained feudal state.</p>


<hr class="chap" />

<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXXV" id="CHAPTER_LXXV">CHAPTER LXXV</a><br />

<small>GLORY AND THE GRAVE</small></h2>


<p>I had been some time in England when the Prince of
Wales achieved the last of the great triumphs which
enshrined his name in imperishable glory; and <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'English, men'">Englishmen</ins>
learned with pride that, on the south of the Ebro, the
heir of England had, against great odds, fought a
great battle, and won a great victory, to decide the fate
of Castille and Leon.</p>

<p>It was some time after I left the city of Bordeaux that
a guest, whose appearance created much interest, and
excited much curiosity, arrived at the court of Guienne,
and, being in extreme perplexity, demanded the aid of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>
the Prince of Wales. Already he was becoming known
as Peter the Cruel. A few weeks earlier he had been
King of Castille. But his bloodthirstiness and tyranny
had disgusted his subjects; and his illegitimate brother,
Henry of Trastamare, with the aid of Bertrand du Guesclin
and the French, had found it no difficult matter to drive
him from a kingdom where his unpopularity was so great.
Exile, however, as Don Pedro was, he did not despair;
for he knew that the Prince of Wales was at once the
most chivalrous and most skilful warrior of the age, and
he hoped to persuade the young hero to espouse his
cause, to trample Henry of Trastamare and Du Guesclin
in the dust, and to re-seat him on the throne from which
he had been driven.</p>

<p>It speedily appeared that Don Pedro had rightly
calculated his chances. Indeed, the prince, moved by
generosity and compassion, became quite enthusiastic in
his cause, and eager to aid him to the utmost. Nor was
he without the power of so doing; for the country at that
time was overrun with the "free companies," ever ready
to hire their swords for pay; and Pedro promised, on his
word as a king, that, in the event of being restored to
his rights, money should be forthcoming to satisfy all
demands. Nothing, indeed, could be more magnificent
than his promises. It really seemed that every soldier
who fought for him was certain to make a fortune, and
might indulge in visions of boundless wealth. Not
doubting the royal exile's good faith, the prince, after
holding many councils, resolved to raise an army and
march into Spain as Pedro's champion.</p>

<p>It must be admitted that the enthusiasm of the prince
was not shared by all around him; and the Princess of
Wales was one of those who entertained grave doubts as
to the policy of the expedition. When tidings that the
prince had finally decided on marching to restore Pedro
was conveyed to her while at her toilette, she expressed
herself strongly.</p>

<p>"I grieve to hear," said she, "that my husband has
allowed himself to be imposed on by a man so criminal
and so cruel."</p>

<p>"Ha!" exclaimed the prince, when her words were
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>
reported to him, "I see she wants me to be always at
her side; but, by St. George," added he, "say what they
may, I am determined to restore Castille to its rightful
inheritor."</p>

<p>In fact, the die was cast; and the prince, having
assembled an army of thirty thousand men, marched for
Spain, and, having crossed the Ebro, came up with the
foe between Navarretta and Najara.</p>

<p>Henry of Trastamare and Bertrand du Guesclin were
not, however, warriors to yield without a struggle; and, to
meet the crisis, they mustered an army of a hundred
thousand men, and prepared to encounter the conqueror
of Cressy and Poictiers in close conflict. Accordingly, on
Saturday, the 3rd of April, 1367, the two armies met at
Navarretta, and fought a severe battle. But nothing could
withstand the Prince of Wales; and that day he well
maintained the character he had won as a war-chief, and
gained so complete a victory that, seeing their men
scattered in all directions, Henry of Trastamare fled to
France, and Bertrand du Guesclin surrendered himself
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'prisioner'">prisoner</ins> to Sir John Chandos.</p>

<p>When the news spread over Europe that Don Pedro
was restored to his throne by the arms of the heir of
England, the French dreaded the prince more than ever;
and high was the admiration which the tidings of his
exploit created, especially in England, Flanders, and Germany,
and even among the Saracens. But, while Christendom
was ringing with his name, and sovereigns were
bowing at the mention of it, and while the citizens of
London were celebrating his victory with solemn shows,
and triumphs, and feasts, the Prince of Wales was in
melancholy mood. Already he discovered the truth of the
words spoken by the princess. He had been grossly
deluded by the miscreant whom he had befriended.</p>

<p>Never, indeed, was a champion more ungratefully
treated by the man for whom he had conquered. No
sooner was Pedro restored to his kingdom by the prince's
victory at Navarretta, than he forgot all his promises as to
paying the "free companies," and the prince, after waiting
for a time in the expectation of justice, in a climate that
was proving most injurious to his health, lost all opinion
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>
of Pedro's good faith, and, returning to Bordeaux, burdened
with debt, endeavoured to raise the money to defray the
cost of his expedition by the hearth-tax. Much discontent
was the consequence. Indeed, the Gascons declared
that they had always been exempt from taxation, and
appealed to the King of France as sovereign of Guienne.</p>

<p>By this time John of Valois was dead, and Charles,
John's eldest son, occupied the throne of France; and
though, by the treaty of Bretigny, the provinces of
Guienne and Languedoc had been conveyed in full
sovereignty to England, Charles not only responded to the
appeal of the Gascons, but resolved on citing the Prince
of Wales, as his subject, before the Chamber of Peers.</p>

<p>Accordingly, Charles of Valois despatched a knight and
a lawyer to Bordeaux, and, on being admitted to an
audience, they proceeded to read the letter with which
they had been intrusted, summoning the heir of England
to appear without delay at Paris. The prince listened,
eyed the Frenchmen, and shook his head.</p>

<p>"Well," said he in reply, "I will willingly attend on the
appointed day at Paris; but, by St. George, it will be with
my helmet on my head, and with sixty thousand men at
my back!"</p>

<p>Much alarmed was Charles of Valois on learning how
the Prince of Wales had treated his summons, and how,
in spite of his malady, he had put on his armour, mounted
his horse, and displayed his banner. But it soon appeared
that he was no longer himself&mdash;that he was not the
Edward of Cressy, or Poictiers, or Navarretta; and when
the campaign terminated, and he returned to Bordeaux,
such was his languor that the physicians counselled him to
repair to England.</p>

<p>Agreeably to the advice of his physicians, the Prince of
Wales, with the princess, and their infant son Richard,
embarked at Bordeaux, and, having landed at Southampton,
took up their residence at Berkhamstead. But the
prince, though he recovered sufficiently to take a part in
public affairs, never regained his strength; and it was
suspected that he had been poisoned in Spain. At length,
on Trinity Sunday, 1376, after languishing for years, he
expired at the palace of Westminster.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span></p>

<p>Great was the grief, loud the lamentation, caused by the
news that the hero of England had departed this life; and
in celebrating his obsequies no ceremony was omitted that
could do honour to his memory. Canterbury having been
selected as the religious edifice where his bones were to
rest, great preparations were made for his burial, and when
the appointed time arrived, a stately hearse, drawn by
twelve horses, conveyed the corpse from Westminster; and,
with great pomp, the remains of him who had been the
pride of England and the terror of France were laid in the
south side of the cathedral, hard by the shrine of Thomas
à Becket.</p>

<p>And so, mourned by the nation to whose grandeur he
had so mightily contributed, Edward, Prince of Wales
and Duke of Guienne, the flower of English knighthood,
passed from glory to the grave, at a time when his father
was on the verge of the tomb, and when his own son was
scarcely out of the cradle. But it is not within my
province to speak now of the dead hero's dying father, or
of the prince's ill-fated son. My tale is told. With the
death of the conqueror of Cressy and Poictiers ends
"The Story of the Black Prince's Page."</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p>

<hr class="chap" />

<p class="center mt2">
PLYMOUTH<br />
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.<br />
PRINTERS<br />
</p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p>&nbsp;</p>
<p>&nbsp;</p>

<div class="transnote">
<h2>Transcriber's Note</h2>

<p>Obvious punctuation errors were corrected.</p>

<p>"negociation" has been spelled consistently throughout,
 and has been left uncorrected.</p>
</div>

<p>&nbsp;</p>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 45819 ***</div>
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