Cressy and Poictiers

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.

"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."

"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 – "

"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."

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

"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 relax the rules, in order to make the sport more worthy of the occasion."

"If such be your pleasure, my lord, I will strain a point;" and my grandsire waving his hat in the air, said —

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

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 —

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

"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."

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.

"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.

I bowed low to the compliment so sincerely expressed.

"Thy name, youth?" said the prince.

"My lord," I answered, "my name is Arthur."

"And your surname?" continued the prince.

"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."

"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."

"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.

"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.

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

"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."

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

"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."

"Ay," said Thomelin; "let us to the Falcon."

And we went.

CHAPTER IV

AT MY GRANDSIRE'S HOMESTEAD

My grandsire's homestead, as I have already intimated, stood on the outskirts of the royal forest of Windsor. It 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.

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.

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 – even my life – depended on my name and origin remaining a profound secret.

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, 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.

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 – the first of the name – 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.

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 constant exercise among the trees that shadowed our quiet grange.

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.

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

"And what news bringest thou, Thomelin?" asked my grandsire.

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

"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."

"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?"

"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."

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

"More war?" exclaimed my grandsire.

"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 Brittany – all our king's friends and allies – to be arrested, without rhyme or reason, and beheaded without trial."

"Ho, ho!" exclaimed my grandsire.

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

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

"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."

It was while my mind was wholly bent on this subject – while I was brooding over the past, and panting to penetrate the future – 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.

CHAPTER V

JACK FLETCHER

It was a warm day in the month of September – one of those autumnal days when the sun still shines in all its vigour – and my grandsire, with me as his companion, 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.

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.

"Good-day, friend," said he, reining in his steed.

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

"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."

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

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

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

"Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as if in a tone of inquiry.

"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."

"Doubtless," replied the cavalier, "the king would do what is right and lawful."

"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."

"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."

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

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

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.

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

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

"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, and with some whose names will live for ever in chronicle and song."

"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."

My grandsire laughed, as if in scorn of the thought.

"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."

"And how came your services to pass unrewarded and unrecognized?"

"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."

"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.

I gazed with some surprise on the effect which had been produced; and my grandsire was in such perplexity, that he seemed quite relieved when the cavalier turned towards me and eyed me keenly.

"And this," said he, "is your grandson?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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

The cavalier looked puzzled, but took from his hand a ring.

"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."

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 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.

"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."

CHAPTER VI

WAR WITH FRANCE

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.

It was on the 1st of February, 1328 – the year in the course of which I drew my first breath – 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 – from which, centuries earlier, Hugh Capet pushed the descendant of Charlemagne, and to which subsequently St. Louis gave dignity – 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 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.

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.

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.