Cressy and Poictiers

Such as I have described it was the position of the English when Sunday morning dawned – 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.

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.

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 – although nineteen others were armed like himself, in order to distract the attention of the English archers – was John of Valois. Arrayed in splendid armour, glittering with gold, and bestriding a white steed – the symbol of sovereignty – 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.

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.

"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."

Sir Eustace de Ribeaumont and his comrades bowed their heads and departed; and there was a pause till they returned.

"Well," asked John of Valois eagerly, "what news bring you?"

"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."

"And in what manner would you advise me to attack them?" asked John.

"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 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."

"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.

"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."

"Sire," shouted the French, "with God's aid we will most cheerfully meet them, and avenge all the injuries they have done us."

"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!"

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.

"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."

"By St. Denis!" replied the king, "it is very agreeable to me; but make haste back."

"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."

"No," said John, shaking his head.

"No, no!" shouted hundreds of French warriors, with violent gesticulations.

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.

CHAPTER LVIII

THE PEACE-MAKER

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 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.

"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."

"Sir," replied the prince, "my own honour and that of my army saved, I am ready to listen to any reasonable terms."

"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."

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 negociation would arrive at no satisfactory conclusion.

"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."

"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 expedition, to give up without ransom all my prisoners, and to swear not to bear arms against France for the space of seven years."

"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."

"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."

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.

"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."

"Fair son," said the cardinal, coming to the Prince of Wales to inform him of the result of his negociations, "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."

"Such are my intentions, and such the intentions of my army," replied the prince, "and may God defend the right!"

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.

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.

"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."

"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."

CHAPTER LIX

CHANDOS AND CLERMONT

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.

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 – 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 from his surprise to speak, and to speak much more boldly and loudly than I thought consistent with chivalrous dignity, under the circumstances.

"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?"

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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.

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.

"Beshrew me," exclaimed I with indignation, "if I could imagine aught more insolent than that French knight's challenge."

"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?"

"Never," said I.

"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."

"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.

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.

CHAPTER LX

THE ARRAY OF THE ENGLISH

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 – a day likely to be long remembered by one nation with pride, by the other with mortification.

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.

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 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.

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 – agreeably to the custom observed on the previous day by John of Valois – addressed himself to those who shared the dangers of his situation.

"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 may, you shall see me this day prove myself a good and hardy knight, so help me God and good St. George!"

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.

At that moment Lord Audley turned to the prince.

"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."

"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!"

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.

And then began the battle of Poictiers.

CHAPTER LXI

ROUT OF THE MARSHALS

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.