Cressy and Poictiers

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 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.

"Yield thee, Sir Squire!" said I, leaping from my steed.

"What is your name, and who are you?" asked he somewhat fiercely.

"My name is Arthur Winram, and I am a squire of England," I answered.

"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.

"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."

Meanwhile Lord De Ov had recovered his feet, and as I turned round, he was regarding me with a scowl of hate.

"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."

"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 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."

"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."

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.

"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!"

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.

CHAPTER LXVI

THE SCOTS AT POICTIERS

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 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.

"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."

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.

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.

But in this wise did Ramsay contrive to set his companion in arms at liberty.

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.

"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?"

Douglas, perceiving the scheme at a glance, did not answer, but looked the picture of convicted imposture and conscious guilt.

"Come hither, knave, and pull off my boots," continued Ramsay, determined to lose no time in executing the project so well conceived.

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 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.

"How is this?" asked the English who were present; "surely the person whom you have just beaten is a lord of high rank?"

"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."

"But his ransom?" said the English.

"Well," answered Ramsay, "I will pay the sum of forty shillings, which is more than he is worth – body, bones, and all."

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.

"Get you gone, sirrah!" cried he, pushing him roughly away; and then whispered, "Fly!"

Douglas did not require a second hint.

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.

"What?" asked I; "mean you that the Scot has escaped without paying his ransom?"

"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."

"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 your fortune, and you can have your liberty to-morrow if you promise to pay the amount to me before Christmas, at Bordeaux."

"Thanks for your courtesy," replied Eustace gladly; "and, trust me, I will not fail to requite it."

"And now," said I, "if I could only reclaim the Scottish bird that has flown!"

"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."

CHAPTER LXVII

THE VICTORS AND THE VANQUISHED

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

"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."

"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."

And the English, who had witnessed his interview with James, Lord Audley, highly applauded the sentiment.

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, sympathising with his captive's melancholy, endeavoured to administer comfort.

"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."

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.

"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."

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.

CHAPTER LXVIII

THE MARCH TO BORDEAUX

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.

Meanwhile great alarm prevailed in Poictiers, and during the night the Lord of Roy entered the city with a 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.

"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."

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.

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.

"How fares the noble knight?" asked the prince.

"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."

"What mean you?" inquired the prince with curiosity.

"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.'"

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.

"My Lord James," said he, "I have been informed that, after you had taken leave of me and returned to your tent, you made a present to your four squires of the gift I presented to you."

"Sir," replied Lord Audley, "you have heard the truth."

"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."

"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."

"Go on, my Lord James," said the prince, seeing that the knight hesitated.

"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."

"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."

"Sir, I thank you," said Lord Audley, glad to hear the prince was satisfied.

"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."

Lord Audley's heart was too full to admit of his answering, but his silence was much more eloquent than words could have been; and I, riding by the side of his litter, could not help saying to myself —

"This is indeed a rare kind of contest, where merit in the subject and munificence in the prince strive which shall be the greater."

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.

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.

CHAPTER LXIX

THE PRINCE AND HIS CAPTIVE

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.

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 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.

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.

"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."

"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."

"Nevertheless," urged the Gascons, appearing to grow more stubborn every moment, "we cannot consent to his departure."

"What, in the name of the saints, is to be done?" asked the prince, taking Lord Cobham and Sir John Chandos aside.

"Sir," said Lord Cobham, "you must consider the avaricious nature of the Gascons in dealing with them."

"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."

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.

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.

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.

On the very day after the arrival of John of Valois in London, and while he was feasting with the court at 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.

"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."