Cressy and Poictiers

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, and sailed into the harbour of Sluys, where, some years earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing. 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.

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.

"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."

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

"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."

"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."

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.

"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."

"Come down," bawled the mob, "and do not preach to us from such a height. We want to know what you have done with the treasures of Flanders?"

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 my way into the service of the young hero around whose name so much fame was soon to gather.

CHAPTER IX

KING EDWARD'S DEFIANCE

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.

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.

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.

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 – if he knew what manner of men the invaders were likely to be – 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.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

"Ha! Sir Hervé – 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."

"Sire – " said Sir Hervé, interrupting.

"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 requested it; but on this condition, that you perform what I am going to ask of you."

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

"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."

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

"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."

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

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.

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.

"And now," said King Edward, "let my adversary tremble."

"Ay, let Philip of Valois tremble," shouted hundreds of voices.

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.

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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER X

THE VOYAGE

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.

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.

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.

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

"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 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."

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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."

"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."

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, 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.

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.

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 – hope beckoning him onwards and genius guiding him on the way to victory.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

CHAPTER XI

MARCH OF THE INVADERS

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.