CHAPTER LVI
POICTIERS
On the rounded extremity of a chain of hills, surrounded on all sides by narrow ravines, through which flow the waters of the river Clain, an affluent of the Vienne, stands the capital of Poitou, a province which came with Eleanor, heiress of Guienne, to Henry Plantagenet, the first of his race who reigned in England, and which escaped from the grasp of their luckless son, King John, in his struggle with Philip Augustus.
A fair city Poictiers is, and remarkable for its widely-extending walls. In truth, it might claim to be one of the largest cities in France, if judged merely by the space which the walls inclose. But its steep and winding streets and large squares cover only a small portion of the ground included, much of which consists of fields and gardens: and neither the population nor the wealth of the place is, by any means, such as a stranger would naturally suppose when viewing it from the outside. But Poictiers had something to boast of in the shape of historical memorials. While the cathedral, built by Henry Plantagenet, reminds men of the days when a King of England ruled from the Orkneys to the Pyrenees, there are remnants of a civilisation that existed before the name of Plantagenet or of England was known. Here an arch, there an aqueduct, at another place the relics of an amphitheatre, recall to memory the age when Rome was great, and when evidences of Roman grandeur and dominion were everywhere visible.
Nor is Poictiers wanting in historical associations which recall the days of Frankish conquest and prowess in war; for, in the sixth and eighth centuries, its neighbourhood witnessed two famous fights. Near Poictiers, in the year 507, Clovis won a great victory over the Visigoths; and near Poictiers, in 758, Charles Martel won a great victory over the Saracens. It was now to be the scene of a battle in which the French were to sustain a more signal defeat than ever they inflicted, and in which the heir of Clovis and Charles Martel and his chivalry were to have still worse fortune than befell Charlemagne and his paladins at the pass of Roncesvalles.
But as yet no such disaster was dreamt of even by the least sanguine; and, in spite of the lesson they had been taught, the cry of the French, as before Cressy, was "Kill – kill – kill." There was little apprehension of defeat in the streets and squares of Poictiers; almost as little, perhaps, in the ranks of that mighty army which was slowly encamping in the dusk of evening under the banner of France on the plains outside the excited city. The old lion had turned to bay at Cressy, and torn his hunters to pieces. And the young lion should pay dearly for his father's victory.
But within the walls of Poictiers there was, at least, one person, who, albeit regarding the situation of the English as desperate, believed that a battle ought to, and might be prevented. Some time before the Prince of Wales took Romorantin, the Pope sent Cardinal Perigord into France to endeavour to make peace between John of Valois and the enemies whom his vindictive violence had raised up, especially the King of Navarre, who was still detained in prison at Paris. But the mission came to nothing. After several interviews, the cardinal, finding that all his pacific counsels were rejected, returned to Tours, and was there when he learned that John and the Prince of Wales were both advancing towards Poictiers, and that a meeting seemed inevitable. On hearing this, the cardinal, true to his character of peacemaker, hastened to Poictiers; and now, as the two armies took up their quarters for the night, with every prospect of a battle on the morrow, he resolved, ere they could come to blows, to make a great effort, by offering his mediation, to prevent the effusion of Christian blood.
And while the cardinal meditated the night closed over the city and over the plain.
CHAPTER LVII
SUNDAY MORNING
After discovering that John of Valois was between him and Gascony, and halting at Mapertuis, the Prince of Wales, with a determination to make the best of circumstances, took up a strong position, and posted his men in a vineyard, which could only be approached by a lane bounded by hedges, and so narrow that scarcely four horsemen, even if unopposed, could make their way along it abreast. To this lane the prince directed his particular attention, fortifying the hedges on either side, and lining them with archers, who were placed under the orders of Liulph of Windsor, and whose bearded arrows were likely to do terrible execution on such of the enemy as were venturesome enough to be the earliest assailants. At the same time he barricaded his camp with the bombards and waggons, posted his men-at-arms with great skill among vines and thorns, just where the narrow lane terminated in the vineyard, and having drawn up in front of them a body of archers, who were formed in the shape of a portcullis, or harrow, he caused many mounds and ditches to be made round the place, in order to protect them from assailants; and, thus intrenched, he awaited the coming of the foe with a calmness worthy at once of the heir of the Plantagenets, and, in spite of his youth, beyond all comparison the foremost war-chief in Christendom – his own great father not excepted.
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.