St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers

The governor left the battlements, and proceeding to the market-place ordered the bell to be rung. The famished and despairing citizens gathered, a haggard crowd, to hear their doom. A silence followed the narration of the hard conditions of surrender by the governor, and sobs and cries alone broke the silence which succeeded. Then Eustace St. Pierre, the wealthiest and most distinguished of the citizens, came forward and offered himself as one of the victims, saying, "Sad pity and shame would it be to let all of our fellow-citizens die of famine or the sword when means could be found to save them." John of Aire, James and Peter de Vissant, and another whose name has not come down to us, followed his example, and stripping to their shirts set out for the camp, Sir John of Vienne, who, from a late wound, was unable to walk, riding at their head on horseback. The whole population accompanied them weeping bitterly until they came to the place where Sir Walter Manny was awaiting them. Here the crowd halted, and the knight, promising to do his best to save them, led them to the tent where the king had assembled all his nobles around him. When the tidings came that the burghers of Calais had arrived, Edward issued out with his retinue, accompanied by Queen Philippa and the Black Prince.

"Behold, sire," Sir Walter Manny said, "the representatives of the town of Calais!"

The king made no reply while John of Vienne surrendered his sword and, kneeling with the burghers, said: "Gentle lord and king, behold, we six, who were once the greatest citizens and merchants of Calais, bring you the keys of the town and castle, and give ourselves up to your pleasure, placing ourselves in the state in which you see us by our own free will to save the rest of the people of the city, who have already suffered many ills. We pray you, therefore, to have pity and mercy upon us for the sake of your high nobleness."

All present were greatly affected at this speech, and at the aspect of men who thus offered their lives for their fellow-citizens. The king's countenance alone remained unchanged, and he ordered them to be taken to instant execution. Then Sir Walter Manny and all the nobles with tears besought the king to have mercy, not only for the sake of the citizens, but for that of his own fame, which would be tarnished by so cruel a deed.

"Silence, Sir Walter!" cried the king. "Let the executioner be called. The men of Calais have put to death so many of my subjects that I will also put these men to death."

At this moment Queen Philippa, who had been weeping bitterly, cast herself upon her knees before the king. "Oh, gentle lord," she cried, "since I have repassed the seas to see you I have neither asked nor required anything at your hand; now, then, I pray you humbly, and require as a boon, that for the sake of the Son of Mary, and for love of me, you take these men to mercy."

The king stood for a moment in silence, and then said:

"Ah! lady, I would that you had been otherwhere than here; but you beg of me so earnestly I must not refuse you, though I grant your prayer with pain. I give them to you; take them, and do your will."

Then the queen rose from her knees, and bidding the burghers rise, she caused clothing and food to be given them, and sent them away free.

Sir Walter Manny, with a considerable body of men-at-arms, now took possession of the town of Calais. The anger of the king soon gave way to better feelings; all the citizens, without exception, were fed by his bounty. Such of them as preferred to depart instead of swearing fealty to the English monarch were allowed to carry away what effects they could bear upon their persons, and were conducted in safety to the French town of Guisnes. Eustace de St. Pierre was granted almost all the possessions he had formerly held in Calais, and also a considerable pension; and he and all who were willing to remain were well and kindly treated. The number was large, for the natural indignation which they felt at their base desertion by the French king induced very many of the citizens to remain and become subjects of Edward. The king issued a proclamation inviting English traders and others to come across and take up their residence in Calais, bestowing upon them the houses and lands of the French who had left. Very many accepted the invitation, and Calais henceforth and for some centuries became virtually an English town.

A truce was now, through the exertions of the pope's legates, made between England and France, the terms agreed on being very similar to those of the previous treaty; and when all his arrangements were finished Edward returned with his queen to England, having been absent eighteen months, during which time an almost unbroken success had attended his arms, and the English name had reached a position of respect and honor in the eyes of Europe far beyond that at which it previously stood.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE BLACK DEATH.

The court at Westminster during the few months which followed the capture of Calais was the most brilliant in Europe. Tournaments and fêtes followed each other in rapid succession, and to these knights came from all parts. So great was the reputation of King Edward that deputies came from Germany, where the throne was now vacant, to offer the crown of that kingdom to him. The king declined the offer, for it would have been impossible indeed for him to have united the German crown with that of England, which he already held, and that of France, which he claimed.

Some months after his return to England the Black Prince asked his father as a boon that the hand of his ward Edith Vernon should be bestowed upon the prince's brave follower Sir Walter Somers, and as Queen Philippa, in the name of the lady's mother, seconded the request, the king at once acceded to it. Edith was now sixteen, an age at which, in those days, a young lady was considered to be marriageable, and the wedding took place with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster, the king himself giving away the bride, and bestowing, as did the prince and Queen Philippa, many costly presents upon the young couple. After taking part in several of the tournaments, Walter went with his bride and Dame Vernon down to their estates, and were received with great rejoicing by the tenantry, the older of whom well remembered Walter's father and mother, and were rejoiced at finding that they were again to become the vassals of one of the old family. Dame Vernon was greatly loved by her tenantry; but the latter had looked forward with some apprehension to the marriage of the young heiress, as the character of the knight upon whom the king might bestow her hand would greatly affect the happiness and well-being of his tenants.

Sir James Carnegie had not returned to England after the fall of Calais; he perceived that he was in grave disfavor with the Black Prince, and guessed, as was the case, that some suspicion had fallen on him in reference to the attack upon Walter in the camp, and to the strange attempt which had been made to destroy him by Sir Philip Holbeaut. He had, therefore, for a time taken service with the Count of Savoy, and was away from England, to the satisfaction of Walter and Dame Vernon, when the marriage took place; for he had given proofs of such a malignity of disposition that both felt that although his succession to the estates was now hopelessly barred, yet that he might at any moment attempt some desperate deed to satisfy his feeling of disappointment and revenge.

In spite of the gayety of the court of King Edward a cloud hung over the kingdom; for it was threatened by a danger far more terrible than any combination of foes—a danger from which no gallantry upon the part of her king or warriors availed anything. With a slow and terrible march the enemy was advancing from the East, where countless hosts had been slain. India, Arabia, Syria, and Armenia had been well-nigh depopulated. In no country which the dread foe had invaded had less than two-thirds of the population been slain; in some nine-tenths had perished. All sorts of portents were reported to have accompanied its appearance in the East, where it was said showers of serpents had fallen, strange and unknown insects had appeared in the atmosphere, and clouds of sulphurous vapor had issued from the earth and enveloped whole provinces and countries. For two or three years the appearance of this scourge had been heralded by strange atmospheric disturbances; heavy rains and unusual floods, storms of thunder and lightning of unheard-of violence, hail-showers of unparalleled duration and severity, had everywhere been experienced, while in Italy and Germany violent earthquake shocks had been felt, and that at places where no tradition existed of previous occurrences of the same kind.

From Asia it had spread to Africa and to Europe, affecting first the sea-shores and creeping inland by the course of the rivers. Greece first felt its ravages, and Italy was not long in experiencing them. In Venice more than one hundred thousand persons perished in a few months, and thence spreading over the whole peninsula, not a town escaped the visitation. At Florence sixty thousand people were carried off, and at Lucca and Genoa, in Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica it raged with equal violence. France was assailed by way of Provence, and Avignon suffered especially. Of the English college at that place not an individual was left, and one hundred and twenty persons died in a single day in that small city. Paris lost upward of fifty thousand of its inhabitants, while ninety thousand were swept away in Lubeck, and one million two hundred thousand died within a year of its first appearance in Germany.

In England the march of the pestilence westward was viewed with deep apprehension, and the approaching danger was brought home to the people by the death of the Princess Joan, the king's second daughter. She was affianced to Peter, the heir to the throne of Spain; and the bride, who had not yet accomplished her fourteenth year, was sent over to Bordeaux with a considerable train of attendants in order to be united there to her promised husband. Scarcely had she reached Bordeaux when she was attacked by the pestilence and died in a few hours.

A few days later the news spread through the country that the disease had appeared almost simultaneously at several of the seaports in the south-west of England. Thence with great rapidity it spread through the kingdom; proceeding through Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire it broke out in London, and the ravages were no less severe than they had been on the Continent, the very lowest estimate being that two-thirds of the population were swept away. Most of those attacked died within a few hours of the seizure. If they survived for two days they generally rallied, but even then many fell into a state of coma from which they never awoke.

No words can describe the terror and dismay caused by this the most destructive plague of which there is any record in history. No remedies were of the slightest avail against it; flight was impossible, for the loneliest hamlets suffered as severely as crowded towns, and frequently not a single survivor was left. Men met the pestilence in various moods: the brave with fortitude, the pious with resignation, the cowardly and turbulent with outbursts of despair and fury. Among the lower classes the wildest rumors gained credence. Some assigned the pestilence to witchcraft, others declared that the waters of the wells and streams had been poisoned. Serious riots occurred in many places, and great numbers of people fell victims to the fury of the mob under the suspicion of being connected in some way with the ravages of the pestilence. The Jews, ever the objects of popular hostility, engendered by ignorance and superstition, were among the chief sufferers. Bands of marauders wandered through the county plundering the houses left empty by the death of all their occupants, and from end to end death and suffering were universal.

Although all classes had suffered heavily the ravages of the disease were, as is always the case, greater among the poor than among the rich, the unsanitary conditions of their life and their coarser and commoner food rendering them more liable to its influence; no rank, however, was exempted, and no less than three Archbishops of Canterbury were carried off in succession by the pestilence within a year of its appearance.

During the months which succeeded his marriage Sir Walter Somers lived quietly and happily with his wife at Westerham. It was not until late in the year that the plague approached the neighborhood. Walter had determined to await its approach there. He had paid a few short visits to the court, where every effort was made by continuous gayety to keep up the spirits of the people and prevent them from brooding over the approaching pestilence; but when it was at hand Walter and his wife agreed that they would rather share the lot of their tenants, whom their presence and example might support and cheer in their need, than return to face it in London. One morning when they were at breakfast a frightened servant brought in the news that the disease had appeared in the village, that three persons had been taken ill on the previous night, that two had already died, and that several others had sickened.

"The time has come, my children," Dame Vernon said calmly, "the danger so long foreseen is at hand, now let us face it as we agreed to do. It has been proved that flight is useless, since nowhere is there escape from the plague; here, at least, there shall be no repetition of the terrible scenes we have heard of elsewhere, where the living have fled in panic and allowed the stricken to die unattended. We have already agreed that we will set the example to our people by ourselves going down and administering to the sick."

"It is hard," Walter said, rising and pacing up and down the room, "to let Edith go into it."

"Edith will do just the same as you do," his wife said firmly. "Were it possible that all in this house might escape, there might be a motive for turning coward, but seeing that no household is spared, there is, as we agreed, greater danger in flying from the pestilence than facing it firmly."

Walter sighed.

"You are right," he said, "but it wrings my heart to see you place yourself in danger."

"Were we out of danger here, Walter, it might be so," Edith replied gently; "but since there is no more safety in the castle than in the cottage, we must face death whether it pleases us or not, and it were best to do so bravely."

"So be it," Walter said; "may the God of heaven watch over us all! Now, mother, do you and Edith busy yourselves in preparing broths, strengthening drinks, and medicaments. I will go down at once to the village and see how matters stand there and who are in need. We have already urged upon all our people to face the danger bravely, and if die they must, to die bravely like Christians, and not like coward dogs. When you have prepared your soups and cordials come down and meet me in the village, bringing Mabel and Janet, your attendants, to carry the baskets."

Ralph, who was now installed as major-domo in the castle, at once set out with Walter. They found the village in a state of panic. Women were sitting crying despairingly at their doors. Some were engaged in packing their belongings in carts preparatory to flight, some wandered aimlessly about wringing their hands, while others went to the church, whose bells were mournfully tolling the dirge of the departed. Walter's presence soon restored something like order and confidence; his resolute tone cheered the timid and gave hope to the despairing. Sternly he rebuked those preparing to fly, and ordered them instantly to replace their goods in their houses. Then he went to the priest and implored him to cause the tolling of the bell to cease.

"There is enough," he said, "in the real danger present to appall even the bravest, and we need no bell to tell us that death is among us. The dismal tolling is enough to unnerve the stoutest heart, and if we ring for all who die its sounds will never cease while the plague is among us; therefore, father, I implore you to discontinue it. Let there be services held daily in the church, but I beseech you strive in your discourses to cheer the people rather than to depress them, and to dwell more upon the joys that await those who die as Christian men and women than upon the sorrows of those who remain behind. My wife and mother will anon be down in the village and will strive to cheer and comfort the people, and I look to you for aid in this matter."

The priest, who was naturally a timid man, nevertheless nerved himself to carry out Walter's suggestions, and soon the dismal tones of the bell ceased to be heard in the village.

Walter dispatched messengers to all the outlying farms desiring his tenants to meet him that afternoon at the castle in order that measures might be concerted for common aid and assistance. An hour later Dame Vernon and Edith came down and visited all the houses where the plague had made its appearance, distributing their soups, and by cheering and comforting words raising the spirits of the relatives of the sufferers.

The names of all the women ready to aid in the general work of nursing were taken down, and in the afternoon at the meeting at the castle the full arrangements were completed. Work was to be carried on as usual in order to occupy men's minds and prevent them from brooding over the ravages of the plague. Information of any case that occurred was to be sent to the castle, where soups and medicines were to be obtained. Whenever more assistance was required than could be furnished by the inmates of a house another woman was to be sent to aid. Boys were told off as messengers to fetch food and other matters as required from the castle.

So, bravely and firmly, they prepared to meet the pestilence; it spread with terrible severity. Scarce a house which did not lose some of its inmates, while in others whole families were swept away. All day Walter and his wife and Dame Vernon went from house to house, and although they could do nothing to stem the progress of the pestilence, their presence and example supported the survivors and prevented the occurrence of any of the panic and disorder which in most places accompanied it.

The castle was not exempt from the scourge. First some of the domestics were seized, and three men and four women died. Walter himself was attacked, but he took it lightly, and three days after the seizure passed into a state of convalescence. Dame Vernon was next attacked, and expired six hours after the commencement of the seizure. Scarcely was Walter upon his feet than Ralph, who had not for a moment left his bedside, was seized, but he too, after being at death's door for some hours, turned the corner. Lastly Edith sickened.

By this time the scourge had done its worst in the village, and three-fifths of the population had been swept away. All the male retainers in the castle had died, and the one female who survived was nursing her dying mother in the village. Edith's attack was a very severe one. Walter, alone now, for Ralph, although convalescent, had not yet left his bed, sat by his wife's bedside a prey to anxiety and grief; for although she had resisted the first attack she was now, thirty-six hours after it had seized her, fast sinking. Gradually her sight and power of speech faded, and she sank into the state of coma which was the prelude of death, and lay quiet and motionless, seeming as if life had already departed.

Suddenly Walter was surprised by the sound of many heavy feet ascending the stairs. He went out into the anteroom to learn the cause of this strange tumult, when five armed men, one of whom was masked, rushed into the room. Walter caught up his sword from the table.

"Ruffians," he exclaimed, "how dare you thus desecrate the abode of death?"

Without a word the men sprang upon him. For a minute he defended himself against their attacks, but he was still weak, his guard was beaten down, and a blow felled him to the ground.

"Now settle her," the masked man exclaimed, and the band rushed into the adjoining room. They paused, however, at the door at the sight of the lifeless figure on the couch.

"We are saved that trouble," one said, "we have come too late."

The masked figure approached the couch and bent over the figure.

"Yes," he said, "she is dead, and so much the better."

Then he returned with the others to Walter.

"He breathes yet," he said. "He needs a harder blow than that you gave him to finish him. Let him lie here for awhile, while you gather your booty together, then we will carry him off. There is scarcely a soul alive in the country round, and none will note us as we pass. I would not dispatch him here, seeing that his body would be found with wounds upon it, and even in these times some inquiry might be made; therefore it were best to finish him elsewhere. When he is missed it will be supposed that he went mad at the death of his wife, and has wandered out and died, maybe in the woods, or has drowned himself in a pond or stream. Besides, I would that before he dies he should know what hand has struck the blow, and that my vengeance, which he slighted and has twice escaped, has overtaken him at last."

After ransacking the principal rooms and taking all that was valuable, the band of marauders lifted the still insensible body of Walter, and carrying it downstairs flung it across a horse. One of the ruffians mounted behind it, and the others also getting into their saddles the party rode away.

They were mistaken, however, in supposing that the Lady Edith was dead. She was indeed very nigh the gates of death, and had it not been for the disturbance would assuredly have speedily entered them. The voice of her husband raised in anger, the clash of steel, followed by the heavy fall, had awakened her deadened brain. Consciousness had at once returned to her, but as yet no power of movement. As at a great distance she had heard the words of those who entered her chamber, and had understood their import. More and more distinctly she heard their movements about the room as they burst open her caskets and appropriated her jewels, but it was not until silence was restored that the gathering powers of life asserted themselves; then with a sudden rush the blood seemed to course through her veins, her eyes opened, and her tongue was loosed, and with a scream she sprang up and stood by the side of her bed.

Sustained as by a supernatural power she hurried into the next room. A pool of blood on the floor showed her that what she had heard had not been a dream or the fiction of a disordered brain. Snatching up a cloak of her husband's which lay on a couch, she wrapped it round her, and with hurried steps made her way along the passages until she reached the apartment occupied by Ralph. The latter sprang up in bed with a cry of astonishment. He had heard but an hour before from Walter that all hope was gone, and thought for an instant that the appearance was an apparition from the dead. The ghastly pallor of the face, the eyes burning with a strange light, the flowing hair, and disordered appearance of the girl might well have alarmed one living in even less superstitious times, and Ralph began to cross himself hastily and to mutter a prayer, when recalled to himself by the sound of Edith's voice.

"Quick, Ralph!" she said, "arise and clothe yourself. Hasten, for your life. My lord's enemies have fallen upon him and wounded him grievously, even if they have not slain him, and have carried him away. They would have slain me also had they not thought I was already dead. Arise and mount, summon every one still alive in the village, and follow these murderers. I will pull the alarm-bell of the castle."

Ralph sprang from his bed as Edith left. He had heard the sound of many footsteps in the knight's apartments, but had deemed them those of the priest and his acolytes come to administer the last rites of the Church to his dying mistress. Rage and anxiety for his master gave strength to his limbs. He threw on a few clothes and rushed down to the stables, where the horses stood with great piles of forage and pails of water before them, placed there two days before, by Walter, when their last attendant died. Without waiting to saddle it, Ralph sprang upon the back of one of the animals, and taking the halters of four others started at a gallop down to the village.

His news spread like wildfire, for the ringing of the alarm-bell of the castle had drawn all to their doors and prepared them for something strange. Some of the men had already taken their arms and were making their way up to the castle when they met Ralph. There were but five men in the village who had altogether escaped the pestilence; others had survived its attacks, but were still weak. Horses there were in plenty. The five men mounted at once, with three others who, though still weak, were able to ride.

So great was the excitement that seven women who had escaped the disease armed themselves with their husbands' swords and leaped on horseback, declaring that, women though they were, they would strike a blow for their beloved lord, who had been as an angel in the village during the plague. Thus it was scarcely more than ten minutes after the marauders had left the castle before a motley band, fifteen strong, headed by Ralph, rode off in pursuit, while some of the women of the village hurried up to the castle to comfort Edith with the tidings that the pursuit had already commenced. Fortunately a lad in the fields had noticed the five men ride away from the castle, and was able to point out the direction they had taken.

At a furious gallop Ralph and his companions tore across the country. Mile after mile was passed. Once or twice they gained news from laborers in the field of the passage of those before them, and knew that they were on the right track. They had now entered a wild and sparsely inhabited country. It was broken and much undulated, so that although they knew that the band they were pursuing were but a short distance ahead, they had not yet caught sight of them, and they hoped that, having no reason to dread any immediate pursuit, these would soon slacken their pace. This expectation was realized, for on coming over a brow they saw the party halted at a turf-burner's cottage in the hollow below. Three of the men had dismounted; two of them were examining the hoof of one of the horses, which had apparently cast a shoe or trodden upon a stone. Ralph had warned his party to make no sound when they came upon the fugitives. The sound of the horses' hoofs was deadened by the turf, and they were within a hundred yards of the marauders before they were perceived; then Ralph uttered a shout, and brandishing their swords the party rode down at a headlong gallop.

The dismounted men leaped into their saddles and galloped off at full speed, but their pursuers were now close upon them. Ralph and two of his companions, who were mounted upon Walter's best horses, gained upon them at every stride. Two of them were overtaken and run through.

The man who bore Walter before him, finding himself being rapidly overtaken, threw his burden on to the ground just as the leader of the party had checked his horse and was about to deliver a sweeping blow at the insensible body.

With a curse at his follower for ridding himself of it, he again galloped on. The man's act was unavailing to save himself, for he was overtaken and cut down before he had ridden many strides; then Ralph and his party instantly reined up to examine the state of Walter, and the two survivors of the band of murderers continued their flight unmolested.

CHAPTER XIX.

BY LAND AND SEA.

Walter was raised from the ground, water was fetched from the cottage, and the blood washed from his head by Ralph, aided by two of the women. It had at once been seen that he was still living, and Ralph on examining the wound joyfully declared that no great harm was done.

"Had Sir Walter been strong and well," he said, "such a clip as this would not have knocked him from his feet, but he would have answered it with a blow such as I have often seen him give in battle; but he was but barely recovering and was as weak as a girl. He is unconscious from loss of blood and weakness. I warrant me that when he opens his eyes and hears that the Lady Edith had risen from her bed and came to send me to his rescue, joy will soon bring the blood into his cheeks again. Do one of you run to the hut and see if they have any cordial waters; since the plague has been raging there are few houses but have laid in a provision in case the disease should seize them."

The man soon returned with a bottle of cordial water compounded of rosemary, lavender, and other herbs. By this time Walter had opened his eyes. The cordial was poured down his throat, and he was presently able to speak.

"Be of good cheer, Sir Walter," Ralph said; "three of your rascally assailants lie dead, and the other two have fled; but I have better news still for you. Lady Edith, who you told me lay unconscious and dying, has revived. The din of the conflict seems to have reached her ears and recalled her to life, and the dear lady came to my room with the news that you were carried off, and then, while I was throwing on my clothes, roused the village to your assistance by ringing the alarm bell. Rarely frightened I was when she came in, for methought at first it was her spirit."

The good news, as Ralph had predicted, effectually roused Walter, and rising to his feet he declared himself able to mount and ride back at once. Ralph tried to persuade him to wait until they had formed a litter of boughs, but Walter would not allow it.

"I would not tarry an instant," he said, "for Edith will be full of anxiety until I return. Why, Ralph, do you think that I am a baby? Why, you yourself were but this morning unable to walk across the room, and here you have been galloping and fighting on my behalf."

"In faith," Ralph said, smiling, "until now I had forgotten that I had been ill."

"You have saved my life, Ralph, you and my friends here, whom I thank with all my heart for what they have done. I will speak more to them another time, now I must ride home with all speed."

Lady Edith's Last Effort.—Page 321.

Walter now mounted; Ralph took his place on one side of him, and one of his tenants on the other, lest he should be seized with faintness; then at a hand-gallop they started back for the castle.

Several women of the village had, when they left, hurried up to the castle. They found Edith lying insensible by the rope of the alarm-bell, having fainted when she had accomplished her object. They presently brought her round; as she was now suffering only from extreme weakness, she was laid on a couch, and cordials and some soup were given to her. One of the women took her place at the highest window to watch for the return of any belonging to the expedition.

Edith felt hopeful as to the result, for she thought that their assailants would not have troubled to carry away the body of Walter had not life remained in it, and she was sure that Ralph would press them so hotly that sooner or later the abductors would be overtaken.

An hour and a half passed, and then the woman from above ran down with the news that she could see three horsemen galloping together toward the castle, with a number of others following in confused order behind.

"Then they have found my lord," Edith exclaimed joyfully, "for Ralph would assuredly not return so quickly had they not done so. 'Tis a good sign that they are galloping, for had they been bearers of ill news they would have returned more slowly; look out again and see if they are bearing one among them."

The woman, with some of her companions, hastened away, and in two or three minutes ran down with the news that Sir Walter himself was one of the three leading horsemen. In a few minutes Edith was clasped in her husband's arms, and their joy, restored as they were from the dead to each other, was indeed almost beyond words.

The plague now abated fast in Westerham, only two or three more persons being attacked by it.

As soon as Edith was sufficiently recovered to travel Walter proceeded with her to London and there laid before the king and prince a complaint against Sir James Carnegie for his attempt upon their lives. Even in the trance in which she lay Edith had recognized the voice which had once been so familiar to her. Walter, too, was able to testify against him, for the rough jolting on horseback had for awhile restored his consciousness, and he had heard words spoken, before relapsing into insensibility from the continued bleeding of his wound, which enabled him to swear to Sir James Carnegie as one of his abductors.

The king instantly ordered the arrest of the knight, but he could not be found; unavailing search was made in every direction, and as nothing could be heard of him it was concluded that he had left the kingdom. He was proclaimed publicly a false and villainous knight, his estates were confiscated to the crown, and he himself was outlawed. Then Walter and his wife returned home and did their best to assist their tenants in struggling through the difficulties entailed through the plague.

So terrible had been the mortality that throughout England there was a lack of hands for field work, crops rotted in the ground because there were none to harvest them, and men able to work demanded twenty times the wages which had before been paid. So great was the trouble from this source that an ordinance was passed by parliament enacting that severe punishment should be dealt upon all who demanded wages above the standard price, and even more severe penalties inflicted upon those who should consent to pay higher wages. It was, however, many years before England recovered from the terrible blow which had been dealt her from the pestilence.

While Europe had been ravaged by pestilence the adherents of France and England had continued their struggle in Brittany in spite of the terms of the truce, and this time King Edward was the first open aggressor, granting money and assistance to the free companies, who pillaged and plundered in the name of England. The truce expired at the end of 1348, but was continued for short periods. It was, however, evident that both parties were determined ere long to recommence hostilities. The French collected large forces in Artois and Picardy, and Edward himself proceeded to Sandwich to organize there another army for the invasion of France.

Philip determined to strike the first blow, and, before the conclusion of the truce, to regain possession of Calais. This town was commanded by a Lombard officer named Almeric of Pavia. Free communication existed, in consequence of the truce, between Calais and the surrounding country, and Jeffrey de Charny, the Governor of St. Omer, and one of the commissioners especially appointed to maintain the truce, opened communications with the Lombard captain. Deeming that like most mercenaries he would be willing to change sides should his interest to do so be made clear, he offered him a large sum of money to deliver the castle to the French.

The Lombard at once agreed to the project. Jeffrey de Charny arranged to be within a certain distance of the town on the night of the 1st of January, bringing with him sufficient forces to master all opposition if the way was once opened to the interior of the town. It was further agreed that the money was to be paid over by a small party of French who were to be sent forward for the purpose of examining the castle, in order to insure the main body against treachery. As a hostage for the security of the detachment, the son of the governor was to remain in the hands of the French without, until the safe return of the scouting party.

Several weeks elapsed between the conclusion of the agreement and the date fixed for its execution, and in the mean time the Lombard, either from remorse or from a fear of the consequences which might arise from a detection of the plot before its execution, or from the subsequent vengeance of the English king, disclosed the whole transaction to Edward.

The king bade him continue to carry out his arrangements with De Charny, leaving it to him to counteract the plot. Had he issued orders for the rapid assembly of the army the French would have taken alarm. He therefore sent private messengers to a number of knights and gentlemen of Kent and Sussex to meet him with their retainers at Dover on the 31st of December.

Walter was one of those summoned, and although much surprised at the secrecy with which he was charged, and of such a call being made while the truce with France still existed, he repaired to Dover on the day named, accompanied by Ralph and by twenty men, who were all who remained capable of bearing arms on the estate.

He found the king himself with the Black Prince at Dover, where they had arrived that day. Sir Walter Manny was in command of the force, which consisted in all of three hundred men-at-arms and six hundred archers. A number of small boats had been collected, and at mid-day on the 1st of January the little expedition started, and arrived at Calais after nightfall.

In the chivalrous spirit of the times the king determined that Sir Walter Manny should continue in command of the enterprise; he and the Black Prince, disguised as simple knights, fighting under his banner.

In the mean time a considerable force had been collected at St. Omer, where a large number of knights and gentlemen obeyed the summons of Jeffrey de Charny. On the night appointed they marched for Calais, in number five hundred lances and a corresponding number of footmen. They reached the river and bridge of Nieullay a little after midnight, and messengers were sent on to the governor, who was prepared to receive them. On their report De Charny advanced still nearer to the town, leaving the bridge and passages to the river guarded by a large body of cross-bowmen under the command of the Lord de Fiennes and a number of other knights. At a little distance from the castle he was met by Almeric de Pavia, who yielded his son as a hostage according to his promise, calculating, as was the case, that he would be recaptured by the English. Then having received the greater portion of the money agreed upon, he led a party of the French over the castle to satisfy them of his sincerity. Upon receiving their report that all was quiet De Charny detached twelve knights and a hundred men-at-arms to take possession of the castle, while he himself waited at one of the gates of the town with the principal portion of his force.

No sooner had the French entered the castle than the drawbridge was raised. The English soldiers poured out from their places of concealment, and the party which had entered the castle were forced to lay down their arms. In the mean time the Black Prince issued with a small body of troops from a gate near the sea, while De Manny, with the king under his banner, marched by the sally-port which led into the fields. A considerable detachment of the division was dispatched to dislodge the enemy at the bridge of Nieullay, and the rest, joining the party of the Black Prince, advanced rapidly upon the force of Jeffrey de Charny, which, in point of numbers, was double their own strength.

Although taken in turn by surprise, the French prepared steadily for the attack. De Charny ordered them all to dismount and to shorten their lances to pikes five feet in length. The English also dismounted, and rushing forward on foot a furious contest commenced. The ranks of both parties were soon broken in the darkness, and the combatants separating into groups, a number of separate battles raged around the different banners.

For some hours the fight was continued with unabating obstinacy on both sides. The king and the Black Prince fought with immense bravery, their example encouraging even those of their soldiers who were ignorant of the personality of the knights who were everywhere in front of the combat. King Edward himself several times crossed swords with the famous Eustace de Ribaumont, one of the most gallant knights in France. At length toward daybreak the king, with only thirty companions, found himself again opposed to De Ribaumont, with a greatly superior force, and the struggle was renewed between them.

Twice the king was beaten down on one knee by the thundering blows of the French knight, twice he rose and renewed the attack, until De Charny, seeing Sir Walter Manny's banner, beside which Edward fought, defended by so small a force, also bore down to the attack, and in the struggle Edward was separated from his opponent.

The combat now became desperate round the king, and Sir Guy Brian, who bore De Manny's standard, though one of the strongest and most gallant knights of the day, could scarce keep the banner erect. Still Edward fought on, and in the excitement of the moment, forgetting his incognito, he accompanied each blow with his customary war-cry—"Edward, St. George! Edward, St. George!" At that battle-cry, which told the French men-at-arms that the King of England was himself opposed to them, they recoiled for a moment. The shout too reached the ears of the Prince of Wales, who had been fighting with another group. Calling his knights around him he fell upon the rear of De Charny's party and quickly cleared a space around the king.

The fight was now everywhere going against the French, and the English redoubling their efforts the victory was soon complete, and scarcely one French knight left the ground alive and free. In the struggle Edward again encountered De Ribaumont, who, separated from him by the charge of De Charny, had not heard the king's war-cry. The conflict between them was a short one. The French knight saw that almost all his companions were dead or captured, his party completely defeated, and all prospects of escape cut off. He therefore soon dropped the point of his sword and surrendered to his unknown adversary. In the mean time the troops which had been dispatched to the bridge of Nieullay had defeated the French forces left to guard the passage and clear the ground toward St. Omer.

Early in the morning Edward entered Calais in triumph, taking with him thirty French nobles as prisoners, while two hundred more remained dead on the field. That evening a great banquet was held, at which the French prisoners were present. The king presided at the banquet, and the French nobles were waited upon by the Black Prince and his knights. After the feast was concluded the king bestowed on De Ribaumont the chaplet of pearls which he wore round his crown, hailing him as the most gallant of the knights who had that day fought, and granting him freedom to return at once to his friends, presenting him with two horses, and a purse to defray his expenses to the nearest French town.

De Charny was afterward ransomed, and after his return to France assembled a body of troops and attacked the castle which Edward had bestowed upon Almeric of Pavia, and capturing the Lombard, carried him to St. Omer, and had him there publicly flayed alive as a punishment for his treachery.

Walter had as usual fought by the side of the Prince of Wales throughout the battle of Calais, and had much distinguished himself for his valor. Ralph was severely wounded in the fight, but was able a month later to rejoin Walter in England.

The battle of Calais and the chivalrous bearing of the king created great enthusiasm and delight in England, and did much to rouse the people from the state of grief into which they had been cast by the ravages of the plague. The king did his utmost to maintain the spirit which had been evoked, and the foundation of the order of the Garter, and the erection of a splendid chapel at Windsor, and its dedication, with great ceremony, to St. George, the patron saint of England, still further raised the renown of the court of Edward throughout Europe as the center of the chivalry of the age.

Notwithstanding many treaties which had taken place, and the near alliance which had been well-nigh carried out between the royal families of England and Spain, Spanish pirates had never ceased to carry on a series of aggressions upon the English vessels trading in the Bay of Biscay. Ships were every day taken, and the crews cruelly butchered in cold blood. Edward's remonstrances proved vain, and when threats of retaliation were held out by Edward, followed by preparations to carry those threats into effect, Pedro the Cruel, who had now succeeded to the throne of Spain, dispatched strong reënforcements to the fleet which had already swept the English Channel.

The great Spanish fleet sailed north, and capturing on its way a number of English merchantmen, put into Sluys, and prepared to sail back in triumph with the prizes and merchandise it had captured. Knowing, however, that Edward was preparing to oppose them, the Spaniards filled up their complement of men, strengthened themselves by all sorts of the war machines then in use, and started on their return for Spain with one of the most powerful armadas that had ever put to sea.

Edward had collected on the coast of Sussex a fleet intended to oppose them, and had summoned all the military forces of the south of England to accompany him; and as soon as he heard that the Spaniards were about to put to sea he set out for Winchelsea, where the fleet was collected.

The queen accompanied him to the sea-coast, and the Black Prince, now in his twentieth year, was appointed to command one of the largest of the English vessels.

The fleet put to sea when they heard that the Spaniards had started, and the hostile fleets were soon in sight of each other. The number of fighting men on board the Spanish ships was ten times those of the English, and their vessels were of vastly superior size and strength. They had, moreover, caused their ships to be fitted at Sluys with large wooden towers, which furnished a commanding position to their cross-bowmen. The wind was direct in their favor, and they could have easily avoided the contest, but, confiding in their enormously superior force, they sailed boldly forward to the attack.

The king himself led the English line, and directing his vessel toward a large Spanish ship, endeavored to run her down. The shock was tremendous, but the enemy's vessel was stronger as well as larger than that of the king; and as the two ships recoiled from each other it was found that the water was rushing into the English vessel, and that she was rapidly sinking. The Spaniard passed on in the confusion, but the king ordered his ship to be instantly laid alongside another which was following her, and to be firmly lashed to her. Then with his knights he sprang on board the Spaniard, and after a short but desperate fight cut down or drove the crew overboard. The royal standard was hoisted on the prize, the sinking English vessel was cast adrift, and the king sailed on to attack another adversary.

The battle now raged on all sides. The English strove to grapple with and board the enemy, while the Spaniards poured upon them a shower of bolts and quarrels from their cross-bows, hurled immense masses of stone from their military engines, and, as they drew alongside, cast into them heavy bars of iron, which pierced holes in the bottom of the ship.

Walter was on board the ship commanded by the Black Prince. This had been steered toward one of the largest and most important of the Spanish vessels. As they approached, the engines poured their missiles into them. Several great holes were torn in the sides of the ship, which was already sinking as she came alongside her foe.

"We must do our best, Sir Walter," the prince exclaimed, "for if we do not capture her speedily our ship will assuredly sink beneath our feet."

The Spaniard stood far higher above the water than the English ship, and the Black Prince and his knights in vain attempted to climb her sides, while the seamen strove with pumps and buckets to keep the vessel afloat. Every effort was in vain. The Spaniard's men-at-arms lined the bulwarks, and repulsed every effort made by the English to climb up them, while those on the towers rained down showers of bolts and arrows and masses of iron and stone. The situation was desperate, when the Earl of Lancaster, passing by in his ship, saw the peril to which the prince was exposed, and, ranging up on the other side of the Spaniard, strove to board her there. The attention of the Spaniards being thus distracted, the prince and his companions made another desperate effort, and succeeded in winning their way on to the deck of the Spanish ship just as their own vessel sank beneath their feet; after a few minutes' desperate fighting the Spanish ship was captured.

The English were now everywhere getting the best of their enemies. Many of the Spanish vessels had been captured or sunk, and after the fight had raged for some hours, the rest began to disperse and seek safety in flight. The English vessel commanded by Count Robert of Namur had toward night engaged a Spanish vessel of more than twice its own strength. His adversaries, seeing that the day was lost, set all sail, but looking upon the little vessel beside them as a prey to be taken possession of at their leisure, they fastened it tightly to their sides by the grappling-irons, and spreading all sail, made away. The count and his men were unable to free themselves, and were being dragged away, when a follower of the count named Hennekin leaped suddenly on board the Spanish ship. With a bound he reached the mast, and with a single blow with his sword cut the halyards which supported the main-sail. The sail fell at once. The Spaniards rushed to the spot to repair the disaster which threatened to delay their ship. The count and his followers, seeing the bulwarks of the Spanish vessel for the moment unguarded, poured in, and after a furious conflict captured the vessel. By this time twenty-four of the enemy's vessels had been taken, the rest were either sunk or in full flight, and Edward at once returned to the English shore.

The fight had taken place within sight of land, and Queen Philippa, from the windows of the abbey, which stood on rising ground, had seen the approach of the vast Spanish fleet, and had watched the conflict until night fell. She remained in suspense as to the result until the king himself, with the Black Prince and Prince John, afterward known as John of Gaunt, who, although but ten years of age, had accompanied the Black Prince in his ship, rode up with the news of the victory.

This great sea-fight was one of the brightest and most honorable in the annals of English history, for not even in the case of that other great Spanish Armada which suffered defeat in English waters were the odds so immense or the victory so thorough and complete. The result of the fight was that after some negotiations a truce of twenty years was concluded with Spain.

CHAPTER XX.

POITIERS.

After the great sea-fight at the end of August, 1350, England had peace for some years. Philip of France had died a week before that battle, and had been succeeded by his son John, Duke of Normandy. Upon the part of both countries there was an indisposition to renew the war, for their power had been vastly crippled by the devastations of the plague. This was followed by great distress and scarcity, owing to the want of labor to till the fields. The truce was therefore continued from time to time; the pope strove to convert the truce into a permanent peace, and on the 28th of August, 1354, a number of the prelates and barons of England, with full power to arrange terms of peace, went to Avignon, where they were met by the French representatives. The powers committed to the English commissioners show that Edward was at this time really desirous of making a permanent peace with France; but the French ambassadors raised numerous and unexpected difficulties, and after lengthened negotiations the conference was broken off.

The truce came to an end in June, 1355, and great preparations were made on both sides for the war. The King of England strained every effort to furnish and equip an army which was to proceed with the Black Prince to Aquitaine, of which province his father had appointed him governor, and in November the prince sailed for Bordeaux with the advance-guard of his force. Sir Walter Somers accompanied him. During the years which had passed since the plague he had resided principally upon his estates, and had the satisfaction of seeing that his tenants escaped the distress which was general through the country. He had been in the habit of repairing to London to take part in the tournaments and other festivities; but both he and Edith preferred the quiet country life to a continued residence at court. Two sons had now been born to him, and fond as he was of the excitement and adventure of war, it was with deep regret that he obeyed the royal summons, and left his house with his retainers, consisting of twenty men-at-arms and thirty archers, to join the prince.

Upon the Black Prince's landing at Bordeaux he was joined by the Gascon lords, the vassals of the English crown, and for three months marched through and ravaged the districts adjoining, the French army, although greatly superior in force, offering no effectual resistance. Many towns were taken, and he returned at Christmas to Bordeaux after a campaign attended by a series of unbroken successes.

The following spring the war recommenced, and a diversion was effected by the Duke of Lancaster, who was in command of Brittany, joining his forces with those of the King of Navarre and many of the nobles of Normandy, while King Edward crossed to Calais and kept a portion of the French army occupied there. The Black Prince, leaving the principal part of his forces under the command of the Earl of Albret to guard the territory already acquired against the attack of the French army under the Count of Armagnac, marched with two thousand picked men-at-arms and six thousand archers into Auvergne, and thence turning into Berry, marched to the gates of Bourges.

The King of France was now thoroughly alarmed, and issued a general call to all his vassals to assemble on the Loire. The Prince of Wales, finding immense bodies of men closing in around him, fell back slowly, capturing and leveling to the ground the strong castle of Romorentin.

The King of France was now hastening forward, accompanied by his four sons, one hundred and forty nobles with banners, twenty thousand men-at-arms, and an immense force of infantry. Vast accessions of forces joined him each day, and on the 17th of September he occupied a position between the Black Prince and Guienne. The first intimation that either the Black Prince or the King of France had of their close proximity to each other was an accidental meeting between a small foraging force of the English and three hundred French horse, under the command of the Counts of Auxerre and Joigny, the Marshal of Burgundy, and the Lord of Chatillon. The French hotly pursued the little English party, and on emerging from some low bushes found themselves in the midst of the English camp, where all were taken prisoners. From them the Black Prince learned that the King of France was within a day's march.

The prince dispatched the Captal de Buch with two hundred men-at-arms to reconnoiter the force and position of the enemy, and these coming upon the rear of the French army just as they were about to enter Poitiers, dashed among them and took some prisoners. The King of France thus first learned that the enemy he was searching for was actually six miles in his rear. The Captal de Buch and his companions returned to the Black Prince, and confirmed the information obtained from the prisoners that the King of France, with an army at least eight times as strong as his own, lay between him and Poitiers.

The position appeared well-nigh desperate, but the prince and his most experienced knights at once reconnoitered the country to choose the best ground upon which to do battle. An excellent position was chosen. It consisted of rising ground commanding the country toward Poitiers, and naturally defended by the hedges of a vineyard. It was only accessible from Poitiers by a sunken road flanked by banks and fences, and but wide enough to admit of four horsemen riding abreast along it. The ground on either side of this hollow way was rough and broken so as to impede the movements even of infantry, and to render the maneuvers of a large body of cavalry nearly impracticable. On the left of the position was a little hamlet called Maupertuis. Here on the night of Saturday, the 17th of September, the prince encamped, and early next morning made his dispositions for the battle. His whole force was dismounted and occupied the high ground; a strong body of archers lined the hedges on either side of the sunken road; the main body of archers were drawn up in their usual formation on the hillside, their front covered by the hedge of the vineyard, while behind them the men-at-arms were drawn up.

The King of France divided his army into three divisions, each consisting of sixteen thousand mounted men-at-arms besides infantry, commanded respectively by the Duke of Orleans, the king's brother, the dauphin, and the king himself. With the two royal princes were the most experienced of the French commanders. In the mean time De Ribaumont, with three other French knights, reconnoitered the English position, and on their return with their report strongly advised that as large bodies of cavalry would be quite useless owing to the nature of the ground, the whole force should dismount, except three hundred picked men destined to break the line of English archers and a small body of German horse to act as a reserve.

Just as the King of France was about to give orders for the advance, the Cardinal of Perigord arrived in his camp, anxious to stop, if possible, the effusion of blood. He hurried to the King of France.

"You have here, sire," he said, "the flower of all the chivalry of your realm assembled against a mere handful of English, and it will be far more honorable and profitable for you to have them in your power without battle than to risk such a noble array in uncertain strife. I pray you, then, in the name of God, to let me ride on to the Prince of Wales, to show him his peril, and to exhort him to peace."

"Willingly, my lord," the king replied; "but above all things be quick."

The cardinal at once hastened to the English camp; he found the Black Prince in the midst of his knights ready for battle, but by no means unwilling to listen to proposals for peace. His position was indeed most perilous. In his face was an enormously superior army, and he was, moreover, threatened by famine; even during the two preceding days his army had suffered from a great scarcity of forage, and its provisions were almost wholly exhausted. The French force was sufficiently numerous to blockade him in his camp, and he knew that did they adopt that course he must surrender unconditionally, since were he forced to sally out and attack the French no valor could compensate for the immense disparity of numbers. He therefore replied at once to the cardinal's application that he was ready to listen to any terms by which his honor and that of his companions would be preserved.

The cardinal returned to the King of France, and with much entreaty succeeded in obtaining a truce until sunrise on the following morning. The soldiers returned to their tents, and the cardinal rode backward and forward between the armies, beseeching the King of France to moderate his demands, and the Black Prince to submit to the evil fortune which had befallen him; but on the one side the king looked upon the victory certain, and on the other the Black Prince thought that there was at least a hope of success should the French attack him. All, therefore, that the cardinal could obtain from him was an offer to resign all he had captured in his expedition, towns, castles, and prisoners, and to take an oath not to bear arms again against France for seven years. This proposal fell so far short of the demands of the French king that pacification soon appeared hopeless.

Early on the Monday morning the cardinal once more sought the presence of the French king, but found John inflexible; while some of the leaders, who had viewed with the strongest disapproval his efforts to snatch what they regarded as certain victory from their hands, gave him a peremptory warning not to show himself again in their lines.

The prelate then bore the news of his failure to the Prince of Wales. "Fair son," he said, "do the best you can, for you must needs fight, as I can find no means of peace or amnesty with the King of France."

"Be it so, good father," the prince replied; "it is our full resolve to fight, and God will aid the right."

The delay which had occurred had not been without advantages for the British army, although the shortness of provisions was greatly felt. Every effort had been made to strengthen the position. Deep trenches had been dug and palisades erected around it, and the carts and baggage train had all been moved round so as to form a protection on the weakest side of the camp, where also a rampart had been constructed.

Upon a careful examination of the ground it was found that the hill on the right side of the camp was less difficult than had been supposed, and that the dismounted men-at-arms who lay at its foot under the command of the dauphin would find little difficulty in climbing it to the assault. The prince therefore gave orders that three hundred men-at-arms and three hundred mounted archers should make a circuit from the rear round the base of the hill, in order to pour in upon the flank of the dauphin's division as soon as they became disordered in the ascent. The nature of the ground concealed this maneuver from the enemies' view, and the Captal de Buch, who was in command of the party, gained unperceived the cover of a wooded ravine within a few hundred yards of the left flank of the enemy. By the time that all these dispositions were complete the huge French array was moving forward. The Black Prince, surrounded by his knights, viewed them approaching.

"Fair lords," he said, "though we be so few against that mighty power of enemies, let us not be dismayed, for strength and victory lie not in multitudes, but in those to whom God give them. If he will the day be ours, then the highest glory of this world will be given to us. If we die, I have the noble lord, my father, and two fair brothers, and you have each of you many a good friend who will avenge us well; thus, then, I pray you fight well this day, and if it please God and St. George I will also do the part of a good knight."

The prince then chose Sir John Chandos and Sir James Audley to remain by his side during the conflict in order to afford him counsel in case of need. Audley, however, pleaded a vow which he had made long before, to be the first in battle should he ever be engaged under the command of the King of England or any of his children. The prince at once acceded to his request to be allowed to fight in the van, and Audley, accompanied by four chosen squires, took his place in front of the English line of battle. Not far from him, also in advance of the line, was Sir Eustace d'Ambrecicourt on horseback, also eager to distinguish himself.

As Sir James rode off the prince turned to Walter. "As Audley must needs fight as a knight-errant, Sir Walter Somers, do you take your place by my side, for there is no more valiant knight in my army than you have often proved yourself to be."

Three hundred chosen French men-at-arms, mounted on the strongest horses, covered with steel armor, led the way under the command of the Maréchals d'Audeham and De Clermont; while behind them were a large body of German cavalry under the Counts of Nassau, Saarbruck, and Nidau, to support them in their attack on the English archers. On the right was the Duke of Orleans with sixteen thousand men-at-arms; on the left the dauphin and his two brothers with an equal force; while King John himself led on the rear-guard.

When the three hundred élite of the French army reached the narrow way between the hedges, knowing that these were lined with archers they charged through at a gallop to fall upon the main body of bowmen covering the front of the English men-at-arms. The moment they were fairly in the hollow road the British archers rose on either side to their feet and poured such a flight of arrows among them that in an instant all was confusion and disarray. Through every joint and crevice of the armor of knights and horses the arrows found their way, and the lane was almost choked with the bodies of men and horses. A considerable number, nevertheless, made their way through and approached the first line of archers beyond.

Here they were met by Sir James Audley, who, with his four squires, plunged into their ranks and overthrew the Maréchal d'Audeham, and then fought his way onward. Regardless of the rest of the battle he pressed ever forward, until at the end of the day, wounded in a hundred places and fainting from loss of blood, he fell from his horse almost at the gates of Poitiers, and was borne from the field by the four faithful squires who had fought beside him throughout the day.

Less fortunate was Sir Eustace d'Ambrecicourt, who spurred headlong upon the German cavalry. A German knight rode out to meet him, and in the shock both were dishorsed, but before Sir Eustace could recover his seat he was borne down to the ground by four others of the enemy, and was bound and carried captive to the rear.

In the mean time the English archers kept up their incessant hail of arrows upon the band under the French marshals. The English men-at-arms passed through the gaps purposely left in the line of archers and drove back the front rank of the enemy upon those following, chasing them headlong down the hollow road again. The few survivors of the French force, galloping back, carried confusion into the advancing division of the dauphin. Before order was restored the Captal de Buch with his six hundred men issued forth from his place of concealment and charged impetuously down on the left flank of the dauphin.

The French, shaken in front by the retreat of their advance-guard, were thrown into extreme confusion by this sudden and unexpected charge. The horse archers with the captal poured their arrows into the mass, while the shafts of the main body of the archers on the hill hailed upon them without ceasing.

The rumor spread among those in the French rear, who were unable to see what was going forward, that the day was already lost, and many began to fly. Sir John Chandos marked the confusion which had set in, and he exclaimed to the prince:

"Now, sir, ride forward, and the day is yours. Let us charge right over upon your adversary, the King of France, for there lies the labor and the feat of the day. Well do I know that his great courage will never let him fly, but, God willing, he shall be well encountered."

"Forward, then, John Chandos," replied the prince. "You shall not see me tread one step back, but ever in advance. Bear on my banner. God and St. George be with us!"

The horses of the English force were all held in readiness by their attendants close in their rear. Every man sprang into his saddle, and with leveled lances the army bore down the hill against the enemy, while the Captal de Buch forced his way through the struggling ranks of the French to join them.

To these two parties were opposed the whole of the German cavalry, the division of the dauphin, now thinned by flight, and a strong force under the Constable de Brienne, Duke of Athens. The first charge of the English was directed against the Germans, the remains of the marshal's forces, and that commanded by the constable. The two bodies of cavalry met with a tremendous shock, raising their respective war-cries, "Denis Mount Joye!" and "St. George Guyenne!" Lances were shivered, and horses and men rolled over, but the German horse were borne down in every direction by the charge of the English chivalry. The Counts of Nassau and Saarbruck were taken, and the rest driven down the hill in utter confusion. The division of the Duke of Orleans, a little further down the hill to the right, were seized with a sudden panic, and sixteen thousand men-at-arms, together with their commander, fled without striking a blow.

Having routed the French and German cavalry in advance, the English now fell upon the dauphin's division. This had been already confused by the attacks of the Captal de Buch, and when its leaders beheld the complete rout of the marshals and the Germans, and saw the victorious force galloping down upon them, the responsibility attached to the charge of the three young princes overcame their firmness. The Lords of Landas, Vaudenay, and St. Venant, thinking the battle lost, hurried the princes from the field, surrounded by eight hundred lances, determined to place them at a secure distance, and then to return and fight beside the king.

The retreat of the princes at once disorganized the force, but though many fled a number of the nobles remained scattered over the field fighting in separate bodies with their own retainers gathered under their banners. Gradually these fell back and took post on the left of the French king's division. The constable and the Duke of Bourbon with a large body of knights and men-at-arms also opposed a firm front to the advance of the English.

The king saw with indignation one of his divisions defeated and the other in coward flight, but his forces were still vastly superior to those of the English, and ordering his men to dismount, he prepared to receive their onset. The English now gathered their forces, which had been scattered in combat, and again advanced to the fight. The archers as usual heralded this advance with showers of arrows, which shook the ranks of the French and opened the way for the cavalry. These dashed in, and the ranks of the two armies became mixed, and each man fought hand to hand. The French king fought on foot with immense valor and bravery, as did his nobles. The Dukes of Bourbon and Athens, the Lords of Landas, Argenton, Chambery, Joinville, and many others stood and died near the king.

Gradually the English drove back their foes. The French forces became cut up into groups or confined into narrow spaces. Knight after knight fell around the king. De Ribaumont fell near him. Jeffrey de Charny, who, as one of the most valiant knights in the army, had been chosen to bear the French standard, the oriflamme, never left his sovereign's side, and as long as the sacred banner floated over his head John would not believe the day was lost. At length, however, Jeffrey de Charny was killed, and the oriflamme fell. John, surrounded on every side by foes who pressed forward to make him prisoner, still kept clear the space immediately around himself and his little son with his battle-ax; but at last he saw that further resistance would only entail the death of both, and he then surrendered to Denis de Montbec, a knight of Artois.