Cressy and Poictiers

I produced the ring; the warder looked at it, and bent his head.

"All right," said he; "enter, and presently you will be conducted to him you seek."

As the warder spoke, the gate opened; and, at a signal from him, I rode into the courtyard, where squires and knights, gaily dressed, were loitering about, and talking of adventures in love and war, and feats of arms. I remarked, with surprise, that several of them had one eye bound up with silk; and I afterwards learned that they had taken a solemn vow, in presence of the ladies and the peacock, never again to see with both eyes till they had performed certain deeds in arms against the French.

While I, having dismounted, stood looking with a feeling of that wonder produced by novelty on this gay scene, and somewhat astonished at my eccentricity in venturing into such a place, a young man of noble aspect and bearing approached and addressed me.

"Youth," said he with a smile, "you have come hither to see Jack Fletcher."

I bowed with great respect; for the air and appearance of the young noble impressed me with a sense of his importance; and I showed the ring, the influence of which on the warder I had carefully noted.

"Follow me, then," said he, smiling, "and I will lead you to his presence; though, in truth, it was an old man and not a youth for whom I expected to do that office."

I was by this time much too agitated to explain or reply; and I followed my guide like one in a dream, as he passed through passages and galleries. At length he halted at a door, and, drawing aside a curtain, spoke some words, which to me sounded like an order for execution. Mechanically, however, I entered, and, with my heart beating, and my brain whirling, and all my courage, all my audacity vanished, found myself face to face with the cavalier whose figure had, for weeks, been present to my imagination, and whose words had, for weeks, echoed in my ear. He wore a black velvet jacket, and a hat of beaver, which became him much; and, as he turned his eye upon me, the truth as to who he was flashed, for the first time, so vividly and rapidly on my mind, that I stood stock-still, and almost felt as if I should have sunk to the floor.

My confusion and embarrassment, however, were so evident, that they pleaded for me more eloquently than words could have done; and he appeared all anxiety to put me at my ease.

"Brave youth," said he, "be not alarmed at finding yourself in a strange place; but make yourself as easy as if you were in your grandsire's grange. Why came he not with you, as he promised?"

"My lord," answered I, bending my knee, and trying to take courage, "my grandsire, on reflection, deemed it prudent not to intrude on the strength of the invitation which you gave in your courtesy; but intrusted me with the ring to restore to you, which I now do;" and, with great respect, I suited the action to the word.

I thought that a shade of disappointment passed over his countenance as I spoke; and I shrewdly guessed that it had been his wish to question my grandsire further on the tragic events of the late reign, on which their conversation had formerly turned, and which at the time had produced so strong an effect.

"Well," said he, after a pause, "men who have seen many years must be permitted to do as seems best in their own eyes; and, moreover, methinks we ought not to murmur too loudly at his absence, since he has sent you in his stead; and now that we have you here, youth," he added, with a smile, "you shall not leave us at your own pleasure. You, as I gathered, wished to be a warrior. Will you choose between my service and that of the Prince of Wales?"

"My lord," I replied, more and more embarrassed. "I fear me I am little qualified, by breeding or accomplishments, to serve either; and, even if it happened to be otherwise with me, I could not venture to choose."

"Ah," said he, with charming frankness, "I see how it is. The prince is of your own age, and that is a circumstance which always tends to attract, especially in early youth. So let us consider the question settled, and I will at once have you installed as one of his pages."

So saying, and while I stared in amazement at the result of my journey to Windsor, he rose, took me by the arm, and talking of my grandsire as he went, conducted me to the tennis-court, where the prince and his companions were amusing themselves at play.

My guide, who every moment acquired additional importance in my eyes, stopped as we entered, and eyed the prince with a glance of high pride.

"I bring you," said he, "a youth of strength and courage, whom you will pleasure me by admitting among your pages; and I recommend him to your favour as the grandson of a man who, in his day and generation, served your progenitors faithfully and well."

"The hero of the quintain match at Smithfield!" exclaimed the prince. "My lord," he continued, "he is welcome for his grandsire's sake and his own."

"My lord," said I to the prince, "I pray you to pardon my seeming boldness. Had I known all I should not have dreamt of presenting myself at Windsor."

"Ah!" exclaimed the prince, with great good-humour; "you would not have come on Jack Fletcher's invitation had you known that Jack Fletcher was the king. But in that case I might have found you out; for I want striplings of courage and likelihood around me; and I have thought of you as such ever since the day when you won the peacock."

CHAPTER VIII

EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE

To enable my readers to form some idea of the position which was occupied by the Prince of Wales at the time when I, Arthur Winram – for by this surname I was now known – was admitted to the castle of Windsor, and taken into his service as page, I must go back a few years to relate such particulars as to his birth and boyhood as may convey a notion of the advantages he had inherited and the training he had received.

It was at York, and in the minster of that capital of the North, that, one Sunday in January, 1328, Edward the king, then sixteen, espoused Philippa, one of the four daughters whom William, Count of Hainault, surnamed the Good, had by his wife Joan, who was a princess of the line of Capet, and sister of Philip of Valois, to whom the Parliament of France adjudged the crown which St. Louis had worn. The marriage, being brought about by the king's mother, Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, was not at first regarded with favour in England. In fact, people expressed much discontent with the business. But for once the instincts of the English deceived them. It was a love match after all; and ere long the young queen displayed so much excellence and so many amiable qualities, that she became more popular than any Queen of England had ever been, with the exception, it must be admitted, of Eleanor of Castile.

Nothing, probably, contributed more to the change of sentiment on the part of the English than the birth of the son destined to so glorious a career and so melancholy an end. At Woodstock – a sylvan palace associated with the memories of the Norman and early Plantagenet kings, and with the touching romance of Rosamond Clifford – Edward, Prince of Wales, first saw the light. It was ten o'clock on the morning of Friday, the 15th of June, 1330, when he was ushered into existence, and excited the admiration of the queen's household by his magnificent appearance.

No time was lost in sending a messenger to inform the king that a son had been born to him, and an heir to the house of Plantagenet; and on hearing the welcome news, and that the prince, just cradled at Woodstock, was a marvellously fine infant, and likely one day to be a most handsome man, the king gave a right royal reward to Thomas Prior, who had the good luck to carry the message.

Intelligence of the prince's birth proved hardly less welcome to the nation than to the king. The event was talked of with enthusiasm in every town and hamlet; and people told wonderful stories of the royal infant's remarkable size and beauty, the fineness of his limbs, and his state cradle, painted with designs from the Evangelists. Everywhere the young mother and her son were the subjects of conversation, and portraits of them, at the period, began to form favourite models for the Virgin and Child.

The king was, doubtless, well pleased at the interest that was manifested; and, in order that the public might participate in the rejoicings that followed the birth of England's heir, he proclaimed his intention of holding a grand tournament in London. Accordingly, the lists were erected in Cheapside, and a gay company of knights and ladies assembled on the occasion.

The ceremony, however, was interrupted by an accident that caused some unpleasantness. At the upper end of the street a gallery had been erected for the accommodation of the queen and her ladies; and, while the tilting was taking place, the scaffolding on which the gallery was reared gave way, and the structure fell to the ground. Great was the fright, loud the screaming, and alarming the confusion. Luckily enough, nothing fatal had occurred; but the king, much enraged, threatened to punish the workmen. Philippa, however, interceded in their behalf; and Edward, pacified by her mediation, and soothed by her earnest entreaties, consented to pardon their carelessness.

While the tournament was held in Cheapside in honour of his birth, the prince was passing his childhood under the charge of women. Joan of Oxford was his nurse; Matilda Plumpton was rocker of his cradle; and the Lady St. Omer, wife of a brave knight, was his governess. But no sooner was he old enough for his book than he was intrusted to the charge of Walter Burley, to be instructed as became the heir of a family, one of whose chiefs had given it as his opinion that "a king without learning was a crowned ass."

I ought to mention that Walter Burley had been bred at Merton College, Oxford, and that he was a celebrated doctor of divinity. Having written divers treatises on natural and moral philosophy, his fame spread over the country, and recommended him to the Court; and when Philippa of Hainault came to England as queen, he had the distinction of being appointed her almoner; and, in after years, when he had the honour of figuring as tutor to her son, he fulfilled his functions with high credit. At the same time, Simon Burley, his young kinsman, a lad of great promise, was admitted as one of the prince's class-fellows, and formed that friendship which subsequently led to his being the prince's favourite knight.

Nor were those exercises which make men strong in battle neglected in the education of the prince. From childhood he was accustomed to arms, trained to feats of chivalry, and inured to exertion. As he grew up he gave indications not to be mistaken of turning out a learned, elegant, and brilliant hero, and, in some respects, reminded men of his mighty progenitor who conquered Simon de Montfort at Evesham, and reigned as the first Edward with so much power and popularity.

Meanwhile, the royal boy was admitted to the honours which naturally devolved on him as heir to the crown of England. At the age of three he was created Earl of Chester; at seven he was made Duke of Cornwall; and at thirteen he was, in parliament, invested by the king with the dignity of Prince of Wales.

About the same period, another honour, and one to which he had no hereditary claim, seemed likely to fall to his lot. I have already mentioned that the Count of Flanders had, by his tyranny, driven his subjects to revolt, and that Jacob von Arteveldt, a famous brewer, exercised enormous influence among his countrymen, and that, especially in Ghent, his word was almost law.

Now it entered into the heart of Arteveldt to conceive the expediency of wholly depriving the Count of Flanders of his inheritance, of making it a duchy, and bestowing it on the Prince of Wales. Full of his scheme, and perhaps rather elated with the power he enjoyed in Flanders, Arteveldt entered into communication with the King of England, and had the gratification of finding that his proposal was quite the reverse of unwelcome. Indeed, King Edward promised, without delay, to take his son to Flanders, that Arteveldt might have an opportunity of putting his project into execution; and, accordingly, about St. John the Baptist's Day, he embarked with the prince, in his ship, the Katherine, for Flanders, and sailed into the harbour of Sluys, where, some years earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.

At Sluys, King Edward kept his court on board his ship, the Katherine, and there received Arteveldt and his other allies among the Flemings. Many conferences were held. But it soon appeared that Arteveldt's enthusiasm was not shared by his countrymen. The idea of disinheriting their count and his son was one which they seemed most averse to entertain; and they could not be prevailed on to do more in the matter than promise to consult the cities which they represented. Every attempt to bring the business to a conclusion proved abortive; and meanwhile a storm was gathering which was to destroy the whole scheme at a blow.

In fact, French influences, and perhaps French gold, were at work in every city of Flanders, and rapidly undermining the power which Arteveldt had for years been building up. All regard for freedom and commerce gave way before the prejudices of the hour; and the people of Ghent not only set their faces decidedly against Arteveldt's project of deposing their count in favour of the Prince of Wales, but manifested the utmost indignation against its author. In Arteveldt's absence from Ghent the murmurs were loud; and no sooner did he return to the town than the malcontents expressed their sentiments in a most menacing tone.

It was about the noon of a summer's day when Arteveldt, having left the King of England and the Prince of Wales at Sluys, entered Ghent. Immediately he became aware that his popularity was gone. People who, in other days, had been wont to salute him with profound respect, now bent their brows and turned their backs; and the multitude, at all times easily deluded, intimated that they were prepared to restore the count whom they had banished, and to throw down the great citizen whom they, till recently, had worshipped.

"Here," cried they, as they recognised his figure on horseback, "comes one who is too much the master, and wants to order in Flanders according to his will and pleasure. This must not be longer borne."

Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing. As he rode up the street he became certain that some mischief was in agitation, and probably suspected that his life was aimed at. In any case, he hastened to take precautions against any attempt at violence. As soon as he dismounted and entered his mansion, he ordered the doors and windows to be secured, and warned his servants to be on their guard.

It soon appeared that Arteveldt's instincts had not deceived him. In fact, a multitude, chiefly composed of the mechanical class, almost instantaneously filled the street, surrounded the mansion, and evinced a determination to go all lengths and force an entrance. Resistance appearing vain, Arteveldt despaired of saving himself by force; and, coming to a window with his head uncovered, he attempted to bring them to reason.

"My good people," said he, in the most soothing tone, "what aileth you? Why are you so enraged against me? How have I incurred your displeasure? Tell me, and I will conform myself entirely to your wills."

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

"Gentlemen," said Arteveldt, "be assured that I have never taken anything from the treasures of Flanders; and if you will, for the present, return quietly to your homes, and come here to-morrow morning, I will be ready to give so good an account of them that you shall have every reason to be satisfied."

"No, no!" cried they; "we must have it directly. You shall not escape us thus. We know that you have emptied the treasury, and, without our knowledge, sent the money to England; and you must, therefore, suffer death."

When Arteveldt heard this, he clasped his hands together, and wept in mortification of spirit as he thought of the services he had rendered his country, and perceived how they were likely to be requited.

"Gentlemen," he said, "such as I am, you yourselves have made me. Formerly you swore you would protect me against all the world, and now, without any reason, you want to murder me."

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

Seeing clearly that the populace were in that state of excitement which makes them mistake friends for foes, and that his destruction was certainly intended, Arteveldt left the window and attempted to get out of his house by the rear, with the object of taking refuge in a neighbouring church. But he was too late to save himself from butchery. Already four hundred men had entered the mansion by the back, and the toils were upon him. Shouting for his head, and clamouring like wild beasts, they rushed upon him, seized him forcibly, trampled him under foot, and slew him without mercy.