Cressy and Poictiers

CHAPTER XX
MY ADVENTURES AT CRESSY

On that memorable day when, at Cressy, King Edward so gloriously overcame his enemies, and the Prince of Wales so gallantly won his spurs, I, Arthur Winram, was no inactive spectator of the conflict that was raging and the deeds that were being wrought. Nor, so far as I was concerned, did that day come to a close without such adventures as give colour to life and youth, and furnish food for the memory in more advanced life.

When the French host, with banners waving, and clarions sounding, and crowds of peasants shouting, "Kill! kill! kill!" advanced upon Cressy, and when the English, after sitting quietly on the grass, rose undauntedly to meet their foes, I lost no time in mounting my steed and taking my place among the squires and pages who surrounded the Prince of Wales. At that time the clouds that had for hours obscured the face of day had dispersed, and the sun, shining between the two armies, flashed on their armour and weapons. It was a fair sight to behold, and the eye of the prince gleamed with enthusiasm as he gazed on the exciting spectacle.

"Now may we be thankful to God and to good St. George," exclaimed the young hero, "that the sun at length deigns to shine on our array."

"My lord," said Sir Thomas Norwich with a smile, "that, it seems to me, is a blessing which has been equally vouchsafed to our enemies."

"But mark you not the difference, and how much it is in our favour?" said the prince proudly. "The sun," continued he, "is on our backs, and in their faces; and methinks," added he, "that is a circumstance which they can hardly deem to their advantage, and for which it becomes us to be devoutly thankful."

Such was the conversation that took place by the prince's standard after we mounted our horses, and almost as he uttered the last words the battle began in earnest.

I cannot pretend to have any accurate recollection of what took place for hours after the embattled hosts met in the shock of war. It was in reality my first field; my blood was hot; my brain was on fire; and my memory retains nothing beyond a vague idea of the confusion and carnage caused by the clash of steel, the rush of war-steeds, and the flights of arrows that darkened the air and carried destruction into the ranks of the foemen. I believe, however, that the novelty, the excitement, and the very terror of the scene had upon me an intoxicating influence; and I have been told that I fought like one drunk with new wine.

As the hours sped on, however, I became more calm; and, some time after the attempt of the Count of Alençon and the Count of Flanders to turn the fortune of the day had ended in their fall, and the utter discomfiture of their forces, I recovered possession of my senses sufficiently to be aware that it was after the hour of vespers, that I had left the battle, and that I was keenly pursuing a young warrior, evidently of high rank, who, seeing that all hope of victory had departed, was bent on escaping from a field which his friends had irretrievably lost.

Even in my soberer mood I had no inclination to favour his project of escape, and I loudly summoned him to turn and prove that he was not a coward.

"What ho!" cried I, "turn about. You ought to be ashamed of yourself thus to fly from a single adversary."

For a time the young warrior paid no attention to the reproaches which I launched at him. After a time, however, he seemed to think that it was necessary, for his honour, to give proof of his valour; and, halting, he turned his horse's head, put his sword under his arm after the manner of a lance, and charged me with all his might, hoping to transfix me.

But he was disappointed. I saw my danger in an instant, and taking my sword by the handle, and exerting all my skill and dexterity, I contrived not only to elude the thrust of my adversary, but, in passing, to strike his sword to the ground.

But here I lost myself. In fact, I failed to follow up my advantage with sufficient speed, and my antagonist, springing nimbly from his steed, ere I was aware of his purpose, repossessed himself of his weapon, and placed himself on the defensive. My blood by this time was again up; and I had already resolved that, if no accident intervened, he should not depart from me on easy terms. But he, believing, doubtless, that, as I was on the winning side, the danger of delay was almost, if not altogether, on his, looked around with the air of one eager to escape from a conflict likely to result in captivity.

"Frenchman," said I, "it is vain to dream of escape. We part not till we have proved which is the better man."

"Who are you that follow me thus?" asked my adversary, apparently astonished at my persistency.

"I am an Englishman, and page to my lord the Prince of Wales," answered I, "and I mortally hate him whom the French call king; and as there can, therefore, be no peace between thee, as a Frenchman, and myself, I pray thee look to thy defence."

"In truth," replied the youth, "I am not, as you deem me, a Frenchman, but Louis, son of the Count of Flanders, and merely fighting against the English as an ally of the King of France."

"Louis of Flanders!" exclaimed I. "By the Holy Rood, so much the worse for you! Ever has your sire been England's bitter foe; and it behoves every Englishman worthy of his country, as I hold myself to be, to avenge, on your head, the blood of Jacob von Arteveldt, who, by your father's instigation, was barbarously murdered."

"Dog of an islander!" cried the young prince, stung to fury, and brandishing his sword, "I cannot longer brook your insolence. Dismount, and receive the chastisement you have provoked."

As he spoke, I leaped from my steed. Instantly our swords met, and we engaged in hand-to-hand conflict – he attacking with all the energy which rage could inspire, and I defending myself with the determination inspired by the hope of making a captive almost worth his weight in gold.

And thus on foot, and in the dusk of evening, took place a fierce encounter, with no lookers-on save our steeds, which stood silently by. So equally were we matched, that, for minutes, neither of us had the slightest advantage, and the issue was doubtful in the extreme. Fortunately, however, for me, I was now by far the cooler of the two; and at last, not without great difficulty, I succeeded in disarming him and bringing him to his knee. Immediately I threw myself upon him, and, with visions of the grandeur I was to acquire from taking a prisoner of such rank, I told him, on pain of death, to surrender, rescue or no rescue, and awaited his answer, the nature of which I could hardly doubt.

But, as the proverb has it, there is much between the cup and the lip. Of this I was, on that occasion, destined to learn the whole truth by bitter experience. At the moment I spoke the tramp of cavalry reached my ears; and, almost ere I could turn my head, my prostrate foe uttered a loud cry for aid, and several horsemen rode forward.

"I should know that voice," said the foremost of the party, reining up at the distance of a few yards from the spot where I was bending over the prince I had destined for my prisoner.

"Yes, sire, I am Louis of Flanders," cried my vanquished adversary. "I am Louis of Flanders; and I lie here at the mercy of an English varlet."

The horseman who had already spoken, and who was no other than Philip of Valois, turned towards those who attended him.

"Slay the varlet, and rescue my cousin of Flanders," said he in accents of anger; and two of his companions dismounted and advanced.

It now appeared that I was doomed to instant death; and I well-nigh gave myself up for lost. But neither my instinctive sagacity nor my mother wit deserted me. Quick as thought, my resolution was taken.

"Hold!" shouted I loudly and menacingly. "Beware, and be not rash, but listen."

The two men, whose mission was to kill me, stayed their steps, and the others forming Philip's escort were silent.

"Mark," continued I, seeing that I was attended to, and feeling hope revive, "my knee is on this young lord's breast; of my hands, one is on his neck, and in the other is a dagger, the point of which touches his throat."

"It is true," cried the Flemish prince in great alarm, a feeling which I took care should not diminish.

"You may kill me, doubtless," added I slowly and sternly, "but not until I have sacrificed a victim. Advance a step farther, and this young lord dies on the instant."

I looked my enemies in the face, and, as well as I could perceive by the dim light, had no reason utterly to despair. My presence of mind had saved me, for the moment at least. The two men stood still, and, a brief conference having taken place among the party on horseback, a cavalier advanced.

"Sir page," said he, "relax your grasp, and permit the young prince to rise, and you shall not be exposed to injury in life or limb."

"No," exclaimed I sternly. "He rises not till I am assured of life and liberty."

"I assure you that you shall be unharmed," was the reply; "and as for your liberty, we must, as a matter of prudence, keep you with us for the time being; but I promise that, within as short a space of time as consists with policy, you will be restored to freedom."

I hesitated.

"And whose word have I for such conditions being fulfilled?" asked I, after a pause, and not without curiosity.

"You have my word," answered the cavalier; "and I am John of Hainault, whose name is not unknown in England."

I, with difficulty, curbed my tongue, and suppressed the reply that sprang to my lips; for the martial Hainaulter had recently deserted the cause of King Edward for that of Philip of Valois; and everybody had told each other with surprise that he had changed sides from the most mercenary motives. But I felt the full peril of my position, and answered with the respect which might be supposed due from me to the uncle of Queen Philippa, and the man who originally escorted her to England.

"The word of the Lord John of Hainault," I said, "is sufficient, and I rely confidently on his honour."

I now hesitated no longer. Rising, I assisted the Flemish prince to his feet; and, while I surrendered my sword to John of Hainault, with all the grace of which I was master, Louis of Flanders approached the stirrup of Philip of Valois.

"Where is your father, cousin?" asked Philip kindly.

"Alas! sire, he is slain," replied the boy – "slain before my eyes;" and he burst into tears.

"Compose yourself, cousin," said Philip kindly; "it has been the fate of many brave men to die to-day."

"You are right, sire," replied the young count suddenly. "It is no time to mourn; it is more meet to think of vengeance."

"Yes, sire," added John of Hainault; "and, that we may be alive and free to fight another day, let us tarry here no longer. I say, as I have already said, that, if you have lost this battle, another time you may be a conqueror. Let us ride."

"And whither go you?" asked the young Count of Flanders.

"To the castle of La Broyes," answered John of Hainault.

"And what are we to make of this English page?" inquired one of the horsemen.

"Kill him!" cried Philip, bending upon me his eyes fully and fiercely, like a hawk that has long been kept in the dark.

"No, sire," protested John of Hainault calmly; "I have pledged my word for his safety; he must mount and accompany us as a prisoner."

"By St. Denis!" exclaimed Philip. "Why cumber ourselves with such as he is, when a thrust would settle the question at once?"

"My lord," replied John of Hainault gravely, "my word is passed; and that is conclusive in my view as to his life being spared, however worthless it may be."

No more time was wasted. I was ordered to mount my horse. I obeyed readily, making the best of a bad business, and, disarmed and vigilantly guarded, accompanied the cavaliers who escorted Philip of Valois from the field in which he had met with a defeat more terrible than any that had befallen the warriors of France since that day when the paladins of Charlemagne were attacked and routed by a half-Spanish, half-Moorish host, at the pass of Roncesvalles.

Mournfully and sadly the vanquished warriors rode on through the fields of Picardy; and so much darker grew the night as they pursued their way, that, at one time, they believed they had lost the path, and feared that they would find themselves at the English camp. Late at night, however, they perceived before them the lights of La Broyes, and, with hearts somewhat lightened, they approached the gate. But, as it happened, the gate was shut for the night, and the vanquished Valois was refused admittance into his own fortress.

"Summon the governor," said Philip, in a commanding tone.

Having been hastily summoned, the governor appeared on the battlements.

"Who is it that calls at such an hour?" demanded the functionary, in a mood by no means serene.

"Open, governor, open!" cried Philip impatiently.

"Who is it?" again demanded the governor, in a querulous tone.

"It is the Fortune of France," answered Philip solemnly.

And the governor, knowing his master's voice, came down; and the gate was speedily opened; and Philip of Valois and his friends, and I, their captive, silently entered La Broyes; and, so far as I was concerned, that melancholy night ride was ended.

CHAPTER XXI
AT LA BROYES

I have no doubt I entered the castle of La Broyes with a merrier heart than any of the party whose prisoner I happened to be. I was not likely to forget, and I did not forget, that I had formed one of the dauntless army which had just won a marvellous victory; and, albeit I was a captive, I felt – especially after having supped – more than half-inclined to believe my own mishap a trifle when I thought of the effect that would be produced in the cities and hamlets, and castles and granges of England, when through the land ran tidings that England's king had, without even putting on his helmet, put his continental enemies under his feet.

I was still musing on this subject – so grateful to English pride – and was on the point of stretching myself to rest on the floor of the chamber to which I had been conducted, when John of Hainault condescended to come and hold some conversation with me. I had not, of course, any idea of the Hainaulter's motive, and more than suspected that his object was to gain intelligence that might be turned to account. However, I deemed that I was guilty of no indiscretion in convincing him that I was not wholly without importance in the court of that country to which, twenty years earlier, he had escorted Queen Isabel the Fair when she came to dethrone her ill-starred husband, and to which, somewhat later, he had conducted his niece as the bride of King Edward, then on the point of throwing off the influence of his mother and Roger de Mortimer, and entering upon that career of victory which enabled him to take the highest place among the sovereigns of the age.

I flattered myself that I had reason to be satisfied with the impression I produced, and, indeed, soon found the advantage I had gained by asserting my dignity as page to the Prince of Wales. In fact, John of Hainault's countenance began gradually to relax, and he expressed himself on the event of the day with a frankness hardly to have been anticipated under the circumstances.

"Well, sir page," said he, laughing somewhat carelessly as he prepared to go, "it rejoices me to perceive that you treat your mishap with the indifference which a brave warrior – be he stripling or grey-beard – should treat temporary captivity. And God wots you have your consolation; for, certes, the King of England has won a great victory, and the Prince of Wales has proved himself a wondrous war-chief, considering his years."

"My lord," replied I with enthusiasm, "may the king ever so prevail over his enemies, and may the prince ever prove himself the worthy son of such a father!"

"The King of France," said John of Hainault, looking keenly at me as he spoke, "is inclined to blame Sir Godemar du Fay for his defeat."

"In truth," remarked I, smiling, "it baffles me to discover in what way the unfortunate knight could have prevented it."

"Nevertheless," continued he, "there are some about the king who are loudly calling Sir Godemar a traitor; and the king, enraged at the idea of having been betrayed, threatens to hang him."

I trembled for the safety of Gobin Agace, who had served us so well in the hour of need, but I did not deem myself bound to speak.

"Thinkest thou that Sir Godemar could have played the traitor?" asked he.

"My lord," I answered, "I am a humble page, and unable to judge of such high matters of war and state."

"For my part," continued he slowly, "I entertain no doubt of Sir Godemar's good faith; and I see not how he could have resisted the English army."

"Verily," said I grimly, "it seems to me the reverse of surprising, that Sir Godemar failed to do with a handful of men-at-arms and a rabble of townsmen, what Philip, Count of Valois, failed to do with the flower of the French nobility and half the princes of Europe at his back."

"My friend," said John of Hainault drily, "I advise you to be more respectful when you allude to the chief of the House of Valois, and to speak of him as King of France; otherwise, assuredly they will have little scruple in hanging you on the nearest tree."

"Well, my lord," replied I carelessly, "I am in their hands, and, doubtless, they can do with me as they please. But, in that case, my lord the Prince of Wales may make inconvenient inquiries after the fate of his page; and King Edward has this day shown that he knows how to avenge lawless executions."

"Mort Dieu!" exclaimed the Hainaulter in alarm; "I warn you, for your own sake, not to allow your tongue to outrun your discretion, or you will never more see the green fields and oaken forests of your native land."

And wishing me "Good night," he took his departure, certainly not much wiser than he had come.

I now stretched myself to rest, and slept the sound sleep of youth. Next morning I rose refreshed, and with a feeling that I had little to complain of, save that Fortune had been somewhat unkind in making me a captive in the hour of victory. But I was not without my consolation, and I was rather inclined to show contempt towards my gaolers as men belonging to an inferior nation. But I had prudence enough to keep this feeling in check, and so to insinuate myself into their good graces as to learn something as to the movements of Philip of Valois and John of Hainault.

It appeared, in fact, that Philip and the martial Hainaulter had only made a brief halt at La Broyes. Indeed, Philip neither considered it safe nor politic to remain long in the place. At midnight, after taking some refreshment, he again mounted, and, under the direction of guides familiar with the country, set out for Amiens. By daybreak he reached that place, and, having halted for a while to rest from his fatigue, he pursued his way to Paris, vowing to hang Sir Godemar du Fay, and vainly hoping, perhaps, to discover some way of redeeming himself and his fortunes from the disgrace and disaster of a terrible defeat.

I bore my imprisonment patiently, but could not do otherwise than blame John of Hainault for having, in some degree, forfeited his promise, and left me without hope of release. I was reflecting somewhat bitterly on the circumstance one day, when the governor of La Broyes appeared, and informed me that, on the morrow, I was to be removed from the fortress.

"And wherefore?" asked I.

"I know not," answered the governor, with a significant shake of the head.

I felt some alarm, but refrained from exhibiting any feeling. However, I made an effort to obtain information on another, and not an unimportant, point.

"Mayhap," said I gravely, "you will not deem me impertinent, as affairs stand, in asking to what place I am to be removed?"

"To Bernicles," was his reply.

My heart rather sank, for the name suggested to my imagination that terrible instrument of torture used by the Saracens. In fact, the only bernicles of which I had heard is an engine made of pieces of wood pierced with holes, into which the legs of captives are thrust. They are put at such a distance from each other as to cause intense pain; and, the holes being at various distances, the legs of the victim are forced to a greater or less extension according to the pain intended to be inflicted. No wonder I started, and felt some sensation of horror, as I turned to the governor, and said gravely —

"I mislike the name. However, when one of your monarchs – indeed, that King of France since canonised and known as St. Louis – was a prisoner of the Saracens, and threatened by them with the bernicles, he said, 'I am your captive, and it is in your power to do with me as you please.' So say I."

The governor left me; and I, having taken my evening meal, lay down to sleep, and dreamed that I was on the point of being put in the bernicles by Philip of Valois and the young Lord De Ov, and that I was rescued from their hands by the ladies of Poix, whose champion I had constituted myself when their father's castle was taken by the army of invaders.

"Well," murmured I as I awoke, and convinced myself with some difficulty that it was a dream, "no saying what all this may end in. Assuredly my prospects are not inviting. Nevertheless, let me not droop or despair. I have heard men say that fortune, in love and war, often turns out more favourable than could have been expected. So let me hope for the best, and trust in God and St. George."