Crowning an Enemy
The news of the king’s presence flew from mouth to mouth, and stirred
the whole garrison to a tumult of joyful surprise, for it had till then
been a secret to all but a chosen few. In a flash of that chivalrous
daring which was so marked a feature of his strangely mingled
character, Edward and his renowned son, the Black Prince, had come over
from England in disguise, to fight as simple knights under the banner
of Sir Walter de Manny; and while the English made the air ring with
shouts at a feat so much after their own heart, the gallant French
knights who had been made prisoners had at least the comfort of feeling
that they had been overcome by no unworthy hand.
They had even better cause to think so ere the day ended, for Edward’s
chivalrous courtesy to his captives was one of the few bright spots in
that dark and cruel age. They were bountifully supplied with food,
which they sorely needed after that night’s terrific struggle, and the
long and hungry march that preceded it. Their wounds were dressed by
the king’s surgeons, and the more severely hurt removed to his own
quarters, where they were kindly cared for and furnished with all they
needed; and one and all, by Edward’s special order, were provided with
new clothes in place of their battered armour.
Having attended the public thanksgiving in the great church of the
town, the king summoned to his presence in the castle hall a number of
young English esquires who had done bravely in the fight, and knighted
them with his own hand. Among these were, to their great joy and pride,
the Claremont twins, who had surpassed themselves that night, and made
prisoner a Flemish captain of note.
“Royal father,” said the Black Prince, bowing gracefully, “I pray your
courtesy to give me leave to attach these two young knights to my
train, where they will doubtless acquit them as good men and true.”
Edward cordially assented, and the prince, turning to the new-made
knights with that frank and manly courtesy to which, even more than to
his splendid feats of arms, he owed his universal popularity, said
pleasantly—
“Fair sirs, ye may have heard that I am a master who never leaveth good
workmen idle; and such do I hold ye to be. I pray you, then, to hie
down to the shore with such men-at-arms as ye have, and keep heedful
watch and ward all this day, lest the corsairs who haunt the narrow
seas should avail them of the confusion that ever followeth a battle,
and land in their boats to rob and kill.”
Away went the brothers and their train, rejoicing alike in being so
soon entrusted with that important mission by the prince himself, and
at the great warrior’s kindly courtesy; but, not wishing to lose sight
of their Flemish prisoner—the Flemings of that age being proverbially
a very slippery set—they were fain to take him with them.
That night, by King Edward’s special command, his French captives were
bidden to a costly banquet in the great castle hall, and those who
waited on them at table were the best knights of England and the Black
Prince himself.
The meal over, into the hall came Edward III. himself, clad in rich
cloth-of-gold, but with nothing on his head save a twisted chaplet of
pearls.
Up the hall he came, with slow and stately step, halting at last by De
Chargny, who was still chafing fiercely at the treachery that had so
unexpectedly foiled his enterprise, and brought defeat and captivity on
himself. The king fixed on him a look before which even the haughty
noble’s bold eyes sank abashed.
“Sir Geoffrey de Chargny,” said Edward, in a tone of stern rebuke, “I
have little cause to love you, who have thought to filch from me, in a
time of truce, the town that I won with such labour and at such cost.
Right glad am I that I have thus caught you in the fact. You thought to
gain the town cheaper than I did, by payment of a bare twenty thousand
crowns; but I thank God that He has enabled me to foil you.”
He passed on, while the fierce De Chargny, dumb with shame and fury,
muttered through his clenched teeth a fearful vow of vengeance on the
traitor Lombard, who, in a solitary chamber overhead, was greedily
counting the Judas-wages for which he had bartered his honour and his
soul. That vow was terribly redeemed a year later, when a shuddering
crowd thronged the market-place of St. Omer, to see Aymery of Pavia
torn limb from limb by wild horses.
But when the king neared his late adversary, De Ribeaumont, his frown
vanished at once, and a smile like a sunbeam broke over his noble face.
“I give you greeting, good Sir Eustace,” said he, frankly holding out
his hand, “as the best knight of all; for never met I one who gave me
so much to do, body to body, as ye have done this day; therefore give I
you the prize of valour above all the knights of my court, by right
sentence.”
So saying, he untwined the string of pearls from his head, and put it
about the neck of his gallant enemy.
“Bear this chaplet for love of me, noble sir, till a year be gone, and
wherever ye come, tell all men I did give it you for your prowess this
day; and on these terms I quit you your ransom, and ye shall depart
freely on the morrow.”
The brave Frenchman acknowledged with a courteous bow a compliment so
truly in the noblest spirit of chivalry; and the king passed on to the
other prisoners, for each of whom he had a kind word. Then back he came
to the centre of the hall, and, standing between his son and Sir
Eustace, said aloud—
“One debt have I yet to pay, and it befits every man to hold a just
accompt at the outset of a new year. Ho there! let some one call hither
Dick Greenleaf, an archer of Nottingham.”
In came honest Dick, slouching into the brilliant circle with a very
unwonted shyness and confusion on his bold, sun-browned face.
The king fixed a piercing glance on him, and said, with a well-feigned
air of harshness, in such English as he could command—
“Hark ye, Master Greenleaf, I have somewhat to say to thee. Dost thou
bear ill-will to me, thy king, only because I speak not thy tongue as
easily as mine own?”
“It was your grace’s own self, then, who spake through yon loophole,
and not the foul fiend in your likeness!” cried the stout yeoman, with
intense relief. “St. George be my speed, but I am right glad on’t; for,
since better may not be, I had rather, after all, fall into your
grace’s hands than the claws of the devil!”
At this equivocal compliment a laugh, which even the king’s presence
could not wholly repress, billowed through the listening ring.
“Gramercy for thy courtesy, good fellow,” said the king, laughing as
heartily as any one; “but if I talk like a Frenchman, thou hast seen
that I can fight like an Englishman—ha?”
“Ay, marry, that have I!” said the archer, grinning gleefully. “’Fegs!
it was a goodly sight to see your grace at cuffs with yon big
Frenchman, whose sword fell on your crest like my old father’s hammer
on the anvil! But he found your grace too hard for him—no offence to
you, Master Frenchman,” added he, suddenly recognizing Sir Eustace, who
replied with a kindly smile.
This time the laugh was universal, even the guards at the door joining
in; and Edward himself (who, like other kings of that despotic age,
vastly enjoyed an occasional lapse from the rigid etiquette that
fettered his ordinary life) chuckled as he said, with a very
transparent show of sternness—
“For all this, Master Dickon, our own ears have heard thee speak ill of
us and our dignity. What say’st thou to that?”
“I say,” replied the bold archer, sturdily, “that if your grace be the
man I take you for, you will bear me no grudge for having an English
tongue in my head, and speaking my mind as a free Englishman should do.”
“Well spoken!” cried the king, heartily. “Thou hast judged me aright,
friend; and hadst thou spoken yet worse treason than to say I have not
an English tongue in my head, thy good service on the causeway
yesternight had atoned it all. Hold out thy hand.”
The soldier extended a palm as broad and hard as a trencher, and Edward
heaped it with gold pieces from his own purse.
“Now, may God bless and keep your grace!” said the archer warmly, as he
withdrew; “and Heaven send your grace many more such goodly frays, and
ever an archer of Merry England to back you in ’em all!”