_Tournaments ... The Round Table ... Order of the Garter ... Courtesy
of Edward ... Prevalence of chivalric Taste among all Classes ...
English Archers ... The Black Prince ... Story of the King's Chivalry
... England regarded as the Seat of Honour ... Instance of this ...
Chivalric Heroes in this Reign ... The Gestes and Prowesses of Sir
Walter Manny ... Chivalric Vow of Sir Walter ... He fights for the
Love of his Lady ... His Rescue of Two Brother Knights ... Instance of
his joyous Adventurousness ... His Gallantry before Auberoche ... His
filial Piety ... Story of chivalric Manners ... The Gentle Disposition
of Manny ... His Importance at Edward's Court ... His remarkable
Sagacity ... His Liberality ... His Death in 1372 ... Buried in the
Charter-House ... Heroism of Sir James Audley ... His Generosity ...
Memoir of Sir John Chandos ... His Gallantry to Ladies ... Amusing
Instance of the Pride of Knighthood ... The Importance of his Counsel
at Poictiers ... His Exploits in Brittany ... And in Spain ... Is made
a Knight Banneret ... Quits the Black Prince ... But returns ... The
remarkable Generousness of his Conduct to Lord Pembroke ... The last
Circumstance of his Life ... General Grief at his Death._
[Sidenote: Tournaments.]
The sun of English chivalry reached its meridian in the reign of Edward
III., for the King and the nobles all were knightly, and the image of
their character was reflected in the minds of the people.[1] Tournaments
and jousts, for the amusement and in honour of the ladies, were the
universal fashion of the time. In little more than one year, chivalric
solemnities were held with unparalleled magnificence at Litchfield, Bury,
Guildford, Eltham, Canterbury, and twice at Windsor.[2] The gay character
of Edward and his court was pleasingly displayed in the spring of the year
1359, three years after the battle of Poictiers. A solemn tournament of
three days' duration was proclaimed in London, and the lord mayor,
sheriffs, and aldermen, proposed to keep the field against all comers. The
time arrived, the martial games were held, and all the honor of arms
appeared to be of right due to the officers of the city. The victors then
threw aside their shields and surcoats impressed with the city's bearings,
removed their beavers, and King Edward, the Black Prince, the Princes
Lionel, John, and Edmund, and nineteen noble barons, were recognised.[3]
[Sidenote: The round table.]
[Sidenote: Order of the Garter.]
The round table at Kenilworth already mentioned was not a solitary
instance of the love of romantic grandeur and gallantry among the people
of England. Mortimer kept a round table of knights in Wales professedly in
imitation of Arthur,[4] And afterwards Edward III. endeavoured to realise
the golden imaginations of fable which had assigned one hundred and fifty
knights as the complement of Arthur's chivalry.[5] We are assured that the
round table which Edward established at Windsor in 1344 described a
circumference of six hundred feet: but it is more interesting to know,
that the nobility and knighthood of France, Germany, Spain, and other
countries flocked to England on the invitation of the King, and that the
chivalric bands at Windsor were graced by the presence of Queen Philippa
and three hundred English ladies, who, in honour of the friendly union of
knights, were all arrayed in splendid dresses of one form and fashion, and
looked like the sisters of a military order. Policy was mixed with
chivalric pride in Edward's plan; for he wished to retain in his service
some of the foreign knights who repaired to the tournament at Windsor. But
his intention to strengthen his chivalry was defeated by his rival Philip
of Valois, who established also a round table, to which the cavaliers of
the Continent could more easily repair than to that of Edward.[6] The
knights of France were expressly forbidden by their king to attend the
festivities of the round table at Windsor. The English monarch found, too,
that he could not secure the attachment of stranger knights. That great
chivalric principle, the companionship in weal or woe of men forming one
society, was never regarded by them. Edward's table at Windsor was
surrounded by gay cavaliers, who talked and sang of war and love, and then
merrily returned to their own country full of courtesy to their royal host
for his gallant bearing, but not disposed to renounce the chivalric
associations of their native land. Edward then changed his design, and
wished to establish an order of merit, that so "true nobility, after long
and hazardous adventures, should not enviously be deprived of that honour,
which it hath really deserved, and that active and hardy youth might not
want a spur in the profession of virtue, which is to be esteemed glorious
and eternal."[7] He accordingly assembled the nobility and knighthood of
his realm, and showed them his intention of forming an especial
brotherhood of knights, to be called Knights of the blue Garter, and of
ordaining that a feast should be kept yearly at Windsor, on Saint George's
day. The barons and cavaliers of England joyously agreed to his pleasure;
for they were animated by this encouragement to military feats, and they
saw that great amity and love would grow and increase among them.
Twenty-five of the most valiant men of the kingdom were then chosen.[8]
The most noble order of Saint George, named the Garter, had, therefore,
its origin in romance, in the wish to restore the chivalric dignity and
splendour of ancient Britain. That view was afterwards blended with
objects of policy which also were soon abandoned, and a fraternity of
companions in arms was established for the promotion of chivalric honour.
But though gallantry did not, as is commonly thought, actually found the
order, yet perhaps it caused the union to receive the last clause of its
title. Froissart describes the passion of Edward for the Countess of
Salisbury, but is altogether silent on the story of her garter, a silence
decisive of the incorrectness of the vulgar tale; for Froissart was
intimately acquainted with the court of the English king, and his
attention was always awake to circumstances of a gallant and romantic
nature. It was quite in the spirit of those days for a band to be regarded
as an excellent symbol of the friendly union which ought to exist between
the knights companions; and if love had not been a chief feature in
chivalry, the order might have been only called the Order of the Band.
But gallantly came in, and claimed some share of chivalric honours. Ages
of fastidious delicacy would have thought of a zone or girdle, but our
simple minded ancestors regarded the garter as the wished for symbol. The
well known motto of the Garter (_Honi soit qui mal y pense_) seems to
apply, as Sir Walter Scott conjectures, to the misrepresentations which
the French monarch might throw out respecting the order of the Garter, as
he had already done concerning the festival of the round table.[9]
On the collar of the order something should be said. Warton appears to
think that the earliest collar worn by the knights of the Garter was a
duplication of the letter S, in allusion to the initial letter of the fair
lady's name who, he supposes, gave rise to the fraternity of the most
noble order of the Garter. But in truth no evidence exists that originally
the members of the order wore any collar at all as knights of the Garter,
though they certainly wore golden collars in their character of knights
bachelors and knights banneret.
The favourite badge of the Lancastrian family was the letter S. sometimes
single, and sometimes double, and the golden collar of esses became in
time the general collar of English knights, and the silver collar of esses
was worn by squires. The letter S. was the initial letter of the sentence,
"_Soveigne vous de moy_." This was a very favourite motto in the
fourteenth century, and was afterwards frequently introduced into collars
which were formed of the fleur-de-souvenance, the forget-me-not of modern
times. Whether at any period the golden collar of esses distinguished the
knights of the Garter we know not. The collar worn in the present days,
composed of garters with the image of Saint George dependent thereon,
cannot be traced higher than the reign of Henry VIII.
The order was founded in honour of God, the Virgin Mary, Saint George the
Martyr, and Saint Edward, king and confessor. The two saints were regarded
as the particular patrons of the knights companions. The person that our
ancestors understood by the name Saint George is a point of doubt. Some
modern writers have called him a sufferer in the persecutions of
Diocletian, and others the flagitious George of Cappadocia, the Arian
successor of Athanasius in the archbishoprick of Alexandria.[10] It is
equally difficult to discover how the saint became invested with military
glory. But, leaving such questions to martyrologists and legend-makers, it
is sufficient for our purpose to observe that a person called Saint George
was in very early ages regarded as the tutelary saint of England, and
became therefore very naturally one of the heads of the new military
order. His brother-protector Saint Edward soon fell from his lofty
station: but at the time concerning which I am writing he was high in
fame, for Edward III. was wont to invoke both him and the other
patron-saint with perfect impartiality; and when he was cutting his way
through a press of knights, one stroke of his sword was accompanied by the
exclamation, "Ha, Saint Edward," and another by the cry, "Ha, Saint
George."
[Sidenote: Courtesy of Edward.]
To pursue, however, the general course of the chivalry of our Edward III.
Nothing could be more beautiful than his courtesy on all occasions. It was
particularly shown in his treatment of the hostages of the French king for
the due performance of the treaty of Bretigny. He commanded his officers
to deport themselves to those lords and their company courteously and
favourably; and, accordingly, the French strangers sported without peril
in London at their pleasure, and the great lords went hunting and hawking,
and rode over the country, and visited ladies and damsels, without any
control, so courteous and amiable was the King of England to them.[11]
During all the tournaments that were held in his reign, he permitted his
French, Scotch, and other prisoners, to share in the games, and sometimes
he even furnished them with tourneying harness out of the royal
armoury.[12]
[Sidenote: Prevalence of chivalric taste among all classes.]
The taste for chivalry among classes of people apparently little
susceptible of its influence may be learned from the masquerading
tournament of Edward; for knightly games must have been well known to the
citizens of London, or the proclamation would not have been issued, that
the lord mayor, aided by the court of aldermen and the sheriffs, would, on
a certain day, hold a solemn tournament. The same taste was proved some
years before, when the Black Prince entered London, with King John of
France as his prisoner. The outsides of the houses were covered with
hangings, wrought over with battles in tapestry, and the citizens exposed,
in their shops, windows, and balconies, an incredible quantity of bows and
arrows, shields, helmets, corselets, breast and back pieces, coats of
mail, gauntlets, umbraces, swords, spears, battle-axes, armour for horses,
and other armour.[13] It is also curious to notice, that on the evening
preceding Candlemas-day, in the year 1377, one hundred and thirty citizens
of London, for the entertainment of the young prince, Richard, son of the
nation's idol, the Black Prince, rode, disguised as knights, from Newgate
to Kennington, where the court resided, attended with an innumerable
multitude, bearing waxen torches, and playing various instruments of
music.[14]
As the principal wars of Edward's time were waged with a chivalric people,
the circumstances which surrounded them favoured the developement of the
chivalric qualities of the English character. I shall not repeat the
political events of our glorious contests with France, nor describe, for
the thousandth time, the battles of Cressy and Poictiers: but it may be
mentioned, that the admirable marshalling of Edward's force on the field
of Cressy was a high proof of his chivalric sageness, and mainly
contributed to his victory over the forces of the King of France.
[Sidenote: English archers.]
The battles of Cressy and Poictiers, however, were not entirely gained by
the chivalry of England: the bow was a most important weapon in the
English army. It had characterised the Normans, and been mainly
instrumental in winning for them the battle of Hastings. It was afterwards
used by the small landholder, the tenant in soccage, and the general mass
of the people, while the lance was the weapon of the lord and the knight.
The bow was the emblem of freedom, and the pre-eminence of our archers
shows that the political condition of England was superior, in the
fourteenth century, to that of any continental nation.[15]
The arrow was of the remarkable length of a cloth-yard. The expression in
the old ballad of Chevy-Chase,
"An arrow of a cloth-yard long
Up to the head drew he,"
marks the usage of our early ancestors; and that sentence of Lear, in
Shakspeare's play, "Draw me a clothier's yard," shows that in the
sixteenth century the national character had not been lost. It was
fostered by every proper means: by royal command archery was practised in
towns on holidays, after church; while coits, cock-fighting, and
amusements with the ball, were strictly prohibited. Other nations drew the
bow with strength of arm, but Englishmen with their whole vigour: they
laid their body in the bow[16], as an old writer has forcibly expressed
the usage; and when in amusement they were exercising their skill,
eleven-score yards was the least distance at which the mark was set up. No
one could better shoot an arrow than a yeoman in the days of Edward III.:
they were the most powerful attendants which our knights could boast of.
"A yeoman had he, and servants no mo,
At that time, for him lust to ride so;
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacocks' arwes bright and keen
Under his belt he bare full thriftily.
Well coude he dress his takel yemanly.
His arwes drooped not with feathers lowe,
And in his hand he bare a mighty bowe.
A not-hed[17] had he with a brown visage.
Of wood-craft coude he well all the usage.
Upon his arm he bare a gay bracer,
And by his side a sword and a bokeler;
And on that other side a gay dagger,
Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spere;
A Cristofere on his breast of silver shene;
An horn he bare, the baudrick was of green.
A forster was he, soothly as I guess."[18]
The reader scarcely needs to be informed that the loss of the battle of
Cressy by the French began with the confusion among the Genoese cross-bow
men. The English archers then stepped forth one pace, and, as Froissart
says, let fly their arrows so wholly, and so thick, that it seemed snow
was piercing through heads, arms, and breasts. The French cavaliers rushed
in to slay the Genoese for their cowardice, but the sharp arrows of the
English slew them, and their horses too. The chivalry of the Black Prince
decided the victory: the Earls of Flanders and Alençon broke through his
archers, but deeper they could not penetrate; and in the personal conflict
of the chivalries of the two nations, the English were conquerors.[19]
At the battle of Poictiers the English archers threw the French cavalry
into confusion, by slaying the unmailed horses. True to say, as Froissart
observes, the archers did their company that day great advantage; for when
the Black Prince descended the hill on which he had posted himself, the
archers were mingled with his chivalry, in true knightly fashion, and shot
so closely together, that none durst come within danger.[20]
[Sidenote: The Black Prince.]
The well-known conduct of the Black Prince to his prisoner, King John,
after the battle,--his waiting on him at table, saying that he was not
sufficient to sit at the board with so great a man as the King,--his
riding through London to the Savoy, the French monarch mounted on a white
and superbly-equipped war-horse, while the Prince rode by his side on a
little black palfrey,--all this beautiful deportment proceeded from the
modesty, the self-abasement of true chivalry, and from that kindly
consideration which one knight always showed to his brother in arms.[21]
There were many circumstances in Edward's wars amply deserving of notice,
as illustrative of national and personal character, but which have been
passed over altogether, or but slightly regarded, by the general
historians of England; some of whom, in their anxiety for chronological
exactness, and others in their desire to make the matter in hand merely
illustrative of a few political principles, have very ingeniously
contrived to strip their subject of all its splendor, interest, and
variety.
[Sidenote: Story of the king's chivalry.]
Three years after the battle of Cressy had given the town of Calais to the
English, the Lord Geffray Charney, of France, endeavoured to regain it, by
bribing the governor, Amery de Puy, a Lombard. Edward, hearing of the
treaty, sent for his officer from Calais to Westminster. When the King saw
him, he took him apart, and said, "Thou knowest well I have given thee in
keeping the thing in the world I love best next my wife and children,
namely, the town and castle of Calais; and thou hast sold it to the
Frenchmen; wherefore thou deservest to die."
Then the Lombard kneeled down, and said, "Noble King, I cry you mercy: it
is true what you say; but, Sir, the bargain may well be broken, for as yet
I have received never a penny."
The King, who had warmly loved the governor, replied, "Amery, I will that
thou goest forward in thy bargain, and the day that thou appointest to
deliver the town, let me have knowledge thereof before; and on this
condition I forgive thee thy trespass."
Accordingly Amery returned to Calais, and continued the negotiation with
Lord Geffray Charney. It was finally agreed between them that the
surrender of Calais should take place on the night of the new year; and
the governor, faithful to his allegiance, communicated the progress of the
plot to Edward. The King immediately rode from London to Dover, with three
hundred men-at-arms, and six hundred archers, and, crossing the sea, he
reached Calais in the evening, and secretly lodged his men in the chambers
and towers of the castle. He did not wish to head the emprise himself; and
selecting Sir Walter Manny from his gallant band, as the prowest
chevalier, he told him that he and his son, the Prince, would fight under
his banner.
When the time for surrendering Calais approached, the Lord Geffray, having
heard from Amery that matters were ripe, advanced from Arras, and sent
before him twelve knights, and an hundred men-at-arms, to take possession
of the castle. Amery admitted them over the bridge of the postern,
receiving, at the same time, a bag containing twenty thousand crowns, the
price of his treachery. He led the soldiers towards the donjon of the
castle; and immediately King Edward and an hundred men, with swords and
axes, furiously poured from it, shouting the war-cry, "Manny, Manny, to
the rescue!" The Frenchmen were panic-struck by this wild sweep of war,
and incontinently yielded themselves prisoners. Edward advanced to the
Boulogne gate, where he found the Lord Geffray, who was anxiously
expecting it to be opened; and his companions were driving away the
tedious moments, by supposing that Amery, like a subtle and suspicious
Lombard, was busy in counting his crowns.
The cry, "Manny to the rescue!" disturbed their jocularity, and grasping
their swords they saw a band of armed men issuing from the gate. In an
instant the King, the Black Prince, the Staffords, the Suffolks, the
Salisburys, the Beauchamps, the Berkeleys, all the pride and flower of
English chivalry stood before them. The Frenchmen did not decline the
combat; and it was chivalrously maintained till a winter's return of morn.
The English were finally victors. Of the single combats in which the
cavaliers signalised their valiancy, the fiercest occurred between the
King and the Lord Eustace of Rybamount, a strong and hardy knight. Twice
was Edward struck on his knees; but at last Eustace was worsted; and he
yielded his sword to the King, saying, not knowing his royal quality, "Sir
Knight, I yield me your prisoner."
The King treated his captives like brethren in arms, giving them a noble
entertainment, and sitting at the table with them, while the Prince, the
lords, and the knights of England, acted as attendants. After supper, and
when the tables were removed, the King talked a while with his own
knights, and then conversed with the Frenchmen. He gently reproved the
Lord Geffray of Charney for an enterprise so unworthy of nobility and
knighthood; and then going to Sir Eustace of Rybamont, he said to him,
with all the fine frank joyousness of chivalry, "Sir Eustace, you are the
knight in the world that I have seen most valiantly assail his enemies and
defend himself; and I have never found a knight that ever gave me so much
ado body to body as you have done this day, and therefore I give you the
prize above all the knights of my own court." The King thereupon took from
his head a chaplet of pearls, fair, goodly, and rich, and presented it to
the knight, with the remark, "Sir Eustace, I give you this chaplet, for
the best doer in arms this day of either party, and I desire you to wear
it this year for the love of me. I know that you are fresh and amorous,
and oftentimes among ladies and damsels. Say wheresoever you go that I
gave it you; and I free you from prison, and renounce your ransom.
To-morrow, if it so please you, you shall depart."[22]
Here chivalry appeared in all its generousness, elegance, and refinement.
How beautifully contrasted is Edward's deportment to Sir Eustace de
Rybamont with his feelings towards Eustace de St. Pierre and his five
fellow-burgesses, three years before, at the surrender of Calais to the
English. Edward had no sympathy with their magnanimous devotion of
themselves to save the lives of their fellow-citizens; no consideration of
knightly mercy softened his mind; and it was only the supplication of his
queen, who was in a state to move the sternest soul to grant her wishes,
that restored his better nature. Before Edward's chivalry, however, be
generally and finally condemned, let it be remembered that his severe
losses of his own men had sorely grieved his mind against the people of
Calais, and that at the commencement of the siege, when the captain of the
town had driven from its gates all the poor and impotent, Edward not only
granted them a free passage through his army, but gave them meat and drink
and money.[23]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: England regarded as the seat of honor.]
The court of the English king was regarded as the very judgment-seat of
honour; an opinion of which a very curious proof exists. In the year 1350,
a fierce war raged between the Soldan of Babylon and Constantine, King of
Armenia; the former invading the dominions of the Armenian prince with
vast and numerous armies, and the latter endeavouring, by the united
strength of his own subjects, and the Cypriots and Rhodians, to repel the
violence of the heathen invaders, or at least to arrest their progress,
which then began to threaten all Christendom. Among the many great men
who, together with the Christian princes, were engaged in this holy war,
were a Cypriot knight named John de Visconti, a relation of the King of
Cyprus, and a knight of France called Thomas de la Marche, bastard-brother
to John de Valois, the French king. Both these knights held high commands
in the Christian army. From certain information, or from jealousy, John
de Visconti charged the bastard of France with treason; with having
agreed, in consideration of a certain sum of gold to be paid unto him
beforehand, in part of a greater sum to be paid afterwards, to betray the
Christian army to the Turk. Thomas de la Marche, with all the confidence
of virtue, boldly denied the charge; it was repeated, and again flung back
in the accuser's face; opprobrious epithets were interchanged, and a
challenge to mortal combat was given and accepted. The friends of the two
knights, dreading the displeasure of the King of Cyprus and the King of
France, and fearing that the consequences of a duel might be felt among
themselves, compelled John de Visconti and Thomas de la Marche to agree to
stand to the award which should be determined by the confederates in
council. The judgment was, that they should carry letters importing their
cause fully and clearly from the said Christian princes unto King Edward
of England, and to submit themselves to be tried by combat before him, as
the most worthy and honorable prince in all Christendom; they swearing to
remain as perfect friends until that time.
Soon afterwards, they set sail for England, where they arrived in the
beginning of September, and forthwith presented unto King Edward, in the
names of the kings of Armenia and Cyprus and the rest of the princes and
captains of the Christians, their letters, which contained a narrative of
the whole dispute, and the conclusion, that the matter should be
determined by combat before him as their judge. In the presence of the
King and his court, Sir John de Visconti accused Sir Thomas de la Marche
of his treasonable intent and purpose, challenging to prove it upon his
body, and thereupon flinging down his gauntlet. Sir Thomas boldly took it
up, and accepted the challenge in proof of his innocency. King Edward
having read the letters, and seriously considered the whole matter,
appointed a day for the decision of their quarrel in close field within
the lists at his palace of Westminster.
On the day appointed they met accordingly, armed at all points, on
horseback, the King, the Prince of Wales, and the whole court of England
being spectators. Presently, upon sound of trumpet, a most gallant combat
commenced between the two stranger knights. Both their spears were broken
into splinters upon each other's shield, yet neither of them was cast from
his saddle. Instantaneously, and, as it were, by mutual consent, they
alighted, and drawing their good swords, renewed the combat on foot, till
having with equal valour and discretion fought a considerable while, both
their weapons became useless, and they were obliged to come to close
grapple, and at length by wrestling both fell locked together, still
contending for the victory. It was gained by Sir Thomas de la Marche, by
means which, though lawful in the duel, would not have been permitted in
the courtly joust and tournament. He had armed the joints of his gauntlet
with sharp pricks of steel called gadlings, and he struck them with such
force and frequency through the small distant bars of his antagonist's
visor, that Visconti was compelled to call for mercy. The King thereupon
threw down his warder, the marshal cried Ho! and the combat ceased. Edward
adjudged the victory to the Frenchman, declaring that the vanquished was
at his mercy, agreeably to the laws of arms.[24]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Chivalric heroes of Edward's time.]
The court of Edward and his son was as chivalric as that of Arthur, and of
much more interesting contemplation, from the pleasure of finding that the
beauties of the chivalric character were not imaginary. If the Round Table
boasted its Sir Tristram and its Sir Launcelot of the Lake, the order of
the Garter possessed its Sir Walter Manny and its Sir John Chandos, whose
lives were so brilliant and glorious that the golden age of chivalry seems
not like the golden age of nations, a poet's dream.
[Sidenote: The gestes and prowesses of Sir Walter Manny.]
[Sidenote: Chivalric vow of Sir Walter.]
In the suite of Philippa, daughter of the Count of Hainault, when in the
year 1327 she came to England to be married to Edward III., was a
gentleman of baronial rank, named Walter of Manny[25]; and it was not
thought that he lost any quality of his birth by serving at her table as
her carver.[26] He had been educated as a cavalier, and his military
accomplishments were soon noticed by Edward.[27] He was knighted, and the
ceremony was splendid, the dresses being selected from the royal
wardrobe.[28] When the chance of a war with France was freely talked of in
London, and every man's mind was filled with hopes of honor, Sir Walter
vowed before dames and lords of the court, that he would be the first
knight to enter the enemy's territory[29], and win either town or castle,
and do some deeds of arms. He then went to Flanders, and on the defiances
being declared between the French and English nations, he got together
about forty spears, and, by riding through Brabant night and day, he soon
reached Hainault. Mortaigne was, he heard, in the realm of France; and
passing with the utmost speed through the wood of Blaton, he arrived at
the wished for town before the sun arose, and by good chance he found the
wicket of the gate open. Leaving a few of his company to keep the
entrance, he went into the high street with his pennon before him, and
reached the castle. He was then espied by the watch, who blew his horn,
and shouted "Treason, treason!" It would have been the extreme of rashness
for such a little troop as that of Sir Walter to have attempted to storm
the castle. They therefore contented themselves with setting fire to some
houses, and then quitted the town; and thus that noble and gentle knight
Sir Walter Manny performed the vow which he had made to the dames and
lords of England.[30]
[Sidenote: He fights for the love of his lady.]
Afterwards, (in the year 1342,) being high in favour with Edward, he was
sent into Brittany, with a proud display of knights and archers, to aid
the Countess of Mountfort, at that time besieged in her castle by the
French. He was not long before he made a sally on the enemy, and with such
effect, that he destroyed all their great engines of assault. The French
knights, not anticipating so bold a measure, lay at some distance from
their machines; but they soon advanced in formidable numbers. The English
and Bretons retreated, however, fairly and easily, though the French
pursued them with infuriate violence. It would not have been knightly for
Sir Walter to have left the field without having right valiantly acquitted
himself; and he exclaimed, "Let me never be beloved by my lady, unless I
have a course with one of these followers."[31] He then set his spear in
its rest, and so did many of his companions. They ran at the first comers.
Then legs were seen turned upwards, knights were taken and rescued, and
many rare deeds of arms were done by both parties. Afterwards the English
slowly retired to the castle, and the French to their tents.[32]
[Sidenote: His rescue of two brother-knights.]
Sir Walter, in all his measures of succour to the Countess of Brittany,
showed himself one of the prowest knights of the age; but no act of his
valor was so interesting as his rescue of two brother-knights, whom an
uncourteous cavalier, called Sir Loyes of Spain, had condemned to
death.[33] Sir Walter said to his companions, "It would be great honor for
us if we could deliver out of danger yonder two knights; and even if we
should fail when we put it in adventure, yet King Edward, our master, will
thank us, and so will all other noble men. At least, it shall be said, how
we did our utmost. A man should peril his body to save the lives of two
such valiant knights."
So generous an emprise was willingly undertaken: the greatest part of his
force attacked the enemy's camp, while Sir Walter himself, with a chosen
band, went round to the quarter where, by the custom of war, the prisoners
were kept. He found there the two knights, and he immediately set them
upon good steeds, which he had brought with him for their use, and,
shaking them by the hand, he made them gallop to a place of
safety.[34]--The object of his expedition into France, namely, the succour
of the Countess of Montfort, being accomplished[35], Sir Walter recrossed
the seas, and went to London.
[Sidenote: Instance of his joyous adventurousness.]
In the year 1344 he was dispatched into Gascony with the Earl of Derby and
Lancaster, the Earl of Pembroke, and other noble peers of England, as one
of the marshals of the host. Manny inspired and directed every enterprise.
From the reports of his spies regarding Bergerac, he thought the place was
pregnable. Being one day at dinner with the Earl of Derby, he exclaimed,
with a cup of rich Gascon wine in his hand, "If we were good men-of-arms,
we should drink this evening with the French lords in Bergerac." This bold
and manly sentiment was loudly applauded by his brother-knights: tables
and benches were overthrown in their haste to quit the hall and don their
harness, and in a few moments they bestrode their noble steeds. The Earl
of Derby was right joyous at the sight of the gallant assemblage, and
crying, "Let us ride to our enemies in the name of God and Saint George,"
banners were displayed, and the English cavaliers urged their horses to
speed. They soon reached the fortress of Bergerac. The pleasant wish of
Sir Walter was not realised; for night closed upon the combatants, without
their drinking the wines of Gascony together. All the next day was spent,
likewise, in manoeuvres, and in jousts _à l'outrance_, and in the evening
the French men-at-arms stole away from Bergerac. The common people sent
their submissions to the Earl of Derby, who saying, "He that mercy
desireth mercy ought to have," made them swear faith and homage to the
King of England.[36]
[Sidenote: His gallantry before Auberoche.]
No circumstance in this war was of more importance than the relief of the
castle of Auberoche, then beleaguered by the French. The Earl of Derby had
with him only three hundred spears, and six hundred archers, the rest of
his force being dispersed over the country. The French could count about
ten or twelve thousand; but the English, undismayed by numbers, thought it
was a great disgrace to abandon their friends in Auberoche. The Earl of
Derby and his knights were then in a wood, two little leagues from
Auberoche; and while waiting for the Earl of Pembroke, they left their
horses to pasture.
While they were loitering in the fields, in this state of restlessness,
Sir Walter Manny said to his companions, "Let us leap on our horses, and
wend our way under the covert of this wood till we arrive at the side
which joins the Frenchmen's host; and then let us put our spurs into our
horses, and cry our cries. Our enemy will then be at supper, and, not
expecting us, you shall see them so discomfited, that they shall not be
able to preserve any array." A scheme so adventurous was readily embraced:
every man mounted his horse; and the troop coasted the wood till they came
near the French, who were going to supper, and some, indeed, were already
seated at the tables. The scene of festivity was broken up when the
English displayed their banners and pennons, and dashed their spurs into
their horses, and raising the cry, "A Derby, a Derby!" rushed among them,
overthrowing tents and pavilions. When the French recovered from their
astonishment, they mounted their steeds, and rode into the field in
military array; but there they found the English archers ready to receive
them, and those bold yeomen shot so fiercely that they slew many men and
horses. On the other side of the castle there was a noble display of
French chivalry; and the Englishmen, having overcome those who were near
the tents, dashed boldly among them. Many noble deeds of arms were done,
knights were taken and rescued, and the English cause triumphed; for the
knights of the castle had armed themselves, and now issued forth, and
rushed into the thickest of the press. Then the Englishmen entered into
Auberoche; and the Earl of Derby gave a supper to the earls and viscounts
who were prisoners, and to many of the knights and squires, lauding God,
at the same time, that a thousand of his own nation had overcome many
thousands of their enemies, and had rescued the town of Auberoche, and
saved their companions that were within, who, in all likelihood, would
have been taken within two days.
The next morning, at sunrise, the Earl of Pembroke reached the castle with
his company of three hundred spears, and four thousand archers; and his
personal chivalry was mortified that so fine a deed of knighthood had
been done without him; and he said to the Earl of Derby, "Certainly,
cousin, you have shown me great uncourtesy to fight with our enemies
without me. You sent for me, and might have been sure I would not fail to
come."
"Fair cousin," quoth the Earl of Derby, "we greatly desired to have had
you with us: we tarried all day till it was far past noon, and when we saw
that you did not come, we did not dare to abide any longer; for if our
enemies had known of our coming, they would have had great advantage over
us, but now we have the advantage over them." The Earl of Pembroke was
well contented with this fair reply, and gallantly fought with his brother
noble during the remainder of the war.[37]
[Sidenote: His filial piety.]
We need not describe Sir Walter's feats of arms before La Reole, besieged
by the Earl of Derby; but when the town surrendered, a little circumstance
occurred beautifully illustrative of the character of our knight. His
father had been murdered near that place, as he was making a pilgrimage to
the shrine of St. James, in Spain, and had been buried in a little chapel
in the field which then was without the town of La Reole, but was inclosed
within the walls when the Earl of Derby conquered it. Sir Walter enquired
if there was any one who could show him his father's tomb, offering an
hundred crowns for his knowlege and labour. A man, grey and bent with age,
went to the knight and declared, "Sir, I think I can bring you near the
place where your father was buried." Manny then, in his joy at the
promise, answered, "If your words be true, I will keep covenant, and
more."
The townsman led him to the place of sepulture; and they found a little
tomb of marble which the servants of the deceased pilgrim had respectfully
lain over him. The old man, pointing to it, exclaimed, "Sir, under that
tomb lies your father." Then the Lord of Manny read the scripture on the
tomb, which was in Latin[38]; and finding that his guide had declared the
truth, he gave him his reward. He afterwards caused the bones of his
father to be taken up, and removed to Valenciennes, in the county of
Hainault. There his obsequies were right sacredly performed: the helmet,
the sword, the gauntlet, the spurs, and the tabard, were hung over his
grave, and as long as the family of Manny lived in that country, sad and
solemn priests yearly chanted masses for his soul.[39]
[Sidenote: Story of chivalric manners.]
Sir Walter so manfully defended the castle of Aguillon, that the Duke of
Normandy was compelled to raise the siege. The battle of Cressy had just
been fought, and our knight was anxious to visit his sovereign, Edward. He
fell into communication with a cavalier of Normandy, who was his prisoner,
and demanded of him what money he would pay for his ransom. The knight
answered, he would gladly give three thousand crowns.
"Well," quoth Sir Walter, "I surely know that you are a kinsman to the
Duke of Normandy, and so warmly beloved by him, that, were I to press you,
I wot in sooth he would gladly pay ten thousand crowns; but I shall deal
otherwise with you. You shall go to the Duke, your lord, upon your faith
and promise, and get a safe-conduct for myself and twenty of my companions
to ride through France to Calais, paying courteously for all our expences;
and if you can procure this from the Duke, or the King, I will willingly
remit your ransom, for I greatly desire to see the King my master. If you
cannot do this, return hither in a month, and consider yourself as my
prisoner."
The knight was well contented, and went to Paris to the Duke, his lord;
and having obtained the passport, he returned with it to Sir Walter, who
acquitted him of his ransom. Manny commenced his journey, and proceeded
safely till he reached Orleans, where he was seized by the officers of the
King of France and taken to Paris.
This circumstance was reported to the Duke of Normandy, who went to the
King, his father, and entreated him, for the honour of chivalry, to
release Sir Walter. He was for a long while inexorable, for he wished to
destroy him whom he called his greatest foe; but, at last, good counsel
prevailed with him, and Manny was delivered out of prison. He dined with
the French monarch, who deported himself with knightly generosity. He
entertained the Englishman right nobly, and gave him a distinguished seat
on the dais. He also presented to him jewels to the value of a thousand
florins; which Sir Walter received, only upon the condition of having
liberty to return them, if his master, the King of England, did not
approve of his retaining them; and the French king declared that he spoke
like a noble knight.
Sir Walter then recommenced his journey, and soon reached Calais. Edward
welcomed him; but when he heard of the presents, he said, "Sir Walter, you
have hitherto truly served us, and shall continue to do so, we trust.
Return the gifts to King Philip; you have no cause to keep them: thank
God! we have enough for ourselves and for you; and we intend to do much
good to you for the service you have rendered us."
Sir Walter immediately gave those jewels to a cousin of his, named Sir
Mansac, and said, "Ride into France, to the King, and commend me to him,
and say, that I thank him a thousand times for his gift; but as it is not
the pleasure of the King my master that I should keep it, I send it to him
again."
Sir Mansac, therefore, rode to Paris, and had his royal audience. The King
would not accept the jewels, but pressed them upon the knight, who, less
conscientious than his cousin, thanked His Grace, and was not disposed to
say nay.[40]
[Sidenote: The gentle disposition of Manny.]
Sir Walter remained with his sovereign during the memorable siege of
Calais; and when the inhabitants proposed to capitulate, it was his
counsel that swayed with Edward to offer mercy to the town, on the
surrender of six of its chief burgesses, instead of requiring general
submission. Though Eustace de St. Pierre and his noble companions were
saved by the tears and entreaties of Philippa, yet it was that gentle
knight, Sir Walter Manny, who first endeavoured to turn aside the fierce
wrath of the King. "Noble Sir," said he, "refrain your courage. You have
the reputation of nobleness; therefore do not any thing that can blemish
your renown. Every man will say it is great cruelty to put to death such
honest persons, who, from their own noble feelings, to save their
companions, have placed themselves in your power."[41]
[Sidenote: His importance at Edward's court.]
Sir Walter lost nothing of Edward's consideration by this contradiction of
his humour. But he continued in such favour, that he was permitted to
marry a lady related to the royal family[42]: he was invested with the
Garter; and was summoned to parliament among the barons of England, from
the twenty-first to the forty-fourth year of Edward's reign.[43] He was
among the English lords who signed the treaty of Bretigny in the year
1360; and I regret that he was one of Edward's council who advised the
sending of succours to the Black Prince, when he was about to assist
Peter the Cruel. It is more pleasing to contemplate our cavalier on the
battle-plain than in the hall of deliberation. He was, to the height, a
sage and imaginative soldier; skilful as well as brave in battle.
[Sidenote: His remarkable sagacity.]
When the war between England and France was renewed, in the year 1369, the
Duke of Lancaster (late Earl of Derby) prevented the Duke of Burgundy's
descent upon the English shores, by landing a small army at Calais, and
ravaging the country near Boulogne. The Duke of Burgundy commanded the
heights of Tournehem: the English were in the neighbourhood, and a battle
was daily expected. It was feared, rather than desired, by the English;
for their handful of men were opposed by more than four thousand French
knights. The Duke of Burgundy could not engage without the King's
permission; but the policy of Charles forbad a battle, and the Duke then
desired leave to retire: the King consented. One night, fires were
lighted, and there was an unwonted stir amidst the French camp. Such of
the English as were near it were rouzed from sleep. They awoke the Lord
Robert Namur, who immediately armed himself, and, preceded by a man
bearing his banner, went to the tent of the Duke of Lancaster, who had
been already disturbed. The English lords, one by one, drew about the
Duke, ranging themselves, from the force of habit, fair and softly in
battle-order, without any noise or light, and placing the archers in such
a form as to be ready to receive an attack by the French. No attack was,
however, made; and, after waiting two hours, the Duke consulted with his
lords. It was the sage opinion of Manny that the French had fled, and he
advised Lancaster to pursue them. But the Duke declined this course; for
he said he never could believe that so many valiant men-of-arms and noble
knights would so shamefully depart. As soon as morning arose, it was
discovered, however, that the French camp was deserted; and the Duke of
Lancaster repented that he had not followed the counsel of his experienced
friend.
[Sidenote: His liberality.]
Such was Sir Walter Manny; gallant, hardy, adventurous, and sage.
Something still was wanting to the beautiful perfection of his character;
for courtesy to the ladies, and bravery and skill in the field, did not of
themselves constitute the preux chevalier. Liberality was the graceful
ornament of the knightly character; and the charitable annals of the city
of London place this crown on the brow of our noble representative of
English chivalry.
During a plague in England, in the year 1348, London and its vicinity were
the chief places of suffering; and as no church-yard could contain the
victims, the Bishop of London bought a piece of ground called _No Man's
Land_[44], and consecrated it for burials. In the next year, Sir Walter
Manny materially added to the charities of the bishop; for he purchased,
and caused to be consecrated to the same object, thirteen acres and one
rod of ground adjoining to No Man's Land, and lying in a place called
Spittle Croft, because it belonged to St. Bartholomew's hospital. In the
very year of the purchase, the purpose seemed accomplished, for (according
to certain charters of Edward III. and an inscription on the cross
remaining in Stow's time,) fifty thousand people were buried there. Sir
Walter built a chapel in the cemetery; and, in the year 1371, he founded
an house of Carthusian monks, by the appellation of the Salutation of the
Mother of God, to advance charity, and administer the consolations of
religion.[45]
[Sidenote: His death in 1372.]
[Sidenote: Buried in the Charter-house.]
The last circumstance of his tale shall be told in the fitting strain of
Froissart. "That same season (1372) died the gentle knight, Sir Walter
Manny, in the city of London, whereof all the barons of England were right
sorry, for the truth and good counsel that they had always seen and heard
in him. He was buried, with great solemnity, in the monastery of the
Charter-house, near London; and at the day of his obsequy there were
present the King and all his children, and all the prelates, barons, and
knights of England. His possessions, both in England and beyond the sea,
fell to the Earl of Pembroke, who had married the Lady Anne, his daughter
and heir."[46]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Heroism of Sir James Audley.]
Among the flower of Edward's chivalry, Sir James Audley must be mentioned;
not, indeed, that a detailed history of his exploits would be interesting;
but there was one series of circumstances in his life honourable to his
name and the chivalric character, and distinct and peculiar from every
thing else in the manners of other ages.
Immediately before the battle of Poictiers Sir James said to the Black
Prince, "Sir, I have always truly served my Lord your father, and you
also, and I shall do so as long as I live; and, to prove my disposition, I
once made a vow that the first battle wherein either the King, your
father, or any of his sons, should be engaged, I would be one of the first
setters on, or I would die in the endeavour. Therefore, I request your
Grace, in reward for any service that ever I did to the King your father,
or to you, that you would give me licence to depart from you, in order
that I may accomplish my vow."
The Prince accorded to his desire; and, taking him by the hand, exclaimed,
"Sir James, may God give you this day grace to be the prowest knight of
all my host."
Audley then departed, and set himself in front of the English battles,
accompanied only by four squires, who had sworn never to desert him.
He was anticipated in his gallant purpose by the Lord Eustace
Damberticourt, whose chivalry was inspired by the lady Juliana[47], but he
continued in the front of the battle, performing marvels of arms. He lost
no valuable moments in taking prisoners, but when he had disarmed one
adversary he pressed forwards to another. He was severely hurt, both in
the body and in the face; and, at the conclusion of the mêlèe, his four
squires took him out of the battle, and, laying him under a hedge, they
bound up his wounds.
Edward soon enquired after the fate of his gallant friend; and Sir James,
expressing his joy that his Prince should think of so poor a knight as he
was, called eight of his servants, and made them bear him in a litter to
the royal tent.
The Prince took him in his arms, and, embracing him with true fraternal
affection, said, "Sir James, I ought greatly to honour you, for your
valiantness this day has passed the renown of us all."
"Sir," answered the knight, with true chivalric modesty, "you say as it
pleaseth you. I would it were so; but if I have this day advanced myself
to serve you, and to accomplish my vow, no prowess ought to be reputed to
me."
"Sir James," replied the Prince, "I and all my knights consider you as the
best doer in arms this day; and, in order that you may the better pursue
these wars, I retain you for ever as my knight, with five hundred marks of
yearly revenue."
[Sidenote: His generosity.]
Sir James, after expressing his thanks, was taken back to his tent. He
then called the four squires before him, and resigned to them the
Prince's gift, saying, it was to their valiantness that he owed it. The
Prince soon heard of this noble action, and, sending for him, enquired why
he renounced his kindness. Sir James craved pardon for his conduct, but
affirmed he could do no otherwise; for his squires had that day several
times saved his life, and enabled him to accomplish his vow. Edward's
nobleness disdained any feeling of personal offence; and, in generous
emulation of his friend's liberality, he made in his favour a new grant,
more valuable than the former one.[48]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Memoir of Sir John Chandos.]
[Sidenote: His gallantry to ladies.]
But of all the bold and protruding characters of the court of Edward III.,
none was more distinguished for the greatness and variety of his exploits
than that sage and valiant knight, Sir John Chandos. He was the descendant
of a Norman family, attached to William the Conqueror, and which had been
renowned in every age of its history.[49] While only a squire, he
accompanied Edward III. in his first war in France; and, at the siege of
Cambray, he amazed the prowest knights by the goodly feats of arms done
between him and a squire of Vermandois. At the battle of Vironfosse,
immediately afterwards, he was stationed near the person of his sovereign,
and, for his valour on that occasion, he received knighthood from the
royal sword.[50] Like his friend, Sir Walter Manny, he was gentle, as well
as valiant; and it was Chandos that, with another cavalier, saved the
ladies of the castle of Poys from the brutal assaults of the rabble.[51]
He was in the van, with the Black Prince, at the battle of Cressy; and, at
the battle of Poictiers, he never quitted his side.
[Sidenote: Amusing instance of the pride of knighthood.]
On the day that preceded this last great event an amusing proof occurred
of the pride of knighthood, regarding armorial bearings. Sir John Chandos,
on the part of the English, and the Lord of Claremont for the French, had
been reconnoitering the other's forces; and, as they returned to their
respective hosts, they met, and were mutually astonished that each bore
the same armorial emblem.
The Lord of Claremont exclaimed, "Chandos, how long have you taken on you
to bear my device?"
"Nay, you bear mine," replied the English knight; "for it is mine as well
as yours."
"I deny that" observed the Lord of Claremont; "and were it not for the
truce that this day is between us, I would prove immediately that you have
no right to bear my device."
"Sir," rejoined Chandos, with the calmness of truth and bravery, "you
shall find me to-morrow ready to prove it is mine, as well as yours."
Claremont passionately closed the conference by saying, "these are common
words of you Englishmen; for you can invent nothing new; but you take for
your own whatever you see handsome belonging to others."[52]
[Sidenote: The importance of his counsel at Poictiers.]
At the battle of Poictiers the counsel of Chandos was important to the
fate of the day: for when the English archers had thrown the French into
confusion, he said to the Black Prince, "Sir, take your horse and ride
forth; this day is yours. Let us press forwards to the French king's
battle, for there lies the stress of the matter. I think, verily, by his
valiantness, he will not fly. I trust, by the grace of God and St.
George, that we shall take him; and, Sir, I heard you say that this day I
should see you a good knight." It was this advice which guided the courage
of Edward, and the victory was England's.
[Sidenote: His exploits in Brittany,]
Nothing remarkable is related of Chandos for nine years after the battle
of Poictiers. In 1365 he was the hero and counsellor of the Earl of
Mountfort in his war with the Earl of Blois. Mountfort took no measures
which were not of his suggestion, or met not with his judgment. Chandos
was a valiant as well as a sage knight; for at the battle of Auray his
mighty curtal-axe battered many a helm of the French. The fate of this
battle fixed his friend of Mountfort in the dukedom of Britany; and in the
opinion of the French lords, knights, and squires, the victory had been
gained by the skill and high prowess of Chandos.[53]
[Sidenote: and in Spain.]
He was seneschal of Aquitain, and of all those countries secured to the
English by the treaty of Bretigny. Together with Sir Thomas Phelton, he
was summoned into Angouleme to advise the Black Prince regarding the
affairs of Spain. The deposed king had arrived at Bourdeaux; and Edward,
resolving to assist him, sought to fortify his determination by the
judgment of his friends. Chandos and his counsel earnestly endeavoured to
change his resolve. When, indeed, no considerations could shake the
purpose of the Black Prince, our knight accompanied him into Spain, his
duties to his liege lord demanding his military service.
[Sidenote: Is made a knight banneret.]
Before the battle of Navaret he took the rank and title of knight
banneret. When the sun arose on that memorable day, it was a great beauty
to behold the battles or divisions of the Black Prince's army and their
brilliant harness glittering with its beams. The hostile forces slowly
approached each other. Edward with a brief train of knights ascended a
small hill, and clearly saw their enemy marching straight towards them.
The Prince was then followed by his army; and when they had reached the
other side of the hill they formed themselves in dense array, and each man
buckled on anew his armour and dressed his spear.
Sir John Chandos advanced in front of the battles with his banner uncased
in his hand. He presented it to the Prince, saying, "Sir, behold, here is
my banner. I require you to display it abroad, and give me leave this day
to raise it, for, Sir, I thank God and you, I possess land and heritage
sufficient to maintain it withal."
The Prince and King Peter took between their hands the banner, which was
blazoned with a sharp stake gules, on a field argent, and after having
cut off the end to make it square they spread it abroad; and the Prince
delivered it to Chandos, saying, "Sir John, behold your banner, and God
send you joy, and honor, and strength, to preserve it!"
Chandos bowed, and after thanking the Prince, he went back to his own
company, and said, "Sirs, behold my banner and yours, keep it as your
own."
They took it and were right joyful thereof, declaring that, by the
pleasure of God and St. George, they would keep and defend it to the
utmost of their power.
The banner was then placed in the hands of a worthy English squire, called
William Allestry, who bore it that day, and acquitted himself right nobly.
In that battle, Chandos counselled the Duke of Lancaster as sagely as at
the battle of Poictiers he had counselled Edward. He performed also
wonders in arms, for he was a great and mighty knight, and well formed of
all his limbs; but he adventured himself so far that he was closed in
among his enemies, and at length pressed to the earth. A Spaniard of
gigantic stature fell upon him with dreadful force; but Sir John drew a
knife from his bosom, which he recollected he had about him, and struck
his foeman so fiercely in the back and on the sides, that he wounded him
to death as he lay on him. Sir John turned him over, and rose quickly on
his feet, and his men-at-arms at that time joined him, they having with
much difficulty broken through the press when they saw him felled.[54]
[Sidenote: Quits the Black Prince;]
[Sidenote: but returns.]
Chandos had not succeeded in dissuading the Prince of Wales from his
Spanish war, and he failed also in withdrawing him from the more fatal
project of taxing, beyond usage, his French dominions. Finding him
resolved in his purpose, and not wishing to bear any blame or reproach
about the matter, Sir John took his leave of the Prince, and made his
excuse to go into Normandy to visit the land of St. Saviour le Viscount,
whereof he was lord, for he had not been there for several years. When the
war so fatal to England's power in France broke out, the Black Prince
wrote to Chandos to join him without delay. Sir John immediately went to
Angouleme, and his liege lord joyfully received him. He was made Seneschal
of Poictou at the request of the barons and knights of that country.
[Sidenote: The remarkable generousness of his conduct to Lord Pembroke.]
His deeds of arms equalled his former fame; but it was his chivalric
generosity that was most striking, and the circumstances which accompanied
the appearance of that feature of his character are very interesting. He
wished the Earl of Pembroke, who was in garrison at Mortaygne, to
accompany him in an enterprise into the French territory. The Earl was
well content to have ridden forth; but some of the knights of his counsel
broke his purpose, and said, "Sir, you are but young, and your nobleness
is to come; and if you put yourself into the company of Sir John Chandos,
he shall have the reputation and voice of it, for you will be regarded
only as his companion; therefore, Sir, it is better for you, since you are
a great lord, that you perform your enterprises by yourself, and let Sir
John Chandos perform his; for in comparison with your estate, he is but a
knight bachelor."
The Earl of Pembroke accordingly excused himself; and Sir John Chandos,
unaided by him, went into Anjou, accompanied by three hundred spears of
knights and squires, and two hundred archers. He achieved all his
emprises; and hearing at last that Sir Louis of Sancerre, the Marshal of
France, with a great number of men of war, was at Hay in Touraine, he
wished to cope with him; but as his own force was inadequate to so great
an exploit, he sent word of his intention to the Earl of Pembroke,
desiring him to repair with his soldiers to Chatelterault.
Chandos the herald took the message; but the Earl by counsel of his
knights again refused. The herald repaired to Sir John at Chatelterault,
and the enterprise was broken up in consequence of the presumption and
pride of the Earl of Pembroke: Chandos gave leave to most of his company
to depart, and he himself went to Poictiers. Some of his men joined the
Earl of Pembroke; who, at the head of three hundred knights and squires,
committed great destruction in Anjou, and returned with immense booty into
Poictou.
The Frenchmen, thinking it a more easy chevisance to discomfit him than
Sir John Chandos, assembled seven hundred soldiers from all the garrisons
in the country, and Sir Louis of Sancerre took the command. The Earl of
Pembroke heard nothing of the enemy, and not having the vigilance of Sir
John Chandos he took no pains to enquire. The English were one day
reposing in a village called Puirenon, in the territory of Poictou, when
suddenly the Frenchmen came into the town, their spears in their rests,
crying their cry, "Our Lady of Sancerre, for the Marshal of France." The
English were dressing their horses, and preparing their suppers, when they
were thus unexpectedly assailed. Several were killed, all the plunder was
retaken, many prisoners were made, and the Earl of Pembroke and some of
his knights and archers saved themselves in a preceptory of the Templars.
The Frenchmen assaulted it gallantly, and it was as gallantly defended,
till night put an end to the assault.
The English were so severely straitened for provisions, that they knew
they must speedily surrender, unless Chandos came to their succour. A
squire, who professed to know the country, offered to go to Sir John, and
he accordingly left the fortress when the French had retired to rest. But
he soon lost his road, and did not recover it till morning.
At day-break the French renewed their assaults, and mounted the walls with
pavesses to defend their heads from the missiles of the English. The Earl
of Pembroke and his little band fought so bravely, from morning until
noon, that the French were obliged to desist, and to resort to the
uncavalierlike mode of worsting their gallant foes by sending to the
neighbouring villages for pikes and mattocks, that they might undermine
and break down the wall.
Then the Earl of Pembroke called a squire to him, and said, "Friend, take
my courser, and issue out at the back postern, and ride straight to
Poictiers, and show Sir John Chandos the state and danger we are in; and
recommend me to him by this token," added the Earl, taking a ring from his
finger: "deliver it to him, for Sir John knows it well."
The squire took the ring, and immediately mounting his courser, fled
through the postern, thinking he should achieve great honor if he could
reach Sir John Chandos.
The first squire having lost so much time in the confusion of the night
did not arrive at Poictiers till nine in the morning. He found Sir John at
mass; and, in consequence of the importance of his message, he disturbed
his devotions.
Chandos's feelings had been severely offended by the pride and presumption
of the Earl of Pembroke, and he was in no great haste to relieve him. He
heard the mass out. The tables were then arranged for the noon repast.
The servants, among whom the message of the squire had been bruited,
enquired of Sir John if he would go to dinner. He replied, "Yes; if it
were ready."
He went into the hall, and knights and squires brought him water. While he
was washing, the second squire from the Earl of Pembroke, pale, weary, and
travel-soiled, entered the hall, and knelt before him, and took the ring
out of his purse, and said, "Right dear Sir, the Earl of Pembroke
recommends himself to you by this token, and heartily desires your
assistance in relieving him from his present danger at Puirenon."
Chandos took the ring; but instead of calling his friends to arm, he
coldly observed, that it would be difficult to assist the Earl if the
affair were such as the squire had represented it. "Let us go to dinner,"
said he; and accordingly the knights sat down.
The first course was eaten in silence, for Chandos was thoughtful, and the
minds of his friends were not idle.
In the middle of the second course, when the generous wine of France had
roused his better nature, he started from a reverie, and with a smile of
pride and generousness exclaimed, "Sirs, the Earl of Pembroke is a noble
man, and of great lineage: he is son of my natural lord the King of
England, for he hath married his daughter, and in every thing he is
companion to the Earl of Cambridge. He hath required me to come, to him,
and I ought to consent to his desire."
Then thrusting the table from him, and rising to the full height of his
fine martial figure, he cried, "Gallant knights, I will ride to Puirenon."
This noble and generous resolve found an echo in the heart of every one
that was present. The trumpets sounded, the knights hastily donned their
armour, and saddled the first horses they could meet with; and in a few
moments the court-yard glittered with more than two hundred spears. They
rode apace towards Puirenon; but news of their approach reached the
vigilant French in sufficient time for them to abandon the siege, and
effect their retreat with their prisoners and booty.
The Earl of Pembroke soon found that the terror of the name of Chandos had
scared the foe, and he proposed to his companions to ride towards
Poictiers and meet their deliverers. They accordingly left the village in
a right pleasant mood, some on foot, others on horses, and many a gallant
steed carried double that day. They had not ridden a league before they
met Sir John Chandos and his company, who much to their regret heard of
the retreat of the French. The two parties rode in company for the space
of three leagues, holding merry converse on deeds of arms. They then
departed, Chandos returning to Poictiers, and the Earl of Pembroke to
Mortaygne.[55]
[Sidenote: The last curious circumstances of his life.]
Our knight's career of glory approached its close. By the treachery of a
monk, the abbey of St. Salvyn, seven leagues from Poictiers, fell into the
possession of the French, who all that year, 1371, had been harassing the
English territories. Chandos was deeply mortified at the loss of the
abbey, it being within the scope of his seneschalship. To recover it by
chivalric skill, or to bring his enemies to fair and manly battle, seemed
equally impossible, and his high spirit was wounded at these insults to
his military abilities. On the last day of December he made an
unsuccessful attempt to recover the abbey; and when he returned to the
town of Chauvigny, he dismissed two-thirds of his troops, knights of
Poictou and England. Sir Thomas Percy, with thirty spears, had his leave
to go in quest of adventures. His own mind was too ill at rest for him to
indulge in mere chivalric exercises; and after he had wished them good
speed he went back into the house full of melancholy thoughts. He would
not retire to rest though the night was far advanced; but he remained in
the kitchen warming himself by the fire, his servants endeavouring by
their jests and tales to banish his uneasiness.
Before daylight a man with the haste and anxiety of the bearer of news of
import came into the house.
"The Frenchmen are riding abroad," said he to Sir John.
"How knowest thou that?"
"I left St. Salvyn with them," was the answer.
"Which way did they ride?" demanded Chandos.
"Their exact course I wot not," replied his informant; "but I saw them on
the high road to Poictiers."
"What Frenchmen?" required Sir John.
"Sir Louis of St. Julian, and Carnot the Breton."
"Well," quoth Chandos, "I care not: I have no mind to ride forth to-night:
it may happen that they may be encountered, though I am not there."
The conversation closed here, but Chandos could not dismiss the subject
from his mind. He mused upon what he had heard, and hope gradually broke
through the gloom of his disappointment.
He then told his knights he would ride to Poictiers, and they joyfully
caparisoned their horses.
Chandos and forty spears left Chauvigny before daylight, and getting into
the Frenchmen's course, they soon overtook them near the bridge of Lusac.
They were on foot, preparing to attack Sir Thomas Percy and his little
band, who had posted themselves on the other side of the bridge.
Before the Frenchmen and Bretons had arranged their plan of assault, they
heard the trampling of Chandos's war-horses, and turning round they saw
his dreadful banner displayed. He approached within three furlongs of the
bridge and had a parley with them. He reproached them for their robberies
and acts of violence in the country whereof he was seneschal.
"It is more than a year and a half," he continued, "that I have set all my
aim to find and encounter you, and now, I thank God, I see you and speak
to you. It shall soon be known who is prowest, you or I. You have often
vaunted your desire to meet me; now you may see me before you.--I am John
Chandos: regard me well," he thundered in their ears, his countenance
darkening as he spoke.
At that moment an English squire was struck to the earth by the lance of a
Breton. The generous nature of Chandos was rouzed at this ungallant act;
and, in a tone of mingled expostulation and reproof, he cried to his own
company, "Sirs, how is it that you suffer this squire thus to be slain? A
foot, a foot!"
He dismounted, and so did all his band, and they advanced against the
French. His banner, with the escutcheon above his arms, was carried before
him, and some of his men-at-arms surrounded it. Chandos missed his steps,
for the ground was slippery from the hoar-frost of the morning, and in his
impatience for battle he entangled his feet in the folds of his surcoat.
He fell just as he reached his enemy; and as he was rising, the lance of a
French squire entered his flesh, under the left eye, between the nose and
the forehead. Chandos could not see to ward off the stroke; for, some
years before, he had lost the sight of that eye, while hunting the hart in
the country round Bourdeaux: unhappily, too, his helmet was without the
defence of its vizor.
He fell upon the earth, and rolled over two or three times, from the pain
of the wound, but he never spoke again.
The French endeavoured to seize him; but his uncle, Sir Edward Clifford,
bestrode the body, and defended it so valorously, that soon none dared to
approach him.
[Sidenote: Grief at his death.]
The barons and knights of Poictou were conquerors, and when the confusion
was hushed, they flocked round their outstretched friend and seneschal.
They wept, they wrung their hands, they tore their hair, and gave way to
every violent expression of grief. They called him the flower of chivalry,
and lamented the hour when the lance was forged which had brought him into
peril of death.
He heard and understood them well, but was unable to reply. His servants
then unarmed him; and, laying him upon a pavesse, or large shield, they
bore him gently to the neighbouring fortress of Mortimer.
He died on the following day; and a cavalier more courteous, and more
worthily adorned with noble virtues and high qualities, never adorned the
English chivalry. He was, in sooth, as gallant a knight as ever laid lance
in rest.
The Prince of Wales, the Earl of Cambridge, the Earl of Pembroke, and,
indeed, all the English barons and knights then in Guienne, lamented his
fate, as the loss of all the English dominions in France; and many right
noble and valiant knights of France mourned the death of a generous foe,
and they wished he had been made prisoner; for they said he was so sage
and imaginative that he would have planned a peace between the two
nations.[56]
Chandos was never married. All the estates which he had won by his valour
went to his three sisters.