EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE
To enable my readers to form some idea of the position which was
occupied by the Prince of Wales at the time when I, Arthur Winram--for
by this surname I was now known--was admitted to the castle of Windsor,
and taken into his service as page, I must go back a few years to
relate such particulars as to his birth and boyhood as may convey a
notion of the advantages he had inherited and the training he had
received.
It was at York, and in the minster of that capital of the North, that,
one Sunday in January, 1328, Edward the king, then sixteen, espoused
Philippa, one of the four daughters whom William, Count of Hainault,
surnamed the Good, had by his wife Joan, who was a princess of the line
of Capet, and sister of Philip of Valois, to whom the Parliament of
France adjudged the crown which St. Louis had worn. The marriage, being
brought about by the king's mother, Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, was
not at first regarded with favour in England. In fact, people expressed
much discontent with the business. But for once the instincts of the
English deceived them. It was a love match after all; and ere long the
young queen displayed so much excellence and so many amiable qualities,
that she became more popular than any Queen of England had ever been,
with the exception, it must be admitted, of Eleanor of Castile.
Nothing, probably, contributed more to the change of sentiment on the
part of the English than the birth of the son destined to so glorious
a career and so melancholy an end. At Woodstock--a sylvan palace
associated with the memories of the Norman and early Plantagenet kings,
and with the touching romance of Rosamond Clifford--Edward, Prince
of Wales, first saw the light. It was ten o'clock on the morning of
Friday, the 15th of June, 1330, when he was ushered into existence,
and excited the admiration of the queen's household by his magnificent
appearance.
No time was lost in sending a messenger to inform the king that a son
had been born to him, and an heir to the house of Plantagenet; and
on hearing the welcome news, and that the prince, just cradled at
Woodstock, was a marvellously fine infant, and likely one day to be a
most handsome man, the king gave a right royal reward to Thomas Prior,
who had the good luck to carry the message.
Intelligence of the prince's birth proved hardly less welcome to the
nation than to the king. The event was talked of with enthusiasm in
every town and hamlet; and people told wonderful stories of the royal
infant's remarkable size and beauty, the fineness of his limbs, and his
state cradle, painted with designs from the Evangelists. Everywhere
the young mother and her son were the subjects of conversation, and
portraits of them, at the period, began to form favourite models for
the Virgin and Child.
The king was, doubtless, well pleased at the interest that was
manifested; and, in order that the public might participate in the
rejoicings that followed the birth of England's heir, he proclaimed
his intention of holding a grand tournament in London. Accordingly,
the lists were erected in Cheapside, and a gay company of knights and
ladies assembled on the occasion.
The ceremony, however, was interrupted by an accident that caused some
unpleasantness. At the upper end of the street a gallery had been
erected for the accommodation of the queen and her ladies; and, while
the tilting was taking place, the scaffolding on which the gallery was
reared gave way, and the structure fell to the ground. Great was the
fright, loud the screaming, and alarming the confusion. Luckily enough,
nothing fatal had occurred; but the king, much enraged, threatened to
punish the workmen. Philippa, however, interceded in their behalf;
and Edward, pacified by her mediation, and soothed by her earnest
entreaties, consented to pardon their carelessness.
While the tournament was held in Cheapside in honour of his birth,
the prince was passing his childhood under the charge of women. Joan
of Oxford was his nurse; Matilda Plumpton was rocker of his cradle;
and the Lady St. Omer, wife of a brave knight, was his governess. But
no sooner was he old enough for his book than he was intrusted to the
charge of Walter Burley, to be instructed as became the heir of a
family, one of whose chiefs had given it as his opinion that "a king
without learning was a crowned ass."
I ought to mention that Walter Burley had been bred at Merton College,
Oxford, and that he was a celebrated doctor of divinity. Having written
divers treatises on natural and moral philosophy, his fame spread over
the country, and recommended him to the Court; and when Philippa of
Hainault came to England as queen, he had the distinction of being
appointed her almoner; and, in after years, when he had the honour
of figuring as tutor to her son, he fulfilled his functions with high
credit. At the same time, Simon Burley, his young kinsman, a lad of
great promise, was admitted as one of the prince's class-fellows, and
formed that friendship which subsequently led to his being the prince's
favourite knight.
Nor were those exercises which make men strong in battle neglected in
the education of the prince. From childhood he was accustomed to arms,
trained to feats of chivalry, and inured to exertion. As he grew up he
gave indications not to be mistaken of turning out a learned, elegant,
and brilliant hero, and, in some respects, reminded men of his mighty
progenitor who conquered Simon de Montfort at Evesham, and reigned as
the first Edward with so much power and popularity.
Meanwhile, the royal boy was admitted to the honours which naturally
devolved on him as heir to the crown of England. At the age of three
he was created Earl of Chester; at seven he was made Duke of Cornwall;
and at thirteen he was, in parliament, invested by the king with the
dignity of Prince of Wales.
About the same period, another honour, and one to which he had no
hereditary claim, seemed likely to fall to his lot. I have already
mentioned that the Count of Flanders had, by his tyranny, driven his
subjects to revolt, and that Jacob von Arteveldt, a famous brewer,
exercised enormous influence among his countrymen, and that, especially
in Ghent, his word was almost law.
Now it entered into the heart of Arteveldt to conceive the expediency
of wholly depriving the Count of Flanders of his inheritance, of
making it a duchy, and bestowing it on the Prince of Wales. Full
of his scheme, and perhaps rather elated with the power he enjoyed
in Flanders, Arteveldt entered into communication with the King of
England, and had the gratification of finding that his proposal was
quite the reverse of unwelcome. Indeed, King Edward promised, without
delay, to take his son to Flanders, that Arteveldt might have an
opportunity of putting his project into execution; and, accordingly,
about St. John the Baptist's Day, he embarked with the prince, in his
ship, the Katherine, for Flanders, and sailed into the harbour of
Sluys, where, some years earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.
At Sluys, King Edward kept his court on board his ship, the Katherine,
and there received Arteveldt and his other allies among the Flemings.
Many conferences were held. But it soon appeared that Arteveldt's
enthusiasm was not shared by his countrymen. The idea of disinheriting
their count and his son was one which they seemed most averse to
entertain; and they could not be prevailed on to do more in the matter
than promise to consult the cities which they represented. Every
attempt to bring the business to a conclusion proved abortive; and
meanwhile a storm was gathering which was to destroy the whole scheme
at a blow.
In fact, French influences, and perhaps French gold, were at work
in every city of Flanders, and rapidly undermining the power which
Arteveldt had for years been building up. All regard for freedom and
commerce gave way before the prejudices of the hour; and the people of
Ghent not only set their faces decidedly against Arteveldt's project of
deposing their count in favour of the Prince of Wales, but manifested
the utmost indignation against its author. In Arteveldt's absence from
Ghent the murmurs were loud; and no sooner did he return to the town
than the malcontents expressed their sentiments in a most menacing tone.
It was about the noon of a summer's day when Arteveldt, having left
the King of England and the Prince of Wales at Sluys, entered Ghent.
Immediately he became aware that his popularity was gone. People who,
in other days, had been wont to salute him with profound respect, now
bent their brows and turned their backs; and the multitude, at all
times easily deluded, intimated that they were prepared to restore the
count whom they had banished, and to throw down the great citizen whom
they, till recently, had worshipped.
"Here," cried they, as they recognised his figure on horseback,
"comes one who is too much the master, and wants to order in Flanders
according to his will and pleasure. This must not be longer borne."
Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing. As he rode up
the street he became certain that some mischief was in agitation, and
probably suspected that his life was aimed at. In any case, he hastened
to take precautions against any attempt at violence. As soon as he
dismounted and entered his mansion, he ordered the doors and windows to
be secured, and warned his servants to be on their guard.
It soon appeared that Arteveldt's instincts had not deceived him. In
fact, a multitude, chiefly composed of the mechanical class, almost
instantaneously filled the street, surrounded the mansion, and evinced
a determination to go all lengths and force an entrance. Resistance
appearing vain, Arteveldt despaired of saving himself by force; and,
coming to a window with his head uncovered, he attempted to bring them
to reason.
"My good people," said he, in the most soothing tone, "what aileth
you? Why are you so enraged against me? How have I incurred your
displeasure? Tell me, and I will conform myself entirely to your wills."
"We want," answered they with one voice, "an account of the treasures
you have made away with."
"Gentlemen," said Arteveldt, "be assured that I have never taken
anything from the treasures of Flanders; and if you will, for the
present, return quietly to your homes, and come here to-morrow morning,
I will be ready to give so good an account of them that you shall have
every reason to be satisfied."
"No, no!" cried they; "we must have it directly. You shall not escape
us thus. We know that you have emptied the treasury, and, without our
knowledge, sent the money to England; and you must, therefore, suffer
death."
When Arteveldt heard this, he clasped his hands together, and wept in
mortification of spirit as he thought of the services he had rendered
his country, and perceived how they were likely to be requited.
"Gentlemen," he said, "such as I am, you yourselves have made me.
Formerly you swore you would protect me against all the world, and now,
without any reason, you want to murder me."
"Come down," bawled the mob, "and do not preach to us from such a
height. We want to know what you have done with the treasures of
Flanders?"
Seeing clearly that the populace were in that state of excitement
which makes them mistake friends for foes, and that his destruction
was certainly intended, Arteveldt left the window and attempted to get
out of his house by the rear, with the object of taking refuge in a
neighbouring church. But he was too late to save himself from butchery.
Already four hundred men had entered the mansion by the back, and the
toils were upon him. Shouting for his head, and clamouring like wild
beasts, they rushed upon him, seized him forcibly, trampled him under
foot, and slew him without mercy.
When this tragical event occurred at Ghent, the King of England and
the Prince of Wales were still at Sluys, awaiting the result of their
negotiations. On hearing of Arteveldt's violent death, the king was
enraged beyond measure; and, after vowing to avenge his ally and
friend, he put to sea with his son and returned to England.
Extreme was the alarm of the more prudent among the Flemings when they
learned what had been done by the mob at Ghent, and what had been said
by the King of England on receiving intelligence of the murder of
Arteveldt. Without delay they sent ambassadors from the various cities
to explain and apologise; and at Westminster the Flemings were admitted
to the royal presence. At first, Edward was haughty and disdainful;
but, after much conversation with the ambassadors, who disowned all
participation in the bloody deed, he consented to forego thoughts of
vengeance.
By this time, indeed, the king had foes enough on the Continent without
adding the Flemings to the number; and he perceived the impolicy of
attempting to force his son on them as a ruler. It was not as Duke
of Flanders, but as Prince of Wales, that the heir of England was to
perform the martial prodigies which made him so famous among the men of
the age he adorned with his valour and chivalry.
Events had already reached a crisis which rendered the continuation
of peace impossible, when I so far realised the aspirations I had
cherished in obscurity as to make my way into the service of the young
hero around whose name so much fame was soon to gather.