KING EDWARD'S DEFIANCE
As King Edward had promised, I speedily found myself installed as one
of the pages to the Prince of Wales, and hastened to provide myself
with garments suitable to my new position in life, and to fall into the
ways of the court over which the good Queen Philippa presided with so
much grace and amiability.
In spite of the humble sphere from which I had emerged, I was treated
with almost familiar kindness by the prince, and with perfect courtesy
by the gentlemen who formed his household, with the single exception of
the Lord De Ov, whose haughty words at Smithfield had so deeply galled
me. Between the young baron and myself there existed an instinctive
antipathy, as if we had been born to be mortal foes; and, as he never
looked at me without a scowl of scorn, I, rather elate with my rising
fortunes, replied with glances of fiery defiance.
I had lost no time in sending a messenger from Windsor to inform my
grandsire and my mother of the result of my visit to Jack Fletcher, and
of my intention to take an early opportunity of presenting myself in
person at the homestead, to convince them not only that there was no
mistake about my good luck, but also that I was certain, ere long, to
rise higher.
Never, indeed, had there been a time when an Englishman was likely
to have more chances of distinguishing himself in continental war.
Everybody was telling his neighbour how the king was about to lead an
army, composed of Englishmen, to France, and how Philip of Valois--if
he knew what manner of men the invaders were likely to be--would
tremble at the prospect of their landing. I fully participated in the
prevailing excitement, and listened eagerly as Simon Burley related the
circumstances under which King Edward sent the defiance which made a
renewal of the war inevitable.
It appears that the King of England was at Windsor, celebrating the
feast of St. George, and flattering himself that peace was established,
when he received intelligence that the treaty of Malestroit had been
rudely broken by the summary execution of his Breton allies. The king,
whose temper was fiery, no sooner heard of this breach of faith and
outrage on justice, than his blood boiled with indignation, and he
vowed he would make Philip of Valois repent his handiwork.
At that time Sir Hervé de Léon, a knight of Brittany, who had stood
sternly up for the interest of Charles of Blois against the English
king and the Earl of Montfort, happened to be a prisoner in England;
and Edward in the excess of his rage, bethought him of retaliation.
Fortunately, however, Henry, Earl of Derby, the king's kinsman, had the
courage to remonstrate, and to persuade Edward that such a course would
be unworthy of his dignity and of the reputation he enjoyed throughout
Christendom.
"My lord," said Derby, "if Philip of Valois has, in his rashness, had
the villainy to put to death so many valiant knights, do not suffer
your courage to be tainted by it; for, in truth, if you will but
consider a little, your prisoner has nothing to do with this outrage.
Have the goodness therefore to give him his liberty at a reasonable
ransom."
Edward, after attentively listening to the earl, paused, reflected,
indicated by gesture his concurrence in his kinsman's opinion, and
ordered the captive knight to be brought to his presence.
"Ha! Sir Hervé--Sir Hervé," began the king, who by this time had
recovered his serenity, "my adversary, Philip of Valois, has shown his
treachery in too cruel a manner when he put to death so many knights.
It has given me much displeasure, and it appears as if it were done in
despite of us. If I were to take his conduct as my example, I ought to
do the like to you, for you have done me more harm in Brittany than any
other man."
"Sire----" said Sir Hervé, interrupting.
"Nay," continued Edward, "listen. I will preserve my honour unspotted,
and allow you your liberty at a trifling ransom, out of my love for the
Earl of Derby, who has requested it; but on this condition, that you
perform what I am going to ask of you."
"Sire," said Sir Hervé, "I will do the best of my power to perform
whatever you shall command."
"Ah, then, let us come to the point," continued the king. "I know,
Sir Hervé, that you are one of the richest knights in Brittany, and
if I were to press you, you would pay me forty thousand crowns for
your ransom. But you will go to Philip of Valois, my adversary, and
tell him, from me, that, by putting so many knights to death in so
dishonourable a manner, he has sore displeased me, and I say and
maintain that he has, by this act, broken the truce, and that, from
this moment, I consider it broken, and by you send him my defiance."
"Sire," replied Sir Hervé, "I will perform your message to the best of
my abilities."
"In consideration of your carrying my message," added the king, "I will
let you off for ten thousand crowns, which you will send to Bruges
within five days after you have crossed the seas."
"Sire," said the knight, "I engage so to do; and God reward you and my
lord of Derby for your kindness to me."
No delay could be laid to the charge of Sir Hervé de Léon in fulfilling
his promise. Finding himself released from prison, he took leave of
the king, and embarked at Southampton. His intention was to land at
Harfleur, but the vessel in which he sailed encountered a violent
storm. For fifteen days the knight was almost at the mercy of the winds
and the waves; and he was under the necessity of throwing his horses
overboard. At length the mariners landed at Crotoy, a town in Picardy,
at the mouth of the Somme, and Sir Hervé with his suite journeyed on
foot to Abbeville.
The voyage, however, had proved too much for the Breton knight, and
at Abbeville he was so ill and so weakened by sea-sickness that he
could not ride on horseback. But he did not forget his promise; and,
though his end was approaching, he travelled in a litter to Paris, and
delivered to Philip of Valois, word for word, the message with which
King Edward had intrusted him.
"And now," said King Edward, "let my adversary tremble."
"Ay, let Philip of Valois tremble," shouted hundreds of voices.
Everywhere throughout England there was bustle, and excitement, and
preparation for war; and while men-at-arms and archers were mustering
at Southampton, Godfrey de Harcourt, that great noble of Normandy, whom
Philip of Valois menaced with death, reached England, to encourage the
king with his promises and aid him with his counsels; and among the
youth who surrounded the Prince of Wales there was much enthusiasm, and
also much talk of performing feats of arms; and none among them was
more enthusiastic than myself or more hopeful of doing something to win
renown.
It was under such circumstances, one morning in May, that I rode
through Windsor Forest to the homestead that had sheltered my
childhood, to bid adieu to my grandsire and to my mother before
crossing the sea. My grandsire shed a tear and my mother wept bitterly
as we parted. But my heart was too elate with hope, and my brain too
full of glowing aspirations, to allow their sadness to depress me.
Already I was, in imagination, winning the spurs of knighthood, even
leading armies to victory, and making my way to fame and fortune by
heroic achievements.
So far everything appeared brilliant. But I was destined, ere the year
closed, to discover that war was not wholly made up of triumphs, and
to have ample leisure to pine, in irksome solitude, for a sight of the
quiet homestead which I had deemed so dull.
But let me not tell of the future. At the period of which I write there
was little thought among us of disaster or of mishaps. The king, the
prince, earls, barons, knights, squires, and yeomen were leaving their
homes to take part in the great enterprise. All England was ringing
with predictions of victory and conquest: and my young heart beat to
the music of the hour, as I thought of Philip of Valois listening to
the terms of King Edward's defiance, and trembling on his throne at the
approach of King Edward's vengeance.