THE LUCK OF JOHN COPELAND
It was not merely to the king and the Prince of Wales, and the nobles
and knights of England, that the news of Queen Philippa's victory was
a subject of high interest. Every squire, page, and groom, heard the
glad tidings with delight; and as rumour carried through the English
camp intelligence so flattering to the pride of Englishmen, there arose
one long shout of joy and rejoicing. For my own part, I had to tell the
story hundreds of times, and, for twenty-four hours at least, found
myself a person of no slight consequence.
I know not what the Calesians thought of the excitement among the
besiegers; but the cheers that everywhere rose loud and high might have
intimated to them that the English had received news that boded little
good to the beleaguered town. Nevertheless, they held out resolutely;
and, in spite of the prince's prediction, King Edward evinced no
inclination whatever to storm the place.
"No," said the king in a conclusive tone; "I now feel more secure than
ever of my prize. It is true that Philip of Valois may come to relieve
the place; and, truth to tell, I desire not mine adversary's presence.
But, if come he does, it shall be at his peril."
However, Philip of Valois made no sign of moving to the rescue of his
friends. In fact, it seemed that the ill-fated prince had played his
last card when he urged the King of Scots to invade England; and the
disastrous issue of the enterprise had ruined his projects.
In such circumstances, it appeared that, if distress did not force the
Calesians to surrender their stronghold, the English army might remain
all the winter before the walls without any change in the aspect of
affairs. Such being the case, the pledge I had given not to draw my
sword for a year and a day became less irksome; and I was gradually
reconciling my mind to the condition on which I had recovered my
liberty, when, towards the coast in the neighbourhood of Calais, the
wind blew a ship on board of which was no less important a personage
than John Copeland, the captor of David Bruce.
And here I must pause to relate how the Northumbrian squire, after
possessing himself of the King of Scots, at the cost of two of his
front teeth, at Merrington, and mounted him on horseback, fared with
his royal captive; and how his sagacity enabled him, without losing
hold of his prisoner, to evade the consequences of having aroused Queen
Philippa's wrath to the highest pitch.
No sooner had Sir John Neville reached the camp before Calais, and
presented Philippa's epistle to her royal husband, than, as I have
already intimated, I was interrupted in my colloquy with the prince,
and by Lord De Ov hastily and not very courteously summoned to the
royal presence, and closely interrogated as to the circumstances under
which the King of the Scots was taken prisoner and carried northward.
I told my story without concealment or exaggeration, and was gratified
to perceive that King Edward, albeit blaming Copeland for having been
rash, gave him credit for having acted with honourable intentions.
But, unhappily, the aspect of the affair did not improve with time.
In fact, Copeland seemed bent on ruining himself by carrying his
enterprise too far.
It appeared, on inquiry, that, after capturing David Bruce, Copeland
hurried him away towards the castle of Ogle, on the river Blythe, and,
after reaching that fortress, placed him under a guard so strong as to
preclude the probability of escape or rescue. So far the matter was not
so awkward. But when a knight, despatched by the queen, presented a
letter, in which he was commanded to give up his captive, he answered
in defiant terms.
"The King of Scots," said he to the knight, "is my prisoner, and I will
neither give him up to man nor woman, except to my own lord, the King
of England. But," added he, "you may depend on my taking proper care of
him, and I will be answerable for guarding him well."
Naturally such a message exasperated Philippa beyond measure; and, in
high wrath, she wrote to King Edward, complaining that Copeland had
acted so outrageously, and set her commands so utterly at defiance,
that she could not brook his insolence.
The king was somewhat perplexed. Sympathising, in a slight degree,
with the queen's indignation, but reluctant to act severely towards
Copeland, he perhaps felt some hesitation as to what he should do. It
was necessary, however, to decide without delay; and the king deemed it
most prudent to send orders to Copeland to repair forthwith to Calais.
The squire hastened to obey; and, having left David Bruce vigilantly
guarded in his castle of Ogle, ere long presented himself at Calais,
and, having desired to be conducted to the king, soon found himself
face to face with the husband of the royal lady whose resentment he had
provoked.
It was a memorable moment when Copeland and the king met, and for an
instant the squire's brave heart must have beat quick as he looked
on his sovereign's countenance; but Edward's manner was sufficiently
gracious to assure him that he had lost but little favour, and that he
was not likely to meet with strong reproof.
"Ah, welcome!" exclaimed the king; "welcome, my brave squire, who, by
his valour, has captured my adversary, the King of Scots!"
At this point, Copeland, perceiving how the interview would probably
terminate, fell on his knees.
"My lord," said he gravely, "if God, in His great kindness, has given
me the King of Scots as a prisoner--having permitted me to conquer
him in arms--no one ought to be jealous of it, for God can, when He
pleases, send His grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord."
"Go on, John," said the king in a tone of encouragement; "I listen."
"Well, my lord," continued the squire more boldly, "do not take it
amiss if I did not surrender the King of Scots to the orders of my lady
the queen; for I hold my lands of you, and my oath is to you, not to
her, except it be through choice."
"Rise, John," said the king, after musing for a moment, "and assure
yourself that the loyal service you have done us, and our esteem for
your valour, are so great as to serve for an excuse, were any needed;
and shame fall upon those who bear you an ill-will. However, you will
now return home, and take your prisoner, the King of the Scots, and
convey him to my wife."
"Right willingly, my lord," replied Copeland, who saw that everything
would end as he wished.
"And, by way of remuneration," added the king, coming to the point, "I
assign lands, as near your house as you can choose them, to the value
of five hundred pounds sterling a-year, for you and your heirs, and I
nominate you a squire of my body and household."
"My lord, how can I express my thanks for your favours?" cried the
squire in ecstasies.
"As for that," said Edward, "seeing that you are a brave warrior, I ask
you to furnish twenty men-at-arms; and, on that condition, I grant you
a pension of a hundred pounds yearly, to be paid out of the customs of
Berwick."
* * * * *
It was on the third day after his arrival at the camp before Calais,
and when he was about to embark to return to England, that Copeland
sought me out to say "Farewell."
"Well, sir squire," said I, laughing, "it seems that, after great
hazard, you have managed everything to your heart's content."
"Assuredly," replied he. "I ever predicted that such would be the
issue; and now nothing remains to be done in the business but to return
home, assemble my friends and neighbours, and convey the captive king
to York, with some such excuse to my lady the queen as will soothe her
woman's pride."
"So far," observed I, "you certainly have had luck on your side."
"Ay, boy," said he, smiling grimly, "you now see I understand better
than you how to get fame and fortune."
"God's truth!" exclaimed I, "after what has passed I should be a dolt
to dispute it. But all men have their peculiar gifts; and I opine that
it is only a man born and bred in the north who could have planned such
an achievement, and carried it out so shrewdly."
"Well spoken, my brave youth," said Copeland; "and I believe you
likewise have gifts that might make a man of you, if you went the right
way about it; but trust me that all your fine dreams of chivalry and
ambition to perform fine feats of arms will not easily get you five
hundred a-year in land, and a pension of a hundred a-year out of the
customs of Berwick."
"Perhaps, not; but my dreams, as you call them, may result in something
better--in my name being recorded by chroniclers, and celebrated by
minstrels."
The Northumbrian squire laughed loud at what he deemed my fantastic
notions, and laid his hand on my arm.
"Hark ye, boy," said he, looking in my face. "I know something of
mankind, and I venture to predict of you, that--young and foolish as
you are--you will live and learn how to climb the tree, so as ever,
when you fall, to fall as a cat does--that is, on your feet; so that I
have faith in your future."
"Many thanks for your compliment," said I, half scornfully.
"But listen," continued Copeland kindly. "When this siege is over, and
you tire of idling at Windsor or Eltham, and sigh for strife and real
warfare, come north to my castle on the Blythe; and, if you meet not
with dainty chivalry, you will meet with a hearty welcome, and enemies
who will give you work to do, when we mount our steeds, and ride forth
together to couch our spears against the Scot."
"Many thanks for your courtesy," replied I, as he shook my hand ere
parting; "and, if I avail myself of your offer, I trust you will not
fail to put me in the way of making my fortune by capturing a king."