ARRIVALS
About three days before the Feast of All Saints there was much
commotion in the camp before Calais. Everything wore a gayer aspect
than on ordinary occasions, and an unwonted degree of excitement
lighted up the grim faces of the English soldiery. In fact, there had
just taken place an important arrival in the person of Queen Philippa;
and, even had she come alone, the heroine of Neville's Cross would have
been received with enthusiasm. But she was not unaccompanied when she
came to Calais; for with her came a great number of ladies, who gladly
left England and their homes to see their fathers, husbands, brothers,
and kinsmen who were engaged in the siege.
It appears that, so far as the King of Scots was concerned, everything
had ultimately been settled to Philippa's satisfaction. On reaching
England, Copeland, as he had intended, assembled his friends and
neighbours, conducted David Bruce to York, and there, in the king's
name, presented his royal captive to the queen with such handsome
excuses, that she expressed herself quite satisfied. Nor, after having
settled that matter, did Philippa linger in the North. Having provided
for the defence of York, Durham, and other towns in the province beyond
the Humber, she immediately set out for London, carrying the royal Scot
in her train.
Arrived in the capital of England, the King of Scots was, with much
ceremony, conducted to the Tower. Twenty thousand soldiers escorted the
prisoner; the companies of the city, in their appropriate dresses, took
part in the procession; and David Bruce--riding a tall black horse,
that he might be seen of all men--slowly passed through London, and
disappeared from the crowd within the gate of the great metropolitan
fortress.
Measures having been taken to render the prison absolutely secure, and
to preclude everything like a possibility of escape, Philippa left
London for Dover; and, embarking with a favourable wind, she soon
reached Calais. On the arrival of the queen, King Edward held a grand
court and ordered magnificent entertainments for the ladies who had
come with his royal spouse.
Naturally, the court and the entertainments caused much talk, raised
much curiosity, and excited much interest in the camp. But they
were not the only subjects of conversation which Philippa's arrival
furnished. From England with the queen came her eldest daughter,
Isabel, then a girl of fifteen, and fair to look upon; and everybody
whispered that she was destined as the bride of the Count of Flanders.
At all events, it was known that the Flemings were most anxious that
their young count should espouse the English princess; and it was
believed that the King and Queen of England were, for many reasons, as
eager as the Flemings that the match should take place.
At that time I may mention that the Count of Flanders was still at
the court of Philip of Valois, brooding over the death of his father,
and dreaming of vengeance. The Flemings, however, were not daunted by
this circumstance, which certainly did not favour this project. To the
French court they sent such messages as they believed would lure their
prince home.
"If," said they, "you will return to Flanders, and follow our advice,
we will make a great man of you."
The young count listened, reflected, yielded, and returned to the
dominions over which his father had exercised sovereign sway.
At first everything went smoothly enough. The chief towns of Flanders
made much of their count, and laid such rich presents at his feet
that his eyes were dazzled, and so far all was well. But on one point
they were determined--namely, that they--and not he--should select
his bride, and that the bride should be none other than the English
princess who was now, with her mother, in the camp before Calais.
Unfortunately, as it happened, the Count of Flanders had two strong
objections to the matrimonial union which his subjects were so anxious
to bring about. In the first place, he wished to marry a daughter of
the Duke of Brabant; and, in the second place, he was utterly averse to
marry Isabel of England.
"I will never," said he, almost in tears--"I will never marry a
daughter of the man whom I hold responsible for my father's death."
"But," said the Flemings, "this English alliance will best enable us to
resist the oppressions of the French, and our connexion with England is
much more profitable than could be a connexion with any other country."
Nevertheless, the Count of Flanders remained obdurate; and the
Flemings, equally stubborn in their way, not only adhered to their
purpose, but gave their hereditary ruler to understand that he was
neither more nor less than a prisoner--nay, more, they intimated that
he was likely so to continue until he listened to reason, and consented
to be guided by them.
"You will never," said they, "have your liberty, unless you take our
advice; and if your father had taken our advice he might have been
one of the greatest princes of Christendom, instead of being--what he
became--a vassal of France."
Naturally, the count found his position extremely perplexing, and
his captivity wearisome, and, under the influence of continual
importunities on the part of the Flemings, his resolution began to give
way.
"Well," said he, one day, "I begin to think you are in the right, and
that the advantages to be gained from an alliance with England are very
great."
Gratified to hear the count express himself in such language, the
Flemings relaxed his bonds, gave him a little more liberty, and
allowed him to recreate himself with field sports, especially that
of hawking, which was his favourite pastime. But he felt that he was
still a prisoner. Whenever he rode out to fly his hawk, he found
himself vigilantly guarded; and, ere long, to relieve himself from a
predicament which daily became more awkward, he consented to do all
that the Flemings required of him, and, with the best grace he could
assume, intimated his willingness to espouse the English princess,
whose name he disliked, and whose face he had never seen.
And now, for a time, matters went on as favourably as the Flemings
could have desired, and ambassadors were sent to Calais to inform the
King and Queen of England that the count was ready to espouse the
princess. Edward and Philippa were delighted beyond measure with the
intelligence, and did not conceal their satisfaction.
"What good sort of people the Flemings are!" exclaimed they gratefully.
Meanwhile, the Earl of Northampton and the Earl of Arundel, having
been sent into Flanders, made all arrangements in the most skilful
manner. In vain the Duke of Brabant threw obstacles in the way, invoked
the interference of Philip of Valois, and did everything in his power
to put a stop to these negociations. The Flemings were neither to be
coaxed nor coerced from following their project; and at length it was
agreed that a conference should take place between the King and Queen
of England and the Count of Flanders, attended by the chief men of the
country. Bergues St. Vinox was fixed upon as the place of meeting, and
thither from Calais went the king and queen with a brilliant train and
in great state, to take their prospective son-in-law by the hand.
On reaching the place appointed for their conference, the King and
Queen of England found the Count of Flanders, who, with the leading men
of the chief towns, had come with great pomp to bring the business to a
conclusion. Courteous salutations having passed, King Edward took the
count aside, and spoke to the boy of the death of his father at Cressy.
"As God shall help me," said the king solemnly, "I never heard, on the
day of the battle, that the Count of Flanders was among my foes, nor on
the morrow that he had been there."
With this assurance the young count appeared satisfied, and the subject
of the marriage was, without delay, introduced. No dispute arose;
and, certain articles having been agreed on and sworn to, the Count of
Flanders was formally betrothed to Isabel of England, and engaged to
espouse her at an early date. The day, indeed, was put off till King
Edward should have more leisure. But the king and the count separated
apparently in high good-humour with each other, and no doubt was
entertained that, at an early period, the marriage would be celebrated
with a pomp and splendour becoming the rank of the parties.
It was while the king and queen were absent at this conference, that I,
lounging listlessly about the camp, met Sir Thomas Norwich, with whom
I had recently become as friendly and familiar as our different ages
and ranks would admit of our being. Many a time the good knight had
spoken jocularly of my encounter with the Count of Flanders, and now
he resumed the subject, which, at the moment, was by no means the most
agreeable in the world.
"Boy Winram," said he, "you have been so far lucky in your career; but
I fear me you will fall into the background, now that this count is
coming to wed the king's daughter."
"By my hallidame!" replied I, "such is the thought that haunts me. But
change of fortune seems to be the lot of human beings all over the
world; and Fortune, who so frequently turns her wheel against princes
and men of high rank, also condescends at times to play her tricks
with those of lower degree. So I submit. But of one thing, sir knight,
connected with this affair, I feel fully assured."
"What?"
"That Louis of Flanders has a French heart, and that he will never take
the hand of an English bride with hearty good-will."
"Dangerous words, which you had better not repeat," said Sir Thomas,
looking cautiously round.
"Mayhap they are dangerous words," replied I; "but look to the end, and
you may see them come true."