THE PRINCE IN THE BATTLE
And now the word of command was passed from rank to rank, and the
English men-at-arms who had hitherto remained inactive, hastened to
mount their horses. Everything being in readiness, the Prince of Wales,
in his black armour, sprang into the saddle, and, attended by his
knights and squires, and by Sir John Chandos and Sir Walter Woodland,
his standard-bearer, spurred his coal-black steed to the head of the
men-at-arms, and receiving his helmet from Simon Burley, placed it on
his head, and prepared to charge for victory and honour.
"Now, sir," said Sir John Chandos, addressing the prince, "already the
day is almost ours, and God will put victory in your hands; and you
have before said that you will prove yourself a hardy knight."
"Yes, John," replied the prince, smiling; "so let us get forward, and
I promise that my friends will see more of my back than mine enemies,
for I ever like to be among the foremost." And then turning to Sir
Walter Woodland, he added, "Banner, advance in the name of God and St.
George."
As the prince spoke the standard-bearer obeyed; and, with trumpets
sounding, the young warrior led his men from the vineyard, and dashed
into the plain to encounter the foes who, an hour earlier, had regarded
him as if he had already been a captive or a corpse.
Issuing from the narrow lane, and charging across the moor to where the
French were formed in large bodies, the prince and his riders assailed
the division under the Duke of Athens, Constable of France; and, the
constable and his knights standing firm, a sharp encounter took place.
"St. George for Guienne!" shouted the English.
"Montjoye, St. Denis!" replied the French.
But the conflict was soon over. The constable, after fighting bravely,
fell, and most of his knights were slain around him.
Pursuing their career, the prince and his riders next came in contact
with the German cavalry, under the Counts of Saltzburg, Nassau, and
Neydo, and the Germans fared as ill as the French had done. The three
counts were slain, and the Germans, seeing their leaders fall, took to
flight.
Not stopping to make prisoners, the prince, with Chandos by his side,
charged on--his friends rallying to his standard, and his enemies
flying from his war-cry. What remained of the second division of the
French was speedily dispersed; and the Duke of Orleans, who was in
command of a body of reserve, fled from the field without an effort to
stay the progress of the conqueror.
But, as Chandos had predicted, John of Valois did not fly. Even in the
midst of panic and flight, he maintained, as a knight and a soldier,
the character which he enjoyed throughout Christendom. Mounted on his
white steed, arrayed in royal armour, and accompanied by Philip, his
youngest son, John, at the head of his division, faced the English and
Gascons under the Earl of Warwick, and fought dauntlessly and well.
But his courage and prowess could not turn the fortune of the field.
Around him his men fell in heaps; and when he, after receiving two
wounds in the face, was beaten to the ground, the survivors lost hope,
and began to escape towards Poictiers.
But still John of Valois was in no mood either to fly or to yield.
Rising from the ground, and with his son still by his side, he rallied
his broken ranks, and, with his battle-axe in his hand, advanced on
foot to renew the conflict, not without the hope of Fortune declaring
herself on his side.
By this time the battle had lasted about three hours, and it was nearly
noon; and the Prince of Wales, seeing that his enemies were flying in
all directions, had halted after one of his charges, and, with a few
men-at-arms around him, was calculating the results of the engagement,
when suddenly, on foot, with the fury of a lion, and battle-axe in
hand, John made his last desperate effort to retrieve the day; and,
as the prince turned to renew the conflict, his eye was lighted up
with that joy which warriors feel in the prospect of a stern encounter
with foemen worthy of their steel. But few around the prince shared
his enthusiasm. In fact, it was a most critical moment, and one thrust
with a spear, one blow with a battle-axe, might have changed the fate
of the day. Fortunately, however, the Earl of Warwick, returning from
the pursuit, charged the French in the flank, and they, giving way,
fled, in utter confusion and despair, towards Poictiers, the pursuit
continuing to the gates of the city.
And now the field was won, and the French were flying and the English
pursuing on all hands, when the Prince of Wales suddenly perceived the
body of Lord Robert de Duras lying near a bush; and as Lord Robert
de Duras was nephew of the Cardinal of Perigord, and as the prince
believed that the cardinal had played him false on the previous day,
his ire kindled at the sight.
"Place this body on a shield," said he, addressing two squires,
"and see it carried to Poictiers, and present it to the Cardinal of
Perigord, and say I salute him by that token."
"My lord," remonstrated Sir John Chandos, "do not think of such things
at this moment, when you have to look after others of such importance.
Besides, the cardinal may, perhaps, convince you that he is not to
blame."
"In truth," said the prince, "I lose all patience when I think of
having been so trifled with. But be that as it may, John, it seems that
the field is all our own, for I do not see any banners or pennons of
the French, nor are there any bodies considerable enough to rally and
molest us."
"However," continued Sir John Chandos, "it will be proper for you to
halt here and plant your banner on this bush, that it may serve to
rally your forces, which seem much scattered. And you may rest yourself
a little, as you are much heated."
Accordingly the banner of the Prince of Wales was placed on the bush,
and a small pavilion of red silk was pitched hard by, and the prince,
taking off his helmet, entered; and the minstrels began to play, and
the trumpets and clarions to sound; and the prince ordered liquor to be
brought to him and the knights who were present; and they every moment
increased in number, for each stopped there with his prisoners in
returning from the pursuit; and at length came Lord Cobham and the Earl
of Warwick.
"My lords," asked the prince, as they entered the pavilion, "do you
know what has become of the King of France?"
"No, sir, not with certainty," replied they. "But we believe he
must either be killed or made prisoner, since he never quitted his
battalion."
The prince looked grave at this answer; for, naturally enough, he was
anxious to hear of the captivity rather than the death of John of
Valois, and his countenance expressed the feelings by which he was
animated.
"My lords," said he, "I beg you to mount your horses and ride over the
field, and bring me such intelligence of him as you can obtain."
"Sir," replied they, "we will most willingly do so;" and, leaving
the pavilion, they mounted and went off to ascertain the fate of the
vanquished Valois.