A ROYAL CAPTIVE
It was noon, and the battle was virtually over; and, albeit the English
were already as secure of victory as if every enemy had lain dead on
the field, on one spot, hard by a little hillock, a fierce struggle
was still maintained. It is true that, after rescuing the Prince of
Wales from sudden peril, the Earl of Warwick had driven the French
before him with such force that, as I have said, most of them never
paused in their flight till they reached the gates of Poictiers.
Nevertheless, John of Valois fought on, indulging in vague hopes and
forming desperate resolutions. But fate was decidedly against him; and
his nobles and knights, bravely as they contended, could do nothing to
make their position less desperate than it already was. In attempting
to break through the crowd and join their sovereign, the Counts of
Tankerville, Ponthieu, and Eu were made prisoners. By the hand of
Lord Cobham perished the Count of Dammartin; down, as his sword again
descended, fell Geoffrey de Chargny, who had fought gallantly all day,
with the standard of France in his hand; and, through the gaps which
were thus made in the French army, rushed the English and Gascons in
such numbers that they intermingled with their foes, and outnumbered
them in the proportion of five to one. It was utterly impossible
for John, bold and strong as he was, to hold out longer under such
circumstances, and his danger was great. However, the eagerness to take
him prisoner was excessive among those who knew him; and, while he was
pulled about from one to another without the least respect for his
royal pretensions, some of those who were near shouted loudly--
"Surrender yourself, surrender yourself, or you are a dead man!"
Fortunately for John, there was among the English a young knight of
St. Omer, who bore the name of Denis de Morbeque, and who had, five
years earlier, been banished from France for killing a man in a fray;
and fortunately for himself this knight was at hand. Recognising John,
and anxious to save him, Sir Denis, exerting all his strength, pushed
rapidly through the crowd.
"Sire, sire," said he in good French, "surrender yourself; it is your
only chance."
"But to whom shall I surrender myself?" said John, turning round.
"Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? If I could see him I would
speak to him."
"Sire," replied Sir Denis, "the prince is not near; but surrender to
me, and I will lead you to his presence."
"Who are you?" asked John with interest.
"Sire," answered the knight, "I am Denis de Morbeque, a knight of
Artois; but I serve the King of England, because I have forfeited all I
possessed in France, and no longer consider myself as belonging to the
kingdom."
"Well, sir knight," said John, giving Sir Denis the glove from his
right hand, "I surrender to you. Conduct me to the prince."
But this proved no easy matter, for several cried, "I have taken him,"
and there was much pushing and thronging about the spot; and both John
and his young son Philip, who clung resolutely to his father's side,
were unable to free themselves from the numbers who claimed them as
prisoners.
In fact, the dispute every moment became louder and fiercer, and ever
and anon threatened the most disagreeable consequences; for both
English and Gascons were bawling at the top of their voices, and it
appeared likely enough that they would ultimately proceed from words to
blows.
"He has surrendered to me," shouted one.
"It is I who have got him," cried a second.
"No, no!" exclaimed others; "we have him."
And as each put in his claim, he attempted to make it good in such a
fashion that John found his situation the very reverse of pleasant.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said he, as his patience wore out, "I pray you
cease this riot, and conduct me and my son in a courteous manner to the
Prince of Wales. You shall all be rewarded. I am so great a lord that I
can make you all sufficiently rich."
At these words, which every one heard, the crowd was in some degree
appeased; but disputes were again breaking out, and John's position was
becoming every moment less agreeable, when suddenly Lord Cobham and the
Earl of Warwick, who, while riding over the field, had observed the
tumult, spurred up to the place.
"What is the matter?" asked they.
"It is the King of France, who has been made prisoner," was the reply;
and immediately more than a dozen knights and squires stepped forward,
each claiming the royal captive as his own.
"Gentlemen," said Warwick, bending his brow and raising his voice
menacingly, "this behaviour is most unseemly; and, in the name of the
Prince of Wales, I command you all to keep your distance, and not to
approach unless desired to do so."
And, as the crowd fell back, Warwick and Cobham dismounted, and,
advancing to the prisoner, conducted him quietly to the red pavilion in
which the prince was resting from the fatigues of the day.
When the two earls escorted their captive and his son into the
pavilion, the Prince of Wales was conversing with his knights on the
events of the day. On becoming aware of John's presence, however, he
rose and made a very low obeisance, as has been related, and, ordering
wine and spices to be brought, presented them to the captive with his
own hand, and endeavoured to minister what comfort he could.
"In my opinion," said he, "you ought to be glad that this battle,
albeit it has not ended as you desired, has redounded so much to your
fame; for you have, this day, had an opportunity of acquiring a high
renown for prowess, and have in the field far surpassed all the best
knights of whom the chivalry of France can boast."
At these words, John, whose violence seemed to have died out of him,
smiled as if in sad reproof; but his young son Philip, who inherited
this violence in a high degree, glared on his father's conqueror with
the savage ferocity of a young tiger.