THE PRINCE AND HIS CAPTIVE
No news could have excited more joy and enthusiasm than pervaded
England when rumour carried through the land tidings that the English
had, against fearful odds, won another battle on the Continent, and
that the king's adversary was a captive in the hands of the king's son.
In every church thanks were solemnly offered for the victory of
Poictiers; in every town and village the victory was celebrated with
festivities; and on every hill bonfires blazed in honour of the
conquerors. Nothing could exceed the respect paid to such of the
warriors of Poictiers as, during the winter, returned from Bordeaux.
I, being the first, came in for rather more than my full share of the
glory; and, as the bearer of the earliest intelligence, I was knighted
by King Edward, who did not on this occasion forget the service I had
previously rendered in saving his daughter from the horns of the wild
bull in the forest of Windsor.
And now there was much anxiety to ascertain what was to be done with
John of Valois, and when the Prince of Wales was to bring him and his
son to England. But on this point considerable obstacles arose. In
fact, the Gascons were most unwilling that John should be taken away
from Bordeaux, and did not hesitate to express themselves strongly on
the subject.
"Sir," said they to the prince, "we owe you, as becomes us, all honour
and obedience; but it is not our intention that you should carry the
King of France from us, who contributed so largely to place him in the
situation where he now is. Thank God, he is in good health, and in a
good city; and we are strong enough to guard him against any force
which France could send to rescue him."
"Gentlemen," replied the prince, "I do not doubt your power to guard
him; but the king, my father, wishes him to go to England, and, as
we are both very sensible of the services you have rendered, you may
depend on being handsomely rewarded for them."
"Nevertheless," urged the Gascons, appearing to grow more stubborn
every moment, "we cannot consent to his departure."
"What, in the name of the saints, is to be done?" asked the prince,
taking Lord Cobham and Sir John Chandos aside.
"Sir," said Lord Cobham, "you must consider the avaricious nature of
the Gascons in dealing with them."
"Yes," added Sir John Chandos, laughing, "there is only one way of
dealing with such men: offer them a handsome sum of florins, and they
will comply with all you wish."
Accordingly a hundred thousand florins were distributed among the lords
of Gascony; and in April the prince embarked, with his captive, for
England. Landing at Sandwich, they travelled on to Canterbury; and
having remained there for three days, to refresh themselves and offer
at the shrine of Thomas à Becket, they pursued their way, by short
journeys, to London.
Meanwhile the news that the Prince of Wales and John of Valois had
landed in England reached King Edward, and spread abroad; and, as they
approached London, the public curiosity became great. At length, on
the 24th of April, they entered London, John riding the white charger
which, like himself, had been taken at Poictiers, and the prince
bestriding a black pony, and treating his captive with marked respect.
John was richly dressed, and wore a crown of ornament on his head; the
prince was plain even to affectation, and his head was uncovered as
he entered the city. But, after all, this was so much dumb show; and
the populace instinctively felt such to be the case; and nobody could
examine the countenances of the two with attention and intelligence
without ceasing to feel much surprise that the man who, on the decisive
day, had an army of sixty thousand, was a captive, and that the
youth who, on the decisive day, had an army of eight thousand, was a
conqueror. One had all the weakness of a Valois, the other all the
strength of a Plantagenet.
Riding through London, while the crowd surged and swayed, in their
eagerness to get a closer view, John and his son Philip were conducted
to the Savoy, and, after being lodged in that palace, were visited by
the king and queen, who did all in their power to console John in his
captivity. Nor did the unfortunate man disdain their kind offices.
Indeed, adversity had softened his temper, and he was disposed to make
the best of circumstances. But it was different with his son. Young
Philip's natural ferocity became more intense every hour, and some
extraordinary scenes resulted from his unrestrained violence.
On the very day after the arrival of John of Valois in London, and
while he was feasting with the court at Westminster, Philip made such
a display of temper as shocked everybody who witnessed his conduct.
Observing that the cup-bearer served King Edward with wine before
his father, he started from the table, and attempted to box the
cup-bearer's ears.
"Varlet!" cried he, foaming with fury, "you have no right to serve the
King of England before the King of France; for, though my father is
unfortunate, he is still the sovereign of your king."
Edward and Philippa endeavoured to seem diverted at the boy's rudeness,
and laughed over the awkward incident. But, a few days later, he
fastened a quarrel on the Prince of Wales, while playing at chess,
which was more awkward still. The king and queen, however, decided the
dispute in his favour; but nobody aware of the circumstances could
doubt that the boy was bad by nature, and that his education had not
been such as to eradicate the vices which he inherited.
"On my faith," said the Lord Merley to me as we one day talked over
the quarrel which he had with the prince at chess, "I wish the Gascons
had kept that young tiger to tame at Bordeaux; for, if his ferocity
continues, I see no way of dealing with him but putting him in a cage,
and committing him to the care of the keeper of the wild beasts in the
Tower."
"In truth, my lord," replied I, laughing, "I should be inclined to
agree with you if I did not remember how fiercely and bravely he fought
by his father's side at Poictiers long after his three elder brothers
were flying from the field, as if the foul fiend had been behind, and
ready to devour them."
"Doubtless," said Lord Merley, "he possesses courage; but such as,
whether in young or old, is the courage, not of a brave man, but of a
wild beast."