The face of the Prince was dark and grave. He had posted his gallant
little army in the strongest position the country afforded; but his men
were ill-fed, and though brave as lions and eager for the battle, were
but a handful of troops compared with the vast French host opposed to them.
Eight thousand against fifty or even sixty thousand! Such an inequality
might well make the stoutest heart quail. But there was no fear in young
Edward's eyes, only a glance of stern anxiety slightly dashed with
regret; for the concessions just made to the Cardinal de Perigord, who
was earnestly striving to arrange terms between the rival armies and so
avoid the bloodshed of a battle, went sorely against the grain of the
warrior prince, and he was almost disposed to repent that he had been
induced to make them.
But his position was sufficiently critical, and defeat meant the
annihilation of the gallant little army who had followed his fortunes
through two campaigns, and who were to a man his devoted servants. He
had led them, according to promise, upon another long march of unopposed
plunder and victory, right into the very heart of France; whilst another
English army in Normandy and Brittany had been harassing the French
King, and averting his attention from the movements of his son.
Perhaps young Edward's half-matured plan had been to join the other
English forces in the north, for he was too much the general and the
soldier to think of marching upon Paris or of attacking the French army
with his own small host. Indeed, a few reverses had recently taught him
that he had already ventured almost too far into the heart of a hostile
country; and he was, in fact, retreating upon Bordeaux, believing the
French army to be behind him, when he discovered that it was in front of
him, intercepting his farther progress, and he was made aware of this
unwelcome fact by seeing the advance guard of his own army literally cut
to pieces by the French soldiers before he could come to their assistance.
Realizing at once the immense peril of his position, the Prince had
marched on till he reached a spot where he could post his men to some
advantage amongst hedges and bushes that gave them shelter, and would
serve to embarrass an attacking foe, and in particular any charge of
cavalry. The place selected was some six miles from Poitiers, and
possessed so many natural advantages that the Prince felt encouraged to
hope for a good issue to the day, albeit the odds were fearfully to his
disadvantage.
He had looked to be speedily attacked by the French King, who was in
person leading his host; but the Saturday passed away without any
advance, and on Sunday morning the good Cardinal de Perigord began to
strive to bring matters to a peaceable issue.
Brave as the young Prince was, and great as his reliance on his men had
always been, his position was perilous in the extreme, and he had been
willing to listen to the words of the Cardinal. Indeed, he had made
wonderful concessions to the messenger of peace, for he had at last
consented to give up all the places he had taken, to set free all
prisoners, and to swear not to take up arms against the King of France
for seven years; and now he stood looking towards the French host with a
frown of anxious perplexity upon his face, for the Cardinal had gone
back to the French King with this message, and already the Prince was
half repentant at having conceded so much. He had been persuaded rather
against his will, and he was wondering what his royal father would say
when he should hear.
He had been thinking rather of his brave soldiers' lives than his own
military renown, when he had let himself be won over by the good
Cardinal. Had he, after all, made a grand mistake?
His knights stood around, well understanding the conflict going on in
his breast, and sympathizing deeply with him in this crisis of his life,
but not knowing themselves what it were best to do. The sun was creeping
to the horizon before the Cardinal was seen returning, and his face was
grave and sorrowful as he was ushered into the presence of the Prince.
"My Liege," he said, in accents of regret, "it is but sorry news I have
to bring you. My royal master of his own will would have gladly listened
to the terms to which your consent has been won, save for the vicious
counsel of my lord Bishop of Chalons, Renaud Chauveau, who hates your
nation so sorely that he has begged the King, even upon his bended
knees, to slay every English soldier in this realm rather than suffer
them to escape just when they had fallen into his power, rather than
listen to overtures of submission without grasping the victory of blood
which God had put into his hands. Wherefore my liege the King has vowed
that he will consent to nothing unless you yourself, together with one
hundred of your knights, will give yourselves up into his hand without
condition."
Young Edward's eyes flashed fire. A look more like triumph than dismay
crossed his noble face. Looking at the sorrowful Cardinal, with the
light of battle in his eyes, he said in ringing tones:
"My Lord Cardinal, I thank you for your goodwill towards us. You are a
good and holy man, an ambassador of peace, and as such you are
fulfilling your Master's will. But I can listen no longer to your words.
Go back to the King of France, and tell him that I thank him for his
last demand, because it leaves me no choice but to fight him to the
death; and ten thousand times would I rather fight than yield, albeit
persuaded to submit to terms by your eloquent pleading. Return to your
lord, and tell him that Edward of England defies him, and will meet him
in battle so soon as it pleases him to make the attack. I fear him not.
The English have found no such mighty antagonists in the French that
they should fear them now.
"Go, my Lord Cardinal, and carry back my message of defiance. Ere
another sun has set I hope to meet John of France face to face in the
foremost of the fight!"
A shout of joy and triumph rose from a hundred throats as this answer
was listened to by the Prince's knights, and the cheer was taken up and
echoed by every soldier in the camp. It was the signal, as all knew
well, that negotiation had failed; and the good Cardinal went
sorrowfully back to the French lines, whilst the English soldiers
redoubled their efforts at trenching the ground and strengthening their
position -- efforts which had been carried on ceaselessly all through
this and the preceding day, regardless of the negotiations for peace,
which many amongst them hoped would prove abortive.
Then up to the Prince's side stepped bold Sir James Audley, who had been
his counsellor and adviser during the whole of the campaign, and by
whose advice the coming battle was being arranged.
"Sire," he said, bending the knee before his youthful lord, "I long ago
vowed a vow that if ever I should find myself upon the field of battle
with the King of England or his son, I would be foremost in the fight
for his defence. Sire, that day has now dawned -- or will dawn with
tomorrow's sun. Grant me, I pray you, leave to be the first to charge
into yon host, and so fulfil the vow long registered before God."
"Good Sir James, it shall be even as thou wilt," answered the Prince,
extending his hand. "But if thou goest thus into peril, sure thou wilt
not go altogether alone?"
"I will choose out four knightly comrades," answered Sir James, "and
together we will ride into the battle. I know well that there will be no
lack of brave men ready and willing to fight at my side. Gaston de
Brocas has claimed already to be one, and his brother ever strives to be
at his side. But he has yet his spurs to win, and I may but take with me
those who are knights already."
"Raymond de Brocas's spurs unwon!" cried the Prince, with kindling eye,
"and he the truest knight amongst us! Call him hither this moment to me.
Shame upon me that I have not ere this rewarded such pure and lofty
courage as his by that knighthood he so well merits!"
And then and there upon the field of Poitiers Raymond received his
knighthood, amid the cheers of the bystanders, from the hands of the
Prince, on the eve of one of England's most glorious victories.
Gaston's eyes were shining with pride as he led his brother back to
their tent as the last of the September daylight faded from the sky.
"I had set my heart on sending thee back to thy Joan with the spurs of
knighthood won," he said, affectionately pressing his brother's hands.
"And truly, as they all say, none were ever more truly won than thine
have been, albeit thou wilt ever be more the saint than the warrior."
Raymond's eyes were bright. For Joan's sake rather than his own he
rejoiced in his new honour; though every man prided himself upon that
welcome distinction, especially when bestowed by the hand of King or
Prince. And the thought of a speedy return to England and his true love
there was as the elixir of life to Raymond, who was counting the days
and hours before he might hope to set sail for his native land again.
He had remained with his brother at Saut all through the past winter.
Gaston and Constanza had been married at Bordeaux very shortly after the
death of old Navailles; and they had returned to Saut, their future
home, and Raymond had gone with them. Greatly as he longed for England
and Joan, his duty to the Prince kept him beside him till he should
obtain his dismissal to see after his own private affairs. The Prince
needed his faithful knights and followers about him in his projected
expedition of the present year; and Gaston required his brother's help
and counsel in setting to rights the affairs of his new kingdom, and in
getting into better order a long-neglected estate and its people.
There had been work enough to fill their minds and hands for the whole
time the Prince had been able to spare them from his side; and an
interchange of letters between him and his lady love had helped Raymond
to bear the long separation from her. She had assured him of her
changeless devotion, of her present happiness and wellbeing, and had
bidden him think first of his duty to the Prince, and second of his
desire to rejoin her. They owed much to the Prince: all their present
happiness and security were the outcome of his generous interposition on
their behalf. Raymond's worldly affairs were not suffering by his
absence. Master Bernard de Brocas was looking to that. He would find all
well on his return to England; and it were better he should do his duty
nobly by the Prince now, and return with him when they had subdued their
enemies, than hasten at once to her side. In days to come it would
grieve them to feel that they had at this juncture thought first of
themselves, when King and country should have taken the foremost place.
So Raymond had taken the counsel thus given, and now was one of those to
be foremost in the field on the morrow. No thought of fear was in his
heart or Gaston's; peril was too much the order of the day to excite any
but a passing sense of the uncertainty of human life. They had come
unscathed through so much, and Raymond had so long been said to bear a
charmed life, that he and Gaston had alike ceased to tremble before the
issue of a battle. Well armed and well mounted, and versed in every art
of attack and defence, the young knights felt no personal fear, and only
longed to come forth with honour from the contest, whatever else their
fate might be.
Monday morning dawned, and the two opposing armies were all in readiness
for the attack. The fighting began almost by accident by the bold action
of a Gascon knight, Eustace d'Ambrecicourt, who rode out alone towards
what was called the "battle of the marshals," and was met by Louis de
Recombes with his silver shield, whom he forthwith unhorsed. This
provoked a rapid advance of the marshals' battle, and the fighting began
in good earnest.
The moment this was soon to have taken place, the brave James Audley,
calling upon his four knights to follow him, dashed in amongst the
French in another part of the field, giving no quarter, taking no
prisoners, but performing such prodigies of valour as struck terror into
the breasts of the foe. The French army (with the exception of three
hundred horsemen, whose mission was to break the ranks of the bowmen)
had been ordered, on account of the nature of the ground, all to fight
on foot; and when the bold knight and his four chosen companions came
charging in upon them, wheeling their battle-axes round their heads and
flashing through the ranks like a meteor, the terrified and
impressionable Frenchmen cried out that St. George himself had appeared
to fight against them, and an unreasoning panic seized upon them.
Flights of arrows from the dreaded English longbow added immeasurably to
their distress and bewilderment. The three hundred horsemen utterly
failed in their endeavour to approach these archers, securely posted
behind the hedges, and protected by the trenches they had dug. The
arrows sticking in the horses rendered them perfectly wild and
unmanageable, and turning back upon their own comrades, they threw the
ranks behind into utter confusion, trampling to death many of the
footmen, and increasing the panic tenfold.
Then seeing the utter confusion of his foes, the Prince charged in
amongst them, dealing death and destruction wherever he went. The terror
of the French increased momentarily; and the division under the Duke of
Normandy, that had not even taken any part as yet in the battle, rushed
to their horses, mounted and fled without so much as striking a blow.
The King of France, however, behaved with far greater gallantry than
either his son or the majority of his knights and nobles, and the battle
that he led was long and fiercely contested.
If, as the chronicler tells us, one-fourth of his soldiers had shown the
same bravery as he did, the fortunes of the day would have been vastly
different; but though personally brave, he was no genius in war, and his
fatal determination to fight the battle on foot was a gross blunder in
military tactics. Even when he and his division were being charged by
the Prince of Wales at full gallop, at the head of two thousand lances,
the men all flushed with victory, John made his own men dismount, and
himself did the same, fighting with his axe like a common soldier;
whilst his little son Philip crouched behind him, narrowly watching his
assailants, and crying out words of warning to his father as he saw
blows dealt at him from right or left.
The French were driven back to the very gates of Poitiers, where a great
slaughter ensued; for those gates were now shut against them, and they
had nowhere else to fly. The battle had begun early in the morning, and
by noon the trumpets were sounding to recall the English from the
pursuit of their flying foes.
Such a victory and such vast numbers of noble prisoners almost
bewildered even the victors themselves; and the Prince was anxious to
assemble his knights once more about him, to learn some of the details
of the issue of the day. That the French King had either been killed or
made prisoner appeared certain, for it was confidently asserted that he
had not left the field; but for some time the confusion was so great
that it was impossible to ascertain what had actually happened, and the
Prince, who had gone to his tent to take some refreshment after the
labours of the day, had others than his high-born prisoners to think for.
"Who has seen Sir James Audley -- gallant Sir James?" he asked, looking
round upon the circle of faces about him and missing that of the one he
perhaps loved best amongst his knights. "Who has seen him since his
gallant charge that made all men hold their breath with wonder? I would
fain reward him for that gallant example he gave to our brave soldiers
at the beginning of the day."
News was soon brought that Sir James had been badly wounded, and had
been carried by his knights to his tent. The Prince would have gone to
visit him there; but news of this proposal having been brought to the
knight, he caused himself to be transported to the Prince's tent by his
knights, all of whom had escaped almost unscathed from their gallant
escapade. Thus it came about that Gaston and Raymond stood within the
royal tent, whilst the Prince bent over his faithful knight, and
promised as the reward for that day's gallantry that he should remain
his own knight for ever, and receive five hundred marks yearly from the
royal treasury.
Then, when poor Sir James, too spent and faint to remain longer, had
been carried hence by some of the bystanders, the Prince turned to the
twin brothers and grasped them by the hand.
"I greatly rejoice that ye have come forth unhurt from that fierce
strife in the which ye so boldly plunged. What can I do for you, brave
comrades, to show the gratitude of a King's son for all your faithful
service?"
"Sire," answered Gaston, "since you have asked us to claim our guerdon,
and since your foes are at your feet, your rival a prisoner in your
royal hands (if he be not a dead corpse), and the whole land subject to
you; since there be no further need in the present for us to fight for
you, and a time of peace seems like to follow upon this glorious day,
methinks my brother and I would fain request your royal permission to
retire for a while each to his own home, to regulate our private
concerns, and dwell awhile each with the wife of his choice. Thou
knowest that I have a wife but newly made mine, and that my brother only
tarries to fly to his betrothed bride till you have no farther need of
his sword. If ever the day dawns when King or Prince of England needs
the faithful service of Gascon swords, those of Raymond and Gaston de
Brocas will not be wanting to him. Yet in the present --"
"Ay, ay, I understand well: in the present there be bright eyes that are
more to you than glittering swords, and a service that is sweeter than
that of King or Prince. Nay, blush not, boy; I like you the better for
that the softer passions dwell in your breast with those of sterner
sort. Ye have well shown many a day ere now that ye possess the courage
of young lions, and that England will never call upon you in vain. But
now that times of peace and quiet seem like to fall upon us, get you to
your homes and your wives. May Heaven grant you joy and happiness in
both; and England's King and Prince will over have smiles of welcome for
you when ye bring to the Court the sweet ladies of your choice. Do I not
know them both? and do I not know that ye have both chosen worthily and
well?"
A tumult without the tent now announced the approach of the French King,
those who brought him disputing angrily together whose prisoner he was.
The Prince stepped out to receive his vanquished foe with that winning
courtesy so characteristic of one who so longed to see the revival of
the truer chivalry, and in the confusion which ensued Gaston and Raymond
slipped away to their own tent.
"And now," cried Gaston, clasping his brother's hand, "our day of
service is for the moment ended. Now for a space of peaceful repose and
of those domestic joys of which thou and I, brother, know so little."
"At last!" quoth Raymond, drawing a long breath, his eyes glowing and
kindling as he looked into his brother's face and then far beyond it in
the direction of the land of his adoption. "At last my task is done; my
duty to my Prince has been accomplished. Now I am free to go whither I
will. Now for England and my Joan!"