Don Pedro Appeals to Edward the Black Prince to Replace Him on the
Throne
The Black Prince--so named from the dark colour of his armour, and only
fifteen years old when he was made a knight on the victorious field of
Crécy by his father Edward III., and named by him Duke of Guienne and
Seneschal of Aquitaine,--is the most notable figure of his day.
Fabulously brave and romantically merciful, his modesty and generosity
are only equalled by his military skill. Bearing in the field the device
of the King of Bohemia, killed in the battle of Crécy, three plumes
erect, with the motto “_Ich dien_,” his sword has never known defeat.
Three years have now elapsed in peace, during which time he has resided
in royal state at Bordeaux with his wife, “the fair maid of Kent,” a
period of inaction as irksome to himself as to those stormy spirits
about him.
Nothing therefore could be more welcome to him than the news that Don
Pedro had actually disembarked at Bayonne to solicit his help to regain
his crown. As yet the policy of England had been undecided; now his
father must take a side, and the prospect of war fills him with joy.
Promptly he despatches the Lord of Payme and other nobles to welcome him
when he lands, and to bring him with all honour to Bordeaux.
* * * * *
The sumptuous pavilion prepared for their meeting lies outside the city,
among pleasant meadows by the banks of the wide Garonne, that noble
estuary which cuts into the land with the importance of an inland sea.
It is shaped in three compartments, the central one occupied by the
Black Prince, that to the right assigned to Don Pedro, and that to the
left to the King of Navarre, at the present moment paying his court to
Prince Edward as holding the winning hand.
The interior is lined with rich tissues and brocaded silks, the
draperies of cloth of gold held up by swords and lances, battle-axes and
steel helmets--giving a warlike aspect to what would otherwise have been
simply a luxurious and splendid bower.
Skins of animals killed in the chase cover the floor and are also
attached to the lower portion of the pillars which support the light
roof, adorned with flags and banners, the standard of St. George
conspicuous in the front. Beneath, on a table, lies a glancing axe,
ready, if needful, for all emergencies.
Outside, the building is covered with silken curtains under ranges of
feathers, tassels, and streamers flaunting in the light breeze, and at
the tented entrance are placed two large shields, one bearing the
cognisance of the Black Prince, the other the arms of England quartered
with the _fleur-de-lis_ of France.
Around gathers a brilliant court. Seneschals bedecked with chains of
gold, chamberlains in rich robes, worked with the escutcheons of England
and of Aquitaine, pages, warriors, the captains of companies who have
followed Edward in all his wars, hoary soldiers grown grey in many
battles, nobles arrayed in historic armour come down from generations of
warlike ancestors, bearing great names, Gallic and English, illustrious
in themselves and enhancing the greatness of their master. The two
younger brothers of the Prince of Wales, John of Gaunt, as brilliant as
a popinjay, to be ever known in history as “Time-honoured Lancaster,”
his younger brother, Edmund, Duke of York and Cambridge, a gallant young
prince--both wearing the blue badge of the new Order of the Garter at
their knee, and emulous of attracting the notice of Don Pedro’s young
daughters, of whose beauty report says much. The two Marshals of
Aquitaine, Sir Guiscard of Angoulême and Sir Stephen Coffington;
Beauchamp, Lord of Abergavenny, Lord Ralph Neville of Warwick, Clayton,
Sir John Tyrrell, Sir Hugh Hastings, the trusted ally of England Jean de
Montfort, and, though last, not least, the manly figure of Chandos, of
whom in these wars one hears so much--politician, tactician, and
constable of all the provinces of France. Others may assume various
modes and fantastic changes in dress and accoutrement, but Chandos never
changes and always appears in armour of proof, arrayed to take the
field.
In the centre, backed by the fanciful outline of the gay pavilion,
stands the Black Prince, ready at the first imitation of Don Pedro’s
arrival to advance and welcome him to his domains.
To suit the occasion, he is attired in a costume equally recalling the
court and the camp. A loose surcoat of blue velvet, heavily embroidered
with the arms of England, partly conceals the light suit of chain armour
which clings to his form; at his waist is a girdle to which an axe and
sword are attached, and on his head a cap edged by a jewelled coronet,
from which rise the three heron’s feathers of his device.
Lofty in nature is the prince, square and solid in limb and chest, his
hair cut short as convenient for his helmet, his upper lip, after the
Norman fashion, covered with a thick moustache which mingled with his
beard, light brown in colour, and long and luxuriant. Somewhat prominent
large hazel eyes look out of a well-moulded face remarkable for mildness
of expression, his whole personality singularly engaging, an impression
only heightened as the fine curves of his lips open with the candour of
a natural smile.
“Our ally tarries on the way,” he says, scanning
[Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF THE MOSQUE, ALHAMBRA.]
the bare expanse of the sandy track before him, bordering the Garonne,
broken by the lines of vineyards in the more cultivated lands. “Perhaps
he would make us feel that we have been remiss in replying to his
various messages. Nothing but absolute obedience to my father’s order
would have kept me so long silent, in face of the news of his great
need.”
The prince addresses himself to Chandos, who stands immediately behind
him, his wrinkled countenance already showing marks of the hard life he
has led in camps and battles, but, as he speaks, he lays his hand
lightly on the shoulder of his brother Lancaster, looking out with eager
eyes in the same direction as himself.
“How now, my young gallant, are you impatient to behold the Spanish
beauties? Who knows if you do not lose your fickle heart to one? These
señoritas of Andalusia must surely inherit some of their mother, Maria
de Padilla’s boasted charms.”
The downy cheeks of young Lancaster turn to a rosy red at general
attention being thus openly called to him. He turns aside, somewhat
annoyed that his curiosity has been detected by his brother, and mutters
something about a leveret of a certain breed which he expects from
Spain. The excuse is received by the prince with a light laugh, and in a
lower voice he continues his conversation with Chandos.
“I confess that nothing but the king’s actual presence on English soil
would have decided me to look with favour on the expedition he comes to
propose.”
“I agree with you, my lord,” is the answer of Chandos. “A campaign in
the centre of Spain is a dangerous venture with a nation of enemies at
our back.”
“Yet,” adds the Black Prince, and a serious expression comes into his
eyes, “the personal appeal of an allied prince is difficult to refuse,
especially under the present circumstances of his arrival. But much as I
should rejoice once more to draw the sword, I can bind myself to nothing
but an interchange of courtesies at present.”
“Right, my lord,” answers Chandos, “I am of the same mind as your Grace.
Besides, it appears to my humble judgment that a sovereign rejected by
the whole nation cannot have an altogether clean chronicle to show.
Report, at least, is not favourable to Don Pedro, who has gained the
nickname of _El Cruel_.”
“Tut, tut,” answers the prince impatiently, “subjects must obey their
masters. I myself have no patience with these Castilian nobles who call
in a bastard in place of their lawful king. Until I see cause to change,
my sympathies are all with Don Pedro.”
“But your Highness will promise nothing, I trust, without direct
permission of the king, your father?”
“Of course not,” answers the prince. “Have I not said so? My powers, as
yours, are limited to our provinces of Guienne and Aquitaine. A descent
into Spain altogether exceeds my instructions; but I shall much marvel
if the king, my honoured father, and his ministers do not share my
feelings in the matter of our ancient ally, driven to such straits as
_personally_ to present himself with his daughters, a suppliant at our
court.”
Chandos bowed but made no further observation. It was clear his mind was
against Don Pedro, of whose wanton acts of cruelty and bad faith he had
heard so much. As far as his counsels were concerned, he would have the
King of Castile bound down so strictly that he could not escape from his
engagements. He knew that the loyal nature of the prince was too ready
to take every man at his own value, especially at a time when he and his
young brothers were longing to take the field.
At this moment the King of Navarre appeared, coming from the interior of
the pavilion, a ready smile on his lip little indicative of the
treachery within.
“Will your Grace join us,” asks the Black Prince, receiving him with the
gracious courtesy so natural to him that it was felt alike by all, “in a
descent into Spain, which undoubtedly will be the purport of the king’s
visit to us here?”
Now, as the King of Navarre has secretly sworn upon the Sacrament an
alliance with Enrique de Trastamare, giving him and the _Grandes
Compagnies_ of Du Guesclin passage over the Pyrenees at the same moment
that he is joining with the Black Prince in the friendly reception of
Don Pedro--this question, so frankly put, is difficult to parry. Before
the open gaze of Edward his keen eyes drop, and with some hesitation he
is understood to say that where the hero of England leads he will gladly
follow, but that the smallness of his kingdom, placed between two great
powers, will prevent his personal interference in the war.
Turning from him with a frown, the prince again anxiously directs his
eyes to the path along the banks of the river by which Don Pedro is to
approach. This time he does not look in vain.
In the track of a vivid sun ray, which bursts from a mass of clouds on
the western horizon, the brilliant colours of flags and banners break
among the green branches of a low avenue of willows, to be caught up and
reflected in the broad current of the Garonne; the dark forms of mounted
horsemen on caracoling steeds are followed by lords and attendants
standing out on the grey landscape, in all the bravery of those romantic
times where embroidered devices, crests, arms, and mottoes form a
necessary part of dress, along with richly inlaid arms and costly robes
edged with fur.
First rides Don Pedro, mounted on a Spanish barb, caparisoned with
velvet housings; but as a fugitive and a suppliant he has rejected all
the pompous display prepared for him, and appears in a dark cap and
sombre mantle which covers his high black boots worn to the thigh.
Close beside him appear Emanuel and Mem Rodrigues, whose watchful eyes
never leave him, among friends or foes. Whatever he may be to others, he
is dear to them, and they well know in what continual danger he lives.
Behind him come his three daughters, the youngest but a lovely child,
each mounted on easy-going jennets, his chancellor, and the few of his
court who have not forsaken him on the road.
The mournful appearance of Don Pedro and the consciousness that he has
been wanting to his royal guest in the attention due to an ally, so move
the warm heart of the Black Prince that, bowing to the ground, he
advances rapidly to embrace him, while Don Pedro, who has at once
dismounted, would only have kissed his hand.
“Welcome, sire, to the territory of England,” cries the prince,
addressing him in the French tongue, which both speak fluently. “I
esteem myself happy to offer my personal homage to your Grace in my own
name and in that of my royal father.”
“I thank you,” is Don Pedro’s laconic answer, turning upon him a curious
gaze in which something of the bitterness of the disregarded suppliant
appears. That he, an anointed sovereign, had been forced by the prince’s
coldness to journey here, raises in his breast a wave of bitter pride
which, in his revengeful nature, may in part explain the perfidy of his
subsequent conduct.
“And you, fair flowers of Spain,” continues the Black Prince, turning to
the Infantas, who had also dismounted and who gather timidly round the
prince to make obeisance, “I would welcome you also, and express my deep
regret that my consort, the Princess of Wales, to whose tender care I
would have consigned you, has by reason of her condition not been able
to leave Angoulême to meet you. Meanwhile, my brothers of Lancaster and
York, nearer of your age and therefore more apt than myself in judging
of your needs, will take her place in all necessary courtesies.”
John of Gaunt bashfully advances to take his place among the young
princesses with his brother, both much encouraged by the glimpse of the
lovely eyes of Doña Costanza, glowing like stars under the folds of a
black mantilla which descends almost to her feet, while Don Pedro
gravely acknowledges the salutations of the warriors and the court, and
expresses his thanks for the magnificence of the courtesy with which he
has been received.
“Can the stricken heart of a sovereign know comfort,” he says, in his
high and trillant voice, singularly unpleasant after the agreeable
intonation of the Black Prince, “against whom his people and those of
his own blood have turned traitors, it is alone at the hands of your
Grace. This moment of meeting with you, most illustrious Prince, is the
only instant of consolation I have enjoyed since I left my rebellious
country, given up to the horrors of civil war. I come in the guise of a
beggar, but it is to one who can replace me on the throne.”
Whether Don Pedro, from long habits of hypocrisy, really believed what
he said is doubtful, but he had at least the art of convincing those
whom he addressed. This faculty of deceit, his specious flattery, his
royal air, even under the modest garb he wore, at once fascinated the
frank and open-hearted prince, overjoyed at the prospect of a speedy
campaign to reinstate him.
As they pass into the pavilion where a sumptuous collation has been
prepared, Edward himself, spite of the protest of his guest, not only
offers to the king the golden embossed salver of scented water to wash
his hands, but during the first course stands to serve him, behind his
chair, before taking his own seat at the board.
“I know my place as a subject,” are his words, “and I pray your Grace
not to impede me in the fulfilment of my duty.”
Not so Chandos, who observes Don Pedro at his ease, and marks with
suspicion the sinister expression of his young face, and the falseness
of the smile he calls up in answer to the hearty greetings of the
prince.
Adversity and dissipation had already scored with hard lines that yet
boy-like countenance. The faultless mould of feature is still there, as
we see it perpetuated in the bust at Seville, but a perfidious glance
mars its beauty.
Small and thin in stature, Don Pedro is entirely overtopped by the
English prince, who sits erect and strong as a young oak beside the
willow-like suppleness of his Spanish guest.
Much discussion of ways and means takes place between them after the
collation, the Black Prince lending a willing ear to the representations
of Don Pedro and his reiterated promises to reinstate the English king
in such subsidies as should be advanced to him in order to raise a
fighting army to take the field.
* * * * *
From Bordeaux Don Pedro passes to Angoulême with his daughters--in the
same state, accompanied by the Black Prince, his young brother, the King
of Navarre, and the Duke of Lancaster, in whose young heart the girlish
beauty of Doña Costanza has made a serious impression--to salute the
princess, who is daily expecting her confinement.
The reticence of the Black Prince alarmed Don Pedro. No decision of any
kind as to the support he had come to seek could be extracted from him;
open-hearted and honest almost to a fault, he had been so earnestly
implored by Chandos to enter into no semblance of an engagement before
he had obtained the assent of his father, Edward III., that he
absolutely put a bridle on his lips whenever Don Pedro sought speciously
to approach the subject so near his heart, until he had received the
royal sanction. That such sanction would come he felt convinced, the
very idea of an open attack upon royalty (in those feudal times held so
sacred and inviolable) would probably have sufficed to ensure the
consent of King Edward, but more amply so when united to the political
advantages ensured by a close alliance with Castile.
Not only is a formal permission demanded by the Black Prince himself to
march into Spain, but it is backed by the official protest of Don Pedro
against the manifold wrongs and injuries inflicted on him.
Of gifts the Black Prince will have none. To him jewels and treasures
come as ignoble bribes; but in the meantime at least it is open to Don
Pedro to lavish presents on the Princess of Wales as an indirect mode of
gaining her goodwill. A table of curious workmanship, set with priceless
gems, is presented and long preserved in England, and, though last not
least, the precious Balax, destined so strangely to find a central place
in the English crown.
Nothing could exceed the lavish promises of Don Pedro. The lordship of
Biscay, which, as close to Guienne, is important, is conferred on the
Black Prince and his heirs for ever, signed with the seal of Castile, a
curious state document which remains in England to this day--Pedro
binding himself also, by the most solemn oaths, to pay large subsidies
to the English troops, and equal parts of the general cost of the war to
the Prince himself; a rich dower to the Infanta Costanza, forthwith
affianced to the young Duke of Lancaster, already languishing in a not
hopeless passion which is, he thinks, to insure to him the crown of
Spain--she, in the meantime, as well as her two sisters, to remain at
Bayonne as hostages for her father’s word.
All this was concluded in the presence of Charles of Navarre, surnamed
“the Bad,” who, having secretly largely facilitated the passage of the
_Grandes Compagnies_ into Spain against Don Pedro, now receives from him
the grant of the provinces of Guipuzcoa and Alava, the town of Vittoria,
and any other he may choose to claim, upon condition that he will serve
in person in the coming expedition against Don Enrique.
As to the Black Prince, the martial ardour within him is already at
fever heat. There is something inexpressibly attractive to him in the
prospect of meeting his ancient rival, Du Guesclin, in the field. The
constable had good reason for extolling the magnanimity of the prince in
the matter of his brother Oliver, taken prisoner in the battle of
Poitiers by Thomas of Canterbury--and though ready to engage against
each other in battle, their feeling is of friends.
In these days of mercenary warfare no shame was felt in passing from one
side to the other if the pay was good. “To live by the sword” was a
noble profession, and the needy knight or commoner must go where battle
leads.
From the Black Prince downwards, every English trooper and archer was
enthusiastic in the cause of Don Pedro. Even the calm Chandos was
infected, if not convinced, in the face of such constant denials, and
specious explanations on his part. Like his master Plantagenet he
grudged every day that detained him inactive in Guienne until the
authority of Edward III. was received.
As a preliminary, heralds were at once sent into Castile to summon the
English and Gascon knights who had taken service with _Don Henry the
Bastard_ (so was the brilliant Caballero designated in these state
papers) “to repair to the prince’s standard with all speed,” an order
instantly obeyed by Sir Hugh Calverley, Sir Eustace d’Ambrecourt, Walter
Hewitt, and the Lords of Devereux and Neville, to the considerable
weakening of Don Enrique’s army.
At length the long-desired decision came from the council, assembled at
the Court of Windsor, 1366, which set forth that it was “noble and
honourable, as well as just and advantageous, to assist Don Pedro, King
of Castile and Leon, in his legal rights,” and that his Highness Edward
Prince of Wales, was authorised to march with the forces he might think
fit to effect the same, under the command of Lord John Chandos, High
Constable of Aquitaine, Sir Guiscard d’Angoulême, Sir Stephen Coffington
the great standard-bearer of St. George, Lord Beauchamp of Abergavenny,
Neville, Clayton, Tyrrell, Hastings, Cheney, Boteler, Willoughby,
Felton, Loring, the prince’s grand chamberlain and bannister, besides
his foreign followers, De Buch, D’Armagnac, D’Albert, and others.