CHAPTER VI
WAR WITH FRANCE
At the time when the cavalier who called himself Jack Fletcher lost his way in Windsor Forest, and accepted such hospitality as my grandsire's tenement could afford, King Edward, as Thomelin of Winchester had predicted, was preparing to renew that war which made Englishmen for a time almost masters of France. In order to render my narrative the more intelligible, it is necessary to refer to the origin of that war, to the events by which it had been distinguished, and to the stage at which it had arrived.
It was on the 1st of February, 1328 – the year in the course of which I drew my first breath – that Charles, King of France, the youngest of the three sons of Philip the Fair, and brother of Isabel, wife of our second Edward, died without male heirs. For the vacant throne – from which, centuries earlier, Hugh Capet pushed the descendant of Charlemagne, and to which subsequently St. Louis gave dignity – several candidates appeared, the chief of whom were Philip of Valois and Edward of England. Philip, relying on the fact that the Salic law excluded females from reigning, claimed the crown of France as heir male of the old king. Edward, without denying the validity of the Salic law, pleaded that, so far as succession was concerned, it did not bar the sons of a king's daughter. The Parliament of Paris, however, was appealed to; and, being much under the influence of Robert, Lord of Artois, who was Philip's brother-in-law, the Parliament decided in favour of Philip; and Edward, then young and governed by his mother, Queen Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, so far bent his pride as to visit France, and do homage at Amiens for Guienne and Ponthieu. But he privately protested beforehand against the homage he was about to perform; and perhaps he felt little regret when Philip's interference in Scottish affairs gave him a fair excuse for a rupture, and for not only renewing his claim, but submitting it to the arbitrament of the sword.
Meanwhile, Philip of Valois had involved himself in a scandalous quarrel with Robert, Lord of Artois, to whom he owed his crown; and Robert, threatened with vengeance and destruction, reached England, disguised as a merchant, and exerted all his eloquence to rouse Edward's ambition. Circumstances favoured his exertions in this respect. Enraged at his exclusion from a throne which he believed to be his by hereditary right, and exasperated at the aid given by Philip to the Scots, Edward lent a willing ear to Robert's suggestions; and, resolving to avail himself of the state of affairs on the Continent, which was most favourable to his projects, he prepared without delay to put his fortune to the test.
At that time, in fact, the Flemings were up in arms. The Count of Flanders, a faithful ally of Philip of Valois, was guilty of tyrannies which drove his subjects to revolt; and Jacob von Arteveldt, a brewer, who ruled in Ghent, and exercised an enormous influence all over Flanders, formed a great league against Philip and the Count, and invoked Edward's aid. Not unwilling to interfere, the King of England entered into an alliance with the Emperor of Germany; and sailing from the Orwell, in July, 1338, he landed in Flanders to pursue his schemes of conquest.
Taking up his residence at Antwerp, Edward linked himself in close friendship with the Flemings, and prepared for active operations; and Philip, supported by John, the blind King of Bohemia, by the Spaniards, and the Genoese, prepared to defend the dominions which he called his own. For a year little or nothing was done. But in November, 1339, the English began the war by wasting Cambresis; and about the middle of October, Philip of Valois advanced with a mighty army to give the invaders battle. No battle, however, took place. The French retreated without striking a blow; and Edward, after having assumed the title and arms of the kings of France, returned to England to make arrangements for pursuing the prize on which his heart was set.
By this time the sympathies of the English nation were enlisted in the king's struggle. No sooner, indeed, had the war begun than Philip of Valois ordered his admirals to make a descent on England; and these master corsairs, approaching the coast with a fleet manned with Normans, Picards, and Spaniards, plundered Southampton, Sandwich, Winchelsea, Rye, Dover, and Portsmouth. Everywhere they were guilty of fearful violence; and when Edward returned to England, he was surrounded by multitudes, complaining loudly of the outrages that had been committed in his absence.
"O king!" cried the populace, "our towns have been burned, our houses pillaged, our young men slain, and our maidens deflowered."
"Be patient," replied Edward, "and rest assured that my turn is coming, and that I will not only protect you from your enemies, but make them pay dearly for all they have done."
Faithful to his promise, the king fitted out fleets to defend the coast, and prepared a great armament at Ipswich, with which to return to the Continent. It was the summer of 1340, and, every preparation having been made, Edward sailed from the Orwell; and on Saturday, the 24th of June, approached the coast of Flanders. As there were rumours of mighty preparations to prevent a landing, a sharp look-out was kept from the admiral's ship, and suddenly the sailors, who were aloft, shouted that they saw masts.
"Who will they turn out to be?" asked Edward.
"Doubtless," was the answer, "this is the fleet kept at sea by the French, under the admirals who have done England so much harm."
"Well," said the king, "I have, for a long time, wished to meet these men; and now, please God and St. George, we will fight with them."
As the king spoke, all doubts were removed. Before him lay a fleet of a hundred and twenty vessels, under the command of admirals who had peremptory orders not to allow him to set foot on continental soil.
Every man on board the English ships was now on the alert, and a great naval battle began, and speedily assumed an aspect of excessive fury. Being able and determined men, the French admirals made every exertion, and, having the advantage of numbers, they pressed hard on their foes. But, in spite of the great odds against them, the English fought dauntlessly; and, after the conflict had raged for several hours, the French lost heart and hope, and leaped by hundreds into the sea. By seven o'clock in the evening the victory was complete, and Edward, landing next morning, set off on foot, with his knights, on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Ardembourg, and afterwards rode to Ghent to visit Queen Philippa, who, in that city, had just given birth to her son, John of Gaunt.
While Edward was destroying the French fleet at Sluys, Philip of Valois was making war on Edward's brother-in-law, the Count of Hainault. It was of importance that he should at once hear the news; but he was a man of such violent temper that none of his knights had the courage to tell what had happened. At length the court jester undertook the delicate duty of informing his master of the loss he had sustained.
"Cowardly English!" said the jester, with bitter emphasis.
"What do you say?" asked Philip.
"Cowardly English!" repeated the jester. "Dastardly English! False-hearted English!"
"Why do you call them so?" asked Philip.
"Because," answered the jester, "they durst not leap out of their ships as our men did when they fought at Sluys."
Philip beginning to understand, uttered an exclamation of pain; and, on learning all, he flew into a violent passion, retreated towards Arras, broke up his army, and employed the mediation of the Countess of Hainault, who was his sister, and mother of the Queen of England. Edward, eager for a meeting, proposed to decide their dispute by a single combat; but the Frenchman declined on the ground that the challenge was addressed to Philip of Valois, not to the King of France, and could not, therefore, be intended for him. After some negotiation, a peace was brought about by the Countess of Hainault's mediation, and Edward, who was by this time reduced to extreme poverty, returned to England to brood over the failure of his great schemes.
It was now the spring of 1340, and a renewal of the war seemed somewhat improbable. But, ere long, an event occurred in Brittany which produced unexpected consequences. In 1341, the Duke of Brittany died without issue, and two candidates appeared to claim his Duchy. One of these was Charles of Blois, who had espoused the duke's niece, and claimed Brittany in her right; the other was the duke's brother, John, Count of Montfort, who claimed as heir male. Philip of Valois, who now forgot the Salic law, and only remembered that Charles of Blois was his own nephew, decided in Charles's favour; and Montfort, having implored the support of the English king, seized upon the strongholds in the duchy. Unfortunately, the earl was taken prisoner early in the war; but his countess, Joan, the Fleming, bravely maintained the struggle, and, aided by an English force under Sir Walter Manny, made herself famous by her defence of Hennebon.
While contending with countless difficulties, the Countess of Montfort came to England to represent her case to the English king; and Edward, who was deeply interested in what was occurring on the Continent, sent Robert, Lord of Artois, with an army to aid her efforts. The expedition was not fortunate. Attacked suddenly at Vannes, and taken by surprise, Artois received wounds of which he soon died; and Edward, vowing to avenge him, embarked to conduct the war in person.
It was late in 1343 when the King of England landed in Brittany, and took the field with the hope of conquering. But fortune proved so adverse that nothing but his martial skill saved him from humiliation. While before Vannes he found himself threatened by the heir of France and Charles of Blois, at the head of a French army four times more numerous than that under his banner; and his doom looked dark. However, the French, finding that he had taken up a very strong position, and not particularly eager to try conclusions with the conqueror of Halidon and Sluys, did not venture on an attack; and, after the hostile armies had lain for some time facing each other, two cardinals, sent by the pope, appeared in the character of peacemakers.
Edward had scarcely a choice. He was surrounded by enemies, and almost destitute of provisions; and the coasts were so vigilantly guarded by the fleets of Spain, that he despaired of receiving supplies from England. His men were, in consequence, suffering much. At first, however, he would not consent to peace; but the two cardinals, having made great exertions, at length succeeded in bringing the belligerents to reason, and ambassadors on both sides were nominated to confer in the Priory of the Magdalen at Malestroit. Eventually they came to terms; and, a truce for three years having been sworn to, Edward embarked for England about the close of February, 1344, and landed at Weymouth, probably with the idea that he had seen the last of the Continent, and had more than enough of continental war.
If so, he was much mistaken. Scarcely, in fact, was Edward's back turned when Philip of Valois startled Christendom with a display of the perfidy and cruelty which characterised his life. At a tournament, to which the Bretons went without misgiving, twelve lords, who had fought for the cause of Montfort, were arrested. No charge was brought against them; nor were they allowed the benefit of a trial. Without having assigned a cause, or given the opportunity of a defence, Philip caused them to be conducted to the scaffold and beheaded.
This tragic event caused the utmost horror. The friends and kinsmen of the murdered men took up arms, and went in a body to the Montfort standard; and Godfrey Harcourt, a great baron of Normandy, finding himself in danger of sharing their fate, escaped to England, and obtained from Edward a vow to avenge the lawless execution of his allies.
CHAPTER VII
WINDSOR CASTLE
My grandsire, much to my surprise, and much to my disappointment, showed no inclination whatever to avail himself of the cavalier's invitation, or to put the hospitality of Windsor Castle to the test. At first, indeed, he was very enthusiastic about the visit of a guest so brilliant, and pleased to make comparisons between him and the high-bred personages whom he had seen in his earlier days. But no sooner did a week pass than all this enthusiasm began to die away, and the aged worthy seemed to give up all idea of pursuing the acquaintance he had accidentally formed, and evinced considerable and increasing uneasiness about possession of the ring which had been left as the pledge of welcome and good cheer. In vain I endeavoured to persuade him to seek out the stranger; he only replied that Jack Fletcher was, doubtless, a very merry companion, who doubtless also, loved an adventure, and would, on occasion, say more in an hour than he would stand to in a year.
"But the ring," urged I.
"Ay," exclaimed my grandsire, shaking his head in evident perplexity. "That is the rub; what is to be done with the ring I know not."
"I will tell you," suggested I, perceiving my advantage, and resolved to follow it up. "Intrust me with the ring, and I will ride to Windsor, seek out the courtier, and place it in his hands."
My grandsire did not much approve of my plan; and my mother, on hearing of my proposal, protested loudly against it. But I had a will of my own, and an idea, which haunted me night and day, that the stranger's visit was, in some way, linked with my destiny; and believing, at all events, that he could aid me to emerge from obscurity, I held to my intention with all the tenacity and determination of my nature. Nothing daunted by the opposition of my grandsire and the alarm of my mother, I never rested till I obtained their sanction to what I, at that age, deemed a grand enterprise; and having, at length, by perseverance, removed all obstacles, I prepared for my journey.
Accordingly, one morning in October, I arrayed myself so as to appear to the best advantage, mounted my black steed, and rode through the forest, with a feeling that I was on the road to fortune. I confess, however, that, as I neared the town of Windsor, my confidence in myself gradually weakened; and, as I reflected how little qualified I was by experience and knowledge of life to carry the project of boldly pushing my fortune to a successful termination, I not only repented of having ventured on such an errand, but almost made up my mind to turn rein, ride back to my grandsire's homestead, abandon once and for ever all ambitious ideas, and live, with independence, if not content, tending the oxen, and tilling the soil.
It happened, however, that my imagination, which, in reality, had led me to undertake this journey to Windsor, did not altogether desert me in the middle. In the midst of my doubts, I conjured up, for the hundredth time, a brilliant future; and feeling, as if by instinct, that my fortunes were hanging on the decision of the moment, I summoned pride to my aid, and pursued my way. My shyness, natural to a youth reared in the solitude of a grange, was rather inconvenient at the moment; but I have hinted that I was not without courage. I will go further, and say that I was not without audacity; and it was with the fixed purpose of doing, daring, and risking all, that I spurred into the little town of Windsor, rode up the ascent that leads to the castle, and, reining in at the massive gate, cast a look of awe at the towers, and turrets, and fortifications of the Norman stronghold, from which the standard of England floated in the autumn breeze.
The warder appeared, as in duty bound, and demanded on what errand I came, and looked calmly on as I answered that I wished to be admitted to the presence of a cavalier who called himself "Jack Fletcher."
"Jack Fletcher?" he repeated, opening his eyes, and regarding me with a glance which seemed to intimate that he recognised the name, but was not quite certain whether or not to acknowledge that he did.
"I come at the invitation of the cavalier I have named," said I, endeavouring to appear as courageous as possible; "and, to remove any doubts, I bring a token, which I was given to understand would secure me the privilege of being admitted to his presence."
I produced the ring; the warder looked at it, and bent his head.
"All right," said he; "enter, and presently you will be conducted to him you seek."
As the warder spoke, the gate opened; and, at a signal from him, I rode into the courtyard, where squires and knights, gaily dressed, were loitering about, and talking of adventures in love and war, and feats of arms. I remarked, with surprise, that several of them had one eye bound up with silk; and I afterwards learned that they had taken a solemn vow, in presence of the ladies and the peacock, never again to see with both eyes till they had performed certain deeds in arms against the French.
While I, having dismounted, stood looking with a feeling of that wonder produced by novelty on this gay scene, and somewhat astonished at my eccentricity in venturing into such a place, a young man of noble aspect and bearing approached and addressed me.
"Youth," said he with a smile, "you have come hither to see Jack Fletcher."
I bowed with great respect; for the air and appearance of the young noble impressed me with a sense of his importance; and I showed the ring, the influence of which on the warder I had carefully noted.
"Follow me, then," said he, smiling, "and I will lead you to his presence; though, in truth, it was an old man and not a youth for whom I expected to do that office."
I was by this time much too agitated to explain or reply; and I followed my guide like one in a dream, as he passed through passages and galleries. At length he halted at a door, and, drawing aside a curtain, spoke some words, which to me sounded like an order for execution. Mechanically, however, I entered, and, with my heart beating, and my brain whirling, and all my courage, all my audacity vanished, found myself face to face with the cavalier whose figure had, for weeks, been present to my imagination, and whose words had, for weeks, echoed in my ear. He wore a black velvet jacket, and a hat of beaver, which became him much; and, as he turned his eye upon me, the truth as to who he was flashed, for the first time, so vividly and rapidly on my mind, that I stood stock-still, and almost felt as if I should have sunk to the floor.
My confusion and embarrassment, however, were so evident, that they pleaded for me more eloquently than words could have done; and he appeared all anxiety to put me at my ease.
"Brave youth," said he, "be not alarmed at finding yourself in a strange place; but make yourself as easy as if you were in your grandsire's grange. Why came he not with you, as he promised?"
"My lord," answered I, bending my knee, and trying to take courage, "my grandsire, on reflection, deemed it prudent not to intrude on the strength of the invitation which you gave in your courtesy; but intrusted me with the ring to restore to you, which I now do;" and, with great respect, I suited the action to the word.
I thought that a shade of disappointment passed over his countenance as I spoke; and I shrewdly guessed that it had been his wish to question my grandsire further on the tragic events of the late reign, on which their conversation had formerly turned, and which at the time had produced so strong an effect.
"Well," said he, after a pause, "men who have seen many years must be permitted to do as seems best in their own eyes; and, moreover, methinks we ought not to murmur too loudly at his absence, since he has sent you in his stead; and now that we have you here, youth," he added, with a smile, "you shall not leave us at your own pleasure. You, as I gathered, wished to be a warrior. Will you choose between my service and that of the Prince of Wales?"
"My lord," I replied, more and more embarrassed. "I fear me I am little qualified, by breeding or accomplishments, to serve either; and, even if it happened to be otherwise with me, I could not venture to choose."
"Ah," said he, with charming frankness, "I see how it is. The prince is of your own age, and that is a circumstance which always tends to attract, especially in early youth. So let us consider the question settled, and I will at once have you installed as one of his pages."
So saying, and while I stared in amazement at the result of my journey to Windsor, he rose, took me by the arm, and talking of my grandsire as he went, conducted me to the tennis-court, where the prince and his companions were amusing themselves at play.
My guide, who every moment acquired additional importance in my eyes, stopped as we entered, and eyed the prince with a glance of high pride.
"I bring you," said he, "a youth of strength and courage, whom you will pleasure me by admitting among your pages; and I recommend him to your favour as the grandson of a man who, in his day and generation, served your progenitors faithfully and well."
"The hero of the quintain match at Smithfield!" exclaimed the prince. "My lord," he continued, "he is welcome for his grandsire's sake and his own."
"My lord," said I to the prince, "I pray you to pardon my seeming boldness. Had I known all I should not have dreamt of presenting myself at Windsor."
"Ah!" exclaimed the prince, with great good-humour; "you would not have come on Jack Fletcher's invitation had you known that Jack Fletcher was the king. But in that case I might have found you out; for I want striplings of courage and likelihood around me; and I have thought of you as such ever since the day when you won the peacock."