Loe raamatut: «Cressy and Poictiers», lehekülg 6

CHAPTER XIV
A RUSH FOR LIBERTY

I must now leave the King of England and his army at Airaines, retrace my steps to Caen, and relate what befell me in that city when I so unexpectedly, and under such mysterious circumstances, sank in unconsciousness.

It is not in my power to say how long I remained insensible of the position in which I was. I awoke, however, with a feeling of sickliness, which was speedily succeeded by one of horror. It was pitch dark; my limbs felt cramped and confined; and when I strove to recover my feeling of freedom, I discovered, to my consternation, that I was bound hand and foot. I almost lost my senses on making this discovery; but, fortunately, drowsiness crept over me, and I again yielded to slumber. It was well that such was the case, as it probably saved me from despair and delirium.

When I again awoke it was broad daylight, and I was better able to judge of my predicament. I immediately perceived that I was reclining on straw in a small chamber, lighted by a window that was high from the floor, and that there was no appearance of any door by which an escape might be attempted. Nor was this all. My hands and feet were firmly bound with cords. I was evidently a prisoner, and perhaps destined for a victim.

My reflections at that moment, as may be supposed, were not of the most agreeable kind; and I thought with a deep sigh, of my grandsire's grange, and, almost with remorse, of my mother's warning. Not unnaturally I cursed the fortune which, after deluding my fancy with promises of a golden future, reduced me suddenly to the condition of a captive, without even leaving me the power of striking a blow for my deliverance.

As I reflected and murmured, I was interrupted by the voices of persons who seemed to converse in a low tone, and presently a concealed door was opened, and the man with the beetle brow entered the chamber. I closed my eyes, breathed hard, and pretended to be sunk in slumber. But I was all attention, and felt a return of hope.

"He sleeps," said the man, looking towards the door.

"Good," exclaimed his companion; "and the sooner he sleeps the sleep that knows no breaking so much the better."

"My lord," said the man resolutely, "I have told you I will not have his blood on my hands."

"What need?" was the reply; "if he is left here long enough, time and hunger will do their work."

I shuddered at the idea, but without attracting their notice; and as they turned to depart, I partially opened my eyes. My suspicions as to the author of my incarceration were instantly confirmed as I caught a glance of the person who destined me for the most cruel of deaths. But I felt calmly vindictive, and, almost ere the bolts were turned upon me, had resolved to keep my own counsel, and to await with patience the day of vengeance.

Matters having reached this stage, I bent all my ingenuity to discover some possibility of setting myself free, and determined to exercise no particular scruples as to the means. Fortunately, my dagger had been left where I had placed it on the previous evening, and I contrived, by great exertion, to bring the handle near my mouth, with the object of seizing it in my teeth, and drawing it from the sheath. After several trials I succeeded, and commenced to saw the cords with which my hands were bound, but for a long time found my efforts quite futile. I must have passed hours making effort after effort in vain, and was on the point of abandoning the attempt in despair, when I was inspired with renewed energy by a circumstance that attracted my attention as I lay on my back, toiling diligently, but to no purpose.

While occupied, as I have stated, and ever and anon pausing to ponder on the necessity of yielding to fate, my eye caught sight of a spider, which while spinning its web, had suspended itself by a long and slender thread from the roof above my head, and, with great perseverance, endeavoured to swing itself from one rafter to another. I watched its efforts, and became interested in the unconquerable determination it displayed. Repeated defeats only led to renewed energy. Six times it had essayed to reach its point, and on each occasion it failed and fell back. Admiring the insect's determination, and drawing a parallel between myself and it, I resolved to regulate my conduct by its ultimate success or failure. As I did so it made a seventh effort, attained its object, and fixed its web; and, encouraged by the augury, I renewed mine with such vigour that I soon succeeded. I almost went mad with joy and excitement as I found my hands free; I lost not a moment in cutting the cords that bound my feet; and I stood upright on the floor, somewhat cramped, indeed, but with my dagger in my grasp, and on my face a stern smile, as I stretched out my limbs, and felt that I had energy enough left to strike a desperate blow for liberty and life.

It was necessary, however, to act with caution, and carefully to examine my position; and I did so. I found that the window, besides being high from the floor, was too well secured with iron to admit of my escaping by it; and, moreover, I strongly suspected that the chamber in which I found myself was at so great a height from the ground, that, even if I could have forced myself through it, I should have been unable to descend, save with something like a certainty of breaking my neck. Accordingly, I at once abandoned that idea, and concluded that, as I could not hope to escape by stratagem, I must lose no time in attempting to do so by force.

But, in order to attempt force with any prospect of accomplishing my object, I felt that it was necessary to await my opportunity; and I recalled to mind the proverb of the Arabs as to patience being the price of all success. In this frame of mind – calm, but perfectly resolute – I took my place by the door, and prepared, as soon as it was opened, to close with my gaoler, to force my way downward, dagger in hand, and take my chance – no matter what odds I might encounter – of making my way to the street, and thence to the prince's quarters.

For hours I had to wait and wearily passed the time. At length, however, when the day was departing, and I knew by the decreasing light that evening had fallen, I suddenly heard steps. I drew slightly aside, and rejoiced to think that the dusk befriended me. As I drew aside, the bolt turned, the door opened, and the man with the beetle brow entered with something – perhaps food – in his hand. I had no time, however, to observe minutely. As he glanced towards the spot I had occupied, and perceived that I was no longer there, he uttered an exclamation of surprise. But already the prospect of escape had inspired me with extraordinary energy. Almost ere the exclamation had left his tongue, I sprang upon him as the mastiff on the bull, and, with a mighty exertion of strength, I prostrated him on the floor.

Not an instant did I now hesitate. I placed my dagger between my teeth, sprang through the open door, descended the narrow stairs almost at a bound, darted by the woman whom I had seen on the previous evening, and, to make matters short, pushed through a window that was before me, and managed so dexterously to drop to the ground, that, albeit the distance was considerable, I was shaken, indeed, but unhurt.

My escape had been effected with so much more ease than I anticipated, that I could hardly believe in its having really taken place. However, as I gathered myself up, I became convinced; and, after muttering thanks to God and the saints for their protection, I made my way through the dark to the prince's quarters. My first impulse, in spite of the vow I had formed, was to hasten to the prince and tell all. But I had been long enough at court to have learned to think twice before opening my mouth on such a subject; and five minutes' reflection enabled me to perceive that I should never be believed. I, therefore, renewed my resolution not to publish my wrongs till my name was great enough to give weight to my words, and, in the meantime, to watch my enemy closely.

As I reached the prince's quarters, I, somewhat to my dismay, ran against Sir Thomas Norwich, a warrior who had won renown under the Earl of Derby in Gascony. As this knight now held a high post in the prince's service, and occupied a high place in the king's favour, he was looked upon by squires and pages as a personage whose good opinion was more to be desired than fine gold.

"Boy," said he, "where, in the name of all the saints, have you been?"

Unprepared for the question, I remained silent, and, doubtless, looked very guilty.

"Come," continued he severely; "I fear me that, young as you are, you have been following the multitude to do evil; and let me warn you that it is a game which ever, in the end, brings those who play at it to grief."

"Nay, sir knight," protested I earnestly, "I was tempted into an adventure which – "

"An adventure!" repeated Sir Thomas, shaking his head sternly. "Beware, boy. In the days of my youth I had many an adventure, and credit me, nothing can be more true than that the end of that mirth is sadness."

"Let me explain."

"Nay, nay. Enough of this. The king marches at sunrise; and see that you are in readiness to follow the prince's banner."

It was after my narrow escape, and not in the most celestial mood, that I accompanied the invading army, and took part in the various enterprises till we reached Airaines, and found that the Somme was between us and the province towards which we looked for safety.

CHAPTER XV
HUNTING A KING

It is necessary, having conducted the English army, and myself, to Airaines, to go back for a few weeks to describe the effect which the march of the invaders produced on Philip of Valois, and to explain how he assembled a host so formidable as to daunt even King Edward's brave warriors.

No sooner did Philip learn how the English were ravaging Coutantin than he flew into one of his violent rages, and swore, in his wrath, that they should not escape punishment – that they should pay dearly for the mischief they were doing. Forthwith he summoned not only his own barons and knights, but John of Hainault, and the fighting men of that country, and despatched messengers to John, the blind King of Bohemia, to Charles of Bohemia, John's son, who had been elected Emperor of Germany, to the Count of Flanders, to the Duke of Lorraine, to the Count of Savoy, and to the Count of Namur, to hasten to his aid with all their forces. Faithful to their ally in his distress and danger, they flocked to the capital of France like eagles to the carnage, and, encamping about St. Denis, awaited the approach of the invaders whom they had gathered to crush.

Meanwhile, Philip of Valois remained at Paris, expecting that King Edward would come thither to offer battle. However, when the marshals of England, marking their course by burning castles, pushed up to the very gates, and rumours ran that the English were about to pass the Seine, Philip began to stir; and, having ordered all the penthouses of Paris to be pulled down, he prepared to join the army which had assembled to fight for the crown which he unworthily wore.

When the Parisians, who, by this time, were in feverish alarm, learned that Philip was on the point of leaving the capital, their terror knew no bounds, and they raised a great outcry. In their distress they sent deputies to intreat him not to abandon them at such a crisis. On being admitted to his presence, the deputies fell on their knees.

"Ah, sire, and noble king," cried they, wringing their hands, "what are you about to do? Are you about to leave your fine city of Paris?"

"My good people," replied Philip, somewhat touched, "be not afraid."

"Sire," urged the deputies, "the English are but two leagues from Paris, and when they know you have quitted us they will advance, and we are unable to resist them. We pray you, therefore, to remain and defend us."

"Fear not," replied Philip; "I tell you the English will not approach nearer than they have done; and as for me, I must go to St. Denis, for I am impatient, above all things, to pursue the English, and to fight with them." Accordingly, Philip of Valois that day left Paris, and, on reaching St. Denis, he found himself at the head of a noble army, with an emperor, a king, and a multitude of princes as his captains, and, what was deemed of immense importance, a numerous body of Genoese cross-bowmen, who, it was hoped, would prove more than a match for those English archers, whose achievements had made them the terror of their country's foes.

Much annoyed and rather startled was Philip to hear that King Edward had actually left Poissy, and crossed the Seine. However, having given orders to break down all the bridges on the Somme, and vigilantly to guard every spot at which it was possible to pass the river, he marched from St. Denis at the head of his army, which gradually swelled as he went to the number of a hundred thousand men, and pushed forward determinedly till he was within three leagues of Amiens. At this stage, Philip learned that Edward was at Airaines, and took up his quarters for the night at Amiens. Next day, however, he resumed the chase, and about noon appeared at Airaines. But, to his disappointment, he found that the English had left the place that morning, and that they had proceeded to Oisemont, a town in Picardy, five leagues from that which he had just quitted.

"Never mind," said Philip, haughtily, "Edward cannot escape us; we will shut him up between Abbeville and the Somme, and either take him prisoner, or force him to fight at such a disadvantage that he must lose."

Flattering himself with anticipations of a great triumph, Philip of Valois, before continuing the hunt after his royal foe, remained at Airaines to wait for his nobles and barons who were expected, while his scouts, who were all over the country in search of intelligence, brought tidings of the foe with whom he was so eager to come up; and he passed the night regaling his fancy with the idea of terminating the war, once and for ever, in his favour, at a blow, or perhaps without striking a blow. Next morning he rose from his couch to act on the information he had obtained.

It was now Thursday, the 24th of August; and Philip of Valois, mounting his steed, ordered his banner to be displayed, and led his army forth from Airaines, confidently expecting to find the English king and his followers on the banks of the Somme, and either to take them captive, as a birdcatcher does sparrows, or to scatter them, as a hawk does pigeons. Suddenly, as he rode along in front of his array, one of the scouts met him with a face which indicated that he brought news not likely to be welcome.

"Well," asked Philip, "where are these English? Speak, sirrah!"

"Sire," answered the scout, "the English have passed the Somme."

CHAPTER XVI
GOBIN AGACE

In a former chapter I mentioned that, among the places taken by the King of England, during his victorious and exciting march through France, was Poix, a town of Picardy, about six leagues from Amiens. The Lord of Poix was absent; and the captain of his castle, not having the means of holding out, surrendered almost without resistance, and allowed the fortress to be entered by the English soldiers at a time when they were flushed with victory and wine.

It happened that, when the castle was taken, there were within its walls two demoiselles, daughters of the Lord of Poix, and very handsome. Great was the danger of these ladies at this moment; for the invaders, as I have said, were then highly excited with their triumphs, and in no humour to pay excessive respect to female virtue. Fortunately for the ladies of Poix, I had been one of the first to foot the walls of the castle and make my way into the interior; and, aware of the danger in which the demoiselles were placed, I posted myself before them, and, vowing to protect them, prepared, sword in hand, to defend their honour with my life. I confess, however, that I felt, to my consternation, that my influence in their behalf was not likely long to prevail under the circumstances.

"A murrain take the madcap page!" cried one man-at-arms, frowning on me fiercely.

"Make way," shouted another, with a hoarse laugh, "and let me advance to console the fair ones in their jeopardy."

"Only over my body," answered I, as my blood boiled with indignation, and I brandished my sword.

"Down with the jackanapes!" exclaimed the first speaker, making a thrust at me with a spear.

I parried the attack, and my stubborn courage was not without its effect. Nevertheless, it was evident that my resistance could not long avail to save the noble demoiselles from insult, and I was just giving way to despair, when Sir John Chandos, a knight of great fame, made his appearance. Not without difficulty, he appeased the soldiers, and, having rescued the young ladies from their dangerous position, conducted them to the king. At his request I accompanied him to the royal presence, and Edward received them with chivalrous courtesy.

"We do not make war on women," said the king; "and I am bound to protect you against all dangers. But, if there is any stronghold to which you wish to be conducted, name the place, and thither you shall be escorted without delay."

"To Corbie," was the reply.

"It shall be as you wish," said Edward; and then turning to Sir Thomas Norwich, he added with a smile, "Sir Thomas, be yours the honour of escorting the noble demoiselles to the castle whither they wish to proceed."

"Sire," replied the knight, "I will, to the best of my ability, fulfil your command."

I was, much to my satisfaction, ordered to accompany Sir Thomas Norwich on this expedition; and, finding myself acting as a protector of noble damsels of grace and beauty, began to consider myself a great hero of romance, and was, on our return, indulging in the luxury of building castles in the air, when we encountered a party of armed peasants. After a short skirmish we overcame, with little difficulty, the rustic militia, and took them in a body as captives to the English camp.

Now this led to important consequences. While running my eye over the prisoners, I remarked one stout fellow, whose countenance struck me as being more intelligent than that of his comrades; and, not without a vague hope of extracting from him such information as might be welcome to the prince, and of service to the king, I singled him out from the party, and entered into conversation.

"What is your name?" asked I.

"Gobin Agace," was his answer.

"You are our prisoner," observed I significantly.

"Yes," said he; "but you may have heard the story of the mouse that gnawed the toils in which the lion was caught, and set the lion free."

"And how does that concern the business now in hand?"

"Much," answered the peasant; "for such a service as the mouse rendered to the lion, I can, I believe, render to your king."

"Ha! by St. George, I perceive!" exclaimed I, much gratified. "Being a native of this country, you have such knowledge of the fords on the Somme as would secure you an ample reward."

"In that respect," said the young peasant, "I could render your king a service that would be worth my weight in gold; and, if you will lead me to his presence, I will convince you that I am not speaking as a braggart might."

It was evening when we reached Oisemont, where King Edward was now quartered, and rode into the town with our captives. We were just in time. Immediately after, the king held a council; and, having ordered the prisoners to be brought before him that they might be questioned, he addressed them courteously.

"Good fellows," said he, "do any of you know a ford on the Somme, below Abbeville, where I and my army could pass without danger? Whoever," added Edward, "will show us such a ford shall have his own liberty, and that of any twenty of his fellow-captives whom he may select."

At this point Gobin Agace, whom I had instructed, stepped forward and bent his head.

"Sire," began he, "I do know such a ford, and I promise, under peril of life, that I will conduct you to a place where you and your whole army may pass the Somme without any risk."

"Go on," said the king, inspired with a new hope by the peasant's words.

"There are certain fordable places," continued Gobin Agace, "where you may pass, twelve men abreast, twice in the day, and not have water above your knees. When the tide is in, the river is full and deep, and no one can cross it; but, when the tide is out, the river is so low that it may be passed on horseback or on foot without danger. You must, therefore, set out early, so as to be at the ford before sunrise."

"And what call you this ford?" asked the king.

"Sire," replied the peasant, "the bottom of the ford is very hard, of white gravel and stones over which all your carriages may safely pass, and thence it is called Blanche-taque."

"Friend," said the king joyfully, "if what you have told me is found to be true, I will give you and all your companions their liberty, and I will besides make you a present of one hundred nobles."

It now seemed that the safety of the King of England and his army depended on the accuracy of Gobin Agace's information as to Blanche-taque; and Edward gave orders that, at daybreak, every man should be ready, at the first sound of the trumpet, to march towards the Somme, and make the grand experiment.