Cressy and Poictiers

CHAPTER L

CHASED BY BLOODHOUNDS

Having tasted captivity before, I was in a mood much less doleful than my comrade when I found myself confined to a dingy chamber, and cut off from communication with my countrymen, who were marching with their king in hostile array through the realm of Scotland. But ere long I began to find the confinement as irksome as it was to him, and to concentrate all my faculties on a project of escape. In order to execute it, I perceived the necessity of securing the co-operation of our gaoler.

Now it happened that this man, who went by the name of Roger Redhand, was a native of the country to the south of the Tweed; and having, years before, fled from Northumberland, after some defiance of law which exposed him to danger, he had since found safety as an exile in Scotland. Moreover, he was, though born an enemy of their nation, much trusted by the Scots among whom his lot had fallen; and they had, as a sign and testimony of mutual treaty, gone through the ceremony of drinking with him from a cup in which some drops of their blood were mingled with his, and having by this process become, as they thought, his kinsmen in some degree, believed that they had for ever secured his fidelity.

Nevertheless, I did not by any means despair of working on the patriotism of Roger Redhand; and with great caution I ventured on the experiment. At first, however, my efforts were ineffectual. But I did not, therefore, give up the game; and Salle, whose horror of a man serving the enemies of his country was naturally intense, grew angry at my persevering with a scheme which promised no success.

"Beshrew me, friend," said he roughly, "if it angers me not sorely to condescend to parley and bandy words with that renegade. As well try to bleed a stone as to strike one spark of patriotism in his breast."

"Patience, my gallant comrade," replied I. "His love of country is not dead, but asleep; and I am far from despairing of rousing it so far, at least, as to make him the instrument of restoring us to freedom. But make not, meddle not in the matter; or, with your strong prejudices and your fiery temper, you may ruin all, and we may remain in captivity till doomsday."

And I soon after learned that Roger Redhand had seen better days; that he was son of a squire in the North of England; and I found that I was not wholly mistaken in my calculations. Dormant and difficult to arouse the exile's patriotism was, but it was not extinct; and gradually my exertions were rewarded so far that it slightly caught fire, then glowed and kindled into a flame, and ultimately, as I recalled and pictured the scenes of his youth, when Douglas and Randolph ravaged the North of England with savage fury, slaughtering and plundering the inhabitants, it burned so fiercely that I had some difficulty in restraining his impulses. But I felt so strongly the necessity of discretion, that it was I, and not he, who now hesitated. At length, however, we came to terms; and I promised him a considerable reward, and my influence to obtain a pardon for him, on condition of his opening our prison doors, and conducting my comrade and myself in safety to the castle of Roxburgh.

At the time this bargain was struck the year was speeding on apace; and it was early May when, at murk midnight, Roger Redhand, closely muffled as Marchmen are in the habit of muffling themselves when not wishing to be recognised, cautiously unbarred the door of the chamber in which we were lodged, and whispered that the hour for the great venture was come. Without speaking a word, we rose, followed him, as he glided noiselessly down the stone stairs, and then through a postern into a wild park, that in one direction bounded the precincts of the castle. At that moment, overpowered by the darkness, and without a weapon, I confess I felt that our prospects were not inviting, and expressed something like apprehension.

"Fear not," whispered Roger Redhand, almost cheerfully; "the night favours us. I know the way so well that I could traverse it blindfold. Only one danger there is, against which there is no guarding. If our escape is discovered, and the bloodhounds are put on our track, this night may be our last, and, ere to-morrow's sun sets, our carcases may be food for ravens and wolves. But courage!"

"Ay, courage!" said I, my spirit rising. "Lead on; we fellow."

No further words passed. Pursuing a south-easterly direction, Roger Redhand walked rapidly onwards, and we, not without frequently stumbling, contrived, with some exertion, to keep pace with him. Everything seemed to go prosperously; and just as the moon rose we crossed the Tweed, and, pushing resolutely on in the track of our guide, had travelled several miles when, finding we were on the bank of a rivulet, I halted to quench my thirst and recreate my energies with a draught of the pure stream.

"Now, thanks to God and good St. George for our deliverance," said I, as, refreshed, I resumed the journey; "for, at last, methinks we are safe from pursuit."

"I would fain hope so," replied our guide; "but let us not dally with danger, nor forget the proverb which tells us not to halloo till we are out of the wood."

Almost as he spoke, Roger Redhand stopped suddenly, as if in alarm, and looking in the direction of the wind, pointed back, and, shaking his head as if to admonish us to be silent, listened attentively. For a few moments no sound broke the stillness of the night, save the rushing of the rivulet and the screams of the birds and beasts that haunted its banks. At length, however, our guide drew himself up excitedly; and now there was no possibility of mistaking the nature of the danger, or the significance of his last words. Far away as it seemed, but coming down the wind with terrible distinctness, the bay of a bloodhound, deep-mouthed and menacing, broke the silence, and sounded in our ears like a death knell.

Drawing a dagger from his bosom, and baring his strong arm, Roger Redhand deliberately inflicted a wound, and spilt some drops of blood on our track.

"What, in the name of the saints, mean you by that?" asked I.

"Blood destroys the fineness of the scent," answered he. "I have even seen prisoners sacrificed to save their captors, when closely chased by foes. But it does not always succeed. So on, on!" added our guide; "we may yet escape if we have luck."

And forward he pressed, crossing and recrossing the streamlet at places considerably distant from each other, with some idea of throwing the pursuers off the scent, but all, as it seemed, to no purpose. The sagacity of the dog was not to be baffled either by blood on the path or by the running stream. And we felt that, guided by its unerring instinct, our pursuers were close upon our track. Our fate seemed sealed; but even at that moment I scorned to yield to despair.

Nearer and nearer came the deep bay. Indeed, every time we paused to listen it resounded more loudly through the wood, and, in our perplexity, we halted to take counsel of each other.

It was an awful moment, and our agitation was great.

"We are lost!" exclaimed Salle, in accents of mournful despondence; "and without even the satisfaction of being able to strike a blow for life."

"No, not lost," replied I, though feeling that I was hoping against hope. "It is true that great is the sagacity of the bloodhound, but not so great that it cannot be baffled by the wit of man."

"You are right," said our guide, suddenly rousing himself, and raising his head. "It can be done. I have heard the Scots tell how Robert Bruce, their king, acted when pressed as we are, and how he escaped. Have all your wits about you; let us into the water; do as you see me do; and beware, above all things, of touching the banks. Now be quick and cautious. Our lives hang on a single chance; but courage and discretion will yet save us."

By this time we had reached a wooded valley which was intersected by the stream; and, dashing into the water, our guide waded up its course for some hundred yards, while we followed in silence; and then, renewing his caution as to not touching the banks, he sprang upon the twisted branches of an elm, and, swinging himself dexterously from tree to tree, while we, with some difficulty, followed his example, at length leaped to the ground at some distance from the spot where we had entered the stream.

"Now," said he, pursuing his way and waving us on, "if you have done as I have done, and not touched the ground, we are saved."

"We are saved!" cried Salle triumphantly.

"But our escape has been a narrow one," remarked I.

And, indeed, it soon appeared that the stratagem had succeeded; and, at the same time, it became evident that we had not resorted to the stratagem a moment too soon. As, after climbing an acclivity, we reached the summit of the rising ground, the moon, previously somewhat clouded, shone brilliantly; and when, sheltered by trees from the possibility of being observed, we looked down into the valley from which we had emerged, we could distinctly descry our pursuers on horseback keenly urging on the hound, and hear their voices, as, speaking rapidly, and sometimes all at a time, they attempted to account for having lost the scent. But all proved quite unavailing. The dog, completely thrown out, stood utterly at fault, and, in spite of incitement and encouragement, failed in every effort to regain the scent it had lost.

"Forward," whispered our guide. "By the voices of our pursuers, I know that they are dispersing to search the thickets; and since some of them might, by chance, find their way up the steep, it is not well, as I said before, to dally with danger, and it is well by hastening on to avoid the risk of being descried."

And at his instance we pursued our way with the sensations of men saved, at the last instant, from the awful peril of drowning, and keeping to by-paths and solitary places, we left danger behind, and at morn stood tired and jaded, but safe and sound, within the strong castle of which Copeland was governor.

"Welcome, gentlemen," said Copeland, who, on being informed of our escape, came to receive Salle and myself. "I rejoice you have escaped, though I am little like to have much of your company."

"And wherefore?"

"Because, whenever it is known that you are in the land of the living and at liberty, both of you are certain to have instructions to proceed south without delay to embark for Guienne. But who is the muffled man?"

"One to whom we are much indebted," said I.

"And one whose face is not wholly unknown to Sir John Copeland," said our guide, throwing aside his muffler and showing his face.

"Ah, Roger! Roger!" exclaimed Copeland in accents of sad reproof, "it grieves me to think that the day should ever have come when your father's son had to hide his face from living mortal, and that mortal an Englishman and a Copeland."

"Reproach me not with the past," said the other imploringly, "but listen to my prayer, and grant it for the sake of those who sleep where the weary are at rest."

"Yes, sir knight," said I earnestly, "upbraid him not. Let bygones be bygones."

"Nay," exclaimed Copeland, "I am not the person to be hard on a broken man, whose conscience, doubtless, reproaches him often enough. And now, Roger," added he, "I listen to your prayer. What is it you require of me?"

"Your good word and influence to win me a pardon," was the answer.

The Governor of Roxburgh paused, meditated, and then, looking full at the petitioner, smiled grimly, with a peculiar expression on his countenance.

"By holy St. Cuthbert and good St. George, Roger!" said he in a low voice, "I would as lief ask King Edward for Berwick or Calais as for your pardon, as your case now stands; but," added he significantly, "if you take a pardon for the time being, and go to fight for the Prince of Wales in France, I will, for the sake of our kindred blood, equip you for the war, and even recommend you to the prince as strongly as I can in honour do, all things taken into account. Go, then, to Gascony, and fight for a pardon, while others are fighting for honour and victory, and then your day may come. Many broken ships have come to land, and, be that as it may, you were wont to be brave in the face of a foeman; and credit me that a man never asks pardon from a king with such grace as when he has proved his strength and courage against the king's enemies."

"Be it as you have said," replied the outlaw, much affected.

"And, Roger," added Copeland, "in token that I deem you capable of redeeming your good name, I, in presence of these valiant squires, give you my hand as that of a friend and kinsman, who, if you stoutly battle to redeem your fair fame, will aid your efforts to the utmost. So help me God, and St. Cuthbert, and St. George!"

And, as the Northern knight suited the action to the word, Roger Redhand's eye first gleamed with gratification, and then became dim with tears.

CHAPTER LI

AT BORDEAUX

Not long was I allowed to linger at the castle of Roxburgh, though, at the time of my escape from Mount Moreville, there was on the borders of Scotland much work for English warriors to do. Retaliating the invasion of their country by the King of England, the Scots, scarce taking time to recover from their fright, rushed to arms and commenced their inroads, and many a Northumbrian village blazed in revenge for the havoc so recently wrought in Lothian. On the Marches men almost slept in their mail. The little barons, who held their lands and towers south of the Tweed for the service of winding a horn to intimate to the inhabitants that the Scots were approaching, had to "watch weel;" and the garrison of Roxburgh and its brave governor were often roused at dead of night to mount their horses, and contend with the assailing foe.

But, however exciting and instructive this kind of warfare might have proved, I was destined for service beyond the sea; and, leaving Copeland to struggle with the Scots, and Salle to attach himself to the garrison of Berwick, whose slumbers, like those of their neighbours, were often broken by the sound of trumpets and the war-cry of foes, I reached London, and, having been charged with letters for the Prince of Wales, I embarked for Guienne.

It was on the 1st of July that I set foot in Bordeaux, where the prince then was, and beheld, for the first time, the province of which it was regarded as the capital. Nor can I forget how pleasing was the effect which the novelty of the scene produced upon me, as I found myself in the commercial emporium of Southern France, staring with surprise at the quaint dresses of the inhabitants, and gazing with interest on the busy quays, the strong walls, the immense gates and towers, the noble castle, the broad river running round the castle walls, and the hills beyond the city, clothed with woods and vineyards. All the various objects, presented for the first time to my view, gilded, as it were, with the summer's sun, had their charm; and, under the influence of mingled emotions, I could not but exclaim, "Who, save a coward, would not fight for such a land as this?"

It is not wonderful that, the country being such as it was – so fruitful, so productive, so pleasant, and so picturesque – the King of England was eager to retain what had been saved, and to regain what had been lost, of the bright and beautiful territory which came to his ancestor, the second Henry, with the hand of Eleanor of Guienne. But, in truth, it was not merely because the land was bright and beautiful, ever blossoming and ever perfumed, with a sunny sky and a genial climate, and shady groves and gay vineyards, appearing in the eyes of strangers a terrestrial paradise, that it haunted the imagination and stirred the ambition of our Plantagenets. Far, indeed, and quite free were these politic princes from the weakness of allowing fancy to lead them captive, when dealing with the interests of the nation with whose history all their great triumphs in war and peace were associated in the mind of Europe. Policy, not fancy, prompted their efforts to retain and recover; for rich and fertile was the region watered by the Garonne and the Adour, and of mighty importance to their island home was the trade carried on between Bordeaux and the ports of England. It was of commerce, and the wealth which commerce creates, that our English kings thought; and it was because they deemed the possession of Guienne, with that old city on the left bank of the Garonne as its capital, essential to the prosperity of the country over which they reigned, that the Plantagenets clung tenaciously to the fragment of that empire which, in the days of their ancestor, the son of Geoffrey of Anjou and the Empress Maude, had extended from the Channel to the Pyrenees.

When I reached Bordeaux, to draw my sword, under the banner of England's heir, for the right of England's king to the territory which Philip Augustus had wrested from King John, the Prince of Wales was lodged in the abbey of St. Andrew, and his people were quartered within the city. Accordingly, I rode through the streets to the abbey, and, meeting Liulph, the archer, the companion of my struggle with the wild bull in Windsor Forest, I informed him of my desire to see the prince. Forthwith Liulph communicated my desire to a squire named Bernard, who was not without influence, and, at my request, conducted me to the presence of the young hero whose brows were, ere long, to be decked with trophies still prouder than the feather which he had won when its former owner, the blind King of Bohemia, fell in his memorable charge at Cressy.

"Welcome, Master Winram," said the prince, as I presented the letters with which I had been intrusted. "What news bring you from England?"

"Such, my lord, as it irks me to tell," replied I. "Never have the Scots been more insolent in their bearing – never more ferocious in their inroads. Again and again they have crossed the Border, burning and ravaging the country. Even now, it may be, the sky is red with the fires they have kindled in the North."

"And no sign of a truce – no prospect of a treaty?" said the prince with curiosity.

"None, my lord," answered I with emphasis. "Nor, to speak frankly," continued I earnestly, "do I opine, from what I have seen and heard, that, even if the Scots conclude truce or treaty, they will ever do so with any serious intent to be bound by one or the other, so long as their hatred of England and their predatory incursions are encouraged and rewarded by him whom they call King of France."

"Ha! by St. George!" exclaimed the prince thoughtfully, "I have for some time held such to be the case; and, if these letters from England confirm what you say, and what I believe, I know but one way that I can take to bring John of Valois to his senses, and render him powerless to bribe our enemies to destroy the life and property of Englishmen; and, by the memory of my sainted namesake who sleeps at Westminster, I will take that course, and steel my heart against compunction for the misery I may cause. For, mark you, it is only by destroying the provinces whence John of Valois draws the wealth with which he carries on the war to my prejudice as Duke of Guienne, and to the exclusion of my lord and father from the throne of France, which is his rightful inheritance, that we can influence his actions; and, therefore, if affairs wear not a new face ere a week passes, I have resolved, and it is my fixed purpose, to raise my banner and sally forth, and sweep the country as far, even, it may be, as the fertile province of Berry."

CHAPTER LII

THE PRINCE IN BLACK ARMOUR

One morning in July, 1356 – orders having previously been issued that every man should be ready to march at the word of command – the trumpets of the Prince of Wales sounded, and, forthwith, all was bustle and excitement in Bordeaux. At break of day horses were saddled and warriors armed, and the leaders, having mustered the men who followed their banners, prepared to march into the provinces that owned John of Valois as King of France.

I would fain name some of the most renowned knights and nobles of Hainault, of Gascony, and England, who were with the Prince of Wales in this expedition. From Hainault were Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, the Lord de Guystelle, the Lord de Phaselle, and the Lord de Morbeque; from Gascony were the Captal de Buch, the Lord d'Albret, the Lord of Pumiers, the Lord de Chaumont, and the Lord de Montferrand; from England were Sir John Chandos, Sir Robert Knolles, Sir Walter Woodland; James, Lord Audley; Reginald, Lord Cobham; Thomas, Lord Berkley; Roger, Lord De Ov; and the great Earls of Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, Suffolk, and Stafford. As their armour glanced and their banners shone in the rising sun, the sight was pleasant to behold. About twelve thousand men formed the army which was to accomplish such memorable exploits. Part of these were Gascons and part English, the Gascons being much more numerous than the English, who were, for the most part, archers and engineers qualified by experience to direct the bombards that had done good service at the siege of Calais. But both Gascons and English were then animated by a spirit of hostility against the French, and armed with equal ardour; and all were under such discipline as had never been exercised in modern warfare; for the young hero who was the soul of that army was unrivalled as a war-chief, and much had he studied how war had been carried on in the days when Rome made herself mistress of the world; and so thorough was his success, that his ranks moved with an order and precision which raised the wonder and envy of the oldest and most experienced captains of the age.

It was about this time that, in order to give éclat to his fair complexion, and set off his handsome countenance to advantage, the Prince of Wales assumed that black armour from which he derived the name by which he has since been popularly called; and I would fain give some notion of his appearance when, after having mounted at the monastery of St. Andrew, he rode forth to lead his army from the gates of Bordeaux. No longer the stripling who appeared at Smithfield to lend countenance to the sports of the Londoners, and who won his spurs while fighting so gallantly in the van at Cressy, the Prince of Wales was now in his sixth lustre, and had grown year by year in strength, in courage, and in comeliness. His form was tall, athletic, and finely proportioned; his face fair to look upon, and lighted up with expression and intelligence; while nothing could have been more impressive than his grand air and chivalrous bearing. Every gift he had derived from nature and inherited from his ancestors had been carefully cultivated, and it was well-nigh impossible to observe him without feeling the full truth of the words used by his father on the field of Cressy – "You are already worthy to be a king."

At the time of which I write, the chain mail worn at the Crusades and in the Barons' Wars was no longer in fashion; and the Bigods and Bohuns, and the first Edward, would have opened their eyes as wide, and stared with as much surprise, as Robert Curthose and Richard Cœur de Lion at the garniture in which their heirs mustered at Bordeaux. Every part of the body was defended by plate armour; and from crown to toe the knight was cased in steel. Plates entirely defended the legs; and pointed shoes of overlapping steel plates guarded the feet. The leathern gauntlets were similarly cased with steel, and provided with steel tops, while on the knuckles were small spikes, knobs, and ornaments, called gadlings. A breastplate, termed a plastron, kept the chain shirt from pressing on the chest when the plates for breast and back, which rendered the shirt necessary, were not worn; and a short apron of chain hung from the waist over the hips. Such was the defensive armour in use during the reign of King Edward; and such was the armour worn by his hero-son. Imagine the Prince of Wales, such as I have described him, with his tall figure, his vigorous frame, his fair hair, his bright eye, his refined features, his frank expression, and his elegant air; array him in such armour as was then in fashion – but black in colour, and embossed with gold – put over all the guipin, or upper garment, fitting closely to the body and confined round the waist by a magnificent belt, to which his dagger was attached on one side, his sword on the other; place a golden lion on his broad breast, and a basinet on his high head; mount him on a steed black as a raven and somewhat fierce – and you will have before you the son of Edward and Philippa as he set forward on that enterprise which was to result in a victory never likely to be forgotten so long as skill and valour in the hour of peril, and courtesy and generosity in the hour of triumph, are held in regard by mankind.