Saint George for England by G. A. Henty (page 3)

unbuckle your breast and back pieces; you do the same for me.”

With great efforts they managed to rid themselves of their armour, and then held on with ease to the rope. They hauled the bucket to the surface and tied a knot in the slack of the rope, so that the bucket hung four feet below the level of the water. Putting their feet in this, they were able to stand with their heads above the surface without difficulty.

“This is a nice fix,” Ralph exclaimed. “I think it would have been just as well to have been killed at once. They are sure to find us here, and if they don’t we shall die of cold before tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t think they will find us,” Walter said cheerfully. “When they have searched the castle thoroughly it may occur to some of them that we have jumped down the well, but it will be no particular business of anyone to look for us, and they will all be too anxious to get at the wine butts to trouble their heads about the matter; besides, it must be a heavy job to wind up this bucket, and it is not likely there will be such urgent need of water that anyone will undertake the task.”

“But we are no better off if they don’t,” Ralph remarked, “for we must die here if we are not hauled out. I suppose you don’t intend to try and climb that rope. I might do twenty feet or so on a pinch, but I could no more get up to the top there than I could fly.”

“We must think it over,” Walter rejoined; “where there is a will there is a way, you know. We will take it by turns to watch that little patch of light overhead; if we see anyone looking down we must leave the bucket and swim to the side without making the least noise. They may give a few turns of the windlass to see if anyone has hold of the rope below; be sure you do not make the slightest splashing or noise, for the sound would be heard above to a certainty.”

Ten minutes later they saw two heads appear above, and instantly withdrew their feet from the bucket and made a stroke to the side, which was but four feet distant, being careful as they did that no motion was imparted to the rope. Then though it was too dark to see anything, they heard the bucket lifted from the water. A minute later it fell back again with a splash, then all was quiet.

“We are safe now, and can take our place in the bucket. They are satisfied that if we did jump down here we are drowned. And now we must think about climbing up.”

“Aye, that will require a good deal of thinking,” Ralph grumbled.

For some time there was silence; then Walter said, “The first thing to do is to cut off the slack of the rope, there are some twelve feet of it. Then we will unwind the strands of that. There are five or six large strands as far as I can feel; we will cut them up into lengths of about a couple of feet and we ought to be able to tie these to the rope in such a way as not to slip down with our weight. If we tie them four feet apart we can go up step by step; I don’t see much difficulty about that.”

“No,” Ralph said much more cheerfully, “I should think that we could manage that.”

They at once set to work. The rope was cut up and unravelled, and the strands cut into pieces about two feet long. They then both set to work trying to discover some way of fastening it by which it would not slip down the rope. They made many fruitless attempts; each time that a strand was fastened with a loop large enough for them to pass a leg through, it slid down the rope when their weight was applied to it. At last they succeeded in finding out a knot which would hold. This was done by tying a knot close to one end of a piece of the strand, then sufficient was left to form the loop, and the remainder was wound round the rope in such a way that the weight only served to tighten its hold.

“Shall we begin at once?” Ralph said, when success was achieved.

“No, we had better wait until nightfall. The vibration of the rope when our weight once gets on it might be noticed by anyone crossing the courtyard.”

“Do you think we have sufficient bits of rope,” Ralph asked.

“Just enough, I think,” Walter replied; “there were six strands, and each has made six pieces, so we have thirty-six. I know the well is about a hundred feet deep, for the other day I heard some of the soldiers who were drawing water grumbling over the labour required. So if we put them three feet apart it will take thirty-three of them, which will leave three over; but we had better place them a little over a yard so as to make sure.”

In a short time the fading brightness of the circle of light far overhead told them that twilight had commenced, and shortly afterwards they attached the first strand to the rope some three feet above the water.

“Now,” Walter said, “I will go first, at any rate for a time. I must put one leg through the loop, and sit, as it were, while I fasten the one above, as I shall want both hands for the work. You will find it a good deal easier to stand with your foot in the loop. If I get tired I will fasten another loop by the side of that on which I am resting, so you can come up and pass me. There is no hurry. It ought not to take up above an hour, and it will not do for us to get to the top until the place becomes a little quiet. Tonight they are sure to be drinking and feasting over their victory until late.”

They now set to work, and step by step mounted the rope. They found the work less arduous than they had expected. The rope was dry, and the strands held tightly to it. Two or three times they changed places, resting in turn from the work; but in less than two hours from the time they made the first loop Walter’s head and shoulders appeared above the level of the courtyard. He could hear sounds of shouting and singing within the castle, and knew that a great feast was going on. Descending a step or two he held parley with Ralph.

“I think, perhaps, it will be better to sally out at once. Everyone is intent on his own pleasure, and we shall have no difficulty in slipping out of the castle unnoticed. All will be feasting and riot in the town, and so long as we do not brush against any one so that they may feel our wet garments we are little likely to be noticed; besides, the gates of the town will stand open late, for people from the villages round will have come in to join in the revels.”

“I am ready to try it, Master Walter,” Ralph replied, “for I ache from head to foot with holding on to this rope. The sooner the better, say I.”

In another minute both stood in the courtyard. It was a retired spot, and none were passing. Going along the passage they issued into the main yard. Here great fires were blazing, and groups of men sat round them drinking and shouting. Many lay about in drunken sleep.

“Stay where you are in the shade, Ralph. You had best lie down by the foot of the wall. Anyone who passes will think that you are in a drunken sleep. I will creep forward and possess myself of the steel caps of two of these drunkards, and if I can get a couple of cloaks so much the better.”

There was no difficulty about the caps, and by dint of unbuckling the cloaks and rolling their wearers gently over, Walter succeeded at last in obtaining two of them. He also picked up a sword for Ralph – his own still hung in its sheath – and then he joined his companion, and the two putting on the steel caps and cloaks walked quietly to the gate. There were none on guard, and they issued unmolested into the town. Here all was revelry. Bonfires blazed in the streets. Hogsheads of wine, with the heads knocked out, stood before many of the houses for all to help themselves who wished. Drunken soldiers reeled along shouting snatches of songs, and the burghers in the highest state of hilarity thronged the ways.

“First of all, Ralph, we will have a drink of wine, for I am chilled to the bone.”

“Aye, and so am I,” Ralph replied. “I got hot enough climbing that rope, but now the cold has got hold of me again, and my teeth are chattering in my head.”

Picking up one of the fallen vessels by a cask they dipped it in and took a long draught of wine; then, turning off from the principal streets, they made their way by quiet lanes down to one of the gates. To their dismay they found that this was closed. The French commanders knew that Sir Walter Manny or Salisbury might ere this be pressing forward to relieve the town, and that, finding that it had fallen, they might attempt to recapture it by a sudden attack. While permitting therefore the usual licence, after a successful assault, to the main body of their forces, they had placed a certain number of their best troops on the walls, giving them a handsome largess to make up for their loss of the festivities.

At first Walter and his friend feared that their retreat was cut off for the night, but several other people presently arrived, and the officer on guard said, coming out, “You must wait a while; the last batch have only just gone, and I cannot keep opening and closing the gate; in half an hour I will let you out.

Before that time elapsed some fifty or sixty people, anxious to return to their villages, gathered round the gate.

“Best lay aside your steel cap, Ralph, before we join them,” Walter said. “In the dim light of that lamp none will notice that we have head-gear, but if it were to glint upon the steel cap the officer might take us for deserters and question us as to who we are.

Presently the officer came out from the guard-room again. There was a forward movement of the little crowd, and Walter and Ralph closed in to their midst. The gates were opened, and without any question the villagers passed out, and the gates were shut instantly behind them.

Walter and his comrade at once started at a brisk pace and walked all night in the direction of Hennebon. Their clothes soon dried, and elated at their escape from danger they struggled on briskly. When morning broke they entered a wood, and lay there till evening, as they feared to continue their journey lest they might fall into the hands of some roving band of French horse. They were, too, dog-tired, and were asleep a few minutes after they lay down. The sun was setting when they awoke, and as soon as it was dark they resumed their journey.

“I don’t know what you feel, Master Walter, but I am well-nigh famished. It is thirty-six hours since I swallowed a bit of food, just as the French were moving to the attack. Hard blows I don’t mind – I have been used to it; but what with fighting, and being in the water for five or six hours, and climbing up that endless rope, and walking all night on an empty stomach, it does not suit me at all.”

“I feel ravenous too, Ralph, but there is no help for it. We shall eat nothing till we are within the walls of Hennebon, and that will be by daylight tomorrow if all goes well. Draw your belt an inch or two tighter, it will help to keep out the wolf.”

They kept on all night, and in the morning saw to their delight the towers of Hennebon in the distance. It was well that it was no further, for both were so exhausted from want of food that they could with difficulty drag their legs along.

Upon entering the town Walter made his way at once to the quarters of the leader. Sir Walter had just risen, and was delighted at the sight of his esquire.

“I had given you up for dead,” he exclaimed. “By what miracle could you have escaped? Are you alone?”

“I have with me only my faithful follower Ralph Smith, who is below; but, Sir Walter, for mercy’s sake order that some food be placed before us, or we shall have escaped from the French only to die of hunger here. We have tasted nought since the attack on Vannes began. Have any beside us escaped?”

“Lord Stafford contrived, with two or three others, to cut their way out by a postern-gate, bringing with them Robert of Artois, who is grievously wounded. None others, save you and your man-at-arms, have made their way here.”

In a few minutes a cold capon, several manchets of bread, and a stoop of wine were placed before Walter, while Ralph’s wants were attended to below. When he had satisfied his hunger the young esquire related his adventures to Sir Walter and several other knights and nobles, who had by this time gathered in the room.

“In faith, Master Somers, you have got well out of your scrape,” Sir Walter exclaimed. “Had I been in your place I should assuredly have perished, for I would a thousand times rather meet death sword in hand, than drop down into the deep hole of that well. And your brains served you shrewdly in devising a method of escape. What say you, gentlemen?”

All present joined in expressions of praise at the lad’s coolness and presence of mind.

“You are doing well, young sir,” the English leader went on, “and have distinguished yourself on each occasion on which we have been engaged. I shall be proud when the time comes to bestow upon you myself the order of knighthood if our king does not take the matter off my hands.”

A little later Robert of Artois died of his wounds and disappointment at the failure of his hopes.

In October King Edward himself set sail with a great army, and landing in Brittany early in November marched forward through the country and soon reduced Ploermel, Malestrail, Redon, and the rest of the province in the vicinity of Vannes, and then laid siege to that town. As his force was far more than sufficient for the siege, the Earls of Norfolk and Warwick were despatched in the direction of Nantes to reconnoitre the country and clear it of any small bodies of the enemy they might encounter. In the meantime Edward opened negotiations with many of the Breton lords, who, seeing that such powerful aid had arrived for the cause of the Countess of Montford, were easily persuaded to change sides. Among them were the lords of Clisson, Moheac, Machecoul, Retz, and many others of less importance.

The Count of Valentinois, who commanded the garrison of Vannes, supported the siege with great courage and fortitude, knowing that Charles of Blois and the King of France were collecting a great army for his relief. Uniting their forces they advanced towards the town. Before the force of the French, 40,000 strong, the Earl of Norfolk had fallen back and rejoined the king, but even after this junction the French forces exceeded those of Edward fourfold. They advanced towards Vannes and formed a large entrenched camp near that of the English, who thus, while still besieging Vannes, were themselves enclosed by a vastly superior force. The King of France himself arrived at the French camp. The French, although so greatly superior, made no motion toward attacking the English, but appeared bent upon either starving them out or forcing them to attack the strongly entrenched position occupied by the French.

Provisions were indeed running short in the English camp, and the arrival of supplies from England was cut off by a strong fleet under Don Louis, which cruised off the coast and captured all vessels arriving with stores. At this moment two legates, the Cardinal Bishop of Preneste and the Cardinal Bishop of Tusculum, arrived from the pope and strove to mediate between the two sovereigns and to bring about a cessation of hostilities, pointing out to them the scandal and desolation which their rivalry caused in Christendom, the waste of noble lives, the devastation of once happy provinces, and the effusion of innocent blood. Going from camp to camp they exhorted, prayed, and reproached the rival sovereigns, urging that while Christians were shedding each other’s blood in vain, the infidels were daily waxing bolder and more insolent. Their arguments would have been but of little use had either of the monarchs felt sure of victory. King Edward, however, felt that his position was growing desperate, for starvation was staring him in the face, and only by a victory over an immensely superior force in a strongly entrenched position could he extricate himself. Upon the part of the French, however, circumstances were occurring which rendered them anxious for a release from their position, for they were not without their share of suffering. While the English army lay on a hill the French camp was pitched on low ground. An unusually wet season had set in with bitterly cold wind. The rain was incessant, a pestilence had destroyed a vast number of their horses, and their encampment was flooded. Their forces were therefore obligated to spread themselves over the neighbouring fields, and a sudden attack by the English might have been fatal.

Thus distress pressed upon both commanders, and the pope’s legates found their exertions at last crowned with success. A suspension of hostilities was agreed to, and the Dukes of Burgundy and Bourbon on the one side and the Earls of Lancaster, Northampton, and Salisbury on the other, met as commissioners and agreed to a convention by which a general truce was to be made from the date of the treaty to the following Michaelmas, and to be prolonged from that day for the full term of three years. It was agreed that the truce should embrace not only the sovereigns, but all the adherents of each of them. The truce was to hold good in Brittany between all parties, and the city of Vannes was to be given into the hands of the cardinals to dispose of as they chose. It was specially provided that in the case of any of the adherents of either party in the Duchies of Gascony and Brittany waging war against each other, neither of the monarchs should either directly or indirectly meddle therewith, nor should the truce be at all broken thereby.

Immediately the treaty was signed, on the 19th of January, 1343, the King of France dismissed his army, and Edward sailed for England with the greater part of his troops. The Countess of Montford and her son accompanied him, and the possessions of her husband in Brittany were left to the guardianship of her partisans, with a small but choice body of English troops.

The towns which had fallen into their hands and still remained were Brest, Quimper-Corentin, Quimperle, Redon, and Guerande; Vannes was handed over to them by the cardinals, and Hennebon, of course, remained in their possession.

Walter returned to England with Sir Walter Manny, and on reaching London was received with delight by his old friends Geoffrey Ward and Giles Fletcher, who were never tired of listening to his tales of the wars. Dame Vernon also received him with great kindness, and congratulated him warmly upon the very favourable account which Sir Walter Manny had given of his zeal and gallantry.

The time now for a while passed very quietly. Walter and the other young squires practised diligently, under the instructions of Sir Walter, at knightly exercises. Walter learned to bear himself well on horseback and to tilt in the ring. He was already a skilful swordsman, but he spared no pains to improve himself with his weapons. The court was a gay one, and Walter, as a favoured esquire of one of the foremost knights there, was admitted to all that took place. His courtly education, of course, included dancing, and when he went down, as he often did, for a long chat with his old friends, Geoffrey often said, laughing, that he was growing such a fine gentleman that he hardly liked to sit in his presence; but although changed in manner, Walter continued to be, as before, a frank, manly young fellow, and free from the affectations which were so general among the young men of the court.

CHAPTER XI: A STORMY INTERVIEW

Soon after Walter’s return from France Dame Vernon returned to her country estate, and a year passed before he again saw her. During this time the truce which had been established between England and France had remained unbroken. It was certain, however, that ere long the two powers would again come to blows. The King of England had honourably observed the terms of the treaty. Upon his return home he had entirely disbanded his army and had devoted his whole attention to increasing the trade and prosperity of the country. The measures which he took to do this were not always popular with the people of England, for seeing how greatly they excelled the English manufacturers Edward encouraged large numbers of Flemings and other foreign workmen to settle in London, and gave them many privileges to induce them to do so; this the populace strongly resented. There was a strong ill feeling against the Flemings and serious popular riots took place, for the English traders and workmen considered that these foreigners were taking the bread from their mouths. The king, however, was wiser than his people, he saw that although the English weavers were able to produce coarse cloths, yet that all of the finer sort had to be imported from the Continent. He deemed that in time the Flemings would teach their art to his subjects, and that England would come to vie with the Low Countries in the quality of her produce. Such was indeed afterwards the case, and England gained greatly by the importation of the industrious Flemings, just as she afterwards profited from the expulsion from France of tens of thousands of Protestant workmen who brought here many of the manufactures of which France had before the monopoly. The relations between England and the Flemings were at this time very close, for the latter regarded England as her protector against the ambition of the King of France.

But while King Edward had laid aside all thought of war, such was not the case with Phillip of Valois. He had retired after the signature of the treaty full of rage and humiliation; for hitherto in all their struggles his English rival had had the better of him, and against vastly superior forces had foiled all his efforts and had gained alike glory and military advantage. King Edward had hardly set sail when Phillip began to break the terms of truce by inciting the adherents of Charles of Blois to attack those of De Montford, and by rendering assistance to them with money and men. He also left no means untried to detach Flanders from its alliance with England. Several castles and towns in Brittany were wrested from the partisans of De Montford, and King Edward, after many remonstrances at the breaches of the conditions of the truce, began again to make preparations for taking the field. Several brilliant tournaments were held and every means were taken to stir up the warlike spirit of the people.

One day Walter had attended his lord to the palace and was waiting in the anteroom with many other squires and gentlemen, while Sir Walter, with some other noblemen, was closeted with the king, discussing the means to be adopted for raising funds for a renewal of a war with France, when a knight entered whom Walter had not previously seen at court.

“Who is that?” he asked one of his acquaintances; “methinks I know his face, though it passes my memory to say where I have seen it.”

“He has been away from England for some two years,” his friend answered. “That is Sir James Carnegie; he is a cousin of the late Sir Jasper Vernon; he left somewhat suddenly a short time after Dame Vernon had that narrow escape from drowning that you wot of; he betook himself then to Spain, where he has been fighting the Moors; he is said to be a valiant knight, but otherwise he bears but an indifferent good reputation.”

Walter remembered the face now; it was that of the knight he had seen enter the hut of the river pirate on the Lambeth marshes. When released from duty he at once made his way to the lodging of Dame Vernon. Walter was now nineteen, for a year had elapsed since the termination of the French war, and he was in stature and strength the match of most men, while his skill at knightly exercises, as well as with the sword, was recognized as pre-eminent among all the young esquires of the court.

After the first greeting he said to Dame Vernon: “I think it right to tell you, lady, that I have but now, in the king’s anteroom, seen the man who plotted against your life in the hut at Lambeth. His face is a marked one and I could not mistake it. I hear that he is a cousin of yours, one Sir James Carnegie, as you doubtless recognized from my description of him. I came to tell you in order that you might decide what my conduct should be. If you wish it so I will keep the secret in my breast; but if you fear aught from him I will openly accuse him before the king of the crime he attempted, and shall be ready to meet him in the ordeal of battle should he claim it.”

“I have seen Sir James,” Lady Vernon said. “I had a letter writ in a feigned hand telling him that his handiwork in the plot against my life was known, and warning him that, unless he left England, the proofs thereof would be laid before justice. He at once sailed for Spain, whence, he has returned but a few days since. He does not know for certain that I am aware of his plottings against us; but he must have seen by my reception of him when he called that I no longer regard him with the friendship which I formerly entertained. I have received a message from him that he will call upon me this evening, and that he trusts he will find me alone, as he would fain confer with me on private matters. When I have learned his intentions I shall be the better able to judge what course I had best adopt. I would fain, if it may be, let the matter rest. Sir James has powerful interest, and I would not have him for an open enemy if I can avoid it; besides, all the talk and publicity which so grave an accusation against a knight, and he of mine own family, would entail, would be very distasteful to me; but should I find it necessary for the sake of my child, I shall not shrink from it. I trust, however, that it will not come to that; but I shall not hesitate, if need be, to let him know that I am acquainted with his evil designs towards us. I will inform you of as much of our interview as it is necessary that you should know.”

That evening Sir James Carnegie called upon Dame Vernon. “I would not notice it the other day, fair cousin,” he said, in return for her stiff and ceremonious greeting; “but methinks that you are mightily changed in your bearing towards me. I had looked on my return from my long journeying for something of the sisterly warmth with which you once greeted me, but I find you as cold and hard as if I had been altogether a stranger to you. I would fain know in what way I have forfeited your esteem.”

“I do not wish to enter into bygones, Sir James,” the lady said, “and would fain let the past sleep if you will let me. Let us then turn without more ado to the private matters concerning which you wished to speak with me.”

“If such is your mood, fair dame, I must needs fall in with it, though in no way able to understand your allusion to the past, wherein my conscience holds me guiltless of aught which could draw upon me your disfavour. I am your nearest male relative, and as such would fain confer with you touching the future of young Mistress Edith, your daughter. She is now nigh thirteen years of age, and is the heiress of broad lands; is it not time that she were betrothed to one capable of taking care of them for her, and leading your vassals to battle in these troubled times?”

“Thanks, Sir James, for your anxiety about my child,” Dame Vernon said coldly. “She is a ward of the king. I am in no way anxious that an early choice should be made for her; but our good Queen Philippa has promised that, when the time shall come, his Majesty shall not dispose of her hand without my wishes being in some way consulted; and I have no doubt that when the time shall come that she is of marriageable age – and I would not that this should be before she has gained eighteen years, for I like not the over young marriages which are now in fashion – a knight may be found for her husband capable of taking care of her and her possessions; but may I ask if, in so speaking to me, you have anyone in your mind’s eye as a suitor for her hand?”

“Your manner is not encouraging, certes; but I had my plan, which would, I hoped, have met with your approval. I am the young lady’s cousin, and her nearest male relative; and although we are within the limited degrees, there will be no difficulty in obtaining a dispensation from Rome. I am myself passably well off, and some of the mortgages which I had been forced to lay upon my estates have been cleared off during my absence. I have returned home with some reputation, and with a goodly sum gained in the wars with the Moors. I am older than my cousin certainly; but as I am still but thirty-two, this would not, I hope, be deemed an obstacle, and methought that you would rather entrust her to your affectionate cousin than to a stranger. The king has received me very graciously, and would, I trust, offer no opposition to my suit were it backed by your goodwill.”

“I suppose, Sir James,” Dame Vernon said, “that I should thank you for the offer which you have made; but I can only reply, that while duly conscious of the high honour you have done my daughter by your offer, I would rather see her in her grave than wedded to you.

The knight leapt from his seat with a fierce exclamation. “This is too much,” he exclaimed, “and I have a right to know why such an offer on my part should be answered by disdain, and even insolence.”

“You have a right to know,” Dame Vernon answered quietly, “and I will tell you. I repeat that I would rather see my child in her grave than wedded to a man who attempted to compass the murder of her and her mother.”

“What wild words are these?” Sir James asked sternly. “What accusation is this that you dare to bring against me?”

“I repeat what I said, Sir James,” Dame Alice replied quietly. “I know that you plotted with the water pirates of Lambeth to upset our boat as we came down the Thames; that you treacherously delayed us at Richmond in order that we might not reach London before dark; and that by enveloping me in a white cloak you gave a signal by which I might be known to your creatures.

The knight stood for a moment astounded. He was aware that the fact that he had had some share in the outrage was known, and was not surprised that his cousin was acquainted with the secret; but that she should know all the details with which but one besides himself was, as he believed, acquainted, completely stupefied him. He rapidly, however, recovered himself.

“I recall now,” he said scornfully, “the evidence which was given before the justices by some ragged city boy, to the effect that he had overheard a few words of a conversation between some ruffian over in the Lambeth marshes, and an unknown person; but it is new to me indeed that there was any suspicion that I was the person alluded to, still less that a lady of my own family, in whose affection I believed, should credit so monstrous an accusation.”

“I would that I could discredit it, Sir James,” Dame Vernon said sadly; “but the proofs were too strong for me. Much more of your conversation than was narrated in court was overheard, and it was at my request that the ragged boy, as you call him, kept silence.”

“And is it possible,” the knight asked indignantly, “that you believed the word of a fellow like this to the detriment to your kinsman? Why, in any court of law the word of such a one as opposed to that of a knight and gentleman of honour would not be taken for a moment.”

“You are mistaken, sir,” Dame Vernon said haughtily. “You may remember, in the first place, that the lad who overheard this conversation risked his life to save me and my daughter from the consequences of the attack which he heard planned; in the second place, he was no ragged lad, but the apprentice of a well-known citizen; thirdly, and this is of importance, since he has recognized you since your return, and is ready should I give him the word, to denounce you. He is no mere apprentice boy, but is of gentle blood, seeing that he is the son of Sir Roland Somers, the former possessor of the lands which I hold, and that he is in high favour with the good knight Sir Walter Manny, whose esquire he now is, and under whom he distinguished himself in the wars in France, and is, as Sir Walter assured me, certain to win his spurs ere long. Thus you see his bare word would be of equal value to your own, beside the fact that his evidence does not rest upon mere assertion; but that the man in the hut promised to do what you actually performed, namely, to delay me at Richmond, and to wrap me in a white cloak in order that I might be recognized by the river pirates.”

Sir James was silent. In truth, as he saw, the evidence was overwhelmingly strong against him. After a while he stammered out, “I cannot deny that I was the man in question; but I swear to you that this boy was mistaken, and that the scoundrel acted altogether beyond my instructions, which were simply that he should board the boat and carry you and your daughter away to a safe place.”

“And with what object, sir,” Dame Vernon said contemptuously, “was I to be thus taken away?”

“I do not seek to excuse myself,” the knight replied calmly, having now recovered his self-possession, “for I own I acted wrongly and basely; but in truth I loved you, and would fain have made you my wife. I knew that you regarded me with only the calm affection of a kinswoman; but I thought that were you in my power you would consent to purchase your freedom with your hand. I know now that I erred greatly. I acknowledge my fault, and that my conduct was base and unknightly, and my only excuse is the great love I bore you.

“And which,” the lady said sarcastically, “you have now transferred to my daughter. I congratulate you, Sir James, upon the possession of a ready wit and an invention which does not fail you at a pinch, and of a tongue which repeats unfalteringly any fable which your mind may dictate. You do not, I suppose, expect me to believe the tale. Still, I own that it is a well-devised one, and might, at a pinch, pass muster; but fear not, Sir James. As hitherto I have kept silence as to the author of the outrage committed upon me, so I have no intention of proclaiming the truth now unless you force me to do so. Suffice that both for myself and for my daughter I disclaim the honour of your hand. So long as you offer no molestation to us, and abstain from troubling us in any way, so long will my mouth be sealed; and I would fain bury in my breast the memory of your offence. I will not give the world’s tongue occasion to wag by any open breach between kinsfolk, and shall therefore in public salute you as an acquaintance, but under no pretence whatever will I admit you to any future private interview. Now leave me, sir, and I trust that your future life will show that you deeply regret the outrage which in your greed for my husband’s lands you were tempted to commit.”

Without a word Sir James turned and left the room, white with shame and anger, but with an inward sense of congratulation at the romance which he had, on the spur of the moment, invented, and which would, he felt sure, be accepted by the world as probable, in the event of the share he had in the matter being made public, either upon the denunciation of Dame Vernon or in any other manner.

One determination, however, he made, and swore, to himself, that he would bitterly avenge himself upon the youth whose interference had thwarted his plans, and whose report to his kinswoman had turned her mind against him. He, at any rate, should be put out of the way at the first opportunity, and thus the only witness against himself be removed; for Lady Vernon’s own unsupported story would be merely her word against his, and could be treated as the malicious fiction of an angry woman.

The following day Dame Vernon sent for Walter, and informed him exactly what had taken place.

“Between Sir James and me,” she said, “there is, you see, a truce. We are enemies, but, we agree to lay aside our arms for the time. But, Walter, you must be on your guard.

You know as well as I do how dangerous this man is, and how good a cause he has to hate you. I would not have divulged your name had I not known that the frequency of your visits here and the encouragement which I openly give you as the future suitor of my daughter, would be sure to come to his ears, and he would speedily discover that it was you who saved our lives on the Thames and gave your testimony before the justices as to the conversation in the hut on the marshes. Thus I forestalled what he would in a few days have learnt.”

“I fear him not, lady,” Walter said calmly. “I can hold mine own, I hope, against him in arms, and having the patronage and friendship of Sir Walter Manny I am above any petty malice. Nevertheless I will hold myself on my guard. I will, so far as possible, avoid any snare which he may, as ’tis not unlikely, set for my life, and will, so far as I honourably can, avoid any quarrel with which he may seek to saddle me.

A few days later Walter again met Sir James Carnegie in the king’s anteroom, and saw at once, by the fixed look of hate with which he had regarded him, that he had already satisfied himself of his identity. He returned the knight’s stare with a cold look of contempt. The knight moved towards him, and in a low tone said, “Beware, young sir, I have a heavy reckoning against you, and James Carnegie never forgets debts of that kind!”

“I am warned, Sir James,” Walter said calmly, but in the same low tone, “and, believe me, I hold but very lightly the threats of one who does not succeed even when he conspires against the lives of women and children.”

Sir James started as if he had been struck. Then, with a great effort he recovered his composure, and, repeating the word “Beware!” walked across to the other side of the chamber. The next day Walter went down the river and had a talk with his friend Geoffrey.

“You must beware, lad,” the armourer said when he told him of the return of Sir James Carnegie and the conversation which had taken place between them. “This man is capable of anything, and careth not where he chooseth his instruments. The man of the hut at Lambeth has never been caught since his escape from Richmond Jail – thanks, doubtless, to the gold of his employer – and, for aught we know, may still be lurking in the marshes there, or in the purlieus of the city. He will have a grudge against you as well as his employer, and in him Sir James would find a ready instrument. He is no doubt connected, as before, with a gang of water pirates and robbers, and it is not one sword alone that you would have to encounter. I think not that you are in danger just at present, for he would know that, in case of your murder, the suspicions of Dame Vernon and of any others who may know the motive which he has in getting rid of you would be excited, and he might be accused of having had a share in your death. Still, it would be so hard to prove aught against him, that he may be ready to run the risk in order to rid himself of you. Look here, Walter. What think you of this?” and the smith drew out from a coffer a shirt of mail of finer work than Walter had ever before seen.

“Aye, lad, I knew you would be pleased,” he said in answer to Walter’s exclamation at the fineness of the workmanship. “I bought this a month ago from a Jew merchant who had recently come from Italy. How he got it I know not, but I doubt if it were honestly, or he would have demanded a higher price than I paid him. He told me that it was made by the first armourer in Milan, and was constructed especially for a cardinal of the church, who had made many enemies by his evil deeds and could not sleep for fear of assassination. At his death it came as the Jew said, into his possession. I suppose some rascally attendant took it as a perquisite, and, knowing not of its value, sold it for a few ducats to the Jew. However, it is of the finest workmanship. It is, as you see, double, and each link is made of steel so tough that no dagger or sword-point will pierce it. I put it on a block and tried the metal myself, and broke one of my best daggers on it without a single link giving. Take it, lad. You are welcome to it. I bought it with a special eye to you, thinking that you might wear it under your armour in battle without greatly adding to the weight; but for such dangers as threaten you now it is invaluable. It is so light and soft that none will dream that you have it under your doublet, and I warrant me it will hold you safe against the daggers of Sir James’s ruffians.

Walter did not like taking a gift so valuable, for his apprenticeship as an armourer had taught him the extreme rarity and costliness of so fine a piece of work. Geoffrey, however, would not hear of his refusal, and insisted on his then and there taking off his doublet and putting it on. It fitted closely to the body, descending just below the hips, and coming well up on the neck, while the arms extended to the wrists.

“There!” the smith said with delight. “Now you are safe against sword or dagger, save for a sweeping blow at the head, and that your sword can be trusted to guard. Never take it off, Walter, save when you sleep; and except when in your own bed, at Sir Walter Manny’s, I should advise you to wear it even at night. The weight is nothing, and it will not incommode you. So long as this caitiff knight lives, your life will not be safe. When he is dead you may hang up the shirt of mail with a light heart.”

CHAPTER XII: JACOB VAN ARTEVELDE

King Edward found no difficulty in awakening the war spirit of England anew, for the King of France, in an act of infamous treachery, in despite of the solemn terms of the treaty, excited against himself the indignation not only of England but of all Europe. Oliver de Clisson, with fourteen other nobles of Brittany and Normandy, were arrested by his order, taken to Paris, and without form of trial there decapitated. This act of treachery and injustice aroused disgust and shame among the French nobles, and murmurs and discontent spread throughout the whole country.

In Brittany numbers of the nobles fell off from the cause of Charles of Blois, and King Edward hastened his preparations to avenge the butchery of the adherents of the house of Montford. Phillip, however, in defiance of the murmurs of his own subjects, of the indignant remonstrances of Edward, and even those of the pope, who was devoted to his cause, continued the course he had begun, and a number of other nobles were seized and executed. Godfrey of Harcourt alone, warned by the fate of his companions, refused to obey the summons of the king to repair to Paris, and fled to Brabant. His property in France was at once seized by Phillip; and Godfrey, finding that the Duke of Brabant would be unable to shield him from Phillip’s vengeance, fled to the English court, and did homage to Edward.

On the 24th of April, 1345, Edward determined no longer to allow Phillip to continue to benefit by his constant violations of the truce, and accordingly sent a defiance to the King of France.

De Montford, who had just succeeded in escaping from his prison in Paris, arrived at this moment in England, and shortly afterwards set sail with a small army under the command of the Earl of Northampton for Britanny, while the Earl of Derby took his departure with a larger force for the defence of Guienne.

King Edward set about raising a large army, which he determined to lead himself, but before passing over to France he desired to strengthen his hold of Flanders. The constant intrigues of Phillip there had exercised a great effect. The count of that country was already strongly in his interest, and it was only the influence of Jacob van Artevelde which maintained the alliance with England. This man had, by his talent and energy, gained an immense influence over his countrymen; but his commanding position and ability had naturally excited the envy and hatred of many of his fellow citizens, among whom was the dean of the weavers of Ghent, one Gerard Denis. The weavers were the most powerful body in this city, and had always been noted for their turbulence and faction; and on a Monday in the month of May, 1345, a great battle took place in the market-place between them and the fullers, of whom 1500 were slain. This victory of the weavers strengthened the power of the party hostile to Artevelde and the English connection; and the former saw that unless he could induce his countrymen to take some irretrievable step in favour of England they would ultimately fall back into the arms of France. Accordingly he invited Edward to pass over with a strong force into Flanders, where he would persuade the Flemings to make the Prince of Wales their duke. King Edward at once accepted the offer, and sailing from Sandwich on the 3d of July arrived in safety at Sluys. His intention had been kept a profound secret, and his arrival created the greatest surprise throughout Flanders. He did not disembark, but received on board a ship with great honour and magnificence the burgomasters of the various towns who appeared to welcome him. The king had brought with him the Prince of Wales, now fifteen years old, who wore a suit of black armour, and was therefore called “the Black Prince.”

Walter Somers was on board the royal vessel. The Prince of Wales had not forgotten the promise which he had six years before made to him, and had asked Sir Walter Manny to allow him to follow under his banner.

“You are taking my most trusty squire from me, Prince,” the knight said; “for although I have many brave young fellows in my following, there is not one whom I value so much as Walter Somers. It is but fair, however, that you should have him, since you told me when I first took him that he was to follow your banner when you were old enough to go to the wars. You can rely upon him implicitly. He cares not for the gaieties of which most young men of his age think so much. He is ever ready for duty, and he possesses a wisdom and sagacity which will some day make him a great leader.”

Walter was sorry to leave his patron, but the step was of course a great advancement, and excited no little envy among his companions, for among the young esquires of the Prince of Wales were the sons of many of the noblest families of England.

Sir Walter presented him on leaving with a heavy purse. “Your expenses will be large,” he said, “among so many young gallants, and you must do credit to me as well as to yourself. The young prince is generous to a fault, and as he holds you in high favour, both from his knowledge of you and from my report, you will, I know, lack nothing when you are once fairly embarked in his service; but it is needful that when you first join you should be provided with many suits of courtly raiment, of cloth of gold and silk, which were not needed while you were in the service of a simple knight like myself, but which must be worn by a companion of the heir of England.”

Walter had hoped that Sir James Carnegie would have accompanied the forces of either the Earls of Northampton or Derby, but he found that he had attached himself to the royal army.

Ralph of course followed Walter’s fortunes, and was now brilliant in the appointments of the Prince of Wales’s chosen bodyguard of men-at-arms.

The councils of all the great towns of Flanders assembled at Sluys, and for several days great festivities were held. Then a great assembly was held, and Van Artevelde rose and addressed his countrymen. He set forth to them the virtues of the Prince of Wales, whose courtesy and bearing had so captivated them; he pointed out the obligations which Flanders was under towards King Edward, and the advantages which would arise from a nearer connection with England. With this he contrasted the weakness of their count, the many ills which his adherence to France had brought upon the country, and the danger which menaced them should his power be ever renewed. He then boldly proposed to them that they should at once cast off their allegiance to the count and bestow the vacant coronet upon the Prince of Wales, who, as Duke of Flanders, would undertake the defence and government of the country with the aid of a Flemish council. This wholly unexpected proposition took the Flemish burghers by surprise. Artevelde had calculated upon his eloquence and influence carrying them away, but his power had diminished, and many of his hearers had already been gained to the cause of France. The burgher councils had for a long time had absolute power in their own towns, and the prospect of a powerful prince at their head foredoomed a curtailment of those powers. When Artevelde ceased, therefore, instead of the enthusiastic shouts with which he hoped his oration would be greeted, a confused murmur arose. At last several got up and said that, greatly attached as they were to the king, much as they admired the noble young prince proposed for their acceptance, they felt themselves unable to give an answer upon an affair of such moment without consulting their fellow countrymen and learning their opinions. They therefore promised that they would return on a certain day and give a decided answer.

The Flemish burghers then took their leave. Van Artevelde, after a consultation with the king, started at once to use his influence among the various towns.

After leaving the king he bade adieu to the Prince of Wales. “Would you like,” the young prince said, “that one of my esquires should ride with you? His presence might show the people how entirely I am with you; and should you have tidings to send me he could ride hither with them. I have one with me who is prudent and wise, and who possesses all the confidence of that wise and valiant knight, Sir Walter de Manny.”

“I will gladly take him, your royal highness,” Van Artevelde said, “and hope to despatch him to you very shortly with the news that the great towns of Flanders all gladly receive you as their lord.”

In a few minutes Walter had mounted his horse, accompanied by Ralph, and, joining Van Artevelde, rode to Bruges. Here and at Ypres Van Artevelde’s efforts were crowned with success. His eloquence carried away the people with him, and both these cities agreed to accept the Prince of Wales as their lord; but the hardest task yet remained. Ghent was the largest and most powerful of the Flemish towns, and here his enemies were in the ascendant. Gerard Denis and the weavers had been stirring up the people against him. All kinds of accusations had been spread, and he was accused of robbing and selling his country. The news of the hostile feeling of the population reached Van Artevelde, and he despatched Walter with the request to the king for a force of five hundred English soldiers as a guard against his enemies.

Had Artevelde asked for a large force, Edward would have disembarked his army and marched at their head into Ghent. As the rest of the country was already won, there can be little doubt that this step would at once have silenced all opposition, and would have annexed Flanders to the British crown. Van Artevelde, however, believed himself to be stronger than he really was, and thought with a small party of soldiers he could seize his principal opponents, and that the people would then rally round him.

Upon the arrival of the five hundred men he started for Ghent; but as he feared that the gates would be shut if he presented himself with an armed force, he left the soldiers in concealment a short distance from the town and entered it, accompanied only by his usual suite. At his invitation, however, Walter, followed of course by Ralph, rode beside him. No sooner was he within the gates than Van Artevelde saw how strong was the popular feeling against him. He had been accustomed to be received with bows of reverence; now men turned aside as he approached, or scowled at him from their doors.

“Methinks, sir,” Walter said, “that it would be wiser did we ride back, and, joining the soldiers, enter at their head, or as that number would be scarce sufficient should so large a town rise in tumult, to send to King Edward for a larger force and await their coming. Even should they shut the gates, we can reduce the town, and as all the rest of Flanders is with you, surely a short delay will not matter.”

“You know not these Flemings as well as I do,” Van Artevelde replied; “they are surly dogs, but they always listen to my voice, and are ready enough to do my bidding. When I once speak to them you will see how they will smooth their backs and do as I ask them.”

Walter said no more, but as he saw everywhere lowering brows from window and doorway as they rode through the streets he had doubts whether the power of Van Artevelde’s eloquence would have the magical potency he had expected from it.

When the party arrived at the splendid dwelling of the great demagogue, messengers were instantly sent out to all his friends and retainers. A hundred and forty persons soon assembled, and while Van Artevelde was debating with them as to the best steps to be taken, Walter opened the casement and looked out into the street. It was already crowded with the people, whose silent and quiet demeanor seemed to bode no good. Arms were freely displayed among them, and Walter saw men passing to and fro evidently giving instructions.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Master Artevelde,” he said, returning to the room where the council was being held, “but methinks that it would wise to bar the doors and windows, and to put yourself in a posture of defence, for a great crowd is gathering without, for the most part armed, and as it seems to me with evil intentions.”

A glance from the windows confirmed Walter’s statements, and the doors and windows were speedily barricaded. Before many minutes had elapsed the tolling of bells in all parts of the town was heard, and down the different streets leading towards the building large bodies of armed men were seen making their way.

“I had rather have to do with a whole French army, Master Walter,” Ralph said, as he stood beside him at an upper window looking down upon the crowd, “than with these citizens of Ghent. Look at those men with bloody axes and stained clothes. Doubtless those are the skinners and butchers. Didst ever see such a ferocious band of savages? Listen to their shouts. Death to Van Artevelde! Down with the English alliance! I thought our case was a bad one when the French poured over the walls into Vannes but methinks it is a hundred times worse now.

“We got out of that scrape, Ralph, and I hope we shall get out of this, but, as you say, the prospect is black enough. See, the butchers are hammering at the door with their pole-axes. Let us go down and aid in the defence.”

“I am ready,” Ralph said, “but I shall fight with a lighter heart if you could fix upon some plan for us to adopt when the rabble break in. That they will do so I regard as certain, seeing that the house is not built for purposes of defence, but has numerous broad windows on the ground-floor by which assuredly they will burst their way in.

“Wait a moment then, Ralph; let us run up to the top storey and see if there be any means of escape along the roofs.”

The house stood detached from the others, but on one side was separated from that next to it only by a narrow lane, and as the upper stories projected beyond those below, the windows were but six feet distant from those on the opposite side of the way.

“See,” Water said, “there is a casement in the room to our left there which is open; let us see if it is tenanted.”

Going into the next room they went to the window and opened it. It exactly faced the casement opposite, and so far as they could see the room was unoccupied.

“It were easy to put a plank across,” Ralph said.

“We must not do that,” Walter answered. “The mob are thick in the lane below – what a roar comes up from their voices! – and a plank would be surely seen, and we should be killed there as well as here. No, we must get on to the sill and spring across; the distance is not great, and the jump would be nothing were it not that the casements are so low. It must be done as lightly and quickly as possible, and we may not then be seen from below. Now leave the door open that we may make no mistake as to the room, and come along, for by the sound the fight is hot below.”

Running down the stairs Walter and Ralph joined in the defence. Those in the house knew that they would meet with no mercy from the infuriated crowd, and each fought with the bravery of despair. Although there were many windows to be defended, and at each the mob attacked desperately, the assaults were all repulsed. Many indeed of the defenders were struck down by the pikes and pole- axes, but for a time they beat back the assailants whenever they attempted to enter. The noise was prodigious. The alarm-bells of the town were all ringing and the shouts of the combatants were drowned in the hoarse roar of the surging crowd without.

Seeing that however valiant was the defence the assailants must in the end prevail, and feeling sure that his enemies would have closed the city gates and thus prevented the English without from coming to his assistance, Van Artevelde ascended to an upper storey and attempted to address the crowd. His voice was drowned in the roar. In vain he gesticulated and made motions imploring them to hear him, but all was useless, and the courage of the demagogue deserted him and he burst into tears at the prospect of death. Then he determined to try and make his escape to the sanctuary of a church close by, and was descending the stairs when a mighty crash below, the clashing of steel, shouts, and cries, told that the mob had swept away one of the barricades and were pouring into the house.

“Make for the stair,” Walter shouted, “and defend yourselves there.” But the majority of the defenders, bewildered by the inrush of the enemy, terrified at their ferocious aspect and terrible axes, had no thought of continuing the resistance. A few, getting into corners, resisted desperately to the end; others threw down their arms and dropping on their knees cried for mercy, but all were ruthlessly slaughtered.

Keeping close together Walter and Ralph fought their way to the foot of the stairs, and closely pursued by a band of the skinners headed by Gerard Denis, ran up. Upon the first landing stood a man paralysed with terror. On seeing him a cry of ferocious triumph rose from the mob. As nothing could be done to aid him Walter and his follower rushed by without stopping. There was a pause in the pursuit, and glancing down from the upper gallery Walter saw Van Artevelde in the hands of the mob, each struggling to take possession of him; then a man armed with a great axe pushed his way among them, and swinging it over his head struck Van Artevelde dead to the floor. His slayer was Gerard Denis himself.

Followed by Ralph, Walter sprang through the open door into the chamber they had marked, and closed the door behind them. Then Walter, saying, “I will go first, Ralph, I can help you in should you miss your spring,” mounted on the sill of the casement. Short as was the distance the leap was extremely difficult, for neither casement was more than three feet high. Walter was therefore obliged to stoop low and to hurl himself head forwards across the gulf. He succeeded in the attempt, shooting clear through the casement on to the floor beyond. Instantly he picked himself up and went to Ralph’s assistance. The latter, taller and more bulky, had greater difficulty in the task, and only his shoulder arrived through the window. Walter seized him, and aided him at once to scramble in, and they closed the casement behind them.

“It was well we took off our armour, Ralph; its pattern would have been recognized in an instant.”

Walter had thrown off his helmet as he bounded up the stairs, and both he and his companion had rid themselves of their heavy armour.

“I would give a good deal,” he said, “for two bourgeois jerkins, even were they as foul as those of the skinners. This is a woman’s apartment,” he added, looking round, “and nothing here will cover my six feet of height, to say nothing of your four inches extra. Let us peep into some of the other rooms. This is, doubtless, the house of some person of importance, and in the upper floor we may find some clothes of servants or retainers.”

They were not long in their search. The next room was a large one, and contained a number of pallet beds, and hanging from pegs on walls were jerkins, mantles, and other garments, evidently belonging to the retainers of the house. Walter and Ralph were not long in transmogrifying their appearance, and had soon the air of two respectable serving-men in a Flemish household.

“But how are we to descend?” Ralph asked. “We can hardly hope to walk down the stairs and make our escape without being seen, especially as the doors will all be barred and bolted, seeing the tumult which is raging outside.”

“It all depends whether our means of escape are suspected,” Walter replied, “I should scarce think that they would be. The attention of our pursuers was wholly taken up by Van Artevelde, and some minutes must have passed before they followed us. No doubt they will search every place in the house, and all within it will by this time have been slaughtered. But they will scarce organize any special search for us. All will be fully occupied with the exciting events which have taken place, and as the casement by which we entered is closed it is scarcely likely to occur to any one that we have escaped by that means. I will listen first if the house is quiet. If so, we will descend and take refuge in some room below, where there is a better chance of concealment than here. Put the pieces of armour into that closet so that they may not catch the eye of any who may happen to come hither. The day is already closing. In half an hour it will be nightfall. Then we will try and make our way out.

Listening at the top of the stairs they could hear voices below; but as the gallery was quiet and deserted they made their way a floor lower, and seeing an open door entered it. Walter looked from the window.

“There is a back-yard below,” he said, “with a door opening upon a narrow lane. We are now upon the second storey, and but some twenty-five feet above the ground. We will not risk going down through the house, which could scarce be accomplished without detection, but will at once tear up into strips the coverings of the bed, and I will make a rope by which we may slip down into the courtyard as soon as it is dark. We must hope that none will come up before that time; but, indeed, all will be so full of the news of the events which have happened that it is scarce likely that any will come above at present.”

The linen sheets and coverings were soon cut up and knotted together in a rope. By the time that this was finished the darkness was closing in, and after waiting patiently for a few minutes they lowered the rope and slid down into the yard. Quietly they undid the bolts of the gate and issued into the lane. The mantles were provided with hoods, as few of the lower class of Flemings wore any other head-covering.

Drawing these hoods well over their heads so as to shade their faces the two sallied out from the lane. They were soon in one of the principal streets, which was crowded with people. Bands of weavers, butchers, skinners, and others were parading the streets shouting and singing in honour of their victory and of the downfall and death of him whom they had but a few days before regarded as the mainstay of Flanders. Many of the better class of burghers stood in groups in the streets and talked in low and rather frightened voices of the consequences which the deed of blood would bring upon the city. On the one hand Edward might march upon it with his army to avenge the murder of his ally. Upon the other hand they were now committed to France. Their former ruler would return, and all the imposts and burdens against which they had rebelled would again be laid upon the city.

“What shall we do now?” Ralph asked, “for assuredly there will be no issue by the gates.”

“We must possess ourselves of a length of rope if possible, and make our escape over the wall. How to get one I know not, for the shops are all closed, and even were it not so I could not venture in to purchase any, for my speech would betray us at once. Let us separate, and each see whether he can find what we want. We will meet again at the entrance to this church in an hour’s time. One or other of us may find what we seek.”

Walter searched in vain. Wherever he saw the door of a yard open he peered in, but in no case could he see any signs of rope. At the end of the hour he returned to their rendezvous. Ralph was already there.

“I have found nothing, Ralph. Have you had better fortune?”

“That have I, Master Walter, and was back nigh an hour since. Scarce had I left you when in a back street I came upon a quiet hostelry, and in the courtyard were standing half a dozen teams of cattle. Doubtless their owners had brought hay or corn into the city, and when the tumult arose and the gates were closed found themselves unable to escape. The masters were all drinking within, so without more ado I cut off the ropes which served as traces for the oxen, and have them wound round my body under my mantle. There must be twenty yards at least, and as each rope is strong enough to hold double our weight there will be no difficulty in lowering ourselves from the walls.”

“You have done well indeed, Ralph,” Walter said. “Let us make our way thither at once. Everyone is so excited in the city, that, as yet, there will be but few guards upon the wall. The sooner, therefore, that we attempt to make our escape the better.”

CHAPTER XIII: THE WHITE FORD

They made their way without interruption to the wall. This they found, as they expected, entirely deserted, although, no doubt, guards had been posted at the gates. The Flemings, however, could have felt no fear of an attack by so small a force as the five hundred English whom they knew to be in the neighbourhood.

Walter and his companion soon knotted the ropes together and lowered themselves into the moat. A few strokes took them to the other side, and scrambling out, they made their way across the country to the spot where the English had been posted. They found the Earl of Salisbury, who commanded, in a great state of uneasiness. No message had reached him during the day. He had heard the alarm- bells of the city ring, and a scout who had gone forward returned with the news that the gates were closed and the drawbridges raised, and that a strong body of men manned the walls.

“Your news is indeed bad,” he said, when Walter related to him the events which had taken place in the town. “This will altogether derange the king’s plans. Now that his ally is killed I fear that his hopes of acquiring Flanders for England will fall to the ground. It is a thousand pities that he listened to Van Artevelde and allowed him to enter Ghent alone. Had his majesty landed, as he wished, and made a progress through the country, the prince receiving the homage of all the large towns, we could then very well have summoned Ghent as standing alone against all Flanders. The citizens then would, no doubt, have gladly opened their gates and received the prince, and if they had refused we would have made short work of them. However, as it has turned out, it is as well that we did not enter the town with the Fleming, for against so large and turbulent a population we should have had but little chance. And now, Master Somers, we will march at once for Sluys and bear the news to the king, and you shall tell me as we ride thither how you and your man-at-arms managed to escape with whole skins from such a tumult.”

The king was much grieved when he heard of the death of Artevelde, and held a council with his chief leaders. At first, in his indignation and grief, he was disposed to march upon Ghent and to take vengeance for the murder of his ally, but after a time calmer counsels prevailed.

The Flemings were still in rebellion against their count, who was the friend of France. Were the English to attack Ghent they would lose the general goodwill of the Flemings, and would drive them into the arms of France, while, if matters were left alone, the effect of the popular outburst which had caused the death of Artevelde would die away, and motives of interest and the fear of France would again drive them into the arms of England. The expedition therefore returned to England, and there the king, in a proclamation to his people, avoided all allusion to the death of his ally, but simply stated that he had been waited upon by the councils of all the Flemish towns, and that their faithful obedience to himself as legitimate King of France, was established upon a firmer basis than ever.

This course had the effect which he had anticipated from it. The people of Flanders perceived the danger and disadvantage which must accrue to their trade from any permanent disagreement with England. They were convinced by the events which soon afterwards happened in France that the King of England had more power than Phillip of Valois, and could, if he chose, punish severely any breach of faith towards him. They therefore sent over commissioners to express their grief and submission. The death of Artevelde was represented as the act of a frantic mob, and severe fines were imposed upon the leaders of the party who slew him, and although the principal towns expressed their desire still to remain under the rule of the Count of Flanders, they suggested that the ties which bound them to England should be strengthened by the marriage of Louis, eldest son of the count, to one of Edward’s daughters. More than this, they offered to create a diversion for the English forces acting in Guienne and Gascony by raising a strong force and expelling the French garrisons still remaining in some parts of the country. This was done. Hugo of Hastings was appointed by the king captain- general in Flanders, and with a force of English and Flemings did good service by expelling the French from Termond and several other towns.

The character of Jacob van Artevelde has had but scant justice done to it by most of the historians of the time. These, living in an age of chivalry, when noble blood and lofty deeds were held in extraordinary respect, had little sympathy with the brewer of Ghent, and deemed it contrary to the fitness of things that the chivalry of France should have been defied and worsted by mere mechanics and artisans. But there can be no doubt that Artevelde was a very great man. He may have been personally ambitious, but he was a true patriot. He had great military talents. He completely remodelled and wonderfully improved the internal administration of the country, and raised its commerce, manufactures, and agriculture to a pitch which they had never before reached. After his death his memory was esteemed and revered by the Flemings, who long submitted to the laws he had made, and preserved his regulations with scrupulous exactitude.

Edward now hastened to get together a great army. Every means were adopted to raise money and to gather stores, and every man between sixteen and sixty south of the Trent was called upon to take up arms and commanded to assemble at Portsmouth in the middle of Lent. A tremendous tempest, however, scattered the fleet collected to carry the expedition, a great many of the ships were lost, and it was not until the middle of July, 1346, that it sailed from England.

It consisted of about 500 ships and 10,000 sailors, and carried 4000 men-at- arms, 10,000 archers, 12,000 Welsh, and 6000 Irish.

This seems but a small army considering the efforts which had been made; but it was necessary to leave a considerable force behind for the defence of the Scottish frontier, and England had already armies in Guienne and Brittany. Lionel, Edward’s second son, was appointed regent during his father’s absence. On board Edward’s own ship were Godfrey of Harcourt and the Prince of Wales. Walter, as one of the personal squires of the prince, was also on board.

The prince had been greatly interested in the details of Walter’s escape from Van Artevelde’s house, the king himself expressed his approval of his conduct, and Walter was generally regarded as one of the most promising young aspirants to the court. His modesty and good temper rendered him a general favourite, and many even of the higher nobles noticed him by their friendly attentions, for it was felt that he stood so high in the goodwill of the prince that he might some day become a person of great influence with him, and one whose goodwill would be valuable.

It was generally supposed, when the fleet started, that Guienne was their destination, but they had not gone far when a signal was made to change the direction in which they were sailing and to make for La Hogue in Normandy. Godfrey of Harcourt had great influence in that province, and his persuasions had much effect in determining the king to direct his course thither. There was the further advantage that the King of France, who was well aware of the coming invasion, would have made his preparations to receive him in Guienne. Furthermore, Normandy was the richest and most prosperous province in France. It had for a long time been untouched by war, and offered great abundance of spoil. It had made itself particularly obnoxious to the English by having recently made an offer to the King of France to fit out an expedition and conquer England with its own resources.

The voyage was short and favourable, and the expedition landed at La Hogue, on the small peninsula of Cotentin, without opposition. Six days were spent at La Hogue disembarking the men, horses, and stores, and baking bread for the use of the army on the march. A detachment advanced and pillaged and burnt Barileur and Cherbourg and a number of small towns and castles.

In accordance with custom, at the commencement of the campaign a court was held, at which the Prince of Wales was dubbed a knight by his father. A similar honour was bestowed upon a number of other young aspirants, among whom was Walter Somers, who had been highly recommended for that honour to the king by Sir Walter Manny.

The force was now formed into three divisions – the one commanded by the king himself, the second by the Earl of Warwick, and the third by Godfrey of Harcourt. The Earl of Arundel acted as Lord High Constable, and the Earl of Huntingdon, who was in command of the fleet, followed the army along the sea- coast. Valognes, Carentan, and St. Lo were captured without difficulty, and the English army advanced by rapid marches upon Caen, plundering the country for six or seven leagues on each side of the line of march. An immense quantity of booty was obtained. As soon as the news of Edward’s landing in Normandy reached Paris, Phillip despatched the Count d’Eu, Constable of France, with the Count of Tankerville and 600 men-at-arms, to oppose Edward at Caen. The Bishop of Bayeux had thrown himself into that city, which was already garrisoned by 300 Genoese. The town was not defensible, and the only chance of resistance was by opposing the passage of the river Horn, which flowed between the suburbs and the city. The bridge was barricaded, strong wooden towers were erected, and such was the confidence of the inhabitants and their leaders that Edward’s promise of protection for the person and property of the citizens was rejected with scorn, and the whole male population joined the garrison in the defence of the bridge. Marching through the deserted suburbs the English army attacked the bridge with such vehemence that although the enemy defended the barricades gallantly they were speedily forced, and the English poured into the town. Before the first fury of the attack was over near 5000 persons were slain. The Count of Tankerville, 140 knights, and as many squires were made prisoners. The plunder was so enormous as to be sufficient to cover the whole expenses of the expedition, and this with the booty which had been previously acquired was placed on board ship and despatched to England, while the king marched forward with his army. At Lisieux he was met by two cardinals sent by the pope to negotiate a truce; but Edward had learned the fallacy of truces made with King Phillip, and declined to enter into negotiations. Finding that Rouen had been placed in a state of defence and could not be taken without a long siege he left it behind him and marched along the valley of the Eure, gathering rich booty at every step.

But while he was marching forward a great army was gathering in his rear. The Count of Harcourt brother of Godfrey, called all Normandy to arms. Every feudal lord and vassal answered to the summons, and before Edward reached the banks of the Seine a formidable army had assembled.

The whole of the vassals of France were gathering by the orders of the king at St. Denis. The English fleet had now left the coast, and Edward had only the choice of retreating through Normandy into Brittany or of attempting to force the passage of the Seine, and to fight his way through France to Flanders. He chose the latter alternative, and marched along the left bank of the river towards Paris, seeking in vain to find a passage. The enemy followed him step by step on the opposite bank, and all the bridges were broken down and the fords destroyed.

Edward marched on, burning the towns and ravaging the country until he reached Poissy. The bridge was as usual destroyed, but the piles on which it stood were still standing, and he determined to endeavour to cross here. He accordingly halted for five days, but despatched troops in all directions, who burned and ravaged to the very gates of Paris. The villages of St. Germain, St. Cloud, Bourg la Reine, and many others within sight of the walls were destroyed, and the capital itself thrown into a state of terror and consternation. Godfrey of Harcourt was the first to cross the river, and with the advance guard of English fell upon a large body of the burghers of Amiens, and after a severe fight defeated them, killing over five hundred. The king himself with his whole force passed on the 16th of August.

Phillip, with his army, quitted St. Denis, when he heard that the English army had passed the Seine, and by parallel marches endeavoured to interpose between it and the borders of Flanders. As his force was every hour increasing he despatched messengers to Edward offering him battle within a few days on condition that he would cease to ravage the country; but Edward declined the proposal, saying that Phillip himself by breaking down the bridges had avoided a battle as long as he could, but that whenever he was ready to give battle he would accept the challenge. During the whole march the armies were within a few leagues of each other, and constant skirmishes took place between bodies detached from the hosts.

In some of these skirmishes Walter took part, as he and the other newly made knights were burning to distinguish themselves. Every day the progress of the army became more difficult, as the country people everywhere rose against them, and several times attempted to make a stand but were defeated with great loss. The principal towns were found deserted, and even Poix, which offered great capabilities of defence, had been left unguarded. Upon the English entering, the burghers offered to pay a large ransom to save the town from plunder. The money was to be delivered as soon as the English force had withdrawn, and Walter Somers was ordered by the king to remain behind with a few men-at-arms to receive the ransom.

No sooner had the army departed than the burghers, knowing that the French army was close behind, changed their minds, refused to pay the ransom, and fell upon the little body of men-at-arms. Although taken quite by surprise by the act of treachery Walter instantly rallied his men although several had been killed at the first onslaught. He, with Ralph and two or three of the staunchest men, covered the retreat of the rest through the streets, making desperate charges upon the body of armed burghers pressing upon them. Ralph fought as usual with a mace of prodigious weight, and the terror of his blows in no slight degree enabled the party to reach the gate in safety, but Walter had no idea of retreating further. He despatched one of his followers to gallop at full speed to overtake the rear-guard of the army, which was still but two miles distant, while with the rest he formed a line across the gate and resisted all the attempts of the citizens to expel them.

The approach to the gate was narrow, and the overwhelming number of the burghers were therefore of little avail. Walter had dismounted his force and all fought on foot, and although sorely pressed they held their ground until Lords Cobham and Holland, with their followers, rode up. Then the tide of war was turned, the town was plundered and burnt, and great numbers of the inhabitants slain. Walter gained great credit for holding the gate, for had he been driven out, the town could have resisted, until the arrival of Louis, all assaults of the English.

The river Somme now barred the passage of Edward. Most of the bridges had been destroyed, and those remaining were so strongly fortified that they could not be forced.

The position of the English was now very critical. On one flank and in front were impassable rivers. The whole country was in arms against them, and on their rear and flank pressed a hostile army fourfold their strength. The country was swampy and thinly populated, and flour and provisions were only obtained with great difficulty. Edward, on finding from the reports of his marshals who had been sent to examine the bridges, that no passage across the river could be found, turned and marched down the river towards the sea, halting for the night at Oisemont.

Here, a great number of peasantry attempted a defence, but were easily defeated and a number of prisoners taken. Late in the evening the Earl of Warwick, who had pushed forward as far as Abbeville and St. Valery, returned with the news that the passages at those places were as strongly guarded as elsewhere, but he had learnt from a peasant that a ford existed somewhere below Abbeville, although the man was himself ignorant of its position.

Edward at once called the prisoners belonging to that part of the country before him, and promised to any one who would tell him where the ford lay his freedom and that of twenty of his companions. A peasant called Gobin Agase stepped forward and offered to show the ford, where at low tide twelve men could cross abreast. It was, he said, called “La Blanche Tache”.

Edward left Oisemont at midnight and reached the ford at daylight. The river, however, was full and the army had to wait impatiently for low tide. When they arrived there no enemy was to be seen on the opposite bank, but before the water fell sufficiently for a passage to be attempted, Sir Godemar du Fay with 12,000 men, sent by King Phillip, who was aware of the existence of the ford, arrived on the opposite side.

The enterprise was a difficult one indeed, for the water, even at low tide, is deep. Godemar du Fay, however, threw away part of his advantage by advancing into the stream. The English archers lined the banks, and poured showers of arrows into the ranks of the enemy, while the Genoese bowmen on their side were able to give comparatively little assistance to the French.

King Edward shouted to his knights, “Let those who love me follow me,” and spurred his horse into the water. Behind him followed his most valiant knights, and Walter riding close to the Prince of Wales was one of the foremost.

The French resisted valiantly and a desperate battle took place on the narrow ford, but the impetuosity of the English prevailed, and step by step they drove the French back to the other side of the river. The whole army poured after their leaders, and the French were soon entirely routed and fled, leaving two thousand men-at-arms dead on the field.

King Edward, having now freed himself from the difficulties which had encompassed him on the other side of the river, prepared to choose a ground to give battle to the whole French army.

Louis had advanced slowly, feeling confident that the English would be unable to cross the river, and that he should catch them hemmed in by it. His mortification and surprise on finding, when he approached La Blanche Tache, that twelve thousand men had been insufficient to hold a ford by which but twelve could cross abreast, and that his enemy had escaped from his grasp, were great. The tide had now risen again, and he was obliged to march on to Abbeville and cross the river there.

King Edward now advanced into the Forest of Cressy.

Hugh de le Spencer, with a considerable force, was despatched to Crotoy, which he carried by assault after a severe conflict, in which four thousand of the French men-at-arms were slain. The capture of this city removed all danger of want from the army, for large stores of wine and meal were found there, and Sir Hugh at once sent off a supply to the tired army in the field.

The possession of Crotoy and the mouth of the Somme would have now rendered it easy for the English monarch to have transported his troops to England, and to have returned triumphant after the accomplishment of his extraordinary and most successful march through France. The army, however, was elated by the many great successes it had won, he was now in Ponthieu, which was one of his own fiefs, and he determined to make a stand in spite of the immense superiority of the enemy.

Next morning, then – Friday the 25th of August, 1346 – he despatched the Earl of Warwick with Godfrey of Harcourt and Lord Cobham, to examine the ground and choose a site for a battle.

The plan of the fight was drawn out by the king and his councillors, and the king yielded to the Black Prince the chief place of danger and honour placing with him the Earl of Warwick, Sir John Chandos, and many of his best knights.

The ground which had been chosen for the battle was an irregular slope between the forest of Cressy and the river Maie near the little village of Canchy. The slope looked towards the south and east, from which quarters the enemy was expected to arrive, and some slight defences were added to the natural advantages of the ground.

On the night of the 25th all the principal leaders of the British host were entertained by King Edward. Next morning, Mass was celebrated, and the king, the prince, and many knights and nobles received the Sacrament, after which the trumpet sounded, and the army marched to take up its position. Its numbers are variously estimated, but the best account puts it at about 30,000 men which, considering that 32,000 had crossed the Channel to La Hogue, is probably about the force which would have been present allowing that 2000 had fallen in the various actions or had died from disease.

The division of the Black Prince consisted of 800 men-at-arms, 4000 archers, and 6000 Welsh foot. The archers, as usual, were placed in front, supported by the light troops of Wales and the men-at-arms; on his left was the second division, commanded by the Earls of Arundel and Northampton; its extreme left rested on Canchy and the river, and it was further protected by a deep ditch; this corps was about 7000 strong.

The king himself took up his position on a knoll of rising ground surmounted by a windmill, and 12,000 men under his personal command were placed here in reserve.

In the rear of the Prince’s division an enclosure of stakes was formed; in this, guarded by a small body of archers, were ranged the wagons and baggage of the army, together with all the horses, the king having determined that the knights and men-at-arms on his side should fight on foot.

When the army had taken up its position, the king, mounted on a small palfrey, with a white staff in his hand, rode from rank to rank exhorting his soldiers to do their duty gallantly. It was nearly noon before he had passed through all the lines, and permission was then given to the soldiers to fall out from their ranks and to take refreshments while waiting for the coming of the enemy. This was accordingly done, the men eating and drinking at their ease and lying down in their ranks on the soft grass with their steel caps and their bows or pikes beside them.

In the meantime the French had, on their side, been preparing for the battle. Phillip had crossed the Somme at Abbeyville late on Thursday afternoon, and remained there next day marshalling the large reinforcements which were hourly arriving. His force now considerably exceeded 100,000 men, the number with which he had marched from Amiens three days previously.

Friday was the festival of St. Louis, and that evening Phillip gave a splendid banquet to the whole of the nobles of his army.

On the following morning the king, accompanied by his brother the Count d’Alencon, the old King of Bohemia and his son, the King of Rome, the Duke of Lorraine, the Count of Blois, the Count of Flanders, and a great number of other feudal princes, heard Mass at the Abbey, and then marched with his great army towards Cressy. He moved but slowly in order to give time to all the forces scattered over the neighbourhood to come up, and four knights, headed by one of the King of Bohemia’s officers, went forward to reconnoitre the English position. They approached within a very short distance of the English lines and gained a very exact knowledge of the position, the English taking no measures to interrupt the reconnaissance. They returned with the information they had gathered, and the leader of the party, Le Moyne de Basele, one of the most judicious officers of his time, strongly advised the king to halt his troops, pointing out that as it was evident the English were ready to give battle, and as they were fresh and vigorous while the French were wearied and hungry, it would be better to encamp and give battle the next morning.

Phillip saw the wisdom of the advice and ordered his two marshals the Lord of St. Venant and Charles de Montmorency to command a halt. They instantly spurred off, one to the front and the other to the rear, commanding the leaders to halt their banners. Those in advance at once obeyed, but those behind still pressed on, declaring that they would not halt until they were in the front line. All wanted to be first, in order to obtain their share of the honour and glory of defeating the English. Those in front, seeing the others still coming on, again pressed forward, and thus, in spite of the efforts of the king and his marshals, the French nobles with their followers pressed forward in confusion, until, passing through a small wood, they found themselves suddenly in the presence of the English army.

CHAPTER XIV: CRESSY

The surprise of the French army at finding themselves in the presence of the English was so great that the first line recoiled in confusion. Those marching up from behind imagined that they had been already engaged and repulsed by the English, and the disorder spread through the whole army, and was increased by the common people, who had crowded to the field in immense numbers from the whole country round to see the battle and share in the plunder of the English camp.

From King Edward’s position on the rising ground he could see the confusion which prevailed in the French ranks, and small as were his forces he would probably have obtained an easy victory by ordering a sudden charge upon them. The English, however, being dismounted, but small results would have followed the scattering of the great host of the French. The English army therefore remained immovable, except that the soldiers rose from the ground, and taking their places in the ranks, awaited the onslaught of the enemy.

King Phillip himself now arrived on the field and his hatred for the English led him at once to disregard the advice which had been given him and to order the battle to commence as soon as possible.

The army was divided into four bodies, of which Phillip commanded one, the Count D’Alencon the second, the King of Bohemia the third, and the Count of Savoy the fourth. Besides these were a band of 15,000 mercenaries, Genoese crossbow-men, who were now ordered to pass between the ranks of cavalry and to clear the ground of the English archers, who were drawn up in the usual form in which they fought – namely, in very open order, line behind line, the men standing alternately, so that each had ample room to use his bow and to fire over the heads of those in front. The formation was something like that of a harrow, and, indeed, exactly resembled that in which the Roman archers fought, and was called by them a quincunx.

The Genoese had marched four leagues beneath a hot sun loaded with their armour and heavy cross-bows, and they remonstrated against the order, urging that they were in no condition to do good service without some repose. The Count D’Alencon, furious at their hesitation, ordered them up, but as they advanced a terrible thunderstorm, with torrents of rain, broke over the armies, and wetting the cords of the crossbows rendered many of them unserviceable. At length the crossbow-men were arranged in front, while behind them were the vast body of French cavalry, and the order was given for the battle to begin.

The Genoese advanced with loud shouts but the English archers paid no attention to the noise, but waited calmly for the attack. At this moment the sun, now approaching the west, shone out brightly between the clouds behind the English, its rays streaming full in the faces of the French. The Genoese were now within distance, and began to discharge their quarrels at their impassive enemies, but as they opened fire the English archers drew their bows from the cases which had protected them from the rain, and stepping forward poured their arrows among the Genoese. The crossbow-men were smitten as with a storm, numbers were struck in the face and other unprotected parts, and they were instantly thrown into confusion, and casting away their cross-bows they recoiled in disorder among the horsemen behind them.

Phillip, passionate and cruel as ever, instead of trying to rally the Genoese, ordered the cavalry behind them to fall upon them, and the men-at-arms at once plunged in among the disordered mass of the crossbow-men, and a wild scene of carnage and confusion ensued, the English archers continuing to pour their unerring arrows into the midst.

The Count D’Alencon, who was behind, separated his division into two bodies, and swept round on one side himself, while the Count of Flanders did the same on the other to attack the Prince of Wales in more regular array. Taking a circuitous route, D’Alencon appeared upon a rising ground on the flank of the archers of the Black Prince, and thus, avoiding their arrows, charged down with his cavalry upon the 800 men-at-arms gathered round the Black Prince, while the Count of Flanders attacked on the other flank. Nobly did the flower of English chivalry withstand the shock of the French, and the prince himself and the highest nobles and simple men-at-arms fought side by side. None gave away a foot.

In vain the French, with impetuous charges, strove to break through the mass of steel. The spear-heads were cleft off with sword and battle-axe, and again and again men and horses recoiled from the unbroken line. Each time the French retired the English ranks were formed anew, and as attack followed attack a pile of dead rose around them. The Count D’Alencon and the Duke of Lorraine were among the first who fell. The young Count of Blois, finding that he could not ride through the wall of steel, dismounted with his knights and fought his way on foot towards the banner of the Prince of Wales. For a time the struggle was desperate, and the young prince, with his household knights, was for a time well-nigh beaten back.

Walter, fighting close beside the prince, parried more than one blow intended for him, and the prince himself slew the Count of Blois, whose followers all fell around him. The Count of Flanders was also slain, and confusion began to reign among the assailants, whose leaders had now all fallen. Phillip himself strove to advance with his division into the fight, but the struggle between the Genoese and the men-at-arms was still continuing, and the very multitude of his troops in the narrow and difficult field which the English had chosen for the battle embarrassed his movements.

Charles of Luxembourg, King of the Romans, and afterwards Emperor of Germany, son of the old King of Bohemia, with a large body of German and French cavalry, now assailed the English archers, and in spite of their flights of arrows came to close quarters, and cutting their way through them joined in the assault upon the men-at-arms of the Black Prince. Nearly 40,000 men were now pressing round the little body, and the Earls of Northampton and Arundel moved forward with their divisions to his support, while the Earl of Warwick, who was with the prince, despatched Sir Thomas of Norwich to the king, who still remained with his powerful reserve, to ask for aid.

“Sir Thomas,” demanded the king, “is my son killed, overthrown, or wounded beyond help?”

“Not so, sire,” replied the knight, “but he is in a rude fight, and much needs your aid.”

“Go back, Sir Thomas, to those who sent you and tell them from me that whatsoever happens they require no aid from me so long as my son is in life. Tell them also that I command them to let the boy win his spurs, for, God willing, the day shall be his, and the honour shall rest with him and those into whose charge I have given him.”

The prince and those around him were filled with fresh ardour when they received this message. Each man redoubled his efforts to repel the forces that were incessantly poured down upon them by the French. On all sides these pressed around them, striving desperately, but ever in vain, to break through the solid ranks of the English. The French men-at-arms suffered, moreover, terribly from the attacks of the Welsh infantry. These men, clad in thick leather jerkins, nimble of foot, accustomed to a life of activity, were armed with shortened lances and knives, mingled fearlessly among the confused mass of French cavalry, creeping beneath the horses’ bellies, standing up when they got a chance, and stabbing horses and men with their knives and pikes. Many were trampled upon or struck down, but numbering, as they did, 6000, they pervaded the whole mass of the enemy, and did terrible execution, adding in no small degree to the confusion caused by the shower of arrows from the archers within the circle of the men-at-arms. The instant a French knight fell, struck from his horse with a battle-axe or arrow, or by the fall of a wounded steed, the half-wild Welsh were upon him, and slew him before he could regain his feet.

The slaughter was immense. The Count of Harcourt, with his nephew the Count D’Aumale and his two gallant sons, fell together, and at last Charles of Luxembourg, seeing his banner down, his troops routed, his friends slain, and the day irreparably lost, and being himself severely wounded in three places, turned his horse and fled, casting off his rich emblazoned surcoat to avoid recognition. In the meantime Prince Charles’s father, the veteran King of Bohemia, once one of the most famous warriors of Europe, but now old and blind, sat on horseback at a little distance from the fight; the knights around him told him the events as they happened, and the old monarch soon saw that the day was lost. He asked them for tidings of his son Charles of Luxembourg, but they were forced to reply that the banner of the King of the Romans was no longer in sight, but that, doubtless, he was somewhere engaged in the melee.

“Lords,” said the old man, “you are my vassals, my friends, and my companions, and on this day I command and beseech you to lead me forward so far that I may deal one blow of my sword in the battle.”

His faithful friends obeyed him, a number of knights arranged themselves around him, and lest they should lose him in the fight they tied their horses together by the bridles and charged down into the fray. Advancing directly against the banner of the Prince of Wales, the blind monarch was carried into the midst of the thickest strife.

There the little group of knights fought gallantly, and after the battle was over, the bodies of the king and his friends were found lying together, their dead horses still linked by the bridles.

During this terrible battle, which had been raging since three o’clock, Phillip had made strenuous efforts to aid his troops engaged in the front by continually sending fresh bodies to the assault. It was now growing dark, terror and confusion had already spread among the French, and many were flying in all directions, and the unremitting showers of English arrows still flew like hail among their ranks. As the king made his way forward, surrounded by his personal attendants to take part himself in the fight, his followers fell thick around him, and his horse was slain by an arrow. John of Hainault, who had remained by his side during the whole day, mounted upon a fresh horse and urged him to fly, as the day was lost. Phillip, however, persisted, and made his way into the melee, where he fought for some time with extreme courage, until almost all around him were slain, the royal standard bearer killed, and himself wounded in two places. John of Hainault then seized his bridle exclaiming “Come away, sire, it is full time; do not throw your life away foolishly; if you have lost this day you will win another,” and so almost forced the unwilling king from the field. Phillip, accompanied by the lords of Montmorency, Beaujeu, Aubigny, and Mansault, with John of Hainault, and sixty men-at-arms, rode to the Castle of Broye, and there halted for a few hours. At midnight he again set out, and in the morning arrived safely at Amiens.

The Black Prince held his station until night without yielding a single step to all the efforts of the French. Gradually, however, the assailants became less and less numerous, the banners disappeared, and the shouts of the leaders and the clang of arms died away, and the silence which prevailed over the field at once announced that the victory was complete and the enemy in full flight. An immense number of torches were now lighted through the English lines, and the king, quitting for the first time his station on the hill, came down to embrace his gallant son. Edward and his host rejoiced in a spirit of humility over the victory. No songs of triumph, no feastings or merriment were permitted, but a solemn service of the church was held, and the king and his soldiers offered their thanks to God for the victory He had given them. The English army lay all night under arms, and a number of scattered parties of the French, wandering about in the darkness, entered the lines and were slain or taken prisoners.

The dawn of the next morning was thick and foggy, and intelligence coming in that a large body of the enemy were advancing upon them, the Earls of Northampton, Warwick, and Norfolk, with 500 men-at-arms and 2000 archers, went out to reconnoitre, and came in the misty twilight upon an immense force composed of the citizens of Beauvais, Rouen, and some other towns, led by the Grand Prior of France and the Archbishop of Rouen, who were approaching the field.

By some extraordinary accident they had not met any of the fugitives flying from Cressy, and were ignorant that a battle had been fought. The English charged them at once. Their advance-guard, consisting of burghers, was easily overthrown. The second division, which was composed of men-at-arms, fought bravely, but was unable to withstand the charge of the triumphant English, and was completely broken and defeated. The Grand Prior was killed and a vast number of his followers slain or captured. During the whole of the morning detached parties from Edward’s army scoured the country, dispersing and slaughtering bands of French who still remained together, and towards night the Earl of Northampton returned to the camp with the news that no enemy remained in the vicinity that could offer a show of resistance to the English force.

It is said that a far greater number of French were killed upon the second day than upon the first. This can be accounted for by the fact that on the first day but a small portion of the English army were engaged, and that upon the second the English were fresh and vigorous, and their enemy exhausted and dispirited.

The greater number of the French nobles and knights who fell, died in their attempts to break through the Black Prince’s array. Besides the King of Bohemia, nine sovereign princes and eighty great nobles were killed, with 1200 knights, 1500 men-at-arms, and 30,000 foot; while on the English side only three knights and a small number of men-at-arms and infantry were killed.

The body of the King of Bohemia and those of the other great leaders were carried in solemn pomp to the Abbey of Maintenay. Edward himself and his son accompanied them as mourners. On the Monday following Edward marched with his army against Calais, and summoned the town to surrender. John of Vienne, who commanded the garrison, refused to comply with the demand. The fortifications of the town were extremely strong and the garrison numerous, and Edward perceived that an assault would be very unlikely to succeed, and would entail great loss, while a repulse would have dimmed the lustre of the success which he had gained. He therefore determined to reduce it by famine, and the troops were set to work to build huts. So permanently and strongly were these constructed that it seemed to the enemy that King Edward was determined to remain before Calais even should he have to stay there for ten years.

Proclamations were issued in England and Flanders inviting traders to establish stores and to bring articles of trade of all kinds, and in a short time a complete town sprang up which was named by Edward “New-Town the Bold”. The English fleet held complete possession of the sea, cutting off the besieged from all succour by ship, and enabling abundant supplies for the army to be brought from England and Flanders. Strong parties were sent out in all directions. The northern provinces of France were scoured, and the army was amply provided with necessaries and even luxuries.

After the first terrible shock caused by the crushing defeat of Cressy, King Phillip began at once to take measures for the relief of Calais, and made immense efforts again to put a great army in the field. He endeavoured by all means in his power to gain fresh allies. The young Count of Flanders, who, at the death of his father at Cressy, was sixteen years of age, was naturally even more hostile to the English than the late prince had been, and he strove to win over his subjects to the French alliance, while Phillip made them magnificent offers if they would join him. The Flemings, however, remained stanch to the English alliance, and held their prince in duresse until he at last consented to marry the daughter of Edward. A week before the date fixed for the nuptials, however, he managed to escape from the vigilance of his guards when out hawking, and fled to the court of France.

In Scotland Phillip was more successful, and David Bruce, instead of employing the time given him by the absence of Edward with his armies in driving out the English garrisons from the strong places they still held in Scotland, raised an army of 50,000 men and marched across the border into England plundering and ravaging. Queen Philippa, however, raising an army, marched against him, and the Scotch were completely defeated at Neville’s Cross, 15,000 being killed and their king himself taken prisoner.

Walter’s conduct at the battle of Cressy gained him still further the favour of the Black Prince. The valour with which he had fought was conspicuous even on a field where all fought gallantly, and the prince felt that more than once he would have been smitten down had not Walter’s sword interposed. Ralph too had fought with reckless bravery, and many French knights and gentlemen had gone down before the tremendous blows of his heavy mace, against which the stoutest armour availed nothing. After the battle the prince offered to make him an esquire in spite of the absence of gentle blood in his veins, but Ralph declined the honour.

“An it please you, Sir Prince,” he said, “but I should feel more comfortable among the men-at-arms, my fellows. In the day of battle I trust that I should do no discredit to my squirehood, but at other times I should feel woefully out of my element, and should find nought for my hands to do, therefore if it so pleases your Royal Highness, I would far rather remain a simple man-at-arms.

Ralph did not, however, refuse the heavy purse which the prince gave him, although indeed he, as well as all the soldiers, was well supplied with money, so great were the spoils which the army had gathered in its march before Cressy, and which they now swept off in their raids among the northern provinces of France.

One evening Walter was returning from a banquet at the pavilion of the Prince of Wales, with Ralph as usual following at a little distance, when from a corner of the street a man darted suddenly out and struck a dagger with all his force between his shoulders. Well was it for Walter that he had taken Geoffrey’s advice, and had never laid aside the shirt of mail, night or day. Fine as was its temper, two or three links of the outer fold were broken, but the point did not penetrate the second fold, and the dagger snapped in the hand of the striker. The force of the sudden blow, however, hurled Walter to the ground. With a loud cry Ralph rushed forward. The man instantly fled. Ralph pursued him but a short distance and then hastened back to Walter.

“Are you hurt, Sir Walter?” he exclaimed.

“In no way, Ralph, thanks to my shirt of mail. Well, indeed, was it for me that I was wearing it, or I should assuredly have been a dead man. I had almost begun to forget that I was a threatened man; but I shall be on guard for the future.”

“I wish I had followed the fellow,” Ralph said. “I would not have slain him could I have helped it, but would have left it for the hangman to extort from him the name of his employer; but, in truth, he struck so hard, and you fell so straight before the blow, that I feared the mail had given way, and that you were sorely wounded if not killed. You have oft told me that I was over-careful of you, but you see that I was not careful enough, however, you may be assured that if another attempt be made those who attempt it shall not get off scot free. Do you think of laying a complaint before the provost against him you suspect?”

“It would be useless, Ralph. We may have suspicion of the man from whom the blow came, but have no manner of proof. It might have been done by any ruffian camp- follower who struck the blow only with the hope of carrying off my chain and purse. The camp swarms with such fellows, and we have no clue which could lead to his detection, unless,” he added, stooping and picking a piece of steel which lay at his feet, “this broken dagger may some day furnish us with one. No; we will say nought about it. Sir James Carnegie is not now in camp, having left a week since on business in England. We exchange no words when we meet, but I heard that he had been called away. Fortunately the young prince likes him not, and I therefore have seldom occasion to meet him. I have no doubt that he credits me with the disfavour in which he is held by the prince; but I have never even mentioned his name before him, and the prince’s misliking is but the feeling which a noble and generous heart has, as though by instinct, against one who is false and treacherous. At the same time we must grant that this traitor knight is a bold and fearless man-at-arms; he fought well at La Blanche Tache and Cressy, and he is much liked and trusted by my lord of Northampton, in whose following he mostly rides; ’tis a pity that one so brave should have so foul and treacherous a heart. Here we are at my hut, and you can sleep soundly tonight, Ralph, for there is little fear that the fellow, who has failed tonight, will repeat his attempt for some time. He thinks, no doubt, that he has killed me, for with a blow so strongly struck he would scarcely have felt the snapping of the weapon, and is likely enough already on board one of the ships which ply to and fro from England on his way to acquaint his employer that I am removed from his path.”

The next morning Walter mentioned to the Black Prince the venture which had befallen him, and the narrow escape he had had of his life. The prince was extremely exasperated, and gave orders that an inquisition should be made through the camp, and that all men found there not being able to give a good account of themselves as having reasonable and lawful calling there should be forthwith put on board ship and sent to England. He questioned Walter closely whether he deemed that the attack was for the purpose of plunder only, or whether he had any reason to believe that he had private enemies.

“There is a knight who is evilly disposed toward me, your highness,” Walter said; “but seeing that I have no proof whatever that he had a hand in this affair, however strongly I may suspect it, I would fain, with your leave, avoid mentioning his name.”

“But think you that there is any knight in this camp capable of so foul an action?”

“I have had proofs, your highness, that he is capable of such an act; but in this matter my tongue is tied, as the wrong he attempted was not against myself, but against others who have so far forgiven him that they would fain the matter should drop. He owes me ill-will, seeing that I am aware of his conduct, and that it was my intervention which caused his schemes to fail. Should this attempt against me be repeated it can scarce be the effect of chance, but would show premeditated design, and I would then, both in defence of my own life, and because I think that such deeds should not go unpunished, not hesitate to name him to you, and if proof be wanting to defy him to open combat.”

“I regret, Sir Walter, that your scruples should hinder you from at once denouncing him; but seeing how grave a matter it is to charge a knight with so foul a crime, I will not lay stress upon you; but be assured that should any repetition of the attempt be made I shall take the matter in hand, and will see that this caitiff knight receives his desserts.

A short time afterwards Walter accompanied the prince in an excursion which he made with a portion of the army, sweeping the French provinces as far as the river Somme. Upon their way back they passed through the village of Pres, hard by which stood a small castle. It was situated some forty miles from Calais, and standing upon rising ground, it commanded a very extensive view over the country.

“What say you, Sir Walter?” the prince said to the young knight who was riding near him. “That castle would make a good advanced post, and a messenger riding in could bring news of any large movements of the enemy.” Walter assented. “Then, Sir Walter, I name you chatelain. I shall be sorry to lose your good company; but the post is one of peril, and I know that you are ever longing to distinguish yourself. Take forty men-at-arms and sixty archers. With that force you may make shift to resist any attack until help reaches you from camp. You may be sure that I shall not be slack in spurring to your rescue should you be assailed.”

Walter received the proposal with delight. He was weary of the monotony of life in New Town, and this post in which vigilance and activity would be required was just to his taste; so, taking the force named by the prince, with a store of provision, he drew off from the column and entered the castle.

CHAPTER XV: THE SIEGE OF A FORTALICE

Walter’s first step on assuming the command was to examine thoroughly into the capabilities of defence of the place, to see that the well was in good order, and the supply of water ample, and to send out a foraging party, which, driving in a number of beasts and some cart-loads of forage, would supply his garrison for some time. The castle he found was less strong than it looked. The walls were lightly built, and were incapable of withstanding any heavy battering. The moat was dry, and the flanking towers badly placed, and affording little protection to the faces of the walls; however, the extent of the defences was small, and Walter felt confident that with the force at his command he could resist any sudden attack, unless made in overwhelming force, so that all the faces of the wall could be assaulted at the same time. He had a large number of great stones brought in to pile against the gate, while others were brought into the central keep, similarly to defend the door should the outer wall be carried. He appointed Ralph as his lieutenant, and every day, leaving him in charge of the castle, rode through the country for many miles round, with twenty men-at- arms, to convince himself that no considerable force of the enemy were approaching. These reconnaissances were not without some danger and excitement, for several times bodies of the country people, armed with scythes, axes, and staves, tried to intercept them on their return to the castle, and once or twice Walter and his men had to fight their way through their opponents. Contrary to the custom of the times, Walter gave orders to his men not to slay any when resistance had ceased.