"Maidens of England, sore may ye mournFor your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn,With Heve a low!What ho! weneth the King of England,So soon to have all Scotland,With a rumby low!"
"Maidens of England, sore may ye mournFor your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn,With Heve a low!What ho! weneth the King of England,So soon to have all Scotland,With a rumby low!"
Smiling, as one who had fought at Neville's Cross might well smile, in scornful disdain at this barbarous dirge, I passed through the barriers, Salle riding by my side in doleful mood at the thought of being separated from freedom by stone walls and iron bars; and, having passed the drawbridge and dismounted in the courtyard, we were led into the hall of the castle.
While Salle, much downcast, and I, somewhat crestfallen, were kept waiting in the great hall of the castle of Mount Moreville till arrangements were made for lodging us securely in one of the strong rooms of the tower, I gradually became aware that the inmates were not all Scots. In fact, some of the French who had accompanied Eugène de Garentière were quartered in the castle, and among them Lancelot de Lorris, a young knight, who, young, handsome, expert in arms, and much in love with a demoiselle of his own country, had come to win his spurs in combat with the English, and had taken one of those romantic vows so common at the period not to eat bread from a table-cloth, nor to sleep in a bed, nor to look the lady of his love in the face, till he had performed certain feats of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh.
As we entered the hall the Frenchmen, some seated,some standing by the fire that burned on the hearth and blazed up the huge chimney, were playing dice, and talking boastfully enough of their feats in love and war. On seeing us, however, they, with one accord, moved to the middle of the floor and stared at us, smiling and whispering to each other, and displaying more curiosity than was agreeable to my comrade.
"Gallants!" growled Salle, patting the heads of two hounds that had roused themselves and risen from their recumbent posture on our entrance, "have you before never seen an English prisoner, that you stare at us as if we were elephants or camels, or beasts of prey? By good St. George, I err grievously if you would not be more shy of approaching were we but mounted on our horses and armed with swords."
It seemed that the language in which Salle conveyed his question and uttered his comment was not comprehended by the Frenchmen; for they merely looked at each other and shook their heads. Suddenly, however, the countenance of Lancelot de Lorris was lighted up with a smile of surprise, and the young knight, who, I observed, bore a chain on his arm to indicate that he was under thraldom to his chivalrous vow, stepped forward.
"By our lady of Rybamont!" said he, addressing me, "it seems to me, gentle squire, that we have met before."
"It may so have chanced, sir knight," replied I, speaking in his own tongue, and with studied courtesy, for I wished to make amends for my comrade's growl, "but, if so, my memory serves me not as to time and place."
"Ah!" said Sir Lancelot, shaking his head gravely, "it was at a time which no warrior of France can recall but with sadness, and at a place which, credit me, I long again to behold as an exile the home whence he had been banished—the castle of Corbie."
"I now remember me," replied I, and not without a flush of pride; for on that day I had won some renown as the champion of imperilled ladies.
"And trust me," said Sir Lancelot cordially, and witha tear in his eye—for it was one of the ladies of Poix to whom he pledged his love, and in whose honour he was eager to do noble deeds—"there are many, myself among the number, who remember how chivalrously you did your devoir as an aspirant to chivalry, and, by our lady of Rybamont! were you here free, and at liberty to do as you liked, instead of a prisoner, naught would please me better than on the morrow to mark my esteem for your valour by indulging you with an encounter outside the barriers of this castle for death or life."
"Gramercy, sir knight," replied I, laughing heartily, "you over-estimate my prowess when you deem me worthy of such a distinction: and yet," added I, "should we chance to meet in time to come on some field where French and English men struggle for renown and victory, in no wise could I imagine good St. George favouring me more highly than by placing me face to face and hand to hand with a warrior at once so courteous and so brave."
Smiling, as if pleased with the answer, Sir Lancelot de Lorris showed that, however readily he would, under other circumstances, have given me a passport to another world, he was not indifferent to my comfort in this. Leading myself and my comrade to the huge chimney, he did everything to console us in our captivity, and his example was not lost on his countrymen, who stood around breaking jests on the poverty of the land and the badness of the fire.
"By my faith," said John de Helennes, a squire of France, "the night is raw and cold; and my very bones seem to freeze."
"In truth," remarked another French squire, known as Eustace the Strong—who prided himself on being like that King of France called Pepin le Bref, whom he did resemble in this at least, that, though his stature was small, his strength was enormous—"Scotland is not a country to be in during winter. I never knew what hard living was till now."
"But certes," said John de Helennes, "that is no reason why we should have such a fire in such weather; for, being but now in the courtyard, I saw several assesdriven in, laden with billets of wood for the use of the garrison."
"Holy Mary!" exclaimed Eustace with a look of indignation. "Do you tell me that fuel in plenty is so near, and that warriors of France are left to starve in the cold? Shame upon us if we right not ourselves in such a case."
And, as the strong Frenchman spoke, he sallied forth to the courtyard, seized one of the asses with panniers, carried it into the hall, and, pushing towards the chimney, flung the ass and its load, with its feet uppermost, on the dogs of the hearth, to the great delight of the bystanders, who, with the exception of Sir Lancelot, overlooked the cruelty of the action, and applauded the display of strength.
By this time our term of reprieve was at an end; and, arrangements having meanwhile been made for lodging us securely, we, after taking leave of Sir Lancelot, were conducted up a flight of stone stairs, and into a dimly-lighted chamber, with huge doors and narrow windows, the strong bolts and strong gratings of which seemed to forbid every thought of escape.
"My malison on Dame Fortune for playing us this scurvy trick," said my companion, as the gaoler departed, drawing bolt and bar carefully behind him. "If there is anything I have ever dreaded more than I have hated Scot and Frenchman, it has been the thought of captivity; and now here we are, mewed in an enemy's stronghold, without hope of freedom, and in the hands of men belonging to the nations I have ever detested."
"My friend," replied I soothingly, "be patient, I intreat you, and speak not of being without hope; captivity is the hard fate of many a brave warrior; and circumstances can open stronger doors than the one which bars us from liberty."
But days and weeks passed over, and winter went, and spring came, and the fields became green, and the leaves appeared on the trees, and we learned that the King of England and his army had returned home, and we were still prisoners, when, one day, an event occurred which lent something like novelty to our existence, and stimulatedme in some efforts I had made to gratify our anxiety to escape.
I have said that Sir Lancelot de Lorris had vowed to perform certain deeds of chivalry against the garrison of Roxburgh, and no sooner had King Edward left the country than he began to make excursions with the object of accomplishing his vow. Pushing up one day to the stronghold, of which Sir John Copeland was governor, the French knight adventured so far as to strike upon the gate of the fortress and defy the garrison. On that day Copeland had left the castle to exercise his functions of Sheriff of Northumberland, and no notice was taken of the French knight's bravado. But when the Governor of Roxburgh returned, and learned what had occurred, he lost no time in returning the visit.
It was a day in spring, and the sun was shining pleasantly on pool and stream, when I, looking between the strong iron gratings that secured the window of our prison, observed a knight, accompanied by a band of horsemen, approach the castle, and hover on the lee outside the barriers in an attitude of defiance. I had no difficulty in recognising Copeland, and, entertaining little doubt as to the errand on which he had come, I called the attention of Salle to his presence, and awaited the result of his adventure with almost breathless interest.
Nor was Copeland long kept waiting. Elate with the anticipation of encountering so hardy a knight, Sir Lancelot, on hearing that the Governor of Roxburgh requested a tilt, immediately accepted the challenge, and, arraying himself for combat, sallied out, attended by Eustace the Strong and the other Frenchmen, all armed and mounted.
I have seldom beheld a more handsome cavalier than Sir Lancelot looked on this occasion, as, with his pennon displayed, he rode through the barriers with his target on his neck and a lance in his hand, full of gaiety and joyous with the prospect of conflict.
Meanwhile, Copeland, having looked to his saddle-girths, laid his lance in rest, and answered Sir Lancelot's cry of "Our lady of Rybamont!" with a shout of "St. George for England!" Then trumpets sounded, and the two champions rushed against each other. In this course,and in the second which they ran, both charged gallantly, and neither could be said to have any advantage over his antagonist; and, as their targets rang with a clash as they met, their companions shouted applause at their skill, and even I could not refrain from clapping my hands.
But when the English and French knights wheeled their coursers, and, charging for a third time, met with a furious onset, the result was far different. For a moment, so fierce was the shock that it was impossible to perceive what had occurred. But soon all doubt was at an end. Copeland had been so forcibly struck on his helmet that he bent back and shook in his saddle; but his spear had been driven with terrible effect; and Sir Lancelot, pierced through shield and armour, dropped from his steed with a deep and mortal wound.
On seeing the young knight fall, the French, in sore displeasure, raised a cry for revenge; and, headed by Eustace the Strong, they spurred forward to encounter their adversaries. Undauntedly, however, Copeland met them, sword in hand, smote Eustace to the earth, and, literally felling down all before him, drove them, in spite of a desperate resistance, within the barriers, and then, sheathing his sword, prepared to be gone.
"Adieu, sirs," said he, waving his hand as he turned his horse's head to regain his company. "Much it grieves me to have troubled you with my presence. But it would ill have become me, as King Edward's captain, to allow either Scot or Frenchman to strike upon the gate of a fortress committed to my keeping, without hastening, with all speed, to mark my sense of the chivalry that prompted such an adventure. Adieu! I thank you."
Some hours later our evening meal was brought by the gaoler, and I seized the opportunity to ascertain how fared those who had fallen before Copeland's weapon.
"The squire is little the worse for the clout he got," replied thegaoler. "As for the young knight, he will never see France more; he has already departed for a fairer country."
"Gone to his long home," said I, with a pang of mournful regret. "I grieve to hear it with all my heart."
"And, in good sooth, so do I," exclaimed Salleearnestly. "I sincerely lament his fall; for, now that he is dead, I will say of him that, had he been ten times a Frenchman, he was still a gallant young knight, courteous in words, generous in thought, handsome to look at, and expert with his lance; and may Christ have mercy on his soul!"
"Amen!" added I, crossing myself. "And in truth his death is the more mournful that he seemed so much in love."
"Ay," said the gaoler, "it was woesome to see him when he lay on the rushes in the hall, and felt that he was sinking fast; he took his pennon, and giving it to John de Helennes, said, 'Take this, which is dyed with my best blood, to the lady of my love, by whom it was broidered, and tell her what has befallen me, and that, though I failed to accomplish the vow that kept me from her presence, yet I died with honour in the attempt.' And then," added the gaoler, "he laid his head on the rushes, and died."
Having tasted captivity before, I was in a mood much less doleful than my comrade when I found myself confined to a dingy chamber, and cut off from communication with my countrymen, who were marching with their king in hostile array through the realm of Scotland. But ere long I began to find the confinement as irksome as it was to him, and to concentrate all my faculties on a project of escape. In order to execute it, I perceived the necessity of securing the co-operation of our gaoler.
Now it happened that this man, who went by the name of Roger Redhand, was a native of the country to the south of the Tweed; and having, years before, fled from Northumberland, after some defiance of law which exposed him to danger, he had since found safety as an exile in Scotland. Moreover, he was, though born an enemy of their nation, much trusted by the Scots among whom his lot had fallen; and they had, as a sign andtestimony of mutual treaty, gone through the ceremony of drinking with him from a cup in which some drops of their blood were mingled with his, and having by this process become, as they thought, his kinsmen in some degree, believed that they had for ever secured his fidelity.
Nevertheless, I did not by any means despair of working on the patriotism of Roger Redhand; and with great caution I ventured on the experiment. At first, however, my efforts were ineffectual. But I did not, therefore, give up the game; and Salle, whose horror of a man serving the enemies of his country was naturally intense, grew angry at my persevering with a scheme which promised no success.
"Beshrew me, friend," said he roughly, "if it angers me not sorely to condescend to parley and bandy words with that renegade. As well try to bleed a stone as to strike one spark of patriotism in his breast."
"Patience, my gallant comrade," replied I. "His love of country is not dead, but asleep; and I am far from despairing of rousing it so far, at least, as to make him the instrument of restoring us to freedom. But make not, meddle not in the matter; or, with your strong prejudices and your fiery temper, you may ruin all, and we may remain in captivity till doomsday."
And I soon after learned that Roger Redhand had seen better days; that he was son of a squire in the North of England; and I found that I was not wholly mistaken in my calculations. Dormant and difficult to arouse the exile's patriotism was, but it was not extinct; and gradually my exertions were rewarded so far that it slightly caught fire, then glowed and kindled into a flame, and ultimately, as I recalled and pictured the scenes of his youth, when Douglas and Randolph ravaged the North of England with savage fury, slaughtering and plundering the inhabitants, it burned so fiercely that I had some difficulty in restraining his impulses. But I felt so strongly the necessity of discretion, that it was I, and not he, who now hesitated. At length, however, we came to terms; and I promised him a considerable reward, and my influence to obtain a pardon for him, oncondition of his opening our prison doors, and conducting my comrade and myself in safety to the castle of Roxburgh.
At the time this bargain was struck the year was speeding on apace; and it was early May when, at murk midnight, Roger Redhand, closely muffled as Marchmen are in the habit of muffling themselves when not wishing to be recognised, cautiously unbarred the door of the chamber in which we were lodged, and whispered that the hour for the great venture was come. Without speaking a word, we rose, followed him, as he glided noiselessly down the stone stairs, and then through a postern into a wild park, that in one direction bounded the precincts of the castle. At that moment, overpowered by the darkness, and without a weapon, I confess I felt that our prospects were not inviting, and expressed something like apprehension.
"Fear not," whispered Roger Redhand, almost cheerfully; "the night favours us. I know the way so well that I could traverse it blindfold. Only one danger there is, against which there is no guarding. If our escape is discovered, and the bloodhounds are put on our track, this night may be our last, and, ere to-morrow's sun sets, our carcases may be food for ravens and wolves. But courage!"
"Ay, courage!" said I, my spirit rising. "Lead on; we fellow."
No further words passed. Pursuing a south-easterly direction, Roger Redhand walked rapidly onwards, and we, not without frequently stumbling, contrived, with some exertion, to keep pace with him. Everything seemed to go prosperously; and just as the moon rose we crossed the Tweed, and, pushing resolutely on in the track of our guide, had travelled several miles when, finding we were on the bank of a rivulet, I halted to quench my thirst and recreate my energies with a draught of the pure stream.
"Now, thanks to God and good St. George for our deliverance," said I, as, refreshed, I resumed the journey; "for, at last, methinks we are safe from pursuit."
"I would fain hope so," replied our guide; "but let usnot dally with danger, nor forget the proverb which tells us not to halloo till we are out of the wood."
Almost as he spoke, Roger Redhand stopped suddenly, as if in alarm, and looking in the direction of the wind, pointed back, and, shaking his head as if to admonish us to be silent, listened attentively. For a few moments no sound broke the stillness of the night, save the rushing of the rivulet and the screams of the birds and beasts that haunted its banks. At length, however, our guide drew himself up excitedly; and now there was no possibility of mistaking the nature of the danger, or the significance of his last words. Far away as it seemed, but coming down the wind with terrible distinctness, the bay of a bloodhound, deep-mouthed and menacing, broke the silence, and sounded in our ears like a death knell.
Drawing a dagger from his bosom, and baring his strong arm, Roger Redhand deliberately inflicted a wound, and spilt some drops of blood on our track.
"What, in the name of the saints, mean you by that?" asked I.
"Blood destroys the fineness of the scent," answered he. "I have even seen prisoners sacrificed to save their captors, when closely chased by foes. But it does not always succeed. So on, on!" added our guide; "we may yet escape if we have luck."
And forward he pressed, crossing and recrossing the streamlet at places considerably distant from each other, with some idea of throwing the pursuers off the scent, but all, as it seemed, to no purpose. The sagacity of the dog was not to be baffled either by blood on the path or by the running stream. And we felt that, guided by its unerring instinct, our pursuers were close upon our track. Our fate seemed sealed; but even at that moment I scorned to yield to despair.
Nearer and nearer came the deep bay. Indeed, every time we paused to listen it resounded more loudly through the wood, and, in our perplexity, we halted to take counsel of each other.
It was an awful moment, and our agitation was great.
"We are lost!" exclaimed Salle, in accents of mournfuldespondence; "and without even the satisfaction of being able to strike a blow for life."
"No, not lost," replied I, though feeling that I was hoping against hope. "It is true that great is the sagacity of the bloodhound, but not so great that it cannot be baffled by the wit of man."
"You are right," said our guide, suddenly rousing himself, and raising his head. "It can be done. I have heard the Scots tell how Robert Bruce, their king, acted when pressed as we are, and how he escaped. Have all your wits about you; let us into the water; do as you see me do; and beware, above all things, of touching the banks. Now be quick and cautious. Our lives hang on a single chance; but courage and discretion will yet save us."
By this time we had reached a wooded valley which was intersected by the stream; and, dashing into the water, our guide waded up its course for some hundred yards, while we followed in silence; and then, renewing his caution as to not touching the banks, he sprang upon the twisted branches of an elm, and, swinging himself dexterously from tree to tree, while we, with some difficulty, followed his example, at length leaped to the ground at some distance from the spot where we had entered the stream.
"Now," said he, pursuing his way and waving us on, "if you have done as I have done, and not touched the ground, we are saved."
"We are saved!" cried Salle triumphantly.
"But our escape has been a narrow one," remarked I.
And, indeed, it soon appeared that the stratagem had succeeded; and, at the same time, it became evident that we had not resorted to the stratagem a moment too soon. As, after climbing an acclivity, we reached the summit of the rising ground, the moon, previously somewhat clouded, shone brilliantly; and when, sheltered by trees from the possibility of being observed, we looked down into the valley from which we had emerged, we could distinctly descry our pursuers on horseback keenly urging on the hound, and hear their voices, as, speaking rapidly, and sometimes all at a time, they attempted to account forhaving lost the scent. But all proved quite unavailing. The dog, completely thrown out, stood utterly at fault, and, in spite of incitement and encouragement, failed in every effort to regain the scent it had lost.
"Forward," whispered our guide. "By the voices of our pursuers, I know that they are dispersing to search the thickets; and since some of them might, by chance, find their way up the steep, it is not well, as I said before, to dally with danger, and it is well by hastening on to avoid the risk of being descried."
And at his instance we pursued our way with the sensations of men saved, at the last instant, from the awful peril of drowning, and keeping to by-paths and solitary places, we left danger behind, and at morn stood tired and jaded, but safe and sound, within the strong castle of which Copeland was governor.
"Welcome, gentlemen," said Copeland, who, on being informed of our escape, came to receive Salle and myself. "I rejoice you have escaped, though I am little like to have much of your company."
"And wherefore?"
"Because, whenever it is known that you are in the land of the living and at liberty, both of you are certain to have instructions to proceed south without delay to embark for Guienne. But who is the muffled man?"
"One to whom we are much indebted," said I.
"And one whose face is not wholly unknown to Sir John Copeland," said our guide, throwing aside his muffler and showing his face.
"Ah, Roger! Roger!" exclaimed Copeland in accents of sad reproof, "it grieves me to think that the day should ever have come when your father's son had to hide his face from living mortal, and that mortal an Englishman and a Copeland."
"Reproach me not with the past," said the other imploringly, "but listen to my prayer, and grant it for the sake of those who sleep where the weary are at rest."
"Yes, sir knight," said I earnestly, "upbraid him not. Let bygones be bygones."
"Nay," exclaimed Copeland, "I am not the person to be hard on a broken man, whose conscience, doubtless,reproaches him often enough. And now, Roger," added he, "I listen to your prayer. What is it you require of me?"
"Your good word and influence to win me a pardon," was the answer.
The Governor of Roxburgh paused, meditated, and then, looking full at the petitioner, smiled grimly, with a peculiar expression on his countenance.
"By holy St. Cuthbert and good St. George, Roger!" said he in a low voice, "I would as lief ask King Edward for Berwick or Calais as for your pardon, as your case now stands; but," added he significantly, "if you take a pardon for the time being, and go to fight for the Prince of Wales in France, I will, for the sake of our kindred blood, equip you for the war, and even recommend you to the prince as strongly as I can in honour do, all things taken into account. Go, then, to Gascony, and fight for a pardon, while others are fighting for honour and victory, and then your day may come. Many broken ships have come to land, and, be that as it may, you were wont to be brave in the face of a foeman; and credit me that a man never asks pardon from a king with such grace as when he has proved his strength and courage against the king's enemies."
"Be it as you have said," replied the outlaw, much affected.
"And, Roger," added Copeland, "in token that I deem you capable of redeeming your good name, I, in presence of these valiant squires, give you my hand as that of a friend and kinsman, who, if you stoutly battle to redeem your fair fame, will aid your efforts to the utmost. So help me God, and St. Cuthbert, and St. George!"
And, as the Northern knight suited the action to the word, Roger Redhand's eye first gleamed with gratification, and then became dim with tears.
Not long was I allowed to linger at the castle of Roxburgh, though, at the time of my escape from Mount Moreville, there was on the borders of Scotland much work for English warriors to do. Retaliating the invasion of their country by the King of England, the Scots, scarce taking time to recover from their fright, rushed to arms and commenced their inroads, and many a Northumbrian village blazed in revenge for the havoc so recently wrought in Lothian. On the Marches men almost slept in their mail. The little barons, who held their lands and towers south of the Tweed for the service of winding a horn to intimate to the inhabitants that the Scots were approaching, had to "watch weel;" and the garrison of Roxburgh and its brave governor were often roused at dead of night to mount their horses, and contend with the assailing foe.
But, however exciting and instructive this kind of warfare might have proved, I was destined for service beyond the sea; and, leaving Copeland to struggle with the Scots, and Salle to attach himself to the garrison of Berwick, whose slumbers, like those of their neighbours, were often broken by the sound of trumpets and the war-cry of foes, I reached London, and, having been charged with letters for the Prince of Wales, I embarked for Guienne.
It was on the 1st of July that I set foot in Bordeaux, where the prince then was, and beheld, for the first time, the province of which it was regarded as the capital. Nor can I forget how pleasing was the effect which the novelty of the scene produced upon me, as I found myself in the commercial emporium of Southern France, staring with surprise at the quaint dresses of the inhabitants, and gazing with interest on the busy quays, the strong walls, the immense gates and towers, the noble castle, the broad river running round the castle walls, and thehills beyond the city, clothed with woods and vineyards. All the various objects, presented for the first time to my view, gilded, as it were, with the summer's sun, had their charm; and, under the influence of mingled emotions, I could not but exclaim, "Who, save a coward, would not fight for such a land as this?"
It is not wonderful that, the country being such as it was—so fruitful, so productive, so pleasant, and so picturesque—the King of England was eager to retain what had been saved, and to regain what had been lost, of the bright and beautiful territory which came to his ancestor, the second Henry, with the hand of Eleanor of Guienne. But, in truth, it was not merely because the land was bright and beautiful, ever blossoming and ever perfumed, with a sunny sky and a genial climate, and shady groves and gay vineyards, appearing in the eyes of strangers a terrestrial paradise, that it haunted the imagination and stirred the ambition of our Plantagenets. Far, indeed, and quite free were these politic princes from the weakness of allowing fancy to lead them captive, when dealing with the interests of the nation with whose history all their great triumphs in war and peace were associated in the mind of Europe. Policy, not fancy, prompted their efforts to retain and recover; for rich and fertile was the region watered by the Garonne and the Adour, and of mighty importance to their island home was the trade carried on between Bordeaux and the ports of England. It was of commerce, and the wealth which commerce creates, that our English kings thought; and it was because they deemed the possession of Guienne, with that old city on the left bank of the Garonne as its capital, essential to the prosperity of the country over which they reigned, that the Plantagenets clung tenaciously to the fragment of that empire which, in the days of their ancestor, the son of Geoffrey of Anjou and the Empress Maude, had extended from the Channel to the Pyrenees.
When I reached Bordeaux, to draw my sword, under the banner of England's heir, for the right of England's king to the territory which Philip Augustus had wrested from King John, the Prince of Wales was lodged in theabbey of St. Andrew, and his people were quartered within the city. Accordingly, I rode through the streets to the abbey, and, meeting Liulph, the archer, the companion of my struggle with the wild bull in Windsor Forest, I informed him of my desire to see the prince. Forthwith Liulph communicated my desire to a squire named Bernard, who was not without influence, and, at my request, conducted me to the presence of the young hero whose brows were, ere long, to be decked with trophies still prouder than the feather which he had won when its former owner, the blind King of Bohemia, fell in his memorable charge at Cressy.
"Welcome, Master Winram," said the prince, as I presented the letters with which I had been intrusted. "What news bring you from England?"
"Such, my lord, as it irks me to tell," replied I. "Never have the Scots been more insolent in their bearing—never more ferocious in their inroads. Again and again they have crossed the Border, burning and ravaging the country. Even now, it may be, the sky is red with the fires they have kindled in the North."
"And no sign of a truce—no prospect of a treaty?" said the prince with curiosity.
"None, my lord," answered I with emphasis. "Nor, to speak frankly," continued I earnestly, "do I opine, from what I have seen and heard, that, even if the Scots conclude truce or treaty, they will ever do so with any serious intent to be bound by one or the other, so long as their hatred of England and their predatory incursions are encouraged and rewarded by him whom they call King of France."
"Ha! by St. George!" exclaimed the prince thoughtfully, "I have for some time held such to be the case; and, if these letters from England confirm what you say, and what I believe, I know but one way that I can take to bring John of Valois to his senses, and render him powerless to bribe our enemies to destroy the life and property of Englishmen; and, by the memory of my sainted namesake who sleeps at Westminster, I will take that course, and steel my heart against compunction for the misery I may cause. For, mark you, it is only bydestroying the provinces whence John of Valois draws the wealth with which he carries on the war to my prejudice as Duke of Guienne, and to the exclusion of my lord and father from the throne of France, which is his rightful inheritance, that we can influence his actions; and, therefore, if affairs wear not a new face ere a week passes, I have resolved, and it is my fixed purpose, to raise my banner and sally forth, and sweep the country as far, even, it may be, as the fertile province of Berry."
One morning in July, 1356—orders having previously been issued that every man should be ready to march at the word of command—the trumpets of the Prince of Wales sounded, and, forthwith, all was bustle and excitement in Bordeaux. At break of day horses were saddled and warriors armed, and the leaders, having mustered the men who followed their banners, prepared to march into the provinces that owned John of Valois as King of France.
I would fain name some of the most renowned knights and nobles of Hainault, of Gascony, and England, who were with the Prince of Wales in this expedition. From Hainault were Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, the Lord de Guystelle, the Lord de Phaselle, and the Lord de Morbeque; from Gascony were the Captal de Buch, the Lord d'Albret, the Lord of Pumiers, the Lord de Chaumont, and the Lord de Montferrand; from England were Sir John Chandos, Sir Robert Knolles, Sir Walter Woodland; James, Lord Audley; Reginald, Lord Cobham; Thomas, Lord Berkley; Roger, Lord De Ov; and the great Earls of Warwick, Oxford, Salisbury, Suffolk, and Stafford. As their armour glanced and their banners shone in the rising sun, the sight was pleasant to behold. About twelve thousand men formed the army which was to accomplish such memorable exploits. Part of these were Gascons and part English, the Gascons being much morenumerous than the English, who were, for the most part, archers and engineers qualified by experience to direct the bombards that had done good service at the siege of Calais. But both Gascons and English were then animated by a spirit of hostility against the French, and armed with equal ardour; and all were under such discipline as had never been exercised in modern warfare; for the young hero who was the soul of that army was unrivalled as a war-chief, and much had he studied how war had been carried on in the days when Rome made herself mistress of the world; and so thorough was his success, that his ranks moved with an order and precision which raised the wonder and envy of the oldest and most experienced captains of the age.
It was about this time that, in order to giveéclatto his fair complexion, and set off his handsome countenance to advantage, the Prince of Wales assumed that black armour from which he derived the name by which he has since been popularly called; and I would fain give some notion of his appearance when, after having mounted at the monastery of St. Andrew, he rode forth to lead his army from the gates of Bordeaux. No longer the stripling who appeared at Smithfield to lend countenance to the sports of the Londoners, and who won his spurs while fighting so gallantly in the van at Cressy, the Prince of Wales was now in his sixth lustre, and had grown year by year in strength, in courage, and in comeliness. His form was tall, athletic, and finely proportioned; his face fair to look upon, and lighted up with expression and intelligence; while nothing could have been more impressive than his grand air and chivalrous bearing. Every gift he had derived from nature and inherited from his ancestors had been carefully cultivated, and it was well-nigh impossible to observe him without feeling the full truth of the words used by his father on the field of Cressy—"You are already worthy to be a king."
At the time of which I write, the chain mail worn at the Crusades and in the Barons' Wars was no longer in fashion; and the Bigods and Bohuns, and the first Edward, would have opened their eyes as wide, and stared with as much surprise, as Robert Curthose and RichardCœur de Lion at the garniture in which their heirs mustered at Bordeaux. Every part of the body was defended by plate armour; and from crown to toe the knight was cased in steel. Plates entirely defended the legs; and pointed shoes of overlapping steel plates guarded the feet. The leathern gauntlets were similarly cased with steel, and provided with steel tops, while on the knuckles were small spikes, knobs, and ornaments, called gadlings. A breastplate, termed a plastron, kept the chain shirt from pressing on the chest when the plates for breast and back, which rendered the shirt necessary, were not worn; and a short apron of chain hung from the waist over the hips. Such was the defensive armour in use during the reign of King Edward; and such was the armour worn by his hero-son. Imagine the Prince of Wales, such as I have described him, with his tall figure, his vigorous frame, his fair hair, his bright eye, his refined features, his frank expression, and his elegant air; array him in such armour as was then in fashion—but black in colour, and embossed with gold—put over all the guipin, or upper garment, fitting closely to the body and confined round the waist by a magnificent belt, to which his dagger was attached on one side, his sword on the other; place a golden lion on his broad breast, and a basinet on his high head; mount him on a steed black as a raven and somewhat fierce—and you will have before you the son of Edward and Philippa as he set forward on that enterprise which was to result in a victory never likely to be forgotten so long as skill and valour in the hour of peril, and courtesy and generosity in the hour of triumph, are held in regard by mankind.
It was, as I have intimated, late in the month of July, when the Prince of Wales, marching out of Bordeaux, ascended the Garonne as far as Agen, and then, turning to the left, overran the provinces of Quercy, Limousin, and Auvergne, sparing not the country; for the object of his incursion was to weaken the French by destroying their resources, and thus bring the war to a speedy conclusion.
Rich and fertile as ever the sun shone on looked the land through which the prince rode in hostile array. It was summer, and the days were long, and bright, and merry. The harvest was well-nigh ready for the sickle. The corn was waving in the fields; the grapes were swelling on the stem; the fruit was reddening on the bough. But the invaders were in no mood to spare either corn, or grapes, or fruit. The harvest was trodden down by the horsemen; the villages and farm-houses were given to the flames; the very cattle on the hills were slaughtered; and every man who was thought rich enough to pay a ransom was taken prisoner, to be carried to Bordeaux. All this time the prince rode on at his ease, and without any opposition. When he entered any town which was well provisioned, the English rested some days to refresh themselves; and, ere taking their departure, they staved the heads of the wine-casks that were full, and burnt the wheat and oats, so that nothing was left for the enemy. It was not the Prince of Wales whom the French had to blame for all this; for their real enemies were the chiefs of the House of Valois, whom they had, in defiance of King Edward's claims, too readily recognised as their sovereigns.
Great, meanwhile, was the terror of the inhabitants. The people of Montpellier fled to Avignon to place themselves under the protection of the Pope. Trembling for his own safety, the Pope ordered his palace to be fortified and his gates to be covered with iron, and,hoping to influence the invaders, sent, offering money, to the prince to spare Perigord.
"My father," answered the prince, "has plenty of money, and does not want yours. But I will do no more than what I came to perform, namely, to chastise those who are in rebellion against our just rights."
Pursuing his career of devastation, the Prince of Wales, emboldened by the success of his operations, penetrated into Berry, a province in the very heart of France. Reaching the city of Bourges, he skirmished at the gates, but without taking the place, and then passed to Vierzon, which he took by storm. But weeks had now elapsed since his departure from Bordeaux, and his incursion was talked of far and wide; and, while resting his men for three days at Vierzon, he learned, not without some slight apprehension, that John of Valois—that valiant man of war—had reached Chartres, and was about to take the field at the head of a great army, with the object of intercepting his march and giving him battle.
Not an hour did the prince lose in forming a decision as to what was to be done at this crisis. Having held a council of war, he immediately resolved to leave Vierzon, and to return, without waste of time, to Bordeaux by way of Touraine and Poitou, and with this view he marched towards Romorantin, a considerable town on the Saudre, where there was a strong castle, held for John of Valois by two warriors of renown, known as the Lord of Boucicault and the Hermit of Chaumont. The torn of Romorantin, when attacked by the English van, yielded without a struggle. But this was not enough; and the prince, coming up, expressed his determination to obtain possession of the castle.
"Go," said he to Sir John Chandos, "and hold a parley with the garrison."
Without delay the knight proceeded to the barriers of the castle, and no sooner had he intimated that he wished to speak with those who were in command than the Lord of Boucicault and the Hermit of Chaumont came down to the bars, and declared that they were at his service.
"Gentlemen," said Chandos, saluting them in due form, "I am sent to you by my lord the Prince of Wales,who wishes to behave courteously towards his enemies, and says that, if you will surrender this castle and yourselves, he will show you mercy and give you good company."
"On my faith," replied the Lord of Boucicault, shaking his head and smiling, "we have no sort of inclination to accept such terms, nor to commit such an act of folly as surrendering without any necessity; and, moreover, we are able and determined to defend ourselves."
On hearing this, Chandos returned to the prince; and, on learning what was the answer, the prince ordered his men to their quarters, that they might be ready on the morrow to commence the assault. Accordingly, the marshal's trumpets having sounded at sunrise, the men-at-arms prepared themselves for action, and the archers advanced under their respective banners, and made a sharp attack on the castle. Indeed, they brought down so many enemies, and their aim was so unerring, that scarcely a French warrior ventured to show himself on the battlements; and some got on hurdles and doors, with pickaxes and mattocks in their hands, to undermine the walls. No sooner, however, did the French become aware of what was going on at the foot of the walls, than they commenced flinging large stones and pots of hot lime on the assailants; and, though the attack was resolutely persevered in, so little advantage was, for some time, gained, that the besiegers began to lose heart. At length the prince came to direct the assault in person, and so mightily encouraged the English by his voice and example, that they redoubled their exertions. Still the resistance was obstinate; and there were some men of experience who evinced an inclination to give up an enterprise likely to cost more time than the prize was worth, when an event occurred which led to a total change in the mode of attack, and brought matters to a conclusion.
I have mentioned, in the chapter telling of my arrival at Bordeaux, that one of the squires who attended the Prince of Wales at the monastery of St. Andrew, in that city, was named Bernard; and this squire, owing to the services he had rendered, was held in high esteem byhis master. Now it happened that, when the castle ofRomorantinwas being assaulted, Bernard, while standing near the ditch by the prince's side, was struck by a stone thrown from the castle, and fell dead on the spot.
"By good St. George!" exclaimed the prince, "I swear not to be trifled with in this wise. I will not move hence until I have the castle and all in my possession."
Some of the wise and prudent shook their heads; but at this moment I, Arthur Winram, who had at the time dismounted near the spot, stepped forward.
"My lord," said I, addressing the prince, "it seems to me that this is an occasion on which we might for ever use lances and arrows in vain; and I put it to your highness if it would not be well to order bombards to be brought forward, and aquereaux and Greek fire to be shot from them."
"Right," replied the prince, after a moment's reflection; "let it be done"; and forthwith, to the consternation of the garrison, the bombards made their appearance.
The experiment was even more successful than I had anticipated. Rapidly the bombards did their work. Very soon the lower court of the castle was in a blaze; and the fire, reaching a large tower that was covered with thatch, gave indications not to be mistaken that it would speedily envelope the whole castle. Amazed and terrified, the garrison uttered cries of consternation, and the Lord of Boucicault and the Hermit of Chaumont, perceiving that they must either surrender or perish in the flames, no longer hesitated. Coming down, they yielded themselves to the prince, who, while allowing the other knights and squires in the castle to go at liberty, made the lord and the hermit ride with him and attend him as his prisoners, and, leaving Romorantin, marched forward as before, ravaging the country, in the direction of Anjou, and Touraine, and Poitou.
But, ere the prince could reach Poictiers, the danger which had for some time been threatening his little army of invaders was drawing near; and rumour brought vague intelligence that John of Valois was at hand.
While the Prince of Wales was, with what speed he could, retreating from the scene of his exploits, in the hope of reaching Bordeaux, John of Valois, bent on intercepting the young hero's march, and vowing to destroy his army, was following his track with less instinctive sagacity, indeed, but with as thorough a tenacity of purpose, as the bloodhound by which we had been chased after our escape from the castle of Mount Moreville on that memorable night in early May. Never, in truth, had that fiery warrior shown more eagerness and determination than in hastening to the conflict which was to decide his fate.
From the hour in which he received intelligence of the prince's incursion, John was all excitement and activity. No sooner did he learn that the heir of England was marching towards Berry, and carrying all before him, than he mustered all his energies to meet the crisis, and to strike a sure and shattering blow at the pride and honour of the nation by whose king the race which he represented had been humbled to the dust. After issuing a special summons to all nobles and knights who held fiefs under him to assemble, without fail, on the borders of Touraine and Blois, and not, on any pretext whatever, to absent themselves, on pain of incurring his highest displeasure, he gave orders for securing the towns and bridges on the Loire, so as to prevent the English passing that river. In order to hasten the preparations for his enterprise, he left Paris with a large body of men whom he then had under arms; and, taking up his quarters within the walls of Chartres, while his army encamped in the fields outside the town, he awaited the arrival of his adherents, and meanwhile applied himself diligently to the task of obtaining accurate information as to the movements of the enemies whom he was dooming to destruction. And soon to the royal standard of France came princes and chiefs of great name, and captains of high renown,conspicuous among whom were the Duke of Athens, Constable of France; the Lords de Nesle and D'Andreghen, Marshals of France; the Dukes of Orleans and of Bourbon; the Counts of Tancarville, and Dammartin, and Vantadour, and Ponthieu; and last, but not least, Lord Robert de Duras, Bertrand du Guesclin, the famous Breton warrior; John de Saintré, esteemed the most accomplished of French knights; and Geoffrey de Chargny, celebrated for having, albeit in vain, attempted to recover Calais; and Eustace de Ribeaumont, who, at Calais, had fought hand to hand with King Edward, and who still wore the chaplet of pearls which, on that occasion, he had so valorously won from his victor. All these, and hundreds more already bearing names terrible in war, gathered round John of Valois at Chartres; and by his side were his four young sons—Charles, Duke of Normandy; Louis, Duke of Anjou; John, Duke of Berry; and Philip, Duke of Burgundy—eager for battle, and not doubtful of victory. What wonder that, so surrounded, and with sixty thousand men ready to obey his word of command, the royal warrior, as he listened to accounts of his youthful adversary's exploits, became more and more impatient for the hour of carnage and revenge?
And it was not merely by the nobles and knights of France that John of Valois was encompassed as he indulged in anticipations of triumph over the prince who had led the van of the army that quelled the haughty insolence of his sire. Around him were warriors from another land, whose kings had long been in alliance with his ancestors, and whose barons looked to him for protection, and regarded him with reverence. At that time the enthusiasm for crusades, once general in Christendom, had reached Scotland; and a band of Scots, headed by Lord Douglas, Sir Archibald Douglas, son of "the good Sir James," and Sir William Ramsay, a knight of great fame, had taken the Cross, and left their country to combat the Saracen. On reaching the Continent, however, they learned that John was about to march against the English; and, finding the sound of the trumpet of war irresistible, they forgot their religious vows, and offered their swords to aid in emancipating France from her English conquerors.Warm was the reception with which they met; high was the distinction with which they were treated; and under the standard of France they now rode to the war, rejoicing in the opportunity of dealing, on French soil, a blow to their enemies of England.
At length the time drew nigh for bringing the enterprise to a conclusion; and John of Valois, having learned that the English were in Touraine, and intent on making their way through Poitou to reach Gascony, left Chartres, and, marching to Chauvigny, six leagues from Poictiers, on Thursday, the 15th of September, took up his residence in the town, while his army encamped in the meadows that border the river Vienne.
And now, nothing likely to contribute to the success of his enterprise having been omitted, John no longer tarried from the encounter, for which he longed not the less eagerly that the chances were all on his side. On the morning of Friday, while his marshals performed their office and kept order in the ranks, he passed the bridge of Chauvigny with forty thousand horse, while the rear of his army passed by the bridge of Chatteleraunt; and all, as they reached the opposite side of the river, took the road to Poictiers, and delighted their souls with visions of the Prince of Wales carried in chains to Paris and adding to the triumph of the conqueror on his return to the capital.
It happened, however, that a small body of Frenchmen did not leave Chauvigny that day. So great, indeed, was the crowd, that the Count of Joigny and three other barons found it impossible to pass the bridge with the main army, and, submitting to the delay with what patience they could, returned to their quarters, and remained during Friday night in the town. Betimes next morning, however, they mounted and followed in the track of the army, which was three leagues in advance, and, in order to reach Poictiers, made for the open fields and heaths surrounded by woods, and pursued their way, fearing no interruption. But Poictiers they were not destined to reach. While in the open fields and heaths they met with an adventure which to some of them resulted in death, to others in captivity; and this adventureled to another, the rumour of which arrested the progress of John of Valois when about to enter Poictiers, and induced him to turn back to the plains of Beauvoir, where Fate, while flattering his pride, heating his blood, stimulating his ardour, raising his hopes, and tempting him to rashness, busily prepared the events which reduced him to despair and conducted him to captivity.
It was the morning of Saturday, the 17th of September, 1356, and the Prince of Wales, having rested for the night at a village near Poictiers, mounted at nine in the morning to continue his march towards Bordeaux. Nor, though John of Valois was at that time so near, had the English any such intelligence of his approach as could be relied on. In fact, the French were so exasperated with the incursion that they would give nothing like exact information, and the scouts on whom the prince depended could give nothing but the most vague notion of the movements of the enemy. All was surmise and uncertainty. One thing only was a matter of notoriety—nobody pretended to doubt that John was in arms, and at the head of a mighty host. Still the English were undismayed; and still their dauntless young leader hoped to make good his retreat, and to save them from the peril of an encounter of which the chances were deemed altogether desperate.
In the various endeavours made, at that crisis, to obtain tidings of the foe, I had not been idle; but my efforts, like those of my neighbours, had resulted in failure, and I had lost all hope of being of service in the matter, when I was startled by the arrival of Roger Redhand, who, equipped by John Copeland for the war, made his way to the prince's army through countless dangers, and brought intelligence of such moment that I immediately repaired to the prince's tent to communicate it without loss of time. The prince, at the moment, had his hand on the mane of his black steed, and was about to mount;but on seeing me approach he paused and turned round with an inquiring look.
"My lord," said I gravely, "I bring news."
"Good or bad?" asked the prince, affecting to appear gay, though he was strongly impressed with the responsibility of his position.
"Good or bad as you take it, my lord," replied I; "but, for my part, I regard it in such a light that I would to God it were other than it is."
"Nevertheless," exclaimed the prince, "speak out frankly. Of late I have felt that there was danger in every breath of wind, and would rather know the full extent of it at once, that I may consider in what manner it may best be coped with."
"In truth, then, my lord," said I, "John, Count of Valois, who calls himself King of France, yesterday passed the bridge of Chauvigny with his four sons, twenty-five dukes and earls, upwards of six score of banners, and more than sixty thousand men; and he is now approaching Poictiers with the certainty of intercepting your march, and with the determination of making you fight or yield."
"God help us!" exclaimed the prince, "for we are, indeed, in extreme peril. But it must be boldly met, and we must consider what is best to be done under the circumstances."
Far too prudent to neglect any precautions likely to conduce to the safety of his army, the prince now summoned the Captal of Buch and Sir Eustace d'Ambreticourt, and ordered those brave warriors, with sixty men, well armed and mounted, to make observations and seek adventures; and I attended the Captal in the expedition. After riding through a wood by a rutty road, we, by accident, reached the heath which the Count of Joigny and his comrades were traversing, and found ourselves in the presence of a formidable body of enemies. Nor did they, as might have been expected, for a moment mistake us for friends. Putting on their helmets, and unfurling their banners, they fixed their lances in rest, and struck spurs to their horses.
"Now," said I, regarding the chances of an encounter as wholly desperate, "there is but one way of turning thisadventure to some account, and that is, by flying and alluring them to follow us till we reach the prince."
"By the head of St. Anthony, it is well thought of!" exclaimed the Captal.
And wheeling our horses, we made for the rutty road, and dashed through the wood, while the French, shouting loudly and making a great noise, pursued with all the speed they could. But their clamour suddenly ceased when, opening our ranks, we allowed them to pass through, and they discovered how they had been deluded. It was too late, however, to think of retreat. Indeed, some of them, in their ardour, had advanced so far that they were right upon the banner of the prince ere they became aware of the stratagem. A sharp conflict ensued, and the French fought well; but many of them were slain; and the Count of Joigny, after being made prisoner, confirmed the tidings that John of Valois was at hand, and bent on giving battle.
All doubt as to the presence of the French being now dispelled, the Prince of Wales took such measures as the emergency seemed to demand. Collecting all stragglers, and issuing orders that no one should, on any pretext, advance or skirmish before the battalions of the marshals, he despatched the Captal of Buch and Sir Walter Woodland, with a select band of two hundred horsemen, of whom I was one, to observe where the French were encamped; and, pricking forward, we soon came in sight of the seemingly countless multitude that covered the plains while moving towards the city. But, numerous as they were, the Captal of Buch was in no mood to retire without giving them a taste of his steel.
"By the head of St. Anthony, gentlemen!" said he, "it would be a shame to return to the prince without performing something against the enemy."
"May I never again be embraced by my mistress," said Sir Walter Woodland, "if I do return without having unhorsed, at least, one foe!"
"By good St. George, knights and gentlemen!" said I, the thought of what Copeland would have done in such a case rushing through my mind, "it is mere waste of time to hesitate. Upon them!"
And, without further delay, we charged forward on the rear of the French with such effect that many were unhorsed; some were taken prisoners; and so much impression was made that their main army began to be in motion ere we retreated; and John of Valois, having news of the skirmish as he was on the point of entering the gates of Poictiers, reined up, turned back with his whole force, and made for the open fields, with vows of vengeance on his lips.
Meanwhile, returning to the prince, the Captal of Buch informed him as to the appearance presented by the French, and their probable numbers.
"God be our aid," said the prince calmly. "For ourselves we can only do one thing to save ourselves—and that is, to fight them in the most advantageous manner."
On the rounded extremity of a chain of hills, surrounded on all sides by narrow ravines, through which flow the waters of the river Clain, an affluent of the Vienne, stands the capital of Poitou, a province which came with Eleanor, heiress of Guienne, to Henry Plantagenet, the first of his race who reigned in England, and which escaped from the grasp of their luckless son, King John, in his struggle with Philip Augustus.
A fair city Poictiers is, and remarkable for its widely-extending walls. In truth, it might claim to be one of the largest cities in France, if judged merely by the space which the walls inclose. But its steep and winding streets and large squares cover only a small portion of the ground included, much of which consists of fields and gardens: and neither the population nor the wealth of the place is, by any means, such as a stranger would naturally suppose when viewing it from the outside. But Poictiers had something to boast of in the shape of historical memorials. While the cathedral, built by Henry Plantagenet, reminds men of the days when a King of England ruled from theOrkneys to the Pyrenees, there are remnants of a civilisation that existed before the name of Plantagenet or of England was known. Here an arch, there an aqueduct, at another place the relics of an amphitheatre, recall to memory the age when Rome was great, and when evidences of Roman grandeur and dominion were everywhere visible.
Nor is Poictiers wanting in historical associations which recall the days of Frankish conquest and prowess in war; for, in the sixth and eighth centuries, its neighbourhood witnessed two famous fights. Near Poictiers, in the year 507, Clovis won a great victory over the Visigoths; and near Poictiers, in 758, Charles Martel won a great victory over the Saracens. It was now to be the scene of a battle in which the French were to sustain a more signal defeat than ever they inflicted, and in which the heir of Clovis and Charles Martel and his chivalry were to have still worse fortune than befell Charlemagne and his paladins at the pass of Roncesvalles.
But as yet no such disaster was dreamt of even by the least sanguine; and, in spite of the lesson they had been taught, the cry of the French, as before Cressy, was "Kill—kill—kill." There was little apprehension of defeat in the streets and squares of Poictiers; almost as little, perhaps, in the ranks of that mighty army which was slowly encamping in the dusk of evening under the banner of France on the plains outside the excited city. The old lion had turned to bay at Cressy, and torn his hunters to pieces. And the young lion should pay dearly for his father's victory.
But within the walls of Poictiers there was, at least, one person, who, albeit regarding the situation of the English as desperate, believed that a battle ought to, and might be prevented. Some time before the Prince of Wales took Romorantin, the Pope sent Cardinal Perigord into France to endeavour to make peace between John of Valois and the enemies whom his vindictive violence had raised up, especially the King of Navarre, who was still detained in prison at Paris. But the mission came to nothing. After several interviews, the cardinal, findingthat all his pacific counsels were rejected, returned to Tours, and was there when he learned that John and the Prince of Wales were both advancing towards Poictiers, and that a meeting seemed inevitable. On hearing this, the cardinal, true to his character of peacemaker, hastened to Poictiers; and now, as the two armies took up their quarters for the night, with every prospect of a battle on the morrow, he resolved, ere they could come to blows, to make a great effort, by offering his mediation, to prevent the effusion of Christian blood.
And while the cardinal meditated the night closed over the city and over the plain.