It was a warm day in the month of September—one of those autumnal days when the sun still shines in all its vigour—and my grandsire, with me as his companion,was leaning on his staff, strolling about in the neighbourhood of his homestead, and grumbling somewhat savagely at the rapacity of the royal purveyors, by whom we had recently, to our consternation and our cost, been visited; when we were suddenly roused by the tramp of a horse's hoofs, and, looking round, found ourselves face to face with a cavalier of thirty-five whose dress and demeanour at once proclaimed him a man of high rank.
I confess, indeed, that I was lost in admiration, and stood silent with surprise. The stranger was by far the most striking personage I had ever seen, and, in point of appearance, even rivalled the imaginary heroes of my boyish day-dreams. He was about six feet in height, and in the flower of manhood, with a figure admirably proportioned, long-drawn features, a thoughtful brow, a noble air, and an eye bright with valour and intelligence. His aspect indicated more than regal pride, modified, however, by frankness of spirit; and as he approached, with a hawk on his wrist, a bugle at his girdle, and two hounds running at his horse's feet, his bearing was easy as well as dignified, and he accosted my grandsire with the tone of one who had at once the right to command and the privilege to be familiar.
"Good-day, friend," said he, reining in his steed.
"Sir, good-day," replied my grandsire briefly, and with an indifference in accent and manner to which it was evident the other was unaccustomed.
"I have lost my way in the forest," remarked the cavalier, after a pause, during which he appeared to reflect; "and yet methinks I should not consider that a misfortune, since it has conducted me to so pleasant a spot."
"Yes," replied my grandsire, "I thank God that my lines have fallen in a pleasant place."
"And your lot is, therefore, to be envied by men who dwell in king's palaces."
"Mayhap it might," said my grandsire; "but that the exactions of the king's men are so unjust and oppressive."
"Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as if in a tone of inquiry.
"Yes," continued my grandsire resolutely, "never in my time has there been anything to compare to it, albeit this is the fourth reign in which I have lived. Did King Edward but know of the tyranny and rapacity exercised in his name, and that his subjects live in dread of the purveyor's horn, he would take such order that the commons should no longer be so outrageously plundered."
"Doubtless," replied the cavalier, "the king would do what is right and lawful."
"I would that I had some talk with him," said my grandsire. "I could tell him many things that he is little likely to hear from knight or noble."
"Expound your grievances to me," said the cavalier; "I am not altogether without influence at the king's court, and I may even have power to set matters right."
"Enter my house, then, if you deem me not unworthy of such an honour," said my grandsire, as we reached the door.
"Right gladly," replied the stranger, dismounting; and, resigning his steed to my care, he followed my grandsire.
Evidently with curiosity, the cavalier, on entering the little hall, examined several pieces of armour and weapons that had been in fashion late in the thirteenth century, especially a huge iron club that was suspended on the wall. But when, having stabled the stranger's steed, I appeared in the hall, I found him seated at the board with my grandsire, partaking of such good cheer as the tenement afforded, and quaffing horns of ale, with apparent relish. Ere the meal was at an end my grandsire had uttered all his complaints against the royal purveyors, and was evidently delighted with his guest; and, as his heart opened, he did not fail to express his satisfaction.
"Courtier," exclaimed the old man, almost with enthusiasm, "I begin to believe that thou art an honest fellow."
"I would fain hope, my friend," replied the stranger, "that men who know me best would so report me."
"I believe it," said my grandsire; "and," added he more soberly, "I should know men when I see them; for in my life I have held discourse with men of all ranks,and with some whose names will live for ever in chronicle and song."
"Indeed?" quoth the cavalier, struck by a remark which gave him a higher idea of his new acquaintance. "I perceive, then, that you have not passed your life in this quiet homestead."
My grandsire laughed, as if in scorn of the thought.
"No," replied he, recovering his serenity, "not at this homestead did I pass my early years, but where banners were flying, and bridles ringing, and swords flashing. My father, who was well known in his day as the Farrier of the Strand, fought with his iron club, which hangs on my wall, for the king at Evesham, under the banner of Lord Merley; and when my father departed this life, I was taken to the North, by the Lord Merley, and there trained to arms. I then went into the service of the good King Edward, and by him was much trusted. I was with the king when he was in danger at Ghent; I was with him when he conquered at Falkirk; I was with him when he died at Burgh-on-the-Sands."
"And how came your services to pass unrewarded and unrecognized?"
"Listen, courtier, and learn. When the old king was laid in his grave, I served his son as I had served himself; and how I fought at Burton and at Borough Bridge it would ill become my tongue to tell. But this cannot be gainsaid; it was my hand that struck down the rebel Clifford; and it was my hand that seized the rebel Lancaster. However, evil days came on apace; fate went against my king; and leal service could avail naught. At length, when all was over, and when, at Berkeley Castle, he was cruelly murdered, I crept hither to pass my days in peace; and I have since lived on, persuading myself that I cannot be altogether useless on earth, since it is God's pleasure that I survive the evil times I have seen."
"Evil days they were," said the cavalier, as he rose and paced the floor, evidently much agitated by memories which my grandsire's story had recalled.
I gazed with some surprise on the effect which had been produced; and my grandsire was in such perplexity,that he seemed quite relieved when the cavalier turned towards me and eyed me keenly.
"And this," said he, "is your grandson?"
"Yes," answered the old man; "my grandson, Arthur, whom I have taught to serve God and honour the king, and whom it lately pleased my lord the prince to commend, at Smithfield, for his brave looks and gallant bearing."
"A goodly youth, on my faith," said the cavalier; "and one who it seems to me, might acquit himself with honour in a higher sphere."
"His father was not of our rank," replied my grandsire. "But that is a long story, which it would pain me to tell, and you and him to hear."
"Another time, mayhap, I may hear it," said the cavalier, not without exhibiting some interest in what my grandsire had told him; "meanwhile," continued he, "it is time for me to ride towards Windsor, which I will do, if you will put me in the way. But, my friend," added he kindly, "fail not to visit me at the castle, and bring thither your grandson, and I will so requite your hospitality as to convince you that I am no churl."
"Come to Windsor," exclaimed my grandsire, "to be driven from the gate like a mangy cur! No, courtier; men shall never have it in their power to say that such was my fate."
"Fear not such a repulse," said the stranger. "Ask for me; and, if you so do, trust me you will be admitted with all courtesy."
"And, pray thee, by what name are you known?" added my grandsire.
The cavalier looked puzzled, but took from his hand a ring.
"Ask for Jack Fletcher," he said; "and if that suffices not," added he, presenting the ring, "show this, and, at the sight of it, gates and doors will open to admit you."
My grandsire bowed low as he received the ring; and the stranger rising to depart, took leave of me kindly, sallied forth, mounted his horse, and with my grandsire showing the way through the forest, and talking of deerand wild cattle, rode towards Windsor, as he had come, with his hawk on his wrist, his bugle at his girdle, and his hounds running at his side.
"Now," soliloquised I, as I watched his departure, "I will wager that the visit of this stranger is to exercise some important influence on my destiny."
At the time when the cavalier who called himself Jack Fletcher lost his way in Windsor Forest, and accepted such hospitality as my grandsire's tenement could afford, King Edward, as Thomelin of Winchester had predicted, was preparing to renew that war which made Englishmen for a time almost masters of France. In order to render my narrative the more intelligible, it is necessary to refer to the origin of that war, to the events by which it had been distinguished, and to the stage at which it had arrived.
It was on the 1st of February, 1328—the year in the course of which I drew my first breath—that Charles, King of France, the youngest of the three sons of Philip the Fair, and brother of Isabel, wife of our second Edward, died without male heirs. For the vacant throne—from which, centuries earlier, Hugh Capet pushed the descendant of Charlemagne, and to which subsequently St. Louis gave dignity—several candidates appeared, the chief of whom were Philip of Valois and Edward of England. Philip, relying on the fact that the Salic law excluded females from reigning, claimed the crown of France as heir male of the old king. Edward, without denying the validity of the Salic law, pleaded that, so far as succession was concerned, it did not bar the sons of a king's daughter. The Parliament of Paris, however, was appealed to; and, being much under the influence of Robert, Lord of Artois, who was Philip's brother-in-law, the Parliament decided in favour of Philip; and Edward, then young and governed by his mother, Queen Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, so far bent his pride as to visitFrance, and do homage at Amiens for Guienne and Ponthieu. But he privately protested beforehand against the homage he was about to perform; and perhaps he felt little regret when Philip's interference in Scottish affairs gave him a fair excuse for a rupture, and for not only renewing his claim, but submitting it to the arbitrament of the sword.
Meanwhile, Philip of Valois had involved himself in a scandalous quarrel with Robert, Lord of Artois, to whom he owed his crown; and Robert, threatened with vengeance and destruction, reached England, disguised as a merchant, and exerted all his eloquence to rouse Edward's ambition. Circumstances favoured his exertions in this respect. Enraged at his exclusion from a throne which he believed to be his by hereditary right, and exasperated at the aid given by Philip to the Scots, Edward lent a willing ear to Robert's suggestions; and, resolving to avail himself of the state of affairs on the Continent, which was most favourable to his projects, he prepared without delay to put his fortune to the test.
At that time, in fact, the Flemings were up in arms. The Count of Flanders, a faithful ally of Philip of Valois, was guilty of tyrannies which drove his subjects to revolt; and Jacob von Arteveldt, a brewer, who ruled in Ghent, and exercised an enormous influence all over Flanders, formed a great league against Philip and the Count, and invoked Edward's aid. Not unwilling to interfere, the King of England entered into an alliance with the Emperor of Germany; and sailing from the Orwell, in July, 1338, he landed in Flanders to pursue his schemes of conquest.
Taking up his residence at Antwerp, Edward linked himself in close friendship with the Flemings, and prepared for active operations; and Philip, supported by John, the blind King of Bohemia, by the Spaniards, and the Genoese, prepared to defend the dominions which he called his own. For a year little or nothing was done. But in November, 1339, the English began the war by wasting Cambresis; and about the middle of October, Philip of Valois advanced with a mighty army to give the invaders battle. No battle, however, took place. TheFrench retreated without striking a blow; and Edward, after having assumed the title and arms of the kings of France, returned to England to make arrangements for pursuing the prize on which his heart was set.
By this time the sympathies of the English nation were enlisted in the king's struggle. No sooner, indeed, had the war begun than Philip of Valois ordered his admirals to make a descent on England; and these master corsairs, approaching the coast with a fleet manned with Normans, Picards, and Spaniards, plundered Southampton, Sandwich, Winchelsea, Rye, Dover, and Portsmouth. Everywhere they were guilty of fearful violence; and when Edward returned to England, he was surrounded by multitudes, complaining loudly of the outrages that had been committed in his absence.
"O king!" cried the populace, "our towns have been burned, our houses pillaged, our young men slain, and our maidens deflowered."
"Be patient," replied Edward, "and rest assured that my turn is coming, and that I will not only protect you from your enemies, but make them pay dearly for all they have done."
Faithful to his promise, the king fitted out fleets to defend the coast, and prepared a great armament at Ipswich, with which to return to the Continent. It was the summer of 1340, and, every preparation having been made, Edward sailed from the Orwell; and on Saturday, the 24th of June, approached the coast of Flanders. As there were rumours of mighty preparations to prevent a landing, a sharp look-out was kept from the admiral's ship, and suddenly the sailors, who were aloft, shouted that they saw masts.
"Who will they turn out to be?" asked Edward.
"Doubtless," was the answer, "this is the fleet kept at sea by the French, under the admirals who have done England so much harm."
"Well," said the king, "I have, for a long time, wished to meet these men; and now, please God and St. George, we will fight with them."
As the king spoke, all doubts were removed. Before him lay a fleet of a hundred and twenty vessels, underthe command of admirals who had peremptory orders not to allow him to set foot on continental soil.
Every man on board the English ships was now on the alert, and a great naval battle began, and speedily assumed an aspect of excessive fury. Being able and determined men, the French admirals made every exertion, and, having the advantage of numbers, they pressed hard on their foes. But, in spite of the great odds against them, the English fought dauntlessly; and, after the conflict had raged for several hours, the French lost heart and hope, and leaped by hundreds into the sea. By seven o'clock in the evening the victory was complete, and Edward, landing next morning, set off on foot, with his knights, on a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Ardembourg, and afterwards rode to Ghent to visit Queen Philippa, who, in that city, had just given birth to her son, John of Gaunt.
While Edward was destroying the French fleet at Sluys, Philip of Valois was making war on Edward's brother-in-law, the Count of Hainault. It was of importance that he should at once hear the news; but he was a man of such violent temper that none of his knights had the courage to tell what had happened. At length the court jester undertook the delicate duty of informing his master of the loss he had sustained.
"Cowardly English!" said the jester, with bitter emphasis.
"What do you say?" asked Philip.
"Cowardly English!" repeated the jester. "Dastardly English! False-hearted English!"
"Why do you call them so?" asked Philip.
"Because," answered the jester, "they durst not leap out of their ships as our men did when they fought at Sluys."
Philip beginning to understand, uttered an exclamation of pain; and, on learning all, he flew into a violent passion, retreated towards Arras, broke up his army, and employed the mediation of the Countess of Hainault, who was his sister, and mother of the Queen of England. Edward, eager for a meeting, proposed to decide their dispute by a single combat; but the Frenchman declinedon the ground that the challenge was addressed to Philip of Valois, not to the King of France, and could not, therefore, be intended for him. After some negotiation, a peace was brought about by the Countess of Hainault's mediation, and Edward, who was by this time reduced to extreme poverty, returned to England to brood over the failure of his great schemes.
It was now the spring of 1340, and a renewal of the war seemed somewhat improbable. But, ere long, an event occurred in Brittany which produced unexpected consequences. In 1341, the Duke of Brittany died without issue, and two candidates appeared to claim his Duchy. One of these was Charles of Blois, who had espoused the duke's niece, and claimed Brittany in her right; the other was the duke's brother, John, Count of Montfort, who claimed as heir male. Philip of Valois, who now forgot the Salic law, and only remembered that Charles of Blois was his own nephew, decided in Charles's favour; and Montfort, having implored the support of the English king, seized upon the strongholds in the duchy. Unfortunately, the earl was taken prisoner early in the war; but his countess, Joan, the Fleming, bravely maintained the struggle, and, aided by an English force under Sir Walter Manny, made herself famous by her defence of Hennebon.
While contending with countless difficulties, the Countess of Montfort came to England to represent her case to the English king; and Edward, who was deeply interested in what was occurring on the Continent, sent Robert, Lord of Artois, with an army to aid her efforts. The expedition was not fortunate. Attacked suddenly at Vannes, and taken by surprise, Artois received wounds of which he soon died; and Edward, vowing to avenge him, embarked to conduct the war in person.
It was late in 1343 when the King of England landed in Brittany, and took the field with the hope of conquering. But fortune proved so adverse that nothing but his martial skill saved him from humiliation. While before Vannes he found himself threatened by the heir of France and Charles of Blois, at the head of a French army four times more numerous than that under his banner;and his doom looked dark. However, the French, finding that he had taken up a very strong position, and not particularly eager to try conclusions with the conqueror of Halidon and Sluys, did not venture on an attack; and, after the hostile armies had lain for some time facing each other, two cardinals, sent by the pope, appeared in the character of peacemakers.
Edward had scarcely a choice. He was surrounded by enemies, and almost destitute of provisions; and the coasts were so vigilantly guarded by the fleets of Spain, that he despaired of receiving supplies from England. His men were, in consequence, suffering much. At first, however, he would not consent to peace; but the two cardinals, having made great exertions, at length succeeded in bringing the belligerents to reason, and ambassadors on both sides were nominated to confer in the Priory of the Magdalen at Malestroit. Eventually they came to terms; and, a truce for three years having been sworn to, Edward embarked for England about the close of February, 1344, and landed at Weymouth, probably with the idea that he had seen the last of the Continent, and had more than enough of continental war.
If so, he was much mistaken. Scarcely, in fact, was Edward's back turned when Philip of Valois startled Christendom with a display of the perfidy and cruelty which characterised his life. At a tournament, to which the Bretons went without misgiving, twelve lords, who had fought for the cause of Montfort, were arrested. No charge was brought against them; nor were they allowed the benefit of a trial. Without having assigned a cause, or given the opportunity of a defence, Philip caused them to be conducted to the scaffold and beheaded.
This tragic event caused the utmost horror. The friends and kinsmen of the murdered men took up arms, and went in a body to the Montfort standard; and Godfrey Harcourt, a great baron of Normandy, finding himself in danger of sharing their fate, escaped to England, and obtained from Edward a vow to avenge the lawless execution of his allies.
My grandsire, much to my surprise, and much to my disappointment, showed no inclination whatever to avail himself of the cavalier's invitation, or to put the hospitality of Windsor Castle to the test. At first, indeed, he was very enthusiastic about the visit of a guest so brilliant, and pleased to make comparisons between him and the high-bred personages whom he had seen in his earlier days. But no sooner did a week pass than all this enthusiasm began to die away, and the aged worthy seemed to give up all idea of pursuing the acquaintance he had accidentally formed, and evinced considerable and increasing uneasiness about possession of the ring which had been left as the pledge of welcome and good cheer. In vain I endeavoured to persuade him to seek out the stranger; he only replied that Jack Fletcher was, doubtless, a very merry companion, who doubtless also, loved an adventure, and would, on occasion, say more in an hour than he would stand to in a year.
"But the ring," urged I.
"Ay," exclaimed my grandsire, shaking his head in evident perplexity. "That is the rub; what is to be done with the ring I know not."
"I will tell you," suggested I, perceiving my advantage, and resolved to follow it up. "Intrust me with the ring, and I will ride to Windsor, seek out the courtier, and place it in his hands."
My grandsire did not much approve of my plan; and my mother, on hearing of my proposal, protested loudly against it. But I had a will of my own, and an idea, which haunted me night and day, that the stranger's visit was, in some way, linked with my destiny; and believing, at all events, that he could aid me to emerge from obscurity, I held to my intention with all the tenacity and determination of my nature. Nothing daunted by the opposition of my grandsire and the alarm of my mother, I never rested till I obtained their sanction to what I, at that age, deemed a grand enterprise; and having, atlength, by perseverance, removed all obstacles, I prepared for my journey.
Accordingly, one morning in October, I arrayed myself so as to appear to the best advantage, mounted my black steed, and rode through the forest, with a feeling that I was on the road to fortune. I confess, however, that, as I neared the town of Windsor, my confidence in myself gradually weakened; and, as I reflected how little qualified I was by experience and knowledge of life to carry the project of boldly pushing my fortune to a successful termination, I not only repented of having ventured on such an errand, but almost made up my mind to turn rein, ride back to my grandsire's homestead, abandon once and for ever all ambitious ideas, and live, with independence, if not content, tending the oxen, and tilling the soil.
It happened, however, that my imagination, which, in reality, had led me to undertake this journey to Windsor, did not altogether desert me in the middle. In the midst of my doubts, I conjured up, for the hundredth time, a brilliant future; and feeling, as if by instinct, that my fortunes were hanging on the decision of the moment, I summoned pride to my aid, and pursued my way. My shyness, natural to a youth reared in the solitude of a grange, was rather inconvenient at the moment; but I have hinted that I was not without courage. I will go further, and say that I was not without audacity; and it was with the fixed purpose of doing, daring, and risking all, that I spurred into the little town of Windsor, rode up the ascent that leads to the castle, and, reining in at the massive gate, cast a look of awe at the towers, and turrets, and fortifications of the Norman stronghold, from which the standard of England floated in the autumn breeze.
The warder appeared, as in duty bound, and demanded on what errand I came, and looked calmly on as I answered that I wished to be admitted to the presence of a cavalier who called himself "Jack Fletcher."
"Jack Fletcher?" he repeated, opening his eyes, and regarding me with a glance which seemed to intimate that he recognised the name, but was not quite certain whether or not to acknowledge that he did.
"I come at the invitation of the cavalier I have named," said I, endeavouring to appear as courageous as possible; "and, to remove any doubts, I bring a token, which I was given to understand would secure me the privilege of being admitted to his presence."
I produced the ring; the warder looked at it, and bent his head.
"All right," said he; "enter, and presently you will be conducted to him you seek."
As the warder spoke, the gate opened; and, at a signal from him, I rode into the courtyard, where squires and knights, gaily dressed, were loitering about, and talking of adventures in love and war, and feats of arms. I remarked, with surprise, that several of them had one eye bound up with silk; and I afterwards learned that they had taken a solemn vow, in presence of the ladies and the peacock, never again to see with both eyes till they had performed certain deeds in arms against the French.
While I, having dismounted, stood looking with a feeling of that wonder produced by novelty on this gay scene, and somewhat astonished at my eccentricity in venturing into such a place, a young man of noble aspect and bearing approached and addressed me.
"Youth," said he with a smile, "you have come hither to see Jack Fletcher."
I bowed with great respect; for the air and appearance of the young noble impressed me with a sense of his importance; and I showed the ring, the influence of which on the warder I had carefully noted.
"Follow me, then," said he, smiling, "and I will lead you to his presence; though, in truth, it was an old man and not a youth for whom I expected to do that office."
I was by this time much too agitated to explain or reply; and I followed my guide like one in a dream, as he passed through passages and galleries. At length he halted at a door, and, drawing aside a curtain, spoke some words, which to me sounded like an order for execution. Mechanically, however, I entered, and, with my heart beating, and my brain whirling, and all my courage, all my audacity vanished, found myself face to face with the cavalier whose figure had, for weeks, been present to my imagination, andwhose words had, for weeks, echoed in my ear. He wore a black velvet jacket, and a hat of beaver, which became him much; and, as he turned his eye upon me, the truth as to who he was flashed, for the first time, so vividly and rapidly on my mind, that I stood stock-still, and almost felt as if I should have sunk to the floor.
My confusion and embarrassment, however, were so evident, that they pleaded for me more eloquently than words could have done; and he appeared all anxiety to put me at my ease.
"Brave youth," said he, "be not alarmed at finding yourself in a strange place; but make yourself as easy as if you were in your grandsire's grange. Why came he not with you, as he promised?"
"My lord," answered I, bending my knee, and trying to take courage, "my grandsire, on reflection, deemed it prudent not to intrude on the strength of the invitation which you gave in your courtesy; but intrusted me with the ring to restore to you, which I now do;" and, with great respect, I suited the action to the word.
I thought that a shade of disappointment passed over his countenance as I spoke; and I shrewdly guessed that it had been his wish to question my grandsire further on the tragic events of the late reign, on which their conversation had formerly turned, and which at the time had produced so strong an effect.
"Well," said he, after a pause, "men who have seen many years must be permitted to do as seems best in their own eyes; and, moreover, methinks we ought not to murmur too loudly at his absence, since he has sent you in his stead; and now that we have you here, youth," he added, with a smile, "you shall not leave us at your own pleasure. You, as I gathered, wished to be a warrior. Will you choose between my service and that of the Prince of Wales?"
"My lord," I replied, more and more embarrassed. "I fear me I am little qualified, by breeding or accomplishments, to serve either; and, even if it happened to be otherwise with me, I could not venture to choose."
"Ah," said he, with charming frankness, "I see how it is. The prince is of your own age, and that is a circumstance which always tends to attract, especially inearly youth. So let us consider the question settled, and I will at once have you installed as one of his pages."
So saying, and while I stared in amazement at the result of my journey to Windsor, he rose, took me by the arm, and talking of my grandsire as he went, conducted me to the tennis-court, where the prince and his companions were amusing themselves at play.
My guide, who every moment acquired additional importance in my eyes, stopped as we entered, and eyed the prince with a glance of high pride.
"I bring you," said he, "a youth of strength and courage, whom you will pleasure me by admitting among your pages; and I recommend him to your favour as the grandson of a man who, in his day and generation, served your progenitors faithfully and well."
"The hero of the quintain match at Smithfield!" exclaimed the prince. "My lord," he continued, "he is welcome for his grandsire's sake and his own."
"My lord," said I to the prince, "I pray you to pardon my seeming boldness. Had I known all I should not have dreamt of presenting myself at Windsor."
"Ah!" exclaimed the prince, with great good-humour; "you would not have come on Jack Fletcher's invitation had you known that Jack Fletcher was the king. But in that case I might have found you out; for I want striplings of courage and likelihood around me; and I have thought of you as such ever since the day when you won the peacock."
To enable my readers to form some idea of the position which was occupied by the Prince of Wales at the time when I, Arthur Winram—for by this surname I was now known—was admitted to the castle of Windsor, and taken into his service as page, I must go back a few years to relate such particulars as to his birth and boyhood as may convey a notion of the advantages he had inherited and the training he had received.
It was at York, and in the minster of that capital ofthe North, that, one Sunday in January, 1328, Edward the king, then sixteen, espoused Philippa, one of the four daughters whom William, Count of Hainault, surnamed the Good, had by his wife Joan, who was a princess of the line of Capet, and sister of Philip of Valois, to whom the Parliament of France adjudged the crown which St. Louis had worn. The marriage, being brought about by the king's mother, Isabel, and Roger de Mortimer, was not at first regarded with favour in England. In fact, people expressed much discontent with the business. But for once the instincts of the English deceived them. It was a love match after all; and ere long the young queen displayed so much excellence and so many amiable qualities, that she became more popular than any Queen of England had ever been, with the exception, it must be admitted, of Eleanor of Castile.
Nothing, probably, contributed more to the change of sentiment on the part of the English than the birth of the son destined to so glorious a career and so melancholy an end. At Woodstock—a sylvan palace associated with the memories of the Norman and early Plantagenet kings, and with the touching romance of Rosamond Clifford—Edward, Prince of Wales, first saw the light. It was ten o'clock on the morning of Friday, the 15th of June, 1330, when he was ushered into existence, and excited the admiration of the queen's household by his magnificent appearance.
No time was lost in sending a messenger to inform the king that a son had been born to him, and an heir to the house of Plantagenet; and on hearing the welcome news, and that the prince, just cradled at Woodstock, was a marvellously fine infant, and likely one day to be a most handsome man, the king gave a right royal reward to Thomas Prior, who had the good luck to carry the message.
Intelligence of the prince's birth proved hardly less welcome to the nation than to the king. The event was talked of with enthusiasm in every town and hamlet; and people told wonderful stories of the royal infant's remarkable size and beauty, the fineness of his limbs, and his state cradle, painted with designs from the Evangelists.Everywhere the young mother and her son were the subjects of conversation, and portraits of them, at the period, began to form favourite models for the Virgin and Child.
The king was, doubtless, well pleased at the interest that was manifested; and, in order that the public might participate in the rejoicings that followed the birth of England's heir, he proclaimed his intention of holding a grand tournament in London. Accordingly, the lists were erected in Cheapside, and a gay company of knights and ladies assembled on the occasion.
The ceremony, however, was interrupted by an accident that caused some unpleasantness. At the upper end of the street a gallery had been erected for the accommodation of the queen and her ladies; and, while the tilting was taking place, the scaffolding on which the gallery was reared gave way, and the structure fell to the ground. Great was the fright, loud the screaming, and alarming the confusion. Luckily enough, nothing fatal had occurred; but the king, much enraged, threatened to punish the workmen. Philippa, however, interceded in their behalf; and Edward, pacified by her mediation, and soothed by her earnest entreaties, consented to pardon their carelessness.
While the tournament was held in Cheapside in honour of his birth, the prince was passing his childhood under the charge of women. Joan of Oxford was his nurse; Matilda Plumpton was rocker of his cradle; and the Lady St. Omer, wife of a brave knight, was his governess. But no sooner was he old enough for his book than he was intrusted to the charge of Walter Burley, to be instructed as became the heir of a family, one of whose chiefs had given it as his opinion that "a king without learning was a crowned ass."
I ought to mention that Walter Burley had been bred at Merton College, Oxford, and that he was a celebrated doctor of divinity. Having written divers treatises on natural and moral philosophy, his fame spread over the country, and recommended him to the Court; and when Philippa of Hainault came to England as queen, he had the distinction of being appointed her almoner; and, inafter years, when he had the honour of figuring as tutor to her son, he fulfilled his functions with high credit. At the same time, Simon Burley, his young kinsman, a lad of great promise, was admitted as one of the prince's class-fellows, and formed that friendship which subsequently led to his being the prince's favourite knight.
Nor were those exercises which make men strong in battle neglected in the education of the prince. From childhood he was accustomed to arms, trained to feats of chivalry, and inured to exertion. As he grew up he gave indications not to be mistaken of turning out a learned, elegant, and brilliant hero, and, in some respects, reminded men of his mighty progenitor who conquered Simon de Montfort at Evesham, and reigned as the first Edward with so much power and popularity.
Meanwhile, the royal boy was admitted to the honours which naturally devolved on him as heir to the crown of England. At the age of three he was created Earl of Chester; at seven he was made Duke of Cornwall; and at thirteen he was, in parliament, invested by the king with the dignity of Prince of Wales.
About the same period, another honour, and one to which he had no hereditary claim, seemed likely to fall to his lot. I have already mentioned that the Count of Flanders had, by his tyranny, driven his subjects to revolt, and that Jacob von Arteveldt, a famous brewer, exercised enormous influence among his countrymen, and that, especially in Ghent, his word was almost law.
Now it entered into the heart of Arteveldt to conceive the expediency of wholly depriving the Count of Flanders of his inheritance, of making it a duchy, and bestowing it on the Prince of Wales. Full of his scheme, and perhaps rather elated with the power he enjoyed in Flanders, Arteveldt entered into communication with the King of England, and had the gratification of finding that his proposal was quite the reverse of unwelcome. Indeed, King Edward promised, without delay, to take his son to Flanders, that Arteveldt might have an opportunity of putting his project into execution; and, accordingly, about St. John the Baptist's Day, he embarked with the prince, in his ship, the Katherine, for Flanders,and sailed into the harbour of Sluys, where, some years earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.
At Sluys, King Edward kept his court on board his ship, the Katherine, and there received Arteveldt and his other allies among the Flemings. Many conferences were held. But it soon appeared that Arteveldt's enthusiasm was not shared by his countrymen. The idea of disinheriting their count and his son was one which they seemed most averse to entertain; and they could not be prevailed on to do more in the matter than promise to consult the cities which they represented. Every attempt to bring the business to a conclusion proved abortive; and meanwhile a storm was gathering which was to destroy the whole scheme at a blow.
In fact, French influences, and perhaps French gold, were at work in every city of Flanders, and rapidly undermining the power which Arteveldt had for years been building up. All regard for freedom and commerce gave way before the prejudices of the hour; and the people of Ghent not only set their faces decidedly against Arteveldt's project of deposing their count in favour of the Prince of Wales, but manifested the utmost indignation against its author. In Arteveldt's absence from Ghent the murmurs were loud; and no sooner did he return to the town than the malcontents expressed their sentiments in a most menacing tone.
It was about the noon of a summer's day when Arteveldt, having left the King of England and the Prince of Wales at Sluys, entered Ghent. Immediately he became aware that his popularity was gone. People who, in other days, had been wont to salute him with profound respect, now bent their brows and turned their backs; and the multitude, at all times easily deluded, intimated that they were prepared to restore the count whom they had banished, and to throw down the great citizen whom they, till recently, had worshipped.
"Here," cried they, as they recognised his figure on horseback, "comes one who is too much the master, and wants to order in Flanders according to his will and pleasure. This must not be longer borne."
Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing.As he rode up the street he became certain that some mischief was in agitation, and probably suspected that his life was aimed at. In any case, he hastened to take precautions against any attempt at violence. As soon as he dismounted and entered his mansion, he ordered the doors and windows to be secured, and warned his servants to be on their guard.
It soon appeared that Arteveldt's instincts had not deceived him. In fact, a multitude, chiefly composed of the mechanical class, almost instantaneously filled the street, surrounded the mansion, and evinced a determination to go all lengths and force an entrance. Resistance appearing vain, Arteveldt despaired of saving himself by force; and, coming to a window with his head uncovered, he attempted to bring them to reason.
"My good people," said he, in the most soothing tone, "what aileth you? Why are you so enraged against me? How have I incurred your displeasure? Tell me, and I will conform myself entirely to your wills."
"We want," answered they with one voice, "an account of the treasures you have made away with."
"Gentlemen," said Arteveldt, "be assured that I have never taken anything from the treasures of Flanders; and if you will, for the present, return quietly to your homes, and come here to-morrow morning, I will be ready to give so good an account of them that you shall have every reason to be satisfied."
"No, no!" cried they; "we must have it directly. You shall not escape us thus. We know that you have emptied the treasury, and, without our knowledge, sent the money to England; and you must, therefore, suffer death."
When Arteveldt heard this, he clasped his hands together, and wept in mortification of spirit as he thought of the services he had rendered his country, and perceived how they were likely to be requited.
"Gentlemen," he said, "such as I am, you yourselves have made me. Formerly you swore you would protect me against all the world, and now, without any reason, you want to murder me."
"Come down," bawled the mob, "and do not preachto us from such a height. We want to know what you have done with the treasures of Flanders?"
Seeing clearly that the populace were in that state of excitement which makes them mistake friends for foes, and that his destruction was certainly intended, Arteveldt left the window and attempted to get out of his house by the rear, with the object of taking refuge in a neighbouring church. But he was too late to save himself from butchery. Already four hundred men had entered the mansion by the back, and the toils were upon him. Shouting for his head, and clamouring like wild beasts, they rushed upon him, seized him forcibly, trampled him under foot, and slew him without mercy.
When this tragical event occurred at Ghent, the King of England and the Prince of Wales were still at Sluys, awaiting the result of their negotiations. On hearing of Arteveldt's violent death, the king was enraged beyond measure; and, after vowing to avenge his ally and friend, he put to sea with his son and returned to England.
Extreme was the alarm of the more prudent among the Flemings when they learned what had been done by the mob at Ghent, and what had been said by the King of England on receiving intelligence of the murder of Arteveldt. Without delay they sent ambassadors from the various cities to explain and apologise; and at Westminster the Flemings were admitted to the royal presence. At first, Edward was haughty and disdainful; but, after much conversation with the ambassadors, who disowned all participation in the bloody deed, he consented to forego thoughts of vengeance.
By this time, indeed, the king had foes enough on the Continent without adding the Flemings to the number; and he perceived the impolicy of attempting to force his son on them as a ruler. It was not as Duke of Flanders, but as Prince of Wales, that the heir of England was to perform the martial prodigies which made him so famous among the men of the age he adorned with his valour and chivalry.
Events had already reached a crisis which rendered the continuation of peace impossible, when I so far realised the aspirations I had cherished in obscurity as to makemy way into the service of the young hero around whose name so much fame was soon to gather.
As King Edward had promised, I speedily found myself installed as one of the pages to the Prince of Wales, and hastened to provide myself with garments suitable to my new position in life, and to fall into the ways of the court over which the good Queen Philippa presided with so much grace and amiability.
In spite of the humble sphere from which I had emerged, I was treated with almost familiar kindness by the prince, and with perfect courtesy by the gentlemen who formed his household, with the single exception of the Lord De Ov, whose haughty words at Smithfield had so deeply galled me. Between the young baron and myself there existed an instinctive antipathy, as if we had been born to be mortal foes; and, as he never looked at me without a scowl of scorn, I, rather elate with my rising fortunes, replied with glances of fiery defiance.
I had lost no time in sending a messenger from Windsor to inform my grandsire and my mother of the result of my visit to Jack Fletcher, and of my intention to take an early opportunity of presenting myself in person at the homestead, to convince them not only that there was no mistake about my good luck, but also that I was certain, ere long, to rise higher.
Never, indeed, had there been a time when an Englishman was likely to have more chances of distinguishing himself in continental war. Everybody was telling his neighbour how the king was about to lead an army, composed of Englishmen, to France, and how Philip of Valois—if he knew what manner of men the invaders were likely to be—would tremble at the prospect of their landing. I fully participated in the prevailing excitement, and listened eagerly as Simon Burley related the circumstances under which King Edward sent the defiance which made a renewal of the war inevitable.
It appears that the King of England was at Windsor, celebrating the feast of St. George, and flattering himself that peace was established, when he received intelligence that the treaty of Malestroit had been rudely broken by the summary execution of his Breton allies. The king, whose temper was fiery, no sooner heard of this breach of faith and outrage on justice, than his blood boiled with indignation, and he vowed he would make Philip of Valois repent his handiwork.
At that time Sir Hervé de Léon, a knight of Brittany, who had stood sternly up for the interest of Charles of Blois against the English king and the Earl of Montfort, happened to be a prisoner in England; and Edward in the excess of his rage, bethought him of retaliation. Fortunately, however, Henry, Earl of Derby, the king's kinsman, had the courage to remonstrate, and to persuade Edward that such a course would be unworthy of his dignity and of the reputation he enjoyed throughout Christendom.
"My lord," said Derby, "if Philip of Valois has, in his rashness, had the villainy to put to death so many valiant knights, do not suffer your courage to be tainted by it; for, in truth, if you will but consider a little, your prisoner has nothing to do with this outrage. Have the goodness therefore to give him his liberty at a reasonable ransom."
Edward, after attentively listening to the earl, paused, reflected, indicated by gesture his concurrence in his kinsman's opinion, and ordered the captive knight to be brought to his presence.
"Ha! Sir Hervé—Sir Hervé," began the king, who by this time had recovered his serenity, "my adversary, Philip of Valois, has shown his treachery in too cruel a manner when he put to death so many knights. It has given me much displeasure, and it appears as if it were done in despite of us. If I were to take his conduct as my example, I ought to do the like to you, for you have done me more harm in Brittany than any other man."
"Sire——" said Sir Hervé, interrupting.
"Nay," continued Edward, "listen. I will preserve my honour unspotted, and allow you your liberty at a trifling ransom, out of my love for the Earl of Derby, who hasrequested it; but on this condition, that you perform what I am going to ask of you."
"Sire," said Sir Hervé, "I will do the best of my power to perform whatever you shall command."
"Ah, then, let us come to the point," continued the king. "I know, Sir Hervé, that you are one of the richest knights in Brittany, and if I were to press you, you would pay me forty thousand crowns for your ransom. But you will go to Philip of Valois, my adversary, and tell him, from me, that, by putting so many knights to death in so dishonourable a manner, he has sore displeased me, and I say and maintain that he has, by this act, broken the truce, and that, from this moment, I consider it broken, and by you send him my defiance."
"Sire," replied Sir Hervé, "I will perform your message to the best of my abilities."
"In consideration of your carrying my message," added the king, "I will let you off for ten thousand crowns, which you will send to Bruges within five days after you have crossed the seas."
"Sire," said the knight, "I engage so to do; and God reward you and my lord of Derby for your kindness to me."
No delay could be laid to the charge of Sir Hervé de Léon in fulfilling his promise. Finding himself released from prison, he took leave of the king, and embarked at Southampton. His intention was to land at Harfleur, but the vessel in which he sailed encountered a violent storm. For fifteen days the knight was almost at the mercy of the winds and the waves; and he was under the necessity of throwing his horses overboard. At length the mariners landed at Crotoy, a town in Picardy, at the mouth of the Somme, and Sir Hervé with his suite journeyed on foot to Abbeville.
The voyage, however, had proved too much for the Breton knight, and at Abbeville he was so ill and so weakened by sea-sickness that he could not ride on horseback. But he did not forget his promise; and, though his end was approaching, he travelled in a litter to Paris, and delivered to Philip of Valois, word for word, the message with which King Edward had intrusted him.
"And now," said King Edward, "let my adversary tremble."
"Ay, let Philip of Valois tremble," shouted hundreds of voices.
Everywhere throughout England there was bustle, and excitement, and preparation for war; and while men-at-arms and archers were mustering at Southampton, Godfrey de Harcourt, that great noble of Normandy, whom Philip of Valois menaced with death, reached England, to encourage the king with his promises and aid him with his counsels; and among the youth who surrounded the Prince of Wales there was much enthusiasm, and also much talk of performing feats of arms; and none among them was more enthusiastic than myself or more hopeful of doing something to win renown.
It was under such circumstances, one morning in May, that I rode through Windsor Forest to the homestead that had sheltered my childhood, to bid adieu to my grandsire and to my mother before crossing the sea. My grandsire shed a tear and my mother wept bitterly as we parted. But my heart was too elate with hope, and my brain too full of glowing aspirations, to allow their sadness to depress me. Already I was, in imagination, winning the spurs of knighthood, even leading armies to victory, and making my way to fame and fortune by heroic achievements.
So far everything appeared brilliant. But I was destined, ere the year closed, to discover that war was not wholly made up of triumphs, and to have ample leisure to pine, in irksome solitude, for a sight of the quiet homestead which I had deemed so dull.
But let me not tell of the future. At the period of which I write there was little thought among us of disaster or of mishaps. The king, the prince, earls, barons, knights, squires, and yeomen were leaving their homes to take part in the great enterprise. All England was ringing with predictions of victory and conquest: and my young heart beat to the music of the hour, as I thought of Philip of Valois listening to the terms of King Edward's defiance, and trembling on his throne at the approach of King Edward's vengeance.
About St. John the Baptist's Day, 1346, the King of England, having nominated his young son, Lionel of Clarence, lieutenant of the realm, and intrusted Queen Philippa to his kinsman, the Earl of Kent, embarked at Southampton, to cross the sea. On board the king's ship, the Katherine, was the Prince of Wales; and I, with other pages and several young gentlemen of high birth, had the privilege of being in attendance on the prince.
Godfrey de Harcourt, the great Norman lord I have already mentioned, accompanied King Edward on this occasion. Indeed, the king relied much upon Harcourt for such information as might enable him to penetrate into the country which recognised Philip of Valois as sovereign, and strike a shattering blow at his adversary's power.
It was King Edward's intention to land in Gascony; and his mighty armament, on board of which were most of the great earls and barons of England, put to sea with that view. The wind was favourable, and, as the ships went tilting over the waves, it was a fair sight to behold; for it seemed as if the whole water, as far as the eye could reach, was covered with cloth, from the number of sails that were given to the wind. On the third day, however, there was a marvellous change. In fact, the wind, changing suddenly, drove us on the coast of Cornwall; and the mariners were fain to cast anchor, and remain there for six days and six nights.
It was now that Harcourt proposed to King Edward to change the destination of the armament, and to land in Normandy instead of Gascony.
"Sire," said Harcourt, "Normandy is one of the most fertile provinces in the world; and I will answer with my head that you may land in any part of it you please without hindrance, for no one will think of opposing you. You will find in Normandy rich towns and handsome castles without any means of defence, and your peoplewill gain wealth enough to suffice them for twenty years to come. Your fleet may also follow you up the river Orne, as far as Caen."
"On my faith, cousin," said the king, "I believe you are in the right."
"What I state is true, sire," added Harcourt; "I, therefore, intreat you will listen, and give credit to what I have said."
After some consideration, King Edward determined on following Harcourt's sage advice; and, without delay, he gave orders that the fleet should steer direct for Normandy. At the same time, he ordered the flag of the Earl of Warwick, who was admiral, to be hoisted on board his own ship; and, the wind being favourable, he took the lead of the armament, and made straight for the Norman shore.
It was on the coast of Coutantin, of which Coutances is the chief town, that the English fleet came to anchor; and it was at the port of La Hogue, not far from St. Sauveur le Vicomte, the dominion of Harcourt, that King Edward landed.
At that moment, as I well remember, there occurred a slight accident, which created much excitement, and which the king, with admirable presence of mind, turned to good account. Being impatient to reach the land which he claimed as his own, he no sooner observed that the Katherine was on the point of touching the strand, than he leaped from on board. As he set foot on the shore, however, he happened to slip, and fell with such force on his face, that the blood gushed from his nose.
A cry of horror instantly arose, and spread through the armament; and the knights about the king gathered round him with dismay on their countenances.
"Sire," said they, "let us intreat you to return to your ship, and not think of landing to-day, for this is an unlucky omen."
"Why an unlucky omen?" exclaimed the king, after a moment's hesitation. "I look upon it as most favourable, for it is a sign that the land is desirous of me."
As the king's words were reported, a loud shout indicated how much pleased the English were with his answer; and they began to disembark with the baggage,armour, and horses. That night the king and his army lay on the sands; and, next day, having conferred knighthood on the Prince of Wales, and appointed Godfrey de Harcourt and the Earl of Warwick marshals of his army, and the Earl of Arundel constable, he prepared to march.
Meanwhile messengers, despatched by the towns of Normandy, were riding in haste towards Paris, to inform Philip of Valois that the English had landed; and all over the country rumour spread the news that the lion-hearted Plantagenet was once more on the soil of France, with a mighty host of archers and men-at-arms, led by Anglo-Norman nobles, whose genius and valour made them most formidable war-chiefs.
And so, no longer, as on former occasions, with a band of foreign hirelings, but with an army of Englishmen, sworn to conquer or die, and with his gallant son riding by his side, did King Edward begin his march into the dominions of his adversary—hope beckoning him onwards and genius guiding him on the way to victory.
I have said that I embarked to take part in the war in high spirits; and in spite of the exertion and fatigue of the disembarking, my enthusiasm had now risen to the highest pitch. But suddenly I was reminded that I had, at least, one enemy at hand, who was determined not to overlook my existence. I was just mounting my black steed to ride in the prince's train, and had my hand in the mane to vault into the saddle, when the Lord De Ov crossed my path, and contrived, in passing, to run his charger against mine in such a way as to leave no doubt that insult was intended; and then, turning round, he eyed me with a malevolence that no words could have expressed.
My blood naturally boiled at this unprovoked insult, and at another time I should certainly have given way to my temper. In the prince's presence, however, and in the circumstances in which I was, anything like retaliation was out of the question, and I was forced to restrain my wrath and bite my glove.
Mounting in sullen mood, I calmed myself as I best could; and, as I followed the prince's banner, I could not help wondering for the twentieth time, but more than ever, what cause there could be for the malevolence which thisyoung baron, so high in the world's esteem in comparison, exhibited towards me, an unprotected boy, from the day when accident threw us in each other's way.
I lived long enough both to experience his utmost malice, and to punish it. Better far for him would it have been to have allowed the past to sink into oblivion. It was his constant display of antipathy which eventually led to my penetrating the mystery that hung over my birth, and to discover that I had to settle with my Lord De Ov a heavy hereditary account; and it was his own insolent folly that precipitated the fate that befell him on that day when, in the face of heaven and earth, I avenged, at one blow, the wrongs of a father, and my own.
It soon appeared that the alarm expressed by the French when they heard that the King of England had set his armed heel on the soil of Normandy was not unfounded or unreasonable.
Indeed, the martial chief of the English invaders lost no time in making his presence felt, and adding to the terror which the news of his landing had inspired. After dividing his forces into three divisions, he advanced into the country, the centre host being under his own command and that of the Prince of Wales; while on either hand marched the marshals, ravaging as they went, and driving the natives before them as hunters chase the deer. Every evening, at sunset, the three forces met at the place appointed for encamping for the night; and every morning they parted to pursue their successes.
First among the places that yielded to the English was St. Lo, a rich trading town in Coutantin; and, this conquest achieved, they advanced on Caen, a flourishing and handsome city, with a noble castle and many fine churches, besides the monastery dedicated to St. Stephen, in which reposed the ashes of William the Norman. At Caen, Edward became aware that there was every prospect of resistance, for Robert de Blarguy, with threehundred Genoese, held the castle; while the Count of Tancarville and the Count of Eu, Constable of France, occupied the town with a host of warriors, who, when joined by the townsmen, formed a formidable force.
It was necessary, under the circumstances, to proceed with caution; and the king quartered for the night in the fields outside the town, with the intention of attacking on the morrow. But the French were meanwhile on the alert; and, headed by the constable, the citizens boldly came forth into the field to do battle with the invaders. Nor did the English shrink from an encounter. No sooner, indeed, did day dawn, than the king and the Prince of Wales prepared for action, and set their men in order. The sight of the English produced an immediate effect; and when they began to approach, the townsmen took fright, turned their backs, and fled through the gates.
But it was too late to save themselves by flight; and the English, entering with them, forcibly took possession. This, however, was not done without considerable loss. Indeed, the men of Caen showered stones and every description of missile from the windows, and exerted themselves so vigorously that more than five hundred Englishmen lost their lives.
On hearing of the havoc that had been wrought among his soldiers, King Edward was highly exasperated; and, in his wrath, he thought of vengeance.
"On my faith," exclaimed he, "I am strongly inclined to put the inhabitants to the sword, and burn the town!"
Harcourt, however, interposed, and appeased the king's wrath.
"Sire," said he, "assuage somewhat of your anger, and be satisfied with what has already been done. You have a long journey to make, and there are in this town thousands of men who will defend themselves obstinately. It would cost you many lives, and put a stop to your expedition, without redounding to your honour. Philip de Valois is certain to come to give you battle, and you will have more than full employment for all your men."
"Sir Godfrey," replied the king, "you are marshal; therefore order as you please. For this time we will not interfere."
Delighted at the king's answer, Harcourt mounted his horse, ordered his banner to be displayed, rode through the town, and commanded that none of the English should, on pain of death, hurt any man or woman in Caen. This prevented slaughter; but many prisoners were taken, and the Constable of France and the Count of Tancarville were among the number.
At Caen the king and his army remained for three days; and the English, having made themselves masters of the place, did not fail to make free with what it contained. After the marshal's proclamation, which assured the inhabitants that their lives were safe, was understood, all fear on their part seemed to vanish. Many of them received the invaders into their houses as guests, and others freely opened their coffers, and parted with their gold in consideration of being protected.
Finding themselves masters, on such terms, of a town larger than any in England, except London, full of noble dames, and damsels, and rich citizens, and stocked with draperies, merchandise, wines, and all manner of good things, the English indulged, without stint, their appetite for pleasure and plunder; and many of them amassed great wealth, which was sent, in barges, down the river to Estreham, to be conveyed to St. Sauveur, where lay the fleet, ready to convey the spoil and the prisoners to England.