 CHAPTER XVII. When the bar was once ready for removal, the captives delayed not a minute. For although it was now so late that there was little chance of a visit being paid them, it was just possible that such might be the case, and that it might occur to the night that it would be safer to separate them. Now, Ralph, do you go first, since I am lighter, and can climb up by means of the strap, which you can hold from above? Push the bar out, and lay it down quietly on the thickness of the wall. A splash might attract the attention of the sentries, though I doubt whether it would, for the wind is high, and the rain falling fast. Unbuckle the strap before you move the bar, as otherwise it might fall, and I should have difficulty in handing it to you again. Now, I am steady against the wall. Ralph seized the bar, and, with a great effort, pushed the bottom from him. It moved through the groove without much difficulty, but it needed a great wrench to free the upper end. However, it was done, and, laying it quietly down, he pulled himself up and thrust himself through the loophole. It was a desperate struggle to get through, for it was only just wide enough for his head to pass, and he was so squarely built that his body with difficulty followed. The wall was four feet wide, and has the loophole widened considerably without. There was, when he had once passed through from the inside, space enough for him to kneel down and lower one end of the strap to Walter. The ladder speedily climbed up, and getting through the slit with much less trouble than Ralph had experienced. After all though, in height and width of shoulder, he was as equal. He was less in depth than his follower. He joined him in the opening, Ralph sitting with his feet in the water in order to make room for him. The dungeon was upon the western side of the castle, and consequently the stream would be with them in making for sure. It was pitch dark, but they knew that the distance they would have to swim could not exceed forty or fifty yards. Keep along close to the wall, Ralph. If we once get out in the stream, we might lose our way. We will skirt the wall until it ends. Then there is a cut, for as you saw when we entered, the moat runs right across this neck. If we keep a bit further down and then land, we shall be fairly beyond the outworks. Ralph slipped down into the water. And followed by Walter, swam along at the foot of the wall. They had already been deprived of their armor, but had luckily contrived to retain their daggers in their belts, which they had again girdled on before entering the water. The stream hurried them rapidly along, and they had only to keep themselves afloat. They were soon at the corner of the castle. A few strokes farther, and they felt again the wall which lined the moat. The stream still swept them along. They felt the masonry come to an end. And bushes and shrubs lined the bank. They were beyond the outer defenses of the castle. Still a little farther, they proceeded down the stream in order to prevent the possibility of any noise they might make in scrambling up, being heard by the sentinels on the outer poster. Then when they felt quite safe, they grasped the bushes and speedily climbed the bank. Looking back at the castle, they saw lights still burning there. Short as was the time they had been in the water, they were both chilled to the bone. For it was the month of February, and the water was bitterly cold. "'It cannot be more than nine o'clock now,' Walter said. For it is not more than four hours since darkness fell. We are not likely to visit the dungeon before eight or nine tomorrow, so we can rely upon twelve hours' start. And if we make the best of our time, we ought to be far on traveling on a night like this through a strange country. I would that the stars were shining. However, the direction of the wind and the rain will be a guide to us, and we shall soon strike the road we traveled yesterday, and can follow that till morning.' They were not long before they found the track, and then started at a brisk pace along it. All night they struggled on through the wind and rain, until the first dawn enabled them to see the objects in the surrounding country, and making for the forest, which extended to within a mile of the road, they entered deep in its shelter, and there, utterly exhausted, threw themselves down on the wet ground. After a few hours of uneasy sleep, they woke, taking their place near the edge of the forest, watched for the passage of any party which might be in pursuit. But until nightfall none came along. They have not discovered our flight, Ralph said at last, or they would have passed long before this. Sir Philip doubtless imagines that we are drowned. The water was within a few inches of the sill when we started, and must soon had flooded the dungeon, and did he trouble to look in the morning, which is unlikely enough, seeing that he would be sure of our fate. He would be unable to descend the stairs, and could not reach the door, and so discover that the bar had been removed. No, whatever his motive may have been, encompassing my death, he is doubtless satisfied that he has attained it, and we need to have no further fear of pursuit from him. The rain has ceased, and I think that it will be a fine night. We will walk on, and if we come across the barn, we will make free to enter it, and stripping off our clothing to dry, we will sleep in the hay, and pursue our journey in the morning. From our travel-stained appearance any who may meet us will take us for two wayfarers going to take service in the army at a means. It was not until nearly midnight that they came upon such a place as they sought. Then, after passing a little village, they found a shed, standing apart. Entering it, they found it was tenanted by two cows. Groping about they presently came upon a heap of forage, and, taking off their outer garments, lay down on this, covering themselves thickly with it. The shed was warm and comfortable, and they were soon asleep. And, awakening at daybreak, they found their clothes had dried somewhat. The sun was not yet up when they started, but it soon rose, and air noon their garments had dried, and they felt for the first time comfortable. They met but few people on the road, and these passed them with ordinary salutations. They had by this time left a means on the right, and by nightfall were well on their way toward Calais. Early in the morning they had purchased some bread at a village through which they passed. Walter's Norman French being easily understood, and exciting no surprise or suspicion. At nightfall they slept in a shed within a mile of the ruins of the castle of Prey, and late next evening entered the English encampment at Newtown. After going to his tent where he and Ralph changed their garments and partook of a hearty meal, Walter proceeded to the pavilion of the prince, who hailed his entrance with the greatest surprise. Why, Sir Walter, he exclaimed, what good saint has brought you here? I have, but an hour since received the message from the count of Everrew to the effect that you were a prisoner in the hands of Sir Philip de Hobo, with whom I must treat for your ransom. I was purporting to send off a herald tomorrow to ask at what sum he held you, and now you appear in flesh and blood before us. But first, before you tell us your story, I must congratulate you on your gallant defense of the castle at Prey, which is accounted by all as one of the most valiant deeds of the war. When two days had passed without a messenger from you coming hither, I feared you were beleaguered, and started that evening with six hundred men at arms. We arrived at daybreak, to finding only a smoking ruin. Only among the crowd of dead upon the breach we found one of your men at arms who still breathed. And after some cordial had been given him, and his wounds staunched, he was able to tell us the story of the siege. But it needed not his tale to tell us how staunchly you had defended the castle. For the hundreds of dead who lay outside the walls, and still more the mass who piled the breach, and the many who lay in the castle-yard spoke for themselves of the valour with which the castle had been defended. As the keep was gutted by fire, and the man could tell us not of what had happened after he had been stricken down at the breach. We knew not whether you and your brave garrison had perished in the flames. We saw the penthouse beneath which they had labored to cut through the wall. But the work had ceased before the holes were large enough for entry, and we hoped that you might have seen that further resistance was in vain, and have made terms for your lives. Indeed we heard from the country people that certain prisoners had been taken to Amines. I rested one day at Pree, and the next rode back here, and forthwith dispatched a herald to the Count of Everu at Amines, asking for news of the garrison. But now he was returned with word that twenty-four men at arms, and fifty-eight archers are prisoners in the Count's hands, and that he is ready to exchange them against an equal number of French prisoners. But that you, with your man of arms, were in the keeping of Sir Philip of Hobel, with whom I must treat for your ransom. And now tell me, how is it that I see you here? Has your captor, confiding in your nightly word to send him the sum agreed upon, allowed you to return? Tell me the sum, and my treasurer shall tomorrow pay it over to a herald who shall carry it to Hobel. Thank you, your Royal Highness, for your generosity, Walter replied. But there is no ransom to be paid. And then he proceeded to narrate the incidents of his captivity at Hobel, and his escape from the castle. His narration was frequently interrupted by exclamations of surprise and indignation from the prince and the knights present. Well, this well-nigh passes all belief, the prince exclaimed, when he had concluded. It is an outrage upon all laws of chivalry and honor. What could have induced this catif night, instead of treating you with courtesy and honor, until your ransom arrived, to lodge you in a foul dungeon, where, had you not made your escape, your death would have been brought about that very night by the rising water? Could it be you think that his brain is distraught by some loss or injury, which may have befallen him at our hands during the war, and worked him up to a blind passion of hatred against all Englishmen? I think not that, your Royal Highness, Walter replied. His manner was cool and deliberate, and altogether free from any signs of madness. Moreover, it would seem that he had, especially, marked me down beforehand. Since, as I have told you, he had bargained with the count of Everu for the possession of my person should I escape with life at the capture of the castle. It seems rather as if he must have some private enmity against me. Although, what the cause may be, I cannot imagine. Seeing that I have never, to my knowledge before, met him, and have only heard his name by common report. Whatever be the cause, the Prince said, we will have satisfaction for it, and I will beg the King, my father, to write at once to Philip of Valoi, protesting against the treatment that you have received, and denouncing Sir Philip of Hobu as a base and dishonored knight, whom, shall he fall into our hands, we will commit at once to the hangman. Upon the following day Walter was called before the King, and related to him in full the incidents of the siege and of his captivity and escape. And the same day King Edward sent off a letter to Philip of Valoi, denouncing Sir Philip of Hobu as a dishonored knight and threatening retaliation upon the French prisoners in his hands. A fortnight later an answer was received from the King of France, saying that he had inquired into the matter and had sent a seneshall, who had questioned Sir Philip of Hobu and some of the men at arms in the castle, and that he found that King Edward had been grossly imposed upon by a fictitious tale. Sir Walter Sumner's had, he found, been treated with all nightly courtesy, and, believing him to be an honorable knight and true to his word, but slight watch had been kept over him. He had basely taken advantage of this trust, and, with the man at arms with him, had escaped from the castle in order to avoid payment of his ransom, and had now invented these gross and wicked charges against Sir Philip Hobu as a cloak to his own dishonor. Walter was furious when he heard the contents of this letter, and the King and Black Prince were no less indignant. Although they doubted him not for a moment, Walter begged that Ralph might be brought before them and examined strictly as to what had taken place in order that they might see that his statement tallied exactly with those he had made. When this had been done, Walter obtained permission from the King to dispatch a cartel to Sir Philip de Hobu, denouncing him as a perjured and dishonored knight, and challenging him to meet him in moral conflict at any time and place that he might name. At the same time the King dispatched the letter to Philip of Alloy, saying that the statements of the French knight and followers were wholly untrue, and begging that a time might be appointed for the meeting of the two knights in the lists. To this King Philip replied that he had ordered all private quarrels in France to be laid aside during the progress of the war, and that so long as an English foot remained upon French soil he would give no countenance to his knights throwing away the lives which they owed to France in private broils. You must wait, Sir Walter, you see, the King said, until you may perchance to meet him in the field of battle. In the meantime, to show how lightly I esteem the foul charge brought against you, and how much I hold in honour the bravery which you showed in defending the castle, which my son the Prince entrusted to you, as well as upon other occasions, I hereby promote you to the rank of Knight Bannerette. Events now passed slowly before Calais. Queen Philippa and many of her ladies crossed the channel and joined her husband, and these added much to the gaity of the life in camp. The garrison at Calais was, if it was known, in the source straits for the want of food, and at last the news came that the King of France, with a huge army of two hundred thousand men, was moving to its relief. They had gathered at Heston, at which rendezvous the King had arrived in the early part of April. But it was not until the 27th of July that the whole army was collected, and marching by slow steps, advanced toward the English position. King Edward had taken every precaution to guard all the approaches to the city. The ground was in most places too soft and sandy to admit of the construction of defensive works. But the fleet was drawn up close in shore to cover the line of sand hills by the sea with arrows and war-machines, while the passage of the marshes, which extended for a considerable distance round the town, were guarded by the Earl of Lancaster and a body of chosen troops, while the other approaches to the city were covered by the English camp. The French reconordering parties found no way open to attack the English, unless under grievous disadvantages. The Cardinals at Tuscaloom, St. John and St. Paul, endeavored to negotiate terms of peace, and commissioners on both sides met. The terms offered by Philip were, however, by no means so favorable as Edward, after his own victorious operations and those of his armies in Brittany and Guyene, had a right to expect and the negotiations were broken off. The following day the French king sent in a message to Edward, saying that he had examined the ground in every direction in order to advance and give battle, but had found no means of doing so. He therefore summoned the king to come forth from the marshy ground in which he was encamped, and to fight in the open plain, and he offered to send four French knights who, before English of the same rank, should choose a fair plain in the neighborhood, according to the usages of chivalry. Edward had little over thirty thousand men with him, but the same evening that Philip's challenge was received, a body of seventeen thousand Fleming and English detached from an army which had been doing good service on the borders of Flanders, succeeded in passing round the enemy's host and in affecting a juncture with the king's army. Early the next morning, after having consulted with his officers, Edward returned an answer to the French king, saying that he agreed to his proposal and enclosed a safe conduct for any four French knights who might be appointed to arrange with the same number of English the place of battle. The odds were indeed enormous, the French being four to one, but Edward, after the success at Creasy, which had been won by the Black Prince's divisions, which bore a still smaller proportion to the force engaging it, might well feel confident in the valor of his troops. His envoys, on arriving at the French camp, found that Philip had apparently changed his mind. He declined to discuss the matter with which they were charged, and spoke only of the terms upon which Edward would be willing to raise the siege of Calais. As they had no authority on the subject, the English knights returned to their camp, where the news was received with great disappointment. So confident did all feel in their power to defeat the huge host of the French. But even greater was the astonishment the next morning, when before daylight the tents of the French were seen in one great flame, and it was found that the king and all his host were retreating at full speed. The earls of Lancaster in Northampton, with a large body of horse at once started in pursuit, and harassed the retreating army on its march toward Amines. No satisfactory reason has ever been assigned for this extraordinary step on the part of the French king. He had been for months engaged in collecting a huge army, and he had now an opportunity of fighting the English in a fair field with a force four times as great as their own. The only means, indeed, of accounting for his conduct is by supposing him affected by temporary aberration of mind, which many other facts in his history render not improbable. The fits of rage so frequently recorded of him border upon madness, and the number of strange actions highly detrimental to his own interests, which he committed, can only be accounted for as the ax of a diseased vine. This view has been, to some extent, confirmed by the fact that less than a half a century afterwards insanity declared itself among his descendants. A few hours after the departure of the French, the French standard was lowered on the walls of Calais, and news was brought to Edward that the governor was upon the battlements and desired to speak with some officers of the besieging army. Sir Walter Manny and Lord Bissett were sent to confer with him, and found that his object was to obtain the best terms he could. The English knights, knowing the determination of the king on the subject, were forced to tell him that no possibility existed of conditions being granted, but that the king demanded their unconditional surrender, reserving to himself entirely the right whom to pardon and whom to put the death. The governor remonstrated on the severe terms and said that rather than to submit to them, he and his soldiers would sally out and die sword in hand. Sir Walter Manny found the king inexorable. The strict laws of war in those days justified the barbarous practice of putting to death the garrison of a town captured under such circumstances. Calais had been for many years a nest of pirates and vessels issuing from its port had been a scourge to the commerce of England and Flanders, and the king was fully determined to punish it severely. Sir Walter Manny interceded long and boldly and represented to the king that none of his soldiers would willingly defend the town on his behalf from the day on which he put to death the people of Calais. As beyond doubt, the French would retaliate in every succeeding siege. The other nobles and knights joined their entreaties to those of Sir Walter Manny. And the king finally consented to yield in some degree. He demanded that six of the most notable burgers of the town, with bare heads and feet, and with ropes about their necks and the keys of the fortress in their hands, should deliver themselves up for execution. On these conditions he agreed to spare the rest. With these terms Sir Walter Manny returned to Sir John of Vienne. The governor left the battlements and, proceeding to the marketplace, ordered the bell to be rung. The famished and despairing citizens gathered a haggard crowd to hear their doom. A silence followed the narration of the hard conditions of surrender by the governor, and sobs and cries alone broke the silence which succeeded. Then Eustace Saint-Pierre, the wealthiest and most distinguished of the citizens, came forward and offered himself as one of the victims, sane. Sad pity and shame would it be to let all of our fellow citizens die of famine or the sword when means could be found to save them. John of Aire, James and Peter de Vissant, and another whose name has not come down to us, followed his example and stripping to hear their shirts set out for the camp. Sir John of Vienne, who, from a late wound, was unable to walk. Riding at their head on horseback, the whole population accompanied them, weeping bitterly, until they came to the place where Sir Walter Manny was awaiting them. Here the crowd halted, and the night, promising to do as best to save them, led them to the tent where the king had assembled all his nobles around him. When the tidings came that the burgers of Calais had arrived, Edward issued out with his retiné, accompanied by Queen Philippa and the Black Prince. Behold, Sir Walter Manny said, the representatives of the town of Calais. The king made no reply, while John of Vienne surrendered his sword, and kneeling with the burgers said, Gentle Lord and King, behold, we six who are once the greatest citizens and merchants of Calais, bring you the keys of the town and castle, and give ourselves up to your pleasure, placing ourselves in the state in which you see us, by our own free will, to save the rest of the people of the city, who have already suffered many ills. We pray you therefore to have pity and mercy upon us, for the sake of your high nobleness. All present were greatly affected at this speech, and at the aspect of the men who thus offered their lives for their fellow citizens. The king's countenance alone remained unchanged, and he ordered them to be taken to instant execution. Then Sir Walter Manny, and all the nobles with tears, besought the king to have mercy, not only for the sake of the citizens, but for that of his own fame, which would be tarnished by so cruel a deed. Silence, Sir Walter, cried the king. Let the executioner be called. The men of Calais have put to death so many of my subjects that I will also put these men to death. At this moment Queen Philippa, who had been weeping bitterly, cast herself upon her knees before the king. Oh, gentle lord, she cried. Since I have repast the seas to see you, I have neither asked or required anything at your hand. Now then, I pray you humbly, and require as a boon, that for the sake of the son of Mary, and for the love of me, you take these men to mercy. The king stood for a moment in silence, and then said, Ah, lady, I would that you had been otherware than here, but you beg of me so earnestly I must not refuse you, though I grant your prayer with pain. I give them to you, take them, and do your will. Then the queen rose from her knees, and bidding the burgers rise, she caused clothing and food to be given them, and sent them away free. Sir Walter Manny, with a considerable body of men at arms, now took possession of the town of Calais. The anger of the king soon gave way to better feelings. All the citizens, without exception, were fed by his bounty. Such of them, as preferred to depart, instead of swearing fealty to the English monarch, were allowed to carry away what effects they could bear upon their persons, and were conducted in safety to the French town of Guigny. Eustice Saint-Pierre was granted almost all the possessions he had formerly held in Calais, and also a considerable pension, and he and all who were willing to remain were well and kindly treated. The number was large, for the natural ignignation which they felt at their base desertion by the French king induced very many of the citizens to remain and become subjects of Edward. The king issued a proclamation, inviting English traders and others to come across and take up their residence in Calais, bestowing upon them the houses and lands of the French who had left. Very many accepted the invitation, and Calais henceforth, and for some centuries, became virtually an English town. A truce was now through the exertion of the Pope's legates, made between England and France. The terms agreed on, being very similar to those of the previous treaty, and when all his arrangements were finished, Edward returned with his queen to England, having been absent eighteen months, during which time almost unbroken success had attended his arms, and the English name had reached a position of respect and honour in the eyes of Europe, far beyond that, at which it had previously stood. CHAPTER XVIII THE BLACK DEATH The court, at Westminster, during the few months which followed the capture of Calais, was the most brilliant in Europe. Tournaments and fates followed each other in rapid succession, and to these nights came from all parts. So great was the reputation of King Edward that deputies came from Germany, where the throne was now vacant, to offer the crown of that kingdom to him. The king declined the offer, for it would have been impossible indeed for him to have united the German crown with that of England, which he already held, and that of France, which he claimed. Some months after his return to England the black prince asked his father, as a boon, that the hand of his word Edith Vernon should be bestowed upon the prince's brave follower, Sir Walter Summers, and as Queen Philippa, in the name of the lady's mother, seconded the request, the king at once acceded to it. Edith was now sixteen, an age at which, in those days, a young lady was considered to be marriageable, and the wedding took place with great pomp and ceremony at Westminster. The king himself giving away the bride and bestowing, as did the prince and Queen Philippa, many costly presents upon the young couple. After taking part in several of the tournaments, Walter went with his bride and Dame Vernon down to the estates, and were received with great rejoicing by the tenetry, the older of whom well remembered Walter's father and mother, and were rejoiced at finding that they were again to become the vassals of one of the old family. Dame Vernon was greatly loved by her tenetry. But the latter had looked forward with some apprehension, to the marriage of the young heiress, as the character of the night upon whom the king might bestow her hand would greatly affect the happiness and well-being of his tenants. Sir James Carnegie had not returned to England after the fall of Calais. He perceived that he was in grave disfavor with the black prince, and guessed, as was the case, that some suspicion had fallen on him in reference to the attack upon Walter in the dump, and to the strange attempt which had been made to destroy him by Sir Philip Hobo. He had, therefore, for a time taken service with the count of Savoy, and was away from England to the satisfaction of Walter and Dame Vernon when the marriage took place, for he had given proofs of such a malignity of disposition that both felt that although his succession to the estates was now hopelessly barred, yet that he might at any moment attempt some desperate deed to satisfy his feeling of disappointment and revenge. In spite of the gaiety of the court of King Edward a cloud hung over the kingdom, for it was threatened by a danger far more terrible than any combination of foes, a danger which no gallantry upon the part of her king or warriors availed anything. With the slow and terrible march the enemy was advancing from the east where countless hosts had been slain. India, Arabia, Syria and Armenia had been well-nigh depopulated. In no country which the dread foe had invaded had less than two-thirds of the population been slain. In some nine-tenths had perished. All sorts of portents were reported to have accompanied its appearance in the east where to said showers of serpents had fallen. Strange and unknown insects had appeared in the atmosphere, and clouds of sulfurous vapor had issued from the earth and enveloped whole provinces and countries. For two or three years the appearance of this scourge had been heralded by strange atmospheric disturbances, heavy rains and unusual floods, storms of thunder and lightning of unheard of violence, hail showers of unparalleled duration and severity that everywhere had been experienced. While in Italy and Germany violent earthquake shocks had been felt and that at places where no tradition existed of previous occurrences of the same kind. From Asia it had spread to Africa and to Europe, affecting first the seashores and creeping inland by the course of the rivers. Greece first felt its ravages and Italy was not long in experiencing them. Venice more than a hundred thousand persons perished in a few months, and thence spreading over the whole peninsula, not a town escaped the visitation. At Florence sixty thousand people were carried off, and at Lucca and Genoa, in Sicily, Sardinia and Corsica it raged with equal violence. France was assailed by way of province, and Avignon suffered especially. Of the English college at that place not an individual was left and one hundred and twenty persons died in a single day in that small city. Paris lost upwards of fifty thousand of its inhabitants, while ninety thousand were swept away in Lubbock, and one million two hundred thousand died within a year of its first appearance in Germany. In England the march of the pestilence westward was viewed with deep apprehension, and the approaching danger was brought home to the people by the death of the Princess Joan, the king's second daughter. She was affianced to Peter, the heir of the throne of Spain, and the bride, who had not yet accomplished her fourteenth year, was sent over to Bordeaux with considerable train of attendance in order to be united there to her promised husband. Scarcely had she reached Bordeaux when she was attacked by the pestilence, and died in a few hours. A few days later the news spread through the country that the disease had appeared almost simultaneously at several of the seaports in the southwest of England. Thence with great rapidity it spread through the kingdom, leading through Gloucestershire and Oxfordshire, and broke out in London. The ravages were no less severe than they had been in the continent, the very lowest estimate being that two-thirds of the population were swept away. Most of those attacked died within a few hours of the seizure. If they survived for two days they generally rallied, but even then many fell into a state of coma from which they never awoke. No words can describe the terror and dismay caused by this, the most destructive plague of which there is any record in history. No remedies were of the slightest avail against it. Flight was impossible, for the loneliest hamlet suffered as severely as crowded towns, and frequently not a single survivor was left. Men met the pestilence in various moods. The brave with fortitude. The pious with resignation. The cowardly and turbulent with outbursts of despair and fury. Among the lower classes the wildest rumours gained credence. Some assigned the pestilence to witchcraft, others declared that the waters of the wells and streams had been poisoned. Serious riots occurred in many places, and great numbers of people fell victim to the fury of the mob under the suspicion of being connected in some way with the ravages of the pestilence. The Jews, ever the objects of popular hostility, engendered by ignorance and superstition, were among the chief sufferers. Bands of marauders wandered through the country, plundering the houses left empty by the death of all their occupants, and from end to end death and suffering were universal, although all classes had suffered heavily the ravages of the disease and were, as is always the case, greater among the poor than among the rich. The insanitary conditions of their life and their coarser and commoner food rendering them more liable to its influence. No rank, however, was exempted, and no less than three archbishops of Canterbury were carried off in succession by the pestilence within a year of its appearance. Within the months which succeeded his marriage, Sir Walter Summers lived quietly and happily with his wife at Westerham. It was not until late in the year that the plague approached the neighborhood. Walter had determined to await its approach there. He had paid a few short visits to the court, where every effort was made by continuous gaiety to keep up the spirits of the people and prevent them from brooding over the approaching pestilence. But when it was at hand, Walter and his wife agreed that they would rather share the lot of their tenants, whom their presence and example might support and cheer in their need, than return to face it in London. One morning, while they were at breakfast, a frightened servant brought in the news that the disease had appeared in the village, that three persons had been taken ill on the previous night, that two had already died, and that several others had sickened. The time has come, my children, Dame Vernon said calmly. The danger so long foreseen is at hand. Now let us face it as we agreed to do. It has been proved that flight is useless, once nowhere is there escape from the plague. Here, at least, there shall be no repetition of the terrible scenes we have heard of elsewhere, where the living have fled in panic and allowed the stricken to die unattended. We have already agreed that we will set the example to our people, by ourselves going down and administering to the sick. It is hard, Walter said, rising and pacing up and down the room, to let Edith go into it. Edith will do just the same as you do, his wife said firmly. Were it possible that all in this house might escape, there might be a motive for turning coward. But seeing that no household is spared, there is, as we agreed, greater danger in flying from the pestilence than facing it firmly. Walter sighed. You're right, he said, but it rings my heart to see you place yourself in danger. Were we out of danger here, Walter? It might be so, Edith replied gently. But since there is no more safety in the castle than in the cottage, we must face death whether it pleases us or not, and it were best to do so bravely. So be it, Walter said. May the God of Heaven watch over all of us. Now, mother, do you and Edith busy yourselves in preparing broths, strengthening drinks and medicaments? I will go down at once to the village and see how matters stand there and who are in need. We have already urged upon all our people to face the danger bravely, and if die they must, to die bravely like Christians and not like coward dogs. When you have prepared your soups and cordials, come down and meet me in the village. Bring Mabel and Janet, your tendons, to carry the baskets. Ralph, who was now installed as Major Domo in the castle, at once set out with Walter. They found the village in a state of panic. Women were sitting crying despairingly at their doors. Some were engaged in packing their belongings and carts preparatory to flight. Some wandered aimlessly about, ringing their hands, while others went to the church, whose bells were mournfully tolling the dirge of the departed. Walter's presence soon restored something like order and confidence, his resolute tone cheered the timid, and gave hope to the despairing. Sternly he rebuked those preparing to fly, and ordered them instantly to replace their goods in their houses. Then he went to the priest and implored him to cause the tolling of the bell to cease. There is enough, he said, in the real danger present to appall even the bravest, and we need no bell to tell us that death is among us. The dismal tolling is enough to unnerve the stoutest heart, and if we ring for all who die, its sounds will never cease while the plague is among us. Therefore, Father, I implore you to discontinue it. Let there be services held daily in the church, but I beseech you, strive in your discourses to cheer the people rather than to depress them, and to dwell more upon the joys that await those who die as Christian men and women than upon the sorrows of those who remain behind. My wife and mother will anon be down to the village, and will strive to cheer and comfort the people, and they look to you for aid in this matter. The priest, who was naturally a timid man, nevertheless nerved himself to carry out Walter's suggestions, and soon the dismal tones of the bell ceased to be heard in the village. Walter dispatched messengers to all the outlying farms, desiring his tenants to meet him that afternoon at the castle, in order that measures might be concerted for common aid and assistance. An hour later Dame Vernon and Edith came down and visited all the houses where the plague had made its appearance, distributing their soups, and by cheering and comforting words raising the spirits of the relatives of the sufferers. The names of all the women ready to aid in the general work of nursing were taken down, and in the afternoon at the meeting at the castle the full arrangements were completed. Work was to be carried on as usual, in order to occupy men's minds and prevent them from brooding over the ravages of the plague. Information of any case that occurred was to be sent to the castle, where soups and medicines were to be obtained. Whenever more assistance was required than could be furnished by the inmates of a house another woman was to be sent to aid. Boys were told off as messengers to fetch food and other matters as required from the castle. So bravely and firmly they prepared to meet the pestilence. It spread with terrible severity. Scarce a house which did not lose some of its inmates while in others holes of families were swept away. All day Walter and his wife and Dame Vernon went from house to house, and although they could do nothing to stem the progress of the pestilence their presence and example supported the survivors and prevented the occurrence of any of the panic and disorder which in most places accompanied it. The castle was not exempt from the scourge. First some of the domestics were seized, and three men and four women died. Walter himself was attacked, but he took it lightly, and three days after the seizure passed into a state of convalescence. Dame Vernon was next attacked, and expired six hours after the commitments of the seizure. Scarcely was Walter upon his feet, then Ralph, who had not a moment left his bedside, was seized, but he too after being at death's door for some hours turned the corner. Lastly Edith sickened. By this time the scourge had done its worst in the village, and three-fifths of the population had been swept away. All the male retainers in the castle had died, and the one female who survived was nursing her dying mother in the village. Edith s attack was a very severe one. Walter, alone now, for Ralph, although convalescent, had not yet left his bed, sat by his wife s bedside a prey to anxiety and grief, for although she had resisted the first attack, she was now thirty-six hours after it had seized her, fast sinking. Gradually her sight and power of speech faded, and she sank into a state of coma, which was the prelude of death, and lay quiet and motionless, screaming as if life had already departed. Suddenly Walter was surprised by the sound of many heavy feet ascending the stairs. He went out into the ante-room to learn the cause of this strange tumult, when five armed men, one of whom was masked, rushed into the room. Walter caught up his sword from the table. Ruffians! he exclaimed, how dare you desecrate the abode of death! Without a word the men sprang upon him. For a minute he defended himself against their attacks, but he was still weak. His guard was beaten down, and a blow fell them to the ground. Now settle her! the masked man exclaimed, and the band rushed into the adjoining room. They paused, however, at the door at the site of the lifeless figure on the couch. We're saved that trouble, one said, we've come too late. The masked figure approached the couch and bent over the figure. Yes, he said, she's dead. So much the better. Then he returned with the others to Walter. He breathes yet, he said. He needs a harder blow than that you gave him to finish him. Let him lie here for a while, will you gather your booty together, then we'll carry him off. There is scarcely a soul alive in the country round. None will notice as we pass. I would not dispatch him here, seeing that his body would be found with wounds upon it, and even in these times some inquiry might be made. Therefore it were best to finish him elsewhere. When he is missed it will be supposed that he went mad at the death of his wife and has wandered out and died, maybe in the woods or has drowned himself in a pond or stream. Besides, I would that before he dies he should know what hand has struck the blow and that my vengeance which he slighted and has twice escaped has overtaken him at last. After ransacking the principal rooms and taking all that was valuable the band of marauders lifted the still insensible body of Walter and carrying it downstairs flung it across a horse. One of the ruffians mounted behind it and the others also getting into their saddles the party rode away. They were mistaken, however, in supposing that the Lady Edith was dead. She was indeed very nigh the gates of death, and had it not been for the disturbance would surely have speedily entered them. The voice of her husband raised in anger the clash of steel followed by the heavy fall had awakened her deadened brain. Consciousness had at once returned to her, but as yet no power of movement. As at a great distance she had heard the words of those who had entered her chamber and had understood their import. More and more distinctly she heard their movements about the room as they burst open her caskets and appropriated her jewels. But it was not until silence was restored that the gathering powers of life asserted themselves. Then with a sudden rush the blood seemed to course through her veins. Her eyes opened and her tongue was loosed and with a scream she sprang up and stood by the side of her bed. Sustained as by a supernatural power she hurried into the next room. A pool of blood on the floor showed her that what she had heard had not been a dream or the fiction of a disordered brain. Snatching up a cloak of her husbands which lay on a couch she wrapped it round her and with hurried steps made her way along the passages until she reached the apartment occupied by Ralf. The latter sprang up in bed with a cry of astonishment. He had heard but an hour before from Walter that all hope was gone and thought for an instant that the appearance was an apparition from the dead. The ghastly pallor of the face, the eyes burning with a strange light, the flowing hair and disordered appearance of the girl might well have alarmed one living, even in less superstitious times, and Ralf began to cross himself hastily and to water a prayer when recalled to himself by the sound of Edith's voice. Quick, Ralf, she said. Arise and clothe yourself. Hasten for your life. My Lord's enemies have fallen upon him and wounded him gravely, even if they've not slain him and have carried him away. They would have slain me also had they not thought I was already dead. Arise and mount. Summon everyone still alive in the village and follow these murderers. I will pull the alarm bell of the castle. Ralf sprang from his bed as Edith left. He had heard the sound of many footsteps in the night's apartments but he had deemed them to be those of the priest and his acolytes, come to administer the last rites of the church to his dying mistress. Rage and anxiety for his master gave strength to his limbs. He threw on a few clothes and rushed down to the stables where the horses stood with great piles of forage and pales of water before them, placed there two days before by Walter when their last attendant died. Without waiting to saddle it Ralf sprang upon the back of one of the animals and taking the halters of four others, started at a gallop down to the village. His news spread like wildfire for the ringing of the alarm bell of the castle had drawn old to their doors and prepared them for something strange. Some of the men had already taken their arms and were making their way up to the castle when they met Ralf. There were but five men in the village who had altogether escaped the pestilence. Others had survived its attacks but were still weak. Horses there were in plenty. The five men mounted at once, with three others who though still weak were able to ride. So great was the excitement that seven women who had escaped the disease armed themselves with their husband's swords and leapt a horseback declaring that women though they were, they would strike a blow for their beloved lord, who had been seen as an angel in the village during the plague. Thus it was scarcely more than ten minutes after the marauders had left the castle before a motley-band fifteen strong headed by Ralf rode off in pursuit while some of the women of the village hurried up to the castle to comfort Edith with the tidings that the pursuit had already commenced. Fortunately a lad in the fields had noticed the five men right away from the castle and was able to point out the direction they had taken. At a furious gallop Ralf and his companions tore across the country, mile after mile was passed. Once or twice they gained news from labourers in the field of the passage of those before them and knew that they were on the right track. They had now entered a wild and sparsely inhabited country. It was broken and much undulated, so that although they knew the band they were pursuing were but a short distance ahead they had not yet caught sight of them, and they hoped that having no reason to dread any immediate pursuit these would soon slacken their pace. This expectation was realized. For oncoming over a brow they saw the party halted at a turf-burner's college in the hollow below. Three of the men had dismounted. Two of them were examining the hoof of one of the horses who had apparently cast a shoe or trodden upon a stone. Ralf had warned his party to make no sound when they came upon the fugitives. The sound of the horse's hooves was deadened by the turf and they were within a hundred yards of the marauders before they were perceived. Then Ralf uttered a shout and brandishing their swords the party rode down at headlong gallop. The dismounted men leapt to their saddles and galloped off at full speed but their pursuers were now close upon them. Ralf and two of his companions who were mounted upon Walter's best horses gained upon them at every stride. Two of them were overtaken and run through. The man who bore Walter before him, finding himself being rapidly overtaken, threw his burden onto the ground just as the leader of the party had checked his horse and was about to deliver a sweeping blow at the insensible body. With a curse at his follower for ridding himself of it, he again galloped on. The man's act was unavailingly to save himself, for he was overtaken and cut down before he had ridden many strides. Then Ralf and his party instantly reigned up to examine the state of Walter and the two survivors of the band of murderers continued their flight, unmolested. CHAPTER 19 By Land and Sea Walter was raised from the ground, water was fetched from the cottage, and the blood washed from his head by Ralf, aided by two of the women. It had at once been seen that he was still living, and Ralf on examining the wound joyfully declared that no great harm was done. Had Sir Walter been strong and well, he said, such a clip as this would not have knocked him from his feet, but he would have answered it with a blow such as I've often seen him give in battle, but he was but barely recovering, and was as weak as a girl. He is unconscious from loss of blood and weakness. I warned me that when he opens his eyes and hears the Lady Edith has risen from her bed and came to send him to his rescue, joy will soon bring the blood into his cheeks again. Do one of you run to the hut and see if they have any cordial waters? Since the plague has been raging there are few houses but have laid in a provision in case the disease should seize them. The man soon returned with a bottle of cordial water, compounded of rosemary, lavender, and other herbs. By this time Walter had opened his eyes. The cordial was poured down his throat, and he was presently able to speak. Be of good cheer, Sir Walter, Ralf said. Three of your rascally assailants lie dead, and the other two have fled, but I have better news still for you. Lady Edith, who you told me lay unconscious and dying, has revived. The dint of the conflict seems to have reached her ears and recalled her to life, and the dear lady came to my room with the news that you were carried off, and then, while I was throwing on my clothes, roused the village to your assistance by ringing the alarm bell. Rarely frightened I was when she came in, for me thought at first it was her spirit. The good news, as Ralf had predicted, effectually roused Walter, and rising to his feet he declared himself able to mount and ride back at once. Ralf tried to persuade him to wait until they had formed a litter of boughs, but Walter would not allow it. I would not tarry an instant, he said, for Edith would be full of anxiety until I return. Why, Ralf, do you think I am a baby? Why, you yourself were but this morning unable to walk across the room and hear you've been galloping and fighting on my behalf. In faith, Ralf said, smiling, until now I had forgotten that I had been ill. You've saved my life, Ralf. You and my friends here, whom I thank with all my heart for what they have done. I will speak more of them another time. Now I must ride home with all speed. Walter now mounted. Ralf took his place on one side of him, and one of the tenants on the other, lest he should be seized with faintness. Then at a hand-gallop they started back for the castle. Several women of the village had, when they left, hurried up to the castle. They found Edith lying insensible by the rope of the alarm bell, having fainted when she accomplished her object. They presently brought her round, as she was now suffering only from extreme weakness. She was laid on a couch, and cordials and some soup were given to her. One of the women took her place at the highest window to watch for the return of any belonging to the expedition. Edith felt hopeful as to the result, for she thought that their assailants would not have troubled to carry away the body of Walter, had not life remained in it, and she was sure that Ralf would press them so hotly that sooner or later the abductors would be overtaken. An hour and a half passed, and then the woman from above ran down with the news that she could see three horsemen galloping together towards the castle, with a number of others following in confused order behind. They found my lord, Edith exclaimed joyfully. For Ralf would assuredly not return so quickly had they not done so. It's a good sign that they're galloping, for had they been bearers of ill news they would have returned more slowly. Look out again, and see if they are bearing one among them. The woman was some of her companions hastened away, and in two or three minutes ran down with the news that Sir Walter himself was one of the three leading horsemen. In a few minutes Edith was clasped in her husband's arms, and their joy, restored as they were from the dead to each other, was indeed almost beyond words. The plague now abated fast in Westeram, only two or three more persons being attacked by it. As soon as Edith was sufficiently recovered to travel, Walter proceeded with her to London, and there laid before the king and prince a complaint to get Sir James Carnegie for his attempt upon their lives. Even in the trance in which she lay, Edith had recognized the voice which had once been so familiar to her. Walter too was able to testify against him, for the rough jolting on horseback had for a while restored his consciousness, and he had heard words spoken before relapsing into insensibility from the continued bleeding of his wound, which enabled him to swear to Sir James Carnegie as one of his abductors. The king instantly ordered the arrest of the knight, but he could not be found. Unavailing search was made in every direction, and as nothing could be heard of him it was concluded that he had left the kingdom. He was proclaimed publicly a false and villainous knight, his estates were confiscated to the crown, and he himself was outlawed. Then Walter and his wife returned home and did their best to assist their tenants in struggling through the difficulties entailed through the plague. So terrible had been the mortality that throughout England there was a lack of hands for fieldwork, crops rotted in the ground because there were none to harvest them, and men able to work demanded twenty times the wages which had before been paid. So great was the trouble from this source that an ordinance was passed by Parliament in acting that severe punishment should be dealt upon all who demanded wages above the standard price, and even more severe penalties inflicted upon those who would consent to pay higher wages. It was, however, many years before England recovered from the terrible blow which had been dealt her from the pestilence. While Europe had been ravaged by pestilence, the adherents of France and England had continued their struggle in Brittany in spite of the terms of the truce, and at this time King Edward was the first open aggressor, granting money and assistance to the free companies who pillaged and plundered in the name of England. The truce expired at the end of 1348, but was continued for short periods. It was, however, evident that both parties were determined air long to recommend hostilities. The French collected large forces in Ottawa and Picardie, and Edward himself proceeded to Sandwich to organize there another army for the invasion of France. Philip determined to strike the first blow, and before the conclusion of the truce to regain possession of Calais. This town was commanded by a Lombard officer named Almeric of Pavia. Free communication existed in consequence of the truce between Calais and the surrounding country, and Geoffrey D'Carney, the governor of Saint-Omer, and one of the commissioners specially appointed to maintain the truce, opened communications with the Lombard captain. Deeming that, like most mercenaries, he be willing to change side should his interest to do so be made clear, he offered him a large sum of money to deliver the castle to the French. Lombard at once agreed to the project. Geoffrey D'Carney arranged to be within a certain distance of the town on the night of the 1st of January, bringing with him sufficient forces to master all opposition if the way was once open to the interior of the town. It was further agreed that the money was to be paid over by a small party of French who were to be sent forward for the purpose of examining the castle in order to ensure the main body against treachery. As a hostage for the security of the detachment, the son of the governor was to remain in the hands of the French without until the safe return of the scouting party. Several weeks elapsed between the conclusion of the agreement and the date fixed for its execution. And in the meantime the Lombard, either from remorse or from a fear of consequences which might arise from a detection of the plot before its execution or from the subsequent vengeance of the English king, disclosed the whole transaction to Edward. The king bade him continue to carry out his arrangements with D'Carney, leaving it to him to counteract the plot. Had he issued orders for the rapid assembly of the army the French would have taken alarm. He therefore sent private messengers to a number of knights and gentlemen of Kent and Sussex to meet him with their retainers at Dover on the 31st of December. Walter was one of those summoned, and although much surprised at the secrecy with which he was charged, and of such a call being made while the truce with French still existed, he repaired to Dover on the day named, accompanied by Ralph and by twenty men, all of whom remained capable of bearing arms on the estate. He found the king himself with the black prince at Dover, where they had arrived that day. Sir Walter Manny was in command of the force, which consisted, in all, of three hundred men-at-arms and six hundred archers. A number of small boats had been collected, and at midday on the first of January the little expedition started and arrived at Calais after nightfall. In the chivalrous spirit of the times, the king determined that Sir Walter Manny should continue in command of the enterprise. He and the black prince disguised as simple knights fighting under his banner. In the meantime a considerable force had been collected at St. Omer, where a large number of knights and gentlemen obeyed the summons of Geoffrey Ditcharney. On the night appointed they marched for Calais, in number five hundred lances, and a corresponding number of footmen. They reached the river and the bridge of Nile a little after midnight, and messengers were sent on to the governor, who was prepared to receive them. On their report, Ducarney advanced still nearer to the town, leaving the bridge and passages to the river, guarded by a large body of crossbowmen, under the command of Lord Defeney and a number of other knights. At a little distance from the castle he was met by Almeric Depavia, who yielded his son as a hostage, according to his promise, calculating as was the case, that he would be recaptured by the English. Then, having received the greater portion of the money agreed upon, he led a party of the French over the castle to satisfy them of his sincerity. Upon receiving their report, that all was quiet, Ducarney detached twelve knights and a hundred-minute arms to take possession of the castle, while he himself waited at one of the gates of the town with the principal portion of his force. No sooner had the French entered the castle than the drawbridge was raised. The English soldiers poured out from their places of concealment, and the party which had entered the castle was forced to lay down their arms. In the meantime the Black Prince issued with a small body of troops from a gate near the sea, while de Manille, with the king under his banner, marched by the sallyport which led into the fields. A considerable detachment of the division was dispatched to dislodge the enemy at the bridge in Allet, and the rest joined the party of the Black Prince, advanced rapidly upon the forces of Geoffrey Ducarney, which in point of numbers, was double their own strength. Although taken by surprise, the French prepared steadily for the attack. Ducarney ordered them all to dismount and to shorten their lances to pikes five feet in length. The English also dismounted, and rushing forward on foot a furious contest commenced. The ranks of both parties were soon broken in the darkness, and the combatants separating into groups, a number of separate battles raged around the different banners. For some hours the fight was continued with unabating obstinacy on both sides. The king and the Black Prince fought with immense bravery, their example encouraging even those of their soldiers who were ignorant of the personality of the knights, who were everywhere in front of the combat. King Edward himself, several times crossed swords with the famous Eustice de Ribemont, one of the most gallant knights in France. At length, towards daybreak, the king, with only thirty companions, found himself again opposed to de Ribemont with a greatly superior force, and the struggle was renewed between them. Twice the king was beaten down on one knee by the thundering blows of the French knight. Twice he rose and renewed the attack, until Ducarney, seeing Sir Walter Manny's banner, beside which Edward fought, defended by so small a force, bore down to the attack, and in the struggle Edward was separated from his opponent. The combat now became desperate round the king, and Sir Guy Bryan, who bore de Manny's standard, though one of the strongest and most gallant knights of the day, could scarce keep the banner erect. Still Edward fought on, and in the excitement of the moment, forgetting his incognito, he accompanied each blow with his customary war cry. Edward, Saint George! Edward, Saint George! At that battle cry, which told the French men-at-arms that the king of England was himself opposed to them, they were coiled for a moment. The shout, too, reached the ears of the Prince of Wales, who had been fighting with another group. Calling his knights around him, he fell upon the rear of Ducarney's party, and quickly cleared his base around the king. The fight was now everywhere going against the French, and the English redoubling their efforts the victory was soon complete, and scarcely one French knight left the ground alive and free. In the struggle Edward again encountered de Rebimont, who separated from him by the charge of Ducarney, had not heard the king's war cry. The conflict between them was a short one. The French knight saw that almost all his companions were dead or captured. His party completely defeated, and all prospects of escape cut off. He therefore soon dropped the point of his sword, and surrendered to his unknown adversary. In the meantime, the troops which had been dispatched to the bridge of Nile, had defeated the French forces left to guard the passage and clear the ground toward St. Omer. Early in the morning Edward entered Calais in triumph. Taking with him thirty French nobles as prisoners, well two hundred more remained dead on the field. That evening a great banquet was held at which the French prisoners were present. The king presided at the banquet, and the French nobles were awaited upon by the black prince and his knights. After the feast was concluded the king bestowed on de Rebimont the chaplet of pearls which he wore round his crown, hailing him as the most gallant of the knights who had that day fought and granting him freedom to return at once to his friends, presenting him with two horses and a purse to defray his expenses to the nearest French town. Ducarney was afterwards ransomed, and after his return to France assembled a body of troops and attacked the castle which Edward had bestowed upon Almeric of Pavia, and recapturing the Lombard carried him to St. Omer and had him there publicly flayed alive as a punishment for his treachery. Walter had as usual fought by the side of the Prince of Wales throughout the Battle of Calais and had much distinguished himself for his valor. Ralf was severely wounded in the fight, but was able a month later to rejoin Walter in England. The Battle of Calais and the chivalrous bearing of the king created great enthusiasm and delight in England, and did much to rouse the people from the state of grief into which they had been cast by the ravages of the plague. The king did his utmost to maintain the spirit which had been evoked, and the foundation of the Order of the Garter and the erection of a splendid chapel at Windsor, and its dedication with great ceremony to St. George the patron saint of England, still further raised the renown of the court of Edward throughout Europe as the centre of the chivalry of the age. Notwithstanding many treaties which had taken place, and the near alliance which had been well nigh carried out between the royal families of England and Spain, Spanish pirates had never ceased to carry on a series of aggressions upon the English vessels trading in the Bay of Biscay. Ships were every day taken, and the crews cruelly butchered in cold blood. Edwards were monstrous as proved vain, and when threats of retaliation were held out by Edward, followed by preparations to carry those threats into effect, Pedro the Cruel, who had now succeeded to the throne of Spain, dispatched strong reinforcements to the fleet which had already swept the English Channel. The great Spanish fleet sailed north, and, capturing on its way a number of English merchant men, put into slice, and prepared to sail back in triumph with the prizes and merchandise it had captured. Knowing, however, that Edward was preparing to oppose them, the Spaniards filled up their complement of men, strengthened themselves on all sorts of the war machines then in use, and started on their return for Spain with one of the most powerful armadas that it ever put to sea. Edward had collected on the coast of Sussex a fleet intended to oppose them, and had summoned all the military forces of the south of England to accompany him, and as soon as he heard that the Spaniards were about to put to sea, he set out for Winklesea where the fleet was collected. The Queen accompanied him to the sea coast, and the Black Prince, now in his twentieth year, was appointed to command one of the largest English vessels. The fleet put to sea when they heard that the Spaniards had started, and the hostile fleets were soon in sight of each other. The number of fighting men on board the Spanish ships was ten times those of the English, and their vessels were a vastly superior size and strength. They had moreover caused their ships to be filled at slice with large wooden towers which furnished a commanding position to their crossbowmen. The wind was direct in their favour, and they could have easily avoided the contest. But, confiding in their enormously superior force, they sailed boldly forward to the attack. The King himself led the English line, and directing his vessel towards a large Spanish ship endeavoured to run her down. The shock was tremendous, but the enemy's vessel was stronger as well as larger than that of the King, and as the two ships recoiled from each other, it was found that the water was rushing into the English vessel and that she was rapidly sinking. The Spanish passed on in the confusion, but the King ordered his ship to be instantly laid alongside another which was following her, and to be firmly lashed to her. Then, with his knights, he sprang on board the Spaniard, and after a short but desperate fight, cut down or drove the crew overboard. The royal standard was hoisted on the prize, and the sinking English vessel was cast adrift, and the King sailed on to attack another adversary. The battle now raged on all sides. The English strove to grapple with and board the enemy, while the Spaniards poured upon them a shower of bolts and quarrels from their crossbows, hurled immense masses of stone from their military engines, and, as they drew alongside, cast into them heavy bars of iron which pierced holes in the bottom of the ship. Walter was on board the ship commanded by the Black Prince. This had been steered towards one of the largest and most important of the Spanish vessels. As they approached, the engines poured their missiles into them. Several great holes were torn on the side of the ship, which was already sinking as she came alongside her foe. We must do our best, Sir Walter, the Prince exclaimed, for if we do not capture her speedily, our ship will assuredly sink beneath our feet. The Spaniard stood far higher above the water than the English ship, and the Black Prince and his knights in vain attempted to climb her sides, while the seamen strove with pumps and buckets to keep the vessel afloat. Every effort was in vain. The Spaniards' men-at-arms lined the bulwarks and repulsed every effort made by the English to climb up them, while those on the towers rained down showers of bolts and arrows and masses of iron and stone. The situation was desperate when the Earl of Lancaster, passing by in his ship, saw the peril to which the Prince was exposed, and, ranging up the other side of the Spaniard, strove to board her there. The attention of the Spaniards being thus distracted, the Prince and his companions made another desperate effort, and succeeded in winning their way onto the deck of the Spanish ship, just as their own vessel sank beneath their feet. After a few minutes of desperate fighting, the Spanish ship was captured. The English were now everywhere getting the best of their enemies. Many of the Spanish vessels had been captured, or sunk, and after the fight had raged for some hours the rest began to disperse and seek safety in flight. The English vessel commanded, by Count Robert of Nemur, had towards night engaged a Spanish vessel of more than twice its own strength. His adversaries, seeing that the day was lost, set all sail, but looking upon the little vessel beside them as prey to be taken possession of at their leisure, they fastened it tightly to the sides by the grappling irons, and spreading all sail made away. The Count and his men were unable to free themselves, and were being dragged away. When a follower of the Count, named Hennekin, leapt suddenly on board the Spanish ship, with a bound, he reached the mast, and with a single blow of his sword cut the halyards which supported the mainsail. The sail fell at once. The Spaniards rushed to the spot to repair the disaster which threatened to delay their ship. The Count and his followers, seeing the bulwarks of the Spanish vessel for the moment unguarded, poured in, and after a furious conflict, captured the vessel. By this time, twenty-four of the enemy's vessels had been taken, the rest were either sunk or in full flight, and Edward at once returned to the English shore. The fight had taken place with insight of land, and Queen Philippa, from the windows of the Abbey, which stood on rising ground, had seen the approach of the vast Spanish fleet, and had watched the conflict until night fell. She remained in suspense as to the result until the King himself, with the Black Prince and Prince John, afterwards known as John of Gaunt, who, although but ten years of age, had accompanied the Black Prince on his ship, rode up with the news of the victory. This great sea fight was one of the brightest and most honourable in the annals of English history, for not even in the case of that other great Spanish armada which suffered defeat in English waters were the odds so immense or the victory so thorough and complete. The result of the fight was that after some negotiations, a truce of twenty years was concluded with Spain. England had peace for some years. Philippa France had died a week before that battle, and had been succeeded by his son John, Duke of Normandy. Upon the part of both countries, there was an indisposition to renew the war, for their power had been vastly crippled by the devastations of the plague. This was followed by great distress and scarcity, owing to the want of labour to till the fields. The truce was therefore continued from time to time. The Pope strove to convert the truce into a permanent peace, and on the 28th of August, 1354, a number of the prelates and barons of England with full power to arrange terms of peace went to Avignon, where they were met by the French representatives. The powers committed to the English commissioners showed that Edward was at this time really desirous of making a permanent peace with France, but the French ambassadors raised numerous and unexpected difficulties, and after lengthened negotiations, the conference was broken off. The truce came to an end in June, 1355, and great preparations were made on both sides for the war. The King of England strained every effort to furnish an equipment army which was to proceed with the Black Prince to Aquitaine, of which province his father had appointed him governor, and in November the prince sailed for Bordeaux with the advance guard of his force. Sir Walter Summers accompanied him. During the years which had passed since the plague, he had resided principally upon his estates, and had the satisfaction of seeing that his tenants escaped the distress which was general through the country. He had been in the habit of repairing to London to take part in tournaments and other festivities, but both he and Edith preferred the quiet country life to a continued residence at court. Two sons had now been born to him, and fond as he was of the excitement and adventure of war, it was with deep regret that he obeyed the royal summons and left his house with his retainers, consisting of twenty-minute arms and thirty archers to join the prince. Upon the Black Prince's landing at Bordeaux, he was joined by the Gaskin Lords, the vassals of the English Crown, and for three months marched through and ravaged the districts adjoining. The French army, although greatly superior in force, offering no effectual resistance. Many towns were taken, and he returned at Christmas to Bordeaux after a campaign attended by a series of unbroken successes. The following spring, the war reccomenced, and a diversion was affected by the Duke of Lancaster, who was in command of Brittany, joining his forces with those of the King of Navarre and many of the nobles of Normandy, while King Edward crossed to Calais and kept a portion of the French army occupied there. The Black Prince, leaving the principal part of his forces under the command of the Earl of Albray, to guard the territory already acquired against the attack of the French army, under the count of Armagnac, marched with two thousand picked men-in-arms and six thousand archers into Avern, and thence turning into Barry, marched to the gates of Bourges. The King of France was now thoroughly alarmed, and issued a general call to all his vassals to assemble under the war. The Prince of Wales, finding immense bodies of men closing in around him, fell back slowly, capturing and leveling to the ground the strong castle of Romorantin. The King of France was now hastening forward, accompanied by his four sons, a hundred and forty nobles with banners, twenty thousand men-in-arms, and an immense force of infantry. Vast assessions of forces joined him each day, and on the seventeenth of September he occupied a position between the Black Prince and Guyenne. The first intimation that either the Black Prince or the King of France had of their close proximity to each other was an accidental meeting between a small foraging force of the English and three hundred French horse under the command of the Counts of Algère and Joigny, the Marshal of Burgundy, and the Lord of Châtillon. The French hotly pursued the little English party, and on emerging from some low bushes found themselves in the midst of the English camp where all were taken prisoner. From them the Black Prince learned that the King of France was within a day's march. The Prince dispatched the Captal de Bourges with two hundred men-in-arms to reconnoiter the force and position of the enemy, and these coming upon the rear of the French army, just as they were about to enter Poitiers, dashed among them and took some prisoners. The King of France thus first learned that the enemy he was searching for was actually six miles in his rear. The Captal de Bourges and his companions returned to the Black Prince and confirmed the information obtained from the prisoners that the King of France, with an army at least eight times as strong as his own, lay between him and Poitiers. The position appeared well-nigh desperate, but the Prince and his most experienced knights at once reconnoitered the country to choose the best ground upon which to do battle. An excellent position was chosen. It consisted of rising ground commanding the country towards Poitiers and naturally defended by the hedges of a vineyard. It was only accessible from Poitiers by a sunken road flanked by banks and fences, but wide enough to admit a four horsemen riding abreast along it. The ground on either side of this hollow way was rough and broken so as to impede the movements even of infantry and to render the maneuvers of a large body of cavalry nearly impracticable. On the left of the position was a little hamlet called Mopertouille. Here on the night of Saturday the 17th of September the Prince encamped and early next morning made his dispositions for the battle. His whole force was dismounted and occupied the high ground. A strong body of archers lined the hedges on either side of the sunken road. The main body of archers were drawn up in their usual formation on the hillside their front covered by the hedge of the vineyard while behind them the minute arms were drawn up. The king of France divided his army into three divisions each consisting of 16,000 mounted minute arms besides infantry commanded respectively by the Duke of Orleans, the king's brother, the Dauphin and the king himself. With the two royal princes were the most experienced of the French commanders. In the meantime de Ribbon with three other French knights reconnoitred the English position and on their return with their report strongly advised that as large bodies of cavalry would be quite useless owing to the nature of the ground the whole force should dismount except 300 picked men designed to break the line of English archers and a small body of German horse to act as a reserve. Just as the king of France was about to give orders for the advance the Cardinal of Perugua arrived in his camp anxious to stop if possible the effusion of blood he hurried to the king of France. You have here Sire, he said, the flower of all the chivalry of your realm assembled against a mere handful of English. It will be far more honorable and profitable for you to have them in your power without battle than to risk such a noble array in uncertain strife. I pray you then in the name of God to let me ride on to the Prince of Wales and to show him his peril and to exhort him to peace. Willingly, my lord, the king replied, but above all things be quick. The Cardinal had once hastened to the English camp. He found the Black Prince in the midst of his nights ready for battle but by no means unwilling to listen to proposals for peace. His position was indeed most perilous and his face was an enormously superior army and he was moreover threatened by famine. Even during the two preceding days his army had suffered from a great scarcity of forage and its provisions were almost wholly exhausted. The French force was sufficiently numerous to blockade him in his camp and he knew that did they adopt that course he must surrender unconditionally. Since were he forced to sally out and attack the French no valor could compensate for the immense disparity of numbers. He therefore replied at once to the Cardinal's application that he was ready to listen to any terms by which his honor and that of his companions would be preserved. The Cardinal returned to the King of France and with much entreaty succeeded in obtaining a truce until sunrise on the following morning. The soldiers returned to their tents and the Cardinal rode backward and forward between the armies beseeching the King of France to moderate his demands and the Black Prince to submit to the evil fortune which had be fallen him. But on the one side the King looked upon the victory a certain and on the other the Black Prince thought that there was at least a hope of success should the French attack him. All therefore that the Cardinal could obtain from him was an offer to resign all he had captured in his expedition towns, castles, and prisoners and to take an oath not to bear arms against France for seven years. This proposal fell so far short of the demands of the French King the pacification soon appeared hopeless. Early on the Monday morning the Cardinal once more sought the presence of the French King but found John inflexible while some of the leaders who had viewed with the strongest disapproval his efforts to snatch what they regarded as certain victory from their hands gave him a peremptory warning not to show himself again in their lines. The prelate then bore the news of his failure to the Prince of Wales. Fair son, he said, do the best you can, for you must needs fight as I can find no means of peace or amnesty with the King of France. Be it so, good father, the Prince replied, it is our full resolve to fight and God will aid the right. The delay which had occurred had not been without advantages for the British army although the shortness of provisions was greatly felt. Every effort had been made to strengthen the position. Deep trenches had been dug and palisades erected around it and the carts and baggage train had all been moved round so as to form a protection on the weakest side of the camp where also a rampart had been constructed. Upon careful examination of the ground it was found that the hill on the right side of the camp was less difficult than had been supposed and that the dismounted-minute arms who lay at its foot under the command of the Dauphin would find little difficulty in climbing it to the assault. The Prince therefore gave orders that three hundred minute arms and three hundred mounted archers should make a circuit from the rear round the base of the hill in order to pour in upon the flank of the Dauphin's division as soon as they became disordered in the ascent. The nature of the ground concealed this maneuver from the enemy's view and the Captain de Bouch who was in command of the party gained, unperceived, the cover of a wooded ravine within a few hundred yards of the left flank of the enemy. By the time that all these dispositions were complete the huge French array was moving forward. The black Prince, surrounded by his knights, viewed them approaching. Fair Lords, he said, Though we be so few against that mighty power of enemies, let us not be dismayed, for strength and victory lie not in multitudes, but in those to whom God give them. If he will the day be ours, then the highest glory of this world will be given to us. If we die, I have the noble lord, my father, and two fair brothers, and you have each of you many a good friend who will avenge us well. Thus then I pray you fight well this day, and if it please God and St. George I will also do the part of a good knight. The Prince then chose Sir John Chandos and Sir James Oddly to remain by his side during the conflict in order to afford him counsel in case of need. Oddly, however, pleaded a vow which he had made long before, to be the first in battle should he ever be engaged under the command of the King of England or any of his children. The Prince at once acceded to his request to be allowed to fight in the van, and Oddly, accompanied by four chosen squires, took his place in front of the English line of battle. Not far from him, also in advance of the line, was Sir Eustace de Abrecourt on horseback, also eager to distinguish himself. As Sir James rode off, the Prince turned to Walter. As Oddly must needs fight as a knight errant, Sir Walter Summers, do you take your place by my side, for there is no more valiant knight in my army than you have often proved yourself to be. Three hundred chosen French-minute arms mounted on the strongest horses covered with steel armor led the way under the command of the Marshals de Adam and de Clermont, while behind them were a large body of German Calvary under the counts of Nassau, Sabruk, and Nidow, to support them in their attack on the English archers. On the right side was the Duke of Orléans, with sixteen thousand men at arms, on the left the Dolphin, with his two brothers with an equal force, while King John himself led on the rearguard. When the three hundred elite of the French army reached the narrow way between the hedges, knowing that these were lined with archers, they charged through at a gallop to fall upon the main body of Bowman, covering the front of the Englishman at arms. The moment they were fairly in the hollow road, the British archers rose on either side to their feet, and poured such a flight of arrows among them, that in an instant all was confusion and disarray. Through every joint and crevice of the armor of the knights and horses, the arrows found their way, and the lane was almost choked with the bodies of men and horses. A considerable number, nevertheless, made their way through and approached the first line of archers beyond. Here they were met by Sir James Oddly, who, with his four squires, plunged into their ranks and overthrew the marshal to Audem, and then fought his way onward. Regardless of the rest of the battle he pressed ever forward until at the end of the day, wounded in a hundred places and fainting from loss of blood, he fell from his horse almost at the gates of Poitiers, and was born from the field by the four faithful squires who had fought beside him throughout the day. Less fortunate was Sir Eustis de Abrincourt, who spurred headlong upon the German Calvary. A German knight rode out to meet him, and in the shock both were his horse, but before Sir Eustis could recover his seat, he was born down to the ground by four others of the enemy, and was bound and carried captive to the rear. In the meantime, the English archers kept up their incessant hail of arrows upon the band under the French marshals. The English-minute arms passed through the gaps, purposefully left in the line of archers and drove back the front rank of the enemy upon those following, chasing them headlong down the hollow road again. The few survivors of the French force, galloping back, carried confusion into the advancing division of the Dauphin. Before the order was restored, the Captain de Bouche, with his 600 men, issued forth from his place of concealment and charged impetuously down on the left flank of the Dauphin. The French, shaken in front by the retreat of their advanced guard, were thrown into extreme confusion by the sudden and unexpected charge. The horse archers with the Captain poured their arrows into the mass, while the shafts of the main body of the archers on the hill, hailed upon them without ceasing. The rumor spread among those in the French rear, who were unable to see what was going forward, that the day was already lost and many began to fly. Sir John Chandos marked the confusion which had set in and exclaimed to the Prince, Now sir, ride forward and the day is yours. Let us charge right over upon your adversary, the King of France, for there lies the labor in the feet of the day. Well do I know that his great courage will never let him fly, but, God willing, he shall be well encountered. Forward then, John Chandos, replied the Prince, You shall not see me tread one step back, but ever in advance, bear on my banner, God and Saint George be with us. The horses of the English force were all hailed in readiness by their attendants close in their rear. Every man sprang into a saddle and with leveled lances the army bore down the hill against the enemy, while the Captain de Bouch forced his way through the struggling ranks of the French to join them. To these two parties were posed the whole of the German cavalry, the division of the Dauphin, now thinned by flight, and a strong force under the Constable de Brionne, Duke of Athens. The first charge of the English was directed against the Germans, the remains of the Marshal's forces, and that commanded by the Constable. The two bodies of cavalry met with a tremendous shock, raising their respective war cries, Denis Montjoy and Saint George again. Lances were shivered and horses and men rolled over, but the German horse was borne down in every direction by the charge of the English chivalry. The counts of Nassau and Sawbrook were taken, and the rest driven down the hill and utter confusion. The division of the Duke of Orleans, a little further down the hill to the right, were seized with a sudden panic and 16,000-minute arms together with their commander fled without striking a blow. Having rounded the French and German cavalry in advance, the English now fell upon the Dauphin's divisions. This had been already confused by the attacks of the Captain de Bouch and when its leaders beheld the complete route of the marshals and the Germans, and saw the victorious force galloping down upon them, the responsibility attached to the charge of the three young princes overcame their firmness. The loads of Lundau, Vondeney, and Saint-Venant, thinking the battle lost, hurried the princes from the field, surrounded by 800 lances, determined to place them at a secure distance, and then to return and fight beside the King. The retreat of the princes at once disorganized the force, but though many fled a number of the nobles remained scattered over the field, fighting in separate bodies with their own retainers gathered under their banners. Gradually, these fell back and took post on the left of the French King's division. The Constable and the Duke of Bourbon, with a large body of knights and men at arms, also opposed a firm front to the advance of the English. The King saw with indignation one of his divisions defeated, and the other in coward flight, but his forces were still vastly superior to those of the English. In ordering his men to dismount, he prepared to receive their onset. The English now gathered their forces which had been scattered in combat and again advanced to the fight. The archers, as usual, heralded this advance with showers of arrows which shook the ranks of the French and opened the way for the cavalry. These dashed in, and the ranks of the two armies became mixed, and each man fought hand to hand. The French King fought on foot with immense valor and bravery as did his nobles. The dukes of Bourbon and Athens, the lords of Landau, Argentin, Chambret, Jean-Vy, and many others stood and died near the King. Gradually, the English drove back their foes. The French forces became cut into groups or confined into narrow spaces. Night after night fell around the King. The Rivamont fell near him. Geoffrey de Charnay, who, as one of the most valiant knights in the army, had been chosen to bear the French standard, the Auraflam, never left his sovereign side, and as long as the sacred banner floated over his head, John would not believe the day was lost. At length, however, Geoffrey de Charnay was killed, and the Auraflam fell. John, surrounded on every side by foes who pressed forward to make him prisoner, still kept clear of the space immediately around himself and his little son with his battle acts. But at last, he saw that further resistance would only entail the death of both, and he then surrendered to Denis Montbec, a knight of Atois. The battle was now virtually over. The French banners and penins had disappeared, and nothing was seen save the dead and dying, groups of prisoners and parties of fugitives flying over the country. Chandos now advised the prince to halt. His banner was pitched on the summit of a little mound. The trumpets blew to recall the army from the pursuit, and the prince, taking off his helmet, drank with the little body of knights who accompanied him, some wine brought from his former encampment. The two marshals of the English army, the earls of Warwick and Suffolk, were among the first to return at the call of the trumpet. Hearing that King John had certainly not left the field of battle, though they knew not whether he was dead or taken, the prince at once dispatched the earl of Warwick and Lord Cobham to find and protect him if still alive. They soon came upon a mass of men at arms, seemingly engaged in an angry quarrel. On writing up, they found the object of strife was the King of France, who had been snatched from the hands of Montbec and was being claimed by a score of men as his prisoner. The earl of Warwick and the Lord Cobham instantly made their way through the mass and dismounting saluted the captive monarch with the deepest reverence and keeping back the multitude led him to the Prince of Wales. The latter bent his knee before the King and calling for wine presented the cup with his own hands to the unfortunate monarch. The battle was over by noon, but it was evening before all the pursuing parties returned and the result of the victory was then fully known. With less than 8,000 men the English had conquered far more than 60,000. On the English side 2,000 men at arms and 1,500 archers had fallen. Upon the French side 11,000 men at arms besides an immense number of footmen had been killed. A King, a Prince, an Archbishop, 13 counts, 66 barons and more than 2,000 knights were prisoners in the hands of the English with a number of other soldiers who raised the number of captives to double that of their conquerors. All the baggage of the French army was taken and as the barons of France had marched to the field feeling certain of victory the prisoners became immediately the property of the captors immense stores of valuable ornaments of all kinds especially Jeweled Baldricks enriched the meanest soldier among the conquerors. The helmet which the French King had worn which bore a small coronet of gold beneath the crest was delivered to the Prince of Wales who sent it off at once to his father as the best trophy of the battle he could offer him. Its receipt was the first intimation which Edward III received of the great victory. As the Prince had no means of providing for the immense numbers of prisoners the greater portion were set at liberty upon their taking an oath to present themselves at Bordeaux by the ensuing Christmas in order to either pay the ransom appointed or to again yield themselves as prisoners. Immediately the battle was over Edward's sin for the gallant Sir James Oddly was brought to him on his litter by his esquires and the Prince after warmly congratulating him on the honor that he had that day won as the bravest knight in the army assigned him an annuity of 500 marks a year. No sooner was Oddly taken to his own tent than he called round him several of his nearest relations and friends and then and there made over to his four gallant attendants without power of recall the gift which the Prince had bestowed upon him. The Prince was not to be outdone however in liberality and on hearing that Oddly had assigned his present to the brave men who had so gallantly supported him in the fight he presented Sir James with another annuity of 600 marks a year. End of Chapter 20 Recording by Brett Downey