CHAPTER XXXI

THE LUCK OF JOHN COPELAND

It was not merely to the king and the Prince of Wales, and the nobles and knights of England, that the news of Queen Philippa's victory was a subject of high interest. Every squire, page, and groom, heard the glad tidings with delight; and as rumour carried through the English camp intelligence so flattering to the pride of Englishmen, there arose one long shout of joy and rejoicing. For my own part, I had to tell the story hundreds of times, and, for twenty-four hours at least, found myself a person of no slight consequence.

I know not what the Calesians thought of the excitement among the besiegers; but the cheers that everywhere rose loud and high might have intimated to them that the English had received news that boded little good to the beleaguered town. Nevertheless, they held out resolutely; and, in spite of the prince's prediction, King Edward evinced no inclination whatever to storm the place.

"No," said the king in a conclusive tone; "I now feel more secure than ever of my prize. It is true that Philip of Valois may come to relieve the place; and, truth to tell, I desire not mine adversary's presence. But, if come he does, it shall be at his peril."

However, Philip of Valois made no sign of moving to the rescue of his friends. In fact, it seemed that the ill-fated prince had played his last card when he urged the King of Scots to invade England; and the disastrous issue of the enterprise had ruined his projects.

In such circumstances, it appeared that, if distress did not force the Calesians to surrender their stronghold, the English army might remain all the winter before the walls without any change in the aspect of affairs. Such being the case, the pledge I had given not to draw my sword for a year and a day became less irksome; and I was gradually reconciling my mind to the condition on which I had recovered my liberty, when, towards the coast in the neighbourhood of Calais, the wind blew a ship on board of which was no less important a personage than John Copeland, the captor of David Bruce.

And here I must pause to relate how the Northumbrian squire, after possessing himself of the King of Scots, at the cost of two of his front teeth, at Merrington, and mounted him on horseback, fared with his royal captive; and how his sagacity enabled him, without losing hold of his prisoner, to evade the consequences of having aroused Queen Philippa's wrath to the highest pitch.

No sooner had Sir John Neville reached the camp before Calais, and presented Philippa's epistle to her royal husband, than, as I have already intimated, I was interrupted in my colloquy with the prince, and by Lord De Ov hastily and not very courteously summoned to the royal presence, and closely interrogated as to the circumstances under which the King of the Scots was taken prisoner and carried northward. I told my story without concealment or exaggeration, and was gratified to perceive that King Edward, albeit blaming Copeland for having been rash, gave him credit for having acted with honourable intentions.

But, unhappily, the aspect of the affair did not improve with time. In fact, Copeland seemed bent on ruining himself by carrying his enterprise too far.

It appeared, on inquiry, that, after capturing David Bruce, Copeland hurried him away towards the castle of Ogle, on the river Blythe, and, after reaching that fortress, placed him under a guard so strong as to preclude the probability of escape or rescue. So far the matter was not so awkward. But when a knight, despatched by the queen, presented a letter, in which he was commanded to give up his captive, he answered in defiant terms.

"The King of Scots," said he to the knight, "is my prisoner, and I will neither give him up to man nor woman, except to my own lord, the King of England. But," added he, "you may depend on my taking proper care of him, and I will be answerable for guarding him well."

Naturally such a message exasperated Philippa beyond measure; and, in high wrath, she wrote to King Edward, complaining that Copeland had acted so outrageously, and set her commands so utterly at defiance, that she could not brook his insolence.

The king was somewhat perplexed. Sympathising, in a slight degree, with the queen's indignation, but reluctant to act severely towards Copeland, he perhaps felt some hesitation as to what he should do. It was necessary, however, to decide without delay; and the king deemed it most prudent to send orders to Copeland to repair forthwith to Calais. The squire hastened to obey; and, having left David Bruce vigilantly guarded in his castle of Ogle, ere long presented himself at Calais, and, having desired to be conducted to the king, soon found himself face to face with the husband of the royal lady whose resentment he had provoked.

It was a memorable moment when Copeland and the king met, and for an instant the squire's brave heart must have beat quick as he looked on his sovereign's countenance; but Edward's manner was sufficiently gracious to assure him that he had lost but little favour, and that he was not likely to meet with strong reproof.

"Ah, welcome!" exclaimed the king; "welcome, my brave squire, who, by his valour, has captured my adversary, the King of Scots!"

At this point, Copeland, perceiving how the interview would probably terminate, fell on his knees.

"My lord," said he gravely, "if God, in His great kindness, has given me the King of Scots as a prisoner--having permitted me to conquer him in arms--no one ought to be jealous of it, for God can, when He pleases, send His grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord."

"Go on, John," said the king in a tone of encouragement; "I listen."

"Well, my lord," continued the squire more boldly, "do not take it amiss if I did not surrender the King of Scots to the orders of my lady the queen; for I hold my lands of you, and my oath is to you, not to her, except it be through choice."

"Rise, John," said the king, after musing for a moment, "and assure yourself that the loyal service you have done us, and our esteem for your valour, are so great as to serve for an excuse, were any needed; and shame fall upon those who bear you an ill-will. However, you will now return home, and take your prisoner, the King of the Scots, and convey him to my wife."

"Right willingly, my lord," replied Copeland, who saw that everything would end as he wished.

"And, by way of remuneration," added the king, coming to the point, "I assign lands, as near your house as you can choose them, to the value of five hundred pounds sterling a-year, for you and your heirs, and I nominate you a squire of my body and household."

"My lord, how can I express my thanks for your favours?" cried the squire in ecstasies.

"As for that," said Edward, "seeing that you are a brave warrior, I ask you to furnish twenty men-at-arms; and, on that condition, I grant you a pension of a hundred pounds yearly, to be paid out of the customs of Berwick."

* * * * *

It was on the third day after his arrival at the camp before Calais, and when he was about to embark to return to England, that Copeland sought me out to say "Farewell."

"Well, sir squire," said I, laughing, "it seems that, after great hazard, you have managed everything to your heart's content."

"Assuredly," replied he. "I ever predicted that such would be the issue; and now nothing remains to be done in the business but to return home, assemble my friends and neighbours, and convey the captive king to York, with some such excuse to my lady the queen as will soothe her woman's pride."

"So far," observed I, "you certainly have had luck on your side."

"Ay, boy," said he, smiling grimly, "you now see I understand better than you how to get fame and fortune."

"God's truth!" exclaimed I, "after what has passed I should be a dolt to dispute it. But all men have their peculiar gifts; and I opine that it is only a man born and bred in the north who could have planned such an achievement, and carried it out so shrewdly."

"Well spoken, my brave youth," said Copeland; "and I believe you likewise have gifts that might make a man of you, if you went the right way about it; but trust me that all your fine dreams of chivalry and ambition to perform fine feats of arms will not easily get you five hundred a-year in land, and a pension of a hundred a-year out of the customs of Berwick."

"Perhaps, not; but my dreams, as you call them, may result in something better--in my name being recorded by chroniclers, and celebrated by minstrels."

The Northumbrian squire laughed loud at what he deemed my fantastic notions, and laid his hand on my arm.

"Hark ye, boy," said he, looking in my face. "I know something of mankind, and I venture to predict of you, that--young and foolish as you are--you will live and learn how to climb the tree, so as ever, when you fall, to fall as a cat does--that is, on your feet; so that I have faith in your future."

"Many thanks for your compliment," said I, half scornfully.

"But listen," continued Copeland kindly. "When this siege is over, and you tire of idling at Windsor or Eltham, and sigh for strife and real warfare, come north to my castle on the Blythe; and, if you meet not with dainty chivalry, you will meet with a hearty welcome, and enemies who will give you work to do, when we mount our steeds, and ride forth together to couch our spears against the Scot."

"Many thanks for your courtesy," replied I, as he shook my hand ere parting; "and, if I avail myself of your offer, I trust you will not fail to put me in the way of making my fortune by capturing a king."