CHAPTER LXIV

A ROYAL CAPTIVE

It was noon, and the battle was virtually over; and, albeit the English were already as secure of victory as if every enemy had lain dead on the field, on one spot, hard by a little hillock, a fierce struggle was still maintained. It is true that, after rescuing the Prince of Wales from sudden peril, the Earl of Warwick had driven the French before him with such force that, as I have said, most of them never paused in their flight till they reached the gates of Poictiers. Nevertheless, John of Valois fought on, indulging in vague hopes and forming desperate resolutions. But fate was decidedly against him; and his nobles and knights, bravely as they contended, could do nothing to make their position less desperate than it already was. In attempting to break through the crowd and join their sovereign, the Counts of Tankerville, Ponthieu, and Eu were made prisoners. By the hand of Lord Cobham perished the Count of Dammartin; down, as his sword again descended, fell Geoffrey de Chargny, who had fought gallantly all day, with the standard of France in his hand; and, through the gaps which were thus made in the French army, rushed the English and Gascons in such numbers that they intermingled with their foes, and outnumbered them in the proportion of five to one. It was utterly impossible for John, bold and strong as he was, to hold out longer under such circumstances, and his danger was great. However, the eagerness to take him prisoner was excessive among those who knew him; and, while he was pulled about from one to another without the least respect for his royal pretensions, some of those who were near shouted loudly--

"Surrender yourself, surrender yourself, or you are a dead man!"

Fortunately for John, there was among the English a young knight of St. Omer, who bore the name of Denis de Morbeque, and who had, five years earlier, been banished from France for killing a man in a fray; and fortunately for himself this knight was at hand. Recognising John, and anxious to save him, Sir Denis, exerting all his strength, pushed rapidly through the crowd.

"Sire, sire," said he in good French, "surrender yourself; it is your only chance."

"But to whom shall I surrender myself?" said John, turning round. "Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? If I could see him I would speak to him."

"Sire," replied Sir Denis, "the prince is not near; but surrender to me, and I will lead you to his presence."

"Who are you?" asked John with interest.

"Sire," answered the knight, "I am Denis de Morbeque, a knight of Artois; but I serve the King of England, because I have forfeited all I possessed in France, and no longer consider myself as belonging to the kingdom."

"Well, sir knight," said John, giving Sir Denis the glove from his right hand, "I surrender to you. Conduct me to the prince."

But this proved no easy matter, for several cried, "I have taken him," and there was much pushing and thronging about the spot; and both John and his young son Philip, who clung resolutely to his father's side, were unable to free themselves from the numbers who claimed them as prisoners.

In fact, the dispute every moment became louder and fiercer, and ever and anon threatened the most disagreeable consequences; for both English and Gascons were bawling at the top of their voices, and it appeared likely enough that they would ultimately proceed from words to blows.

"He has surrendered to me," shouted one.

"It is I who have got him," cried a second.

"No, no!" exclaimed others; "we have him."

And as each put in his claim, he attempted to make it good in such a fashion that John found his situation the very reverse of pleasant.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," said he, as his patience wore out, "I pray you cease this riot, and conduct me and my son in a courteous manner to the Prince of Wales. You shall all be rewarded. I am so great a lord that I can make you all sufficiently rich."

At these words, which every one heard, the crowd was in some degree appeased; but disputes were again breaking out, and John's position was becoming every moment less agreeable, when suddenly Lord Cobham and the Earl of Warwick, who, while riding over the field, had observed the tumult, spurred up to the place.

"What is the matter?" asked they.

"It is the King of France, who has been made prisoner," was the reply; and immediately more than a dozen knights and squires stepped forward, each claiming the royal captive as his own.

"Gentlemen," said Warwick, bending his brow and raising his voice menacingly, "this behaviour is most unseemly; and, in the name of the Prince of Wales, I command you all to keep your distance, and not to approach unless desired to do so."

And, as the crowd fell back, Warwick and Cobham dismounted, and, advancing to the prisoner, conducted him quietly to the red pavilion in which the prince was resting from the fatigues of the day.

When the two earls escorted their captive and his son into the pavilion, the Prince of Wales was conversing with his knights on the events of the day. On becoming aware of John's presence, however, he rose and made a very low obeisance, as has been related, and, ordering wine and spices to be brought, presented them to the captive with his own hand, and endeavoured to minister what comfort he could.

"In my opinion," said he, "you ought to be glad that this battle, albeit it has not ended as you desired, has redounded so much to your fame; for you have, this day, had an opportunity of acquiring a high renown for prowess, and have in the field far surpassed all the best knights of whom the chivalry of France can boast."

At these words, John, whose violence seemed to have died out of him, smiled as if in sad reproof; but his young son Philip, who inherited this violence in a high degree, glared on his father's conqueror with the savage ferocity of a young tiger.