CHAPTER LXIX

THE PRINCE AND HIS CAPTIVE

No news could have excited more joy and enthusiasm than pervaded England when rumour carried through the land tidings that the English had, against fearful odds, won another battle on the Continent, and that the king's adversary was a captive in the hands of the king's son.

In every church thanks were solemnly offered for the victory of Poictiers; in every town and village the victory was celebrated with festivities; and on every hill bonfires blazed in honour of the conquerors. Nothing could exceed the respect paid to such of the warriors of Poictiers as, during the winter, returned from Bordeaux. I, being the first, came in for rather more than my full share of the glory; and, as the bearer of the earliest intelligence, I was knighted by King Edward, who did not on this occasion forget the service I had previously rendered in saving his daughter from the horns of the wild bull in the forest of Windsor.

And now there was much anxiety to ascertain what was to be done with John of Valois, and when the Prince of Wales was to bring him and his son to England. But on this point considerable obstacles arose. In fact, the Gascons were most unwilling that John should be taken away from Bordeaux, and did not hesitate to express themselves strongly on the subject.

"Sir," said they to the prince, "we owe you, as becomes us, all honour and obedience; but it is not our intention that you should carry the King of France from us, who contributed so largely to place him in the situation where he now is. Thank God, he is in good health, and in a good city; and we are strong enough to guard him against any force which France could send to rescue him."

"Gentlemen," replied the prince, "I do not doubt your power to guard him; but the king, my father, wishes him to go to England, and, as we are both very sensible of the services you have rendered, you may depend on being handsomely rewarded for them."

"Nevertheless," urged the Gascons, appearing to grow more stubborn every moment, "we cannot consent to his departure."

"What, in the name of the saints, is to be done?" asked the prince, taking Lord Cobham and Sir John Chandos aside.

"Sir," said Lord Cobham, "you must consider the avaricious nature of the Gascons in dealing with them."

"Yes," added Sir John Chandos, laughing, "there is only one way of dealing with such men: offer them a handsome sum of florins, and they will comply with all you wish."

Accordingly a hundred thousand florins were distributed among the lords of Gascony; and in April the prince embarked, with his captive, for England. Landing at Sandwich, they travelled on to Canterbury; and having remained there for three days, to refresh themselves and offer at the shrine of Thomas à Becket, they pursued their way, by short journeys, to London.

Meanwhile the news that the Prince of Wales and John of Valois had landed in England reached King Edward, and spread abroad; and, as they approached London, the public curiosity became great. At length, on the 24th of April, they entered London, John riding the white charger which, like himself, had been taken at Poictiers, and the prince bestriding a black pony, and treating his captive with marked respect. John was richly dressed, and wore a crown of ornament on his head; the prince was plain even to affectation, and his head was uncovered as he entered the city. But, after all, this was so much dumb show; and the populace instinctively felt such to be the case; and nobody could examine the countenances of the two with attention and intelligence without ceasing to feel much surprise that the man who, on the decisive day, had an army of sixty thousand, was a captive, and that the youth who, on the decisive day, had an army of eight thousand, was a conqueror. One had all the weakness of a Valois, the other all the strength of a Plantagenet.

Riding through London, while the crowd surged and swayed, in their eagerness to get a closer view, John and his son Philip were conducted to the Savoy, and, after being lodged in that palace, were visited by the king and queen, who did all in their power to console John in his captivity. Nor did the unfortunate man disdain their kind offices. Indeed, adversity had softened his temper, and he was disposed to make the best of circumstances. But it was different with his son. Young Philip's natural ferocity became more intense every hour, and some extraordinary scenes resulted from his unrestrained violence.

On the very day after the arrival of John of Valois in London, and while he was feasting with the court at Westminster, Philip made such a display of temper as shocked everybody who witnessed his conduct. Observing that the cup-bearer served King Edward with wine before his father, he started from the table, and attempted to box the cup-bearer's ears.

"Varlet!" cried he, foaming with fury, "you have no right to serve the King of England before the King of France; for, though my father is unfortunate, he is still the sovereign of your king."

Edward and Philippa endeavoured to seem diverted at the boy's rudeness, and laughed over the awkward incident. But, a few days later, he fastened a quarrel on the Prince of Wales, while playing at chess, which was more awkward still. The king and queen, however, decided the dispute in his favour; but nobody aware of the circumstances could doubt that the boy was bad by nature, and that his education had not been such as to eradicate the vices which he inherited.

"On my faith," said the Lord Merley to me as we one day talked over the quarrel which he had with the prince at chess, "I wish the Gascons had kept that young tiger to tame at Bordeaux; for, if his ferocity continues, I see no way of dealing with him but putting him in a cage, and committing him to the care of the keeper of the wild beasts in the Tower."

"In truth, my lord," replied I, laughing, "I should be inclined to agree with you if I did not remember how fiercely and bravely he fought by his father's side at Poictiers long after his three elder brothers were flying from the field, as if the foul fiend had been behind, and ready to devour them."

"Doubtless," said Lord Merley, "he possesses courage; but such as, whether in young or old, is the courage, not of a brave man, but of a wild beast."