CHAPTER LXXI
WHAT BEFELL LORD DE OV
Eleanor De Gubium was not mistaken as to the fate of Lord De Ov. On the day when the battle of Poictiers was fought and won he had been under the necessity of surrendering, rescue or no rescue. In fact, no sooner was the haughty baron saved from the danger of perishing by the sword of Eustace the Strong than he incurred the danger of dying by the lance of John de Helennes, that squire of Picardy whom I had met at Mount Moreville, when he was attached to Sir Lancelot de Lorris, and when he was intrusted by that gallant knight with his bloodstained banner to convey to one of the ladies of Poix.
It seems that at Poictiers, John de Helennes fought in the division of John of Valois, and bore himself bravely; but when he saw his countrymen dispersing on all hands, and perceived that the day was irrecoverably lost, he bethought himself of flight; and meeting his page with a fresh horse, mounted, with the object of making a speedy escape. But in this endeavour he was destined to be rudely interrupted; for Lord De Ov, smarting from wounds of the depth of which himself was quite unconscious, being by this time remounted and not in the most celestial mood, no sooner observed the squire spurring away from the lost field, than, setting his spear in rest, he dashed after the fugitive with the hope of taking him prisoner.
"Sir squire," cried the English baron, in a loud and menacing voice, "I pray you return and meet me fairly. You cannot escape thus; for my steed is the fleeter of the two; and if you turn not I will smite you in the back, like a craven."
"By my halidame, you never shall!" cried John de Helennes on hearing this challenge; and, halting, he wheeled round his steed to meet his pursuer face to face.
Now it was the object of Lord De Ov to fix his lance in the target of John de Helennes, while John's object was to strike his adversary's helmet – a mark much more difficult to hit, but which, when hit, makes the shock more violent and difficult to resist; and, when they met with all the force they were capable, Lord De Ov failed to fix his lance in the squire's target, while John, striking his antagonist fairly and truly on the helmet, brought him to the ground with such violence that the baron rolled over and over, grasping the grass with his hands as he did so. Upon this the squire sprang from his horse, and, drawing his sword, advanced on his prostrate foe.
"Surrender yourself, rescue or no rescue," said the squire, eager to insure himself a captive who, from his appearance, was likely to pay a handsome ransom.
"First tell me your name," replied Lord De Ov, who, seeing the necessity of making the best of circumstances, immediately placed his temper under control.
"My name is John de Helennes," said the squire, "and I pray you to tell me who you are."
"In truth," answered the other, "I am Lord De Ov, and have a handsome castle on the river Wear, near Durham."
"Lord De Ov!" exclaimed John de Helennes, who was delighted to hear that his vanquished foe was a personage of rank and wealth; "I well know your name as one of the great barons in the North of England; and you shall be my prisoner."
"Well," said Lord De Ov, "I willingly surrender myself, for you have fairly conquered me; and I will be your prisoner, rescue or no rescue."
"In that case," said John de Helennes, "I will place you in safety, and, as you appear to be wounded, I will take care that you are healed."
Having thus arranged matters to his satisfaction, John de Helennes sheathed his sword, and, having bound up the wounds of Lord De Ov, placed him on horseback, and led him at a foot pace to Châtelherault, and there rested for fifteen days while the captive lord's wounds were healed and medicine administered.
Gradually, under the kind treatment of his captor, Lord De Ov began to recover from his wounds and bruises; and when he was sufficiently strong to travel, John de Helennes placed him in a litter and conducted him safely to the ancient house of the Templars at Luz, where the cure was completed. But it was not until twelve months had passed that Lord De Ov was recovered so thoroughly as to think of returning to England. At the end of that time, however, though still somewhat lame, he prepared to depart from Picardy. Before leaving he paid, as his ransom, the sum of six thousand nobles; and, on the profit which he made out of his noble captive, John de Helennes became a knight. It is not necessary as yet to tell what became of Roger, Lord De Ov; it is sufficient to say that he was rapidly approaching the edge and crisis of his fate.
CHAPTER LXXII
MARRIAGE OF THE BLACK PRINCE
It was natural that the king and people of England should at this time feel anxious that the heir to the crown of the Plantagenets should unite his fate with some princess worthy of sharing his rank: and, ere this, several matches which seemed not unsuitable had been proposed. In the fifth year of King Edward's reign a marriage had been talked of between his son and a daughter of Philip of Valois; in the twelfth year of King Edward's reign a marriage was proposed between his son and a daughter of the Duke of Brabant, and in the nineteenth year of King Edward's reign, a marriage was proposed between his son and the daughter of the King of Portugal. But each of these matrimonial schemes came to naught, and the heir of England, after leading the van at Cressy, and winning the battle of Poictiers, still remained without a wife to share his counsels or a son to cheer his hopes. Nor did he evince any desire to form such an alliance as the nation, which regarded him with so much pride, seemed to expect; for, from boyhood, the Prince of Wales had cherished a romantic affection for his fair cousin Joan, Countess of Kent; and, circumstances having proved unpropitious to their union, he seemed to steel his heart against any second attachment. But destiny is stronger than circumstances; and, after years of melancholy reflection and vain regrets, the prince had, at length, an opportunity of wedding the lady of his heart.
Joan, Countess of Kent, was a princess of the house of Plantagenet, and one of the most comely and captivating women of whom England could boast. Indeed, at an early age her beauty won for her the name of the Fair Maid of Kent. She was daughter of Edmund, Earl of Kent, son of the first King Edward, and, having been born about the time when her father perished on the scaffold, during the domination of Queen Isabel and Roger de Mortimer, she was, of course, a year or two older than the hero whose heart she had so thoroughly captivated.
It is said that the course of true love never does run smooth, and of this the prince and his fair kinswoman were doomed to experience the truth. In fact, King Edward and Queen Philippa had other views for their son, and the obstacles in the way of a marriage were such that the prince despaired of overcoming them; and, while he, debarred from indulging in the passions of the heart, gave his time and thoughts to war and ambition, Joan, after waiting for a few years with the vague hope of some change occurring to render their union possible, bethought herself of making up for lost time, and so managed matters that she became the object of contention between two men, each of whom claimed her as wife. Of these, one was Sir Thomas Holand, a knight of Lancaster; the other was William, Earl of Salisbury, son of that fair countess in whose honour King Edward instituted the Order of the Garter.
Naturally the dispute was warm, and caused much scandal; for it appeared that Joan, after being solemnly betrothed to Salisbury, had given her hand to Holand, who, albeit of inferior rank, was a handsome and accomplished chevalier, and when Holand went to the continent Salisbury took possession of the bride. At length the pope was appealed to; and his holiness having settled the dispute by pronouncing the Countess of Kent to be wife of Holand, Salisbury indicated his acquiescence in the decision by marrying another woman.
Affairs having reached this stage, no hope remained to the Prince of Wales save to forget the past; and in this respect he, no doubt, did in some degree succeed. Nevertheless, the romance was not at an end. Soon after the battle of Poictiers, Holand went the way of all flesh, and Joan Plantagenet, now thirty-two, but comely and captivating as in girlhood, was free to give her hand to whom she pleased.
Of course such a woman was not likely to be without wooers, and it speedily became known that one of the nobles attached to the prince's service sought her in marriage. This noble was Roger, Lord de Ov. Nor, in aspiring to the hand of her who had been sung of as the Fair Maid of Kent, was he deemed guilty of presumption. Young, handsome, courteous in hall and strong in battle, with a great name and broad baronies, he was not the person whom the widow of a Holand was likely to reject on the score of dignity. But it appeared that the widowed countess was not to be so easily won; and the noble, finding that his suit did not prosper, implored the prince to interfere in his behalf. The result was not what might have been anticipated; for the lady rejected the advice with a disdain which was almost too much for the prince's patience.
"Fair kinswoman," said he, "it seems to me that you scarce know your own mind."
"My lord," replied the countess with much animation, "never did I know my mind better: when I was under ward I was disposed of by others, but now – "
"But now?" said the prince, whose imagination rapidly conducted him back to the time when he himself was the most ardent of her admirers.
"Now," continued she, making a great effort to speak out, "I am mistress of my own actions, and I cannot but call to mind that I am of the royal blood of England. I cannot therefore cast myself away beneath my rank; and I am fully resolved never to marry again, unless I can marry a prince of virtue and quality."
Needless would it be to dwell on the scene that followed. Suffice it to say that as the countess spoke the prince felt the old flame rekindle in his heart, and when she concluded he was kneeling at her feet.
But still the course of true love was not to run smooth. No sooner did the prince set his heart on a union with his fair kinswoman than formidable obstacles presented themselves. Both the Court and the Church were decidedly hostile. The king and queen were more averse than ever to their son wedding a woman whose reputation was not the better for the wear; and the Church objected, not only on account of the nearness of blood, but because the prince, by appearing as godfather to the sons of the countess, had for ever precluded himself from becoming her husband. Both obstacles, however, were overcome. After some delay the king and queen gave a reluctant consent; and, after some persuasion, the pope gave a dispensation and an absolution, to admit of the marriage being celebrated.
It was in the royal chapel at Windsor that the ceremony took place; and soon after the Prince and Princess of Wales departed for the castle of Berkhamstead. For a time they kept their state at that royal manor; but a Parliament being held in the winter to form establishments for the king's son, objected to the prince's residing in England.
"We consider," said the Parliament, "that the Prince of Wales keeps a grand and noble state, as he is well entitled to do, for he is valiant, and powerful, and rich. But he has a great inheritance in Guienne, where provisions and everything else abound, and we therefore deem that he ought to reside in his duchy, which will furnish him with the means of maintaining as grand an establishment as he likes."
On hearing that such an opinion had been expressed by the Parliament of England, the Prince of Wales at once consented to repair to Guienne, and immediately made preparations for the voyage. Before he and the princess left Berkhamstead, the king and queen visited them at that manor to say farewell; and it was on this occasion that Sir John Froissart heard the prophecy which he has inserted in his chronicle of the wars in England and France.
"A curious thing," says he, "happened on my first going to England, which I have much thought on since. I was in the service of Queen Philippa; and when she accompanied King Edward and the royal family to take leave of the Prince and Princess of Wales at Berkhamstead, on their departure for Guienne, I heard an old knight, in conversation with some ladies, say —
"'We have a book called Brut, which, among other predictions, declares that neither the Prince of Wales, nor any of King Edward's sons, will be King of England, but that the descendants of the Duke of Lancaster will reign.'"
But enough. Why should I forestal the day when England had to mourn the death of her hero, or anticipate the evil times on which his ill-starred son fell? At present all is hopeful and promising, and no shadows cross the path of the royal pair as they depart to embark for the land from which they are to return under circumstances so sad. Away melancholy memories, and let me still think of him as he was when he kept his state at the monastery of St. Andrew, ere he marched forth to win that victory which set his name once more ringing throughout Europe, and ruined his prospects to re-seat Don Pedro on the throne of Castille.
CHAPTER LXXIII
THE CHALLENGE
It was the month of May, and Gaston Phæbus, Count of Foix, was the guest of the Prince and Princess of Wales; and thither also had come Roger, Lord De Ov; and I, having just returned from an expedition to Angoulême, was seated at dinner in the city of Bordeaux, the day being a Wednesday, when Sir Richard de Pontcharden, the Marshal of Guienne, came to me, and said —
"Winram, know you of what things you are openly accused?"
"On my faith I do not, Sir Richard," replied I; "and beshrew me if I can guess to what you allude."
"In truth," said Sir Richard, kindly taking my hand, "I fully credit what you say. Nevertheless, I deem it right to warn you that, since your departure, there has been a plot discovered for delivering some towns up to the French, and that of this plot your name is bruited about as one of the authors."
I was literally struck dumb with amazement; and I gazed on the marshal in silence.
"Why gaze you on me thus?" asked he.
"By my sooth," replied I, suddenly recovering my speech, "I may well indeed be astonished at such a charge, considering that even the existence of such a plot was unknown to me. But who may be my accuser?"
"I know not," answered Sir Richard, significantly; "but this I do know, that the prince partly believes it, and that, were I in your place, I should hasten to the prince's presence, and demand his name forthwith."
"You are right," said I with energy. "Not a moment must be lost in meeting this calumny and this calumniator face to face, and, it may be, hand to hand."
And without hesitation I proceeded to crave an audience of the prince, and was, without delay, admitted to his presence.
As I presented myself, I felt how truly the marshal had spoken. It was evident that I was the object of strong suspicion. Even if I had not been warned, I should have felt instinctively that something was wrong. Never had young Edward's aspect been to me so grave or so ungracious. But I was too strong in the consciousness of my innocence to be cast down, even before the frown of a prince and a Plantagenet. In truth, I was perfectly calm; and, after bending my knee, I drew myself to my full height, and spoke clearly and boldly.
"My lord," said I, not without scorn of the thought of being suspected, "it has come to my knowledge that I have, in my absence, been accused of conspiring with the enemies of England. I am here to deny the charge, and to demand to be placed face to face with my accuser."
The prince did not answer even a word; but he ordered Lord De Ov to be summoned; and when my adversary appeared, which he did almost on the instant, I felt, with something like exultation, that at length there was a prospect of our quarrel being brought to a decisive issue, and that, with a just cause, I could not fail to conquer.
The prince, meanwhile, turned to me, and, with the frown still on his brow, said gravely —
"There stands your accuser."
And now I cannot relate what passed; but a furious dispute, which the presence of the prince scarcely served to moderate, certainly did take place; and I recited all the hostility Lord De Ov had evinced towards me, and the persecution to which I had been exposed at his hands, not forgetting the incident of Caen, on which I was loud, if not eloquent. But I did not stop even at this point. I traced the enmity to its origin. Vehemently I narrated all the wrongs which my father had suffered, and which I had vowed to avenge, and astounded the prince by stating in a voice of thunder, that this man, who now laboured to ruin my fair fame, bore the name and occupied the place which were mine by hereditary right. At length matters reached such a stage that I threw down my glove, and appealed to the god of battles; and Lord De Ov expressed his willingness to submit the quarrel to the arbitrament of the sword.
But for a time there appeared, notwithstanding my entreaties, some doubt whether a combat would be permitted under the circumstances. In fact, the prince, who was perplexed by the turn which the quarrel had taken, entertained serious scruples. Fortunately, however, he consulted his guest, the Count of Foix; and Gaston Phæbus, who enjoyed a high reputation for wisdom, after some meditation, decided in favour of allowing the duel.
"In truth," said he, "I think that this is a case in which an appeal to the god of battles ought to be permitted; for it is a case which no man, without great discretion and knowledge, could undertake to decide, one way or another; and at all times, the judgment of God is more likely to be just than the judgment of the very justest man."
"In the name of truth and justice," exclaimed the prince, "let the combat, then, take place; and may God and St. George defend the right!"
"Yes," replied the count; "it is decidedly a quarrel which can best be decided by a duel for death or life."
Accordingly, everything was settled; and, Monday being fixed on as the day for the mortal combat, the accuser and the accused were placed under arrest till the time appointed, and preliminaries were arranged for the trial by battle.
CHAPTER LXXIV
TRIAL BY BATTLE
I have said that it was the month of May, and the grass was green in the meads, the corn in ear, and the flowers in seed, when arrangements were made for the combat, which the Count of Foix had approved, and which the Prince of Wales had sanctioned; and, in a wide open space on the banks of the Garonne, the lists were erected and preparations made; and galleries were raised on one side for such lords as wished to be spectators; and, on the appointed day, the barons of Gascony and England and the citizens of Bordeaux came forth to witness a spectacle which promised much excitement.
It would hardly become me to relate my own exploits on such an occasion, even if my feelings had been such as to admit of my remembering distinctly what passed. But the truth is, that, calm as I might have seemed to observers, my anxiety was intense, and I scarce saw, scarce heard, anything around me, so completely was my mind bent and my attention concentrated on the coming conflict. I therefore deem it prudent to borrow an account of the duel from a chronicler who witnessed it without favour, and who described it with impartiality.
"At the hour appointed, Sir Arthur Winram and Roger, Lord De Ov, the two knights who were to perform this deed of arms, rode to where the tilts were to be performed, and entered the lists so well armed and equipped that nothing was wanting. Their spears and battle-axes were brought to them, and each being mounted on the best of horses, placed himself about a bow-shot from his antagonist; and they pranced about most gallantly, for they knew that every eye was upon them.
"Having braced their targets, and examined each other through the visors of their helmets, they spurred on their horses, spear in hand; and though they allowed their horses to gallop as they pleased, they advanced in as straight a line as if it had been drawn with a cord, and hit each other on the visors with such skill and force that all present allowed it was gallantly done. Lord De Ov's lance was shivered into four pieces, which flew to a greater height than they could have been thrown. Sir Arthur Winram likewise struck his antagonist, but not with the same success; and I will tell you why. It was because Lord De Ov had but slightly laced on his helmet, so that it was only held by one thong, which snapped at a blow, leaving him bareheaded.
"Each knight passed the other; and Sir Arthur Winram bore his lance without halting; and they returned to their stations, when Lord De Ov's helmet was fitted on again, and another lance given to him, while Sir Arthur grasped his own, which was not worsted. When ready, they set off full gallop (for excellent were their horses, and well did they know how to manage them), and again struck each other on the helmets, so that sparks of fire came out from them. Neither of their lances did this time break, and Sir Arthur received a very severe blow: and his lance hit the visor of his adversary without much effect, passing through and leaving it on the crupper of the horse, and Lord De Ov was once more bareheaded.
"After this tilting, the knights dismounted, and made ready to continue the combat with swords; and they made a very handsome appearance, for they were both stout and expert men at arms. Fighting on foot, they behaved with much courage. Sir Arthur Winram was, at the first, severely wounded, and his friends were much alarmed; but, notwithstanding this disadvantage, he fought so stubbornly that he struck down his adversary, and was on the point of thrusting his sword through his body, when the prince threw down his warder, and shouted, 'Hold! slay him not, unshriven and unabsolved. He is fairly vanquished.' Then Sir Arthur demanded of the spectators if he had done his duty; and when they replied that he had, the knight approached the prince, and after thanking him and the lords present for coming to see justice done, went, albeit sore wounded, to make his offering in the Church of St. Andrew."
I need not particularly narrate the events which followed this combat for life or death; how, in a few days after it was fought, the prince was convinced, by evidence which could not be doubted, that the plot in which I was accused of participating had no existence; and how King Edward, on hearing of everything connected with the business, swore that, come what might, justice should be done me, and that speedily. Ere the close of June my adversary had left Bordeaux for England, and so had I. But he returned to his native land to take the habit of a monk in a religious house which his ancestors had endowed; I to assume the name which I had received at the baptismal font, and, as son of Edward, Lord De Ov, to take possession of the castle and baronies in which, since the Norman Conquest, the chiefs of the house of De Ov had maintained feudal state.