by Jean Plaidy
Across the border he rode into the province of Artois and then on to Paris.
The King of France was highly amused at the exploit. He said he longed to hear what the effect would be on Edward when he heard of the absconding bridegroom.
* * *
Isabella could not believe it.
Jilted. She, Isabella, the most desirable of brides, the beautiful Princess, her father’s darling!
The Queen had come to her to tell her the news.
‘There will be no wedding,’ she said.
Isabella listened incredulously. ‘So he ... ran away. He ran away from me ...’
‘It was not from you, my dear child,’ said Philippa. ‘It was from the marriage with England.’
‘The ... traitor,’ cried Isabella. ‘I hope he makes a disastrous marriage with his Margaret of Brabant.’
‘It is as well you did not marry him,’ replied her mother. ‘I can only rejoice that he showed himself in his true colours before the wedding.’
The King came in. He took his daughter into his arms and held her tightly against him.
‘My dearest child. This rogue ... this criminal ...’ He could not speak coherently, so great was his rage. He cared more about the insult to his daughter than the loss of an alliance which would have been useful to him.
‘He ran away from me! ‘ said Isabella blankly.
‘Not from you,’ replied Edward. ‘You must not think that.’
‘I have explained to her,’ replied Philippa. ‘It is not Isabella he does not want. It is the alliance.’
‘My dear child,’ said Edward, ‘we shall have entertainment outside Calais. We shall show everyone that we snap our fingers at this oaf.’
‘Yes, Father,’ said Isabella meekly.
She had already assured herself that he was not running away from her; she would dance gaily; she would show everyone she did not care that she had been jilted.
THE BURGHERS OF CALAIS
IT had been a fearful winter for the inhabitants of Calais. During all the bitterly cold months they had been attacked from without; arrows had rained into the town; the walls were constantly in need of repair lest there should be a breach which would let in the enemy. The greatest hardship was cold and hunger. Many of the inhabitants were dying of starvation, but they were determined to hold out. ‘Succour will come,’ said the people of Calais. ‘Our King will not forget us.’
The siege of Calais was proving to be the most difficult operation of the war. The place was so well fortified. Its importance to the other side was evident. Edward believed that if he could take it it would not be long before his ambition was realized; Philip knew that to lose it would be a greater blow than the defeats at Helvoetsluys and Crécy.
Edward had sent word to England that he must have more supplies. He needed more ships to blockade the harbour for great hopes had arisen in the town when Philip had managed to get supplies in to the people.
That must never happen again, declared Edward and ordered the Earl of Warwick to keep command of the Channel. For this purpose he had eighty ships under his command. Philip however must endeavour to reach his starving subjects and made an attempt to land forty-four ships most of them victuallers. But they were spotted by Warwick, and the Earls of Northampton and Pembroke were informed. Between them they succeeded in capturing some of the ships and sinking the others, so there was no relief for the starving citizens of Calais and the town continued in extreme suffering. All the corn, meat and wine had long disappeared; they were living on cats, dogs and horses and even the supply of these was running out.
Philip must come to their aid.
He made preparations for the attack. He was growing very unpopular because he had taxed the people of France so heavily to pay for the war; and when he ordered a muster of troops many of the nobles showed a great reluctance to come forward.
Edward, meanwhile, had the support of his people. They were beginning to regard him as a king to be proud of. His magnificent appearance, his displays of grandeur, that special Plantagenet charm which had been his grandfather’s and was perhaps even more apparent in him, the courage of his son and heir the Black Prince, the victor of Crécy—for Edward had had it proclaimed that that success was largely due to the skill and generalship of his beloved son—all this had made the English rally to their King and they were prepared to pay for a share in the glory he brought to England. They talked of Helvoetsluys and Crécy and they wanted to boast of Calais.
Therefore they were ready to pay for their King’s war.
They despised the French. It was generally believed that the men were like women, that they spent a lot of time combing their hair, that their skins were pale unlike the healthy ruddy Englishman’s; they minced and simpered and their manner of speaking was more attuned to a lady’s boudoir than to a battlefield. They were highly immoral and each man, however humble, had a dozen mistresses. They would soon be vanquished by the superior strength and virility of the English.
The French naturally despised the English. ‘They are the dregs of men, the shame of the world and the least of all things,’ they declared. They were barbarians; they ate great quantities of food and did not greatly care how it was cooked or served; they swilled ale instead of fine wines. What had cultivated Frenchmen to fear from such as these?
All through the winter and spring the wretched inhabitants waited for relief. The summer had come and the heat seemed worse than the cold.
They knew they could not hold out much longer when the cheering news came that Philip was on the march. He was bringing an army of two hundred thousand men to relieve them
Edward awaited their arrival. Which way? he wondered. There were three routes Philip might take: By way of the dunes, by Gravelines or across the marches by way of the Bridge of Nieulay.
Edward made sure that whichever way Philip tried to take he should find it almost impassable.
They came by way of the sandhills and saw at once that it was impossible to get nearer than within a mile of the enemy. Edward had arranged his defences so skilfully that the only way for the French to approach the English was over the narrow Bridge of Nieulay which would mean they would fight against tremendous odds.
Philip had one recourse. He must ask Edward to come out into the open country and fight.
When Edward received this message he laughed aloud.
He told the messenger to go back to his master, Philip of Valois, who wrongfully kept him from his inheritance and tell him that he had been at the gates of Calais for the last year.
‘Your master knew this well,’ he went on. ‘He should have come sooner, but he has allowed me to remain here and spend large sums of money on this venture. I am not ready to give way to his request now. If he and his army wish to pass this way he must find some other road, or he must come in and drive me out.’
The messengers returned to the King of France who, fuming with rage, saw that to attempt to oust Edward from the position in which he had esconced himself would be certain defeat. How could they take that narrow bridge, defended as it was? It would be impossible. They would be mown down. It was suicide. And how otherwise approach the enemy?
There was only one course of action open to him, to go away and give up Calais.
He gave the order to be prepared to march at dawn. Before they left they would destroy their camp that it might not fall to the enemy.
When the citizens of Calais heard that their King had deserted them, when from the ramparts of the town they saw the flames of smoke of the burning tents, they knew the battle was lost.
It could only be a matter of hours before Calais was in the hands of the English.
* * *
Sir John de Vienne, the Governor of Calais, sent a messenger to Edward. Calais, he said, was ready to come to terms with the King. The town should be surrendered to him if he would grant the lives of the garrison and the citizens.
When Edward received this message he burst into loud laughter.
‘Go and tell your master that it is not for him to make terms,’ he replied. ‘Calais is mine for the taking.’
When the messenger had gone Edward’s rage increased.
‘They ask me this,’ he cried. ‘I have waited here for a very long time. I have expended much money on this siege. And now that it is over and they are surrendering as they should have done months ago, they talk of making terms with me! By God, I will show them that it is not for them to make terms. It is for them to obey orders. This is unconditional surrender.’
Philippa who was with him, replied that the men of Calais had defended their town as any citizen would. ‘You would not, my lord, think highly of your own countryman who gave in immediately to the enemy.’
Edward growled: ‘But to talk of terms! They will see.’
He sent for Sir Walter de Manny—one of his most trusted knights, and a native of Hainault who had come to England in the train of Philippa. He had proved himself completely loyal to both the King and the Queen and was a man of charm and courage, known for his chivalry and courtesy. Both the King and Queen were very fond of him.
‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘at last Calais is ours. And the governor has had the insolence to send to me to make terms! Does that not make you smile? Yes, he would make terms. I am of a mind to put the whole town to the sword.’
De Manny was silent. He could see that he would have to speak with care. It was rarely that Edward allowed his temper to overrule his common sense; and de Manny knew that if he acted brutally now he would regret it later. Calais was the most important town in France strategically. It was in their hands and they must make the utmost use of it. This would not be done by putting its inhabitants to the sword.
‘When I consider what taking this town has cost me ... The months of waiting ... building this town outside its walls ... the constant stream of arms that has been poured into this venture ... and then I am told they will consider terms.’
‘A last defiant gesture, my lord, of men who have bravely defended their city through desperate months.’
‘By God, Walter, you seem on their side.’
‘My lord does not mean that, I know. But I cannot, nor could any man, do aught but respect them for their defence of the city which has cost you so dear. Lesser men would have given in long ago.’
‘And saved me much expense.’
‘And earned your scorn, my lord.’
Edward was silent. Walter de Manny was a wise man. He had often listened to him with profit.
‘So ...’ he began, and waited.
De Manny said: ‘A little mercy never did any leader any harm. They say that a touch of mercy indicates more than a touch of greatness.’
‘By God, Walter, you would have me spare these people who have cost me so dear.’
‘I would say set aside your wrath, my lord, and study what can best serve your cause.’
Edward was silent for a few seconds, then he said, ‘Very well then, I will not put the town to the sword.’
De Manny’s relief was obvious.
‘But,’ went on Edward, ‘I will not allow these citizens to imagine that they can defy me thus. Holding out for months! Costing me dear and when they give in, they expect to be treated as though they have been my good friends. No, I’ll not have that, Walter. Now, you will go into the market place and there you will ask for six of their leading citizens. They shall come to me bare-headed, bare-footed, with ropes about their necks. They shall bring me the city’s keys and then I shall hang them on their city’s walls where they shall remain as a warning to all that it is unwise to stand against me.’
De Manny could see that it was no use trying to remonstrate with the King any further. That he had settled for six of the leading citizens instead of the whole town was a great concession. The King’s temper was so uncertain as he contemplated what Calais had cost him, that it would be unwise to provoke it.
There was great consternation in the market place at Calais when Sir John de Vienne told the gathered crowd of Edward’s demands.
‘These six of our leading citizens,’ he said, ‘must go to the King of England in all humility, bare-footed, bare-headed, with ropes about their necks. They must take to him the keys of the city and after that they will be executed.’
There were groans of anguish in the market square but the richest of all the merchants, Eustache de St Pierre, immediately came forward. His son stood with him.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘if you go, so shall I.’
Eustache tried to dissuade his son but the young man would not be persuaded and by that time four others had stepped forward.
‘Six of us is a small price,’ said the brave Eustache, ‘when it could have been an entire town. If we do not offer ourselves all will be put to the sword. I have hope of grace and pardon from our Lord if I die to save my fellow citizens. I willingly give myself up to the mercy of the English King.’
The six men walked to the gates of the city taking with them the keys.
Sir Walter de Manny was waiting for them there.
Several of the women cried out to Sir Walter: ‘My lord, save our men. Plead with the King for us.’
‘That I will do,’ answered Sir Walter.
Edward had arranged that there should be many witnesses of this scene and that it should be played to extract the utmost drama. He was attired in his splendid royal robes and a throne had been set up over which was a gold-fringed canopy.
Beside him were the Queen, the Black Prince and the ladies who had come in Isabella’s train.
The six burghers, showing signs of their recent ordeal, gaunt with starvation, haggard with their suffering made a sad contrast to the splendour of the royal party.
They knelt before the King, Eustache de St Pierre proferring the keys of the city.
He spoke for the six men.
‘Most gracious King,’ he said, ‘we are at the mercy of your absolute will and pleasure in order that we may save the rest of our people. They have suffered great distress and misery. I beg of you to take pity on us for the sake of your high nobleness.’
There was a deep silence among the spectators. There was hardly anyone there who was not moved by the sight of these men—the evidence of their suffering on their faces; the wretchedness of their appearance somehow lending them a dignity which the great King in all his finery could not match.
Edward frowned at them. He could not stop calculating what the siege of Calais had cost him. He thought of the Scottish insurrection which might so easily have brought disaster to England. And it was Calais which had drained him of his money, taken his time and caused him such anxiety as he had rarely known throughout his reign.
No, he would not forgive Calais and these six richest and most influential of its burghers should die.
‘Take them away,’ he cried, ‘and cut off their heads.’
De Manny murmured: ‘My lord, show your clemency to these men. It will be good for your cause.’
‘Be quiet, Master Walter,’ muttered the King. ‘It cannot be otherwise. Send for the headsman ... now.’
Philippa then rose from her chair and went down on her knees before the King.
‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I have crossed the sea in some peril to come to you and I have asked no favours of you. But now I ask one. For the love of our Lady’s Son and as proof of your love for me, have mercy on these six men.’
Edward looked at her intently; she began to weep silently and there was such unhappiness apparent in her attitude that he said gently: ‘Rise, Philippa. I would that you were not here this day. This town of Calais has cost me dear and I would have it known that there shall be no mercy for those who flout me.
‘My lord, if you love me,’ went on Philippa, ‘you will grant me this. It is all I ask. Give me this and I shall be content having such sign of your love for me.’
‘Do you need this sign, lady?’
She lifted her eyes to his and nodded.
He said: ‘You entreat me in such
way that you make it impossible for me to refuse. I say this against my will. Take these men. I give them to you.’
A great silence fell on the crowd as Philippa kissed the King’s hand. Then she rose to her feet and going to the six brave men of Calais she ordered that the ropes be taken from their necks.
She signed to one of the guards and told him to take them to her apartments, where clothes and food should be given to them. She would like to make them a present too for she greatly admired their courage. Let them have six nobles apiece and then they should be allowed to go through the gates of Calais to their homes.
Everyone who had witnessed these scenes outside the walls and those within who were soon to hear of it, would talk of it for as long as they lived. The people of Calais would tell their children of the day the six brave burghers who had left with ropes about their necks going as they believed to certain death, came walking through the gates free men—all due to the goodness of Queen Philippa and her dreaded husband’s love for her.
Edward was not as displeased as he had appeared to be and was glad that the burghers had not been put to death. As soon as his rage had subsided he had begun to consider how he could best use his latest conquest.
It was certainly not going to be through cruelty.
Calais was worth every thing it had cost him and he was determined that it should remain in his hands. The burghers, after his clemency, inclined towards him for Philip had now shown himself to them very unfavourably when he had failed to relieve them.
He immediately ordered that food should be sent into the town and the people fed. In fact so ravenously did they fall upon the provisions he supplied that some of them died through overeating after coming to near to death by starvation. The burghers were ready to serve him now, for a King who showed mercy in conquest was a great King, it seemed to them.
Edward and Philippa rode through the town to fanfares of trumpets and the people came out to gaze on the lady whom they had come to revere.
Edward immediately set about making ready in case Philip should decide to attack the town in the hope of regaining it. He was pleased when a truce of nine months was arranged. So he garrisoned the town and confident that the people of Calais regarded him as a more reliable ruler than the French King, he sailed for England.
