‘Sweet lord,’ he said, ‘this is God’s doing and I have played but small part in it. We must render thanks to Him beseeching Him earnestly that he will grant us glory and pardon us this victory.’

Then he gave orders that wines should be brought to refresh his honoured guest and he himself undid the lacings of the French King’s armour.

‘Fair cousin,’ said Jean quietly, ‘have done. Let us look the truth in the face. This is the most bitter day of my life. I am your prisoner.’

‘Nay, cousin,’ answered the Prince, ‘you are my honoured guest.’


* * *

Edward had returned from Scotland and was in Westminster. He knew nothing of what was happening in France and his first realization came when messengers arrived at the palace.

It was a moment he knew he would never forget as long as he lived for when he realized whence the messengers came his heart was filled with apprehension. One could never be sure whether such messengers brought good or had news. He had been uneasy for he had heard that the French were amassing and he knew how heavily their armies would outnumber those of his son.

These messengers though had not the appearance of men of doom.

No, they were smiling broadly.

‘My lord,’ said one, as though rehearsing a speech, ‘the Prince of Wales has sent a gift to you. He trusts it will give you pleasure.’

‘A gift! My son! He is well then?’

‘Well and in high spirits, my lord.’

‘A victory,’ thought the King. ‘It must be a victory.’

Two messengers were bowing before him. Between them they carried something which they handed to Edward.

He stared at it. It was a coroneted helmet such as could only belong to a King.

The French King’s helmet. It could mean only one thing.

‘Tis so, my lord,’ cried the messengers. ‘The King of France is the prisoner of the Black Prince. The victory of Poitiers was complete. The war must be over now.’

Edward felt his emotions ready to overwhelm him. ‘My son! My son,’ was all he said.

Then he recovered himself. ‘You could not have brought me better news. You shall be rewarded for this. This is a great day for England. She will have reason to bless the Black Prince.’

He went immediately to Philippa and laid the coroneted helmet in her hands.

‘Your son’s work, my lady,’ he said. ‘Our noble son. There is not a prouder man in England this day.’

‘The French King’s helmet!’ cried Philippa. ‘Then the fighting is over.’

‘A great victory. He won his spurs at Crécy, and praise God at Poitiers he has crowned himself with glory. England has reason to rejoice this day.’

‘This will mean peace,’ said Philippa. ‘Our boys will come home. I trust this is an end to this war.’

Edward was smiling triumphantly, but Philippa thought: There will never be an end to war. Not while there are crowns to gain and hold.

But it was good news. She must not spoil the pleasure of it by thinking melancholy thoughts.

‘The whole country must rejoice,’ cried the King. ‘There shall be feasting and bonfires. And you and I, my dear Queen, must prepare ourselves to receive the conquering hero with his royal prisoner.’


* * *

The Black Prince had no intention of hurrying home. He wanted to savour his victory. He must entertain his prisoner royally so that it should not be said that English hospitality fell short of French.

This gave him an opportunity of indulging his love of extravagance which he had inherited from his father. His armies needed relaxation too. They had fought valiantly at Poitiers and deserved some rewards. All through that winter he had remained in Bordeaux and it was April before he decided to travel across country to take ship to Sandwich.

England was waiting for the conquerors and on the way to Canterbury where they spent the night, people came out of their houses to cheer the Prince. From Canterbury to Rochester and Rochester to Dartford the triumphant cavalcade made its way—and then to London.

The King could not restrain his impatience and arranged to be hunting in the forest close to the route.

The Prince was not surprised when riding out of the woods came the royal party headed by the King.

With great ceremony the Kings met each other.

‘Welcome to England, my lord of France,’ cried Edward.

Jean received the greeting with dignity and Edward told him that he was his most honoured guest and if he would care to join the hunt he was at liberty to do so.

The King of France declined and the King and his party rode with the procession to London.

It was a great occasion for the capital. It was not often that a captive monarch was brought to their town. It was all very well to treat him like a guest, but everyone knew that the King of France was the prisoner of the King of England.

The houses had been hung with banners and tapestry; the fountains ran with wine, and there was free beer in barrels for any who preferred it. In one street a golden cage had been fixed and in this was a beautiful girl who threw silver and gold filigree flowers over the Prince and the King as they rode by.

‘Long live the Black Prince!’ was the constant cry. ‘God bless the victor of Poitiers.’

The King glowed with pleasure and pride and rejoiced that he had not been at Poitiers to steal any of the glory which belonged to his son. He was proud and happy to have given his people such a man.

What a King he will make, he thought. England is sure of prosperity under him. Thank God for him.

It was typical of the Black Prince that he had chosen for himself a somewhat insignificant black palfrey. He liked to remind people that he was the Black Prince and the blackness of his armour contrasted with the shining glory of his deeds. Now the King of France came on a magnificent showy white horse while his captor rode in some humility. Such contrasts appealed to him and in truth they called attention to his greatness.

They came to Westminster Hall where Philippa waited to greet them. All the royal children who were in England were with her, and a great banquet had been prepared to welcome the King of France, but Philippa wanted most to see her eldest son.

At last he stood before her. Her boy, her first-born, the best loved of all her children.

‘My lady,’ he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

‘God’s blessing on you,’ she replied.

She greeted the King of France warmly. She was sorry for him. It must be a very sad time for him, made even more so by the wild rejoicing he had seen in the streets. England’s triumph could only be his failure. But this must be an end to the senseless war.

At the banquet the King insisted that Jean should sit on his right hand; and beside the King of France was his son Philip, whose looks were sullen because he knew that what he had believed impossible had happened.

Edward himself seemed a little insensitive to the feelings of his captive and seemed to expect him to join in the revelry which was asking too much.

Lavish dishes were served and there were those which it was believed would please the King of France.

Jean ate little and Edward at last said reproachfully : ‘Come, my lord, cast off your melancholy. You are our guests. Sing with us and be merry.’

Jean looked steadily into Edward’s face and replied tersely: ‘How shall we sing the Lord’s songs in a strange land?’

Philippa smiled at the King sadly and said: ‘It is a difficult time for you, my lord. I doubt not that it will come to an end ere long.’

At this moment the cupbearer came with wine and served Edward.

At that moment young Philip who had been looking on sprang to his feet and delivered a sharp blow across the cupbearer’s face.

There was an astonished silence at the table. Then the boy cried out: ‘How dare you serve any before the King of France?’

All eyes were now on Edward. What would his reaction be. The boy, his face flushed, his eyes flashing, stared back at Edward. Everyone was expecting that such an insult to the King’s cupbearer might provoke the notorious Plantagenet temper, but it was not so.

Edward laughed and said: ‘You are indeed Philip le Hardi.’ Philip the Bold! The boy was from that day called by this name and it stayed so throughout his life.

The King of France could see that Edward was determined to treat him with the utmost courtesy. He was given the Savoy Palace for his residence; he might hunt and hawk when he pleased.

In fact he could lead a life of luxury. The only condition being that he remained the prisoner of the King of England.

MURDER IN MELROSE

WITH his great enemy captive in England Edward no longer need fear the Scots and as a result, he decreed that David the Bruce should return to his kingdom.

David’s wife Joanna was delighted. Now they would be able to live happily together, she believed. It was what she had always hoped for. Their married life had been ill-fated from the start; they had never had a chance of any domestic happiness, and when she had been at the English Court and seen the devotion of Edward and Philippa and their family she had longed for a similar felicity. Fate had been against them. Life in the Château Gaillard had been so artificial and David had seemed indifferent to his destiny while he was in France, but she had always believed that if he could return to the land of his fathers he would change. That he had not when after seven years in France he returned to Scotland she chose to forget. There had always been trouble and those five years together in Scotland had been far from pleasant, but when he had been taken prisoner by the English and there had been another long separation she had allowed herself to dream that they had been happy together. It was eleven years since he had gone to England.

We are older now, she promised herself. We are wiser and we shall learn to understand each other.

The meeting was an emotional one for her. He was still very handsome and he behaved as though he were as delighted to be with her as she was with him, and for a few weeks she was very happy; then she began to see less of him because he explained he was busy with state affairs.

The truth was she bored him. She reminded him of her sister-in-law and he had often wondered how Edward could turn a blind eye to all the beautiful women at his Court and remain the faithful husband of plump and homely Philippa.

Joanna was not plump; she was handsome enough in a gentle way but he did not care for gentle women. He liked a certain coarseness, a bawdiness ... he liked a woman like Katherine Mortimer.

Where was Katherine now? Missing him doubtless as he missed her. She had sworn she would not let him go. She would make plans to follow him, she had said, and it would not surprise him if one day she arrived in Scotland.

And then what of Madame Joanna?

An idea occurred to him. He could not wait to put it into practice. He made sure that Joanna noticed how preoccupied and uneasy he was and when she asked what troubled him he admitted that certain matters lay heavily on his mind.

‘It’s the treaty with your brother,’ he told her. ‘There is bound to be trouble over it. God knows I want peace but Edward will impose hard terms for that.’

‘I think he is eager for peace in Scotland.’

‘Doubtless, but on his own terms, and it may well be that some of our Scottish lairds will not take kindly to what he suggests. Edward has always been hard on me. I believe he did not approve of our marriage in the first place.’

Joanna was silent. It was true Edward had not liked the marriage. He had avoided being present at the ceremonies. He had thought she was too young; and later of course she had sensed that he disapproved of David.

‘Of course he is devoted to you,’ went on David. ‘He loves well his female relations. They say his daughters can persuade him to anything. It may well be so with his sister.’

‘Edward has always been very kind to me.’

‘I know it. He always spoke so warmly of you. Now if it were you who had to deal with him instead of me ...’

‘You know, David, that I would do anything ... anything for peace between our two countries.’

‘Would you? No, it is asking too much. Besides I could not lose you now we have just come together.’

You mean ... Go to England ... I negotiate with my brother!’