Britain in the Middle Ages Part 8

As they advanced into battle, the sun shone in their faces, and when they drew near "the Italians made a great leap and cry to abash the English but they stood still and stirred not for all that. And a second time, they made another leap and a dreadful cry and stepped forward a little but the Englishmen removed not one foot. Again they leapt and cried and went forward till they came within shot, then the English archers stepped forward one pace and let fly their arrows so hotly and so thick that it seemed snow. When the Italians felt the arrows piercing through their heads, arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s, many of them cast down their cross-bows and cut their strings and ran back discomfited."

When the French King saw them fleeing, he said, "Slay those rascals, for they will hinder us and block up our path for nothing." Then the men-at-arms dashed in among them and killed a great number and still "the English kept shooting wherever they saw the thickest press and the sharp arrows ran into the men-at-arms and into their horses and many fell among the Italians and when they were down they could not get up again, for the press was so thick that one overthrew the other."

It was in this battle that gunpowder was first used, but the cannon was only fired once an hour, and then it frightened those who stood by more than the enemy.

The Prince of Wales, who was but sixteen years old, was hard-pressed by the hors.e.m.e.n of France, and the Knights under his banner sent a messenger to his father, the King, who was watching the battle from a windmill on the hill.

"Is my son dead or hurt or felled to the ground?" asked Edward.

"No sir, but hardly pressed."

"Then go back to them that sent you and tell them to send to me no more whatever betide as long as my son is alive, and bid them let him win his spurs, for, please G.o.d, I wish this day and the honour thereof to be his and those that are with him." And they that heard it were greatly encouraged.

The old King of Bohemia, fighting for the French, was led into battle by four of his comrades, for he was dim of sight. There he fell fighting, and his crest of three black feathers, with the motto, "Ich Dien," "I serve," was taken by the Prince and has been worn by his successors ever since.

The French King was wounded and his soldiers scattered in dismay. Then the English made great fires and lighted up torches and candles, for it was very dark. And the King came down to the field and said to his son:

"Fair son, G.o.d give you good perseverance, ye are my good son, thus ye have acquitted you n.o.bly; ye are worthy to keep a realm." The prince inclined himself to the earth, honouring his father.

CHAPTER XXII

THE WAR WITH FRANCE (_continued_)

Calais was the great port of Northern France. It was a strong town and the King besieged it. For eleven months it held out against him. The King was sore displeased that he should tarry so long before its gates, and when the citizens desired to make peace he demanded that six burgesses, bare headed, bare footed, in their s.h.i.+rts, with halters about their necks and with the keys of the castle and town in their hands, should give themselves as a ransom for the inhabitants.

The bell in the market place was sounded and the people a.s.sembled. When they heard this "they began to weep and make much sorrow." At last the richest burgess of all the town, called Eustace of Saint Pierre, rose up and said openly, "Sirs, great and small, great mischief it should be to suffer such people as be in this town to die by famine or otherwise, wherefore to save them, I will be the first to put my life in jeopardy."

Then another honest burgess rose and said: "I will keep company with my gossip Eustace," and so the six offered themselves and went and apparelled them as the King desired.

When they were brought into the camp, they begged for mercy, "then all the earls and barons and others that were there wept for pity. The King looked felly (cruelly) on them, for greatly he hated the people of Calais for the great damages and displeasures they had done him on the sea before."

Then he commanded their heads to be stricken off. Every man requested the King for mercy but he would hear no one on their behalf.

"They of Calais have caused many of my men to be slain, wherefore shall they die like-wise."

Then the Queen kneeled down and sore weeping said, "Ah, gentle sir, since I pa.s.sed the sea in great peril, I have desired nothing of you, therefore now I humbly require you in honour of the Son of the Virgin Mary, and for the love of me, that ye will take mercy on these six burgesses."

The King beheld the Queen and stood still in a study a s.p.a.ce and then said: "Ah dame, I would ye had been now in some other place, ye make such request to me that I cannot deny you. Wherefore I give them to you and do your pleasure with them."

"Then the Queen caused them to be brought into her chamber and made their halters to be taken from their necks and caused them to be new clothed and gave them dinner at their leisure and then gave them each some gold and made them to be brought out of the host in safeguard and set at their liberty."

This is the story told by Froissart, who attended on the Queen, and thus did Calais fall into the hands of the English, and over its portals the conquerors inscribed the proud boast,

Then shall the Frenchmen Calais win When iron and lead like cork shall swim.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE BLACK DEATH, AND THE PEASANTS' REVOLT

In those days, the great men of the land were rich and they dressed gaily in silk and fur, gorgeous were their jewels, and their scabbards were decked with beauteous workmans.h.i.+p. From their bridles jangled the merry bells, as they followed their hounds to the hunt.

The court too was magnificent. The King gave bounteous feasts and there were many dishes set before the guests.

"There came in at the first course, before the King's self,

Boars' heads on broad dishes of burnished silver, Flesh of fat harts with n.o.ble furmenty, And peac.o.c.ks and plovers on platters of gold, Herons and swans in chargers of silver, And tarts of Turkey full pleasant to taste.

Next hams of wild-boar with brawn beglazed, Barnacle-geese and bitterns in embossed dishes, Venison in pasties, so comely to view, Jellies that glittered and gladdened the eye.

Then cranes and curlews craftily roasted, Conies in clear sauce coloured so bright, Pheasants in their feathers on the flas.h.i.+ng silver, With gay galantines and dainties galore.

There were claret and Crete wine in clear silver fountains Rhenish wine and Roch.e.l.le and wine from Mount Rose All in flagons of fine gold; and on the fair cupboard Stood store of gilt goblets glorious of hue, Sixty of one set, with jewels on their sides.

When the banquet was over the guests washed their hands in rosewater and partook of wine and spices in another chamber.

But the poor were much oppressed. Their fare was very simple, a loaf of beans and bran, an oaten cake with cheese or curds and cream, and sometimes perhaps parsley and leeks or cherries and apples in their season.

Of the poor ploughman, the poet sang,

His coat of the cloth that is named carry-marry, His hood full of holes, with the hair sticking through them; His clumsy k.n.o.bbed shoes cobbled over so thickly, Though his toes started out as he trod on the ground, His hose hanging over each side of his hoggers, All plashed in the puddles as he followed the plough; Two miserable mittens made out of old rags, The fingers worn out and the filth clotted on them, He, wading in mud, almost up to his ankles, And before him four oxen, so weary and feeble, One could reckon their ribs, so rueful were they.

His wife walked beside him, with a long ox goad, In a clouted coat cut short to the knee, Wrapped in a winnowing sheet to keep out the weather, Her bare feet on the bleak ice bled as she went.

At one end of the acre, in a crumb-bowl so small, A little babe lay, lapped up in rags, And twins two years old tumbled beside it, All singing one song that was sorrowful hearing, For they all cried one cry, a sad note of care.

A year after the siege of Calais, a great sorrow befell all men, for a little s.h.i.+p coming out of the east brought a terrible plague, called the Black Death. And the wind blew the plague from the south to the north, and as it pa.s.sed, the towns were left desolate, for the rich escaped into the woods and many of the poor died. In Bristol, "the living were scarce able to bury the dead and the gra.s.s grew several inches high in Broad Street and High Street."

When the wind reached the border of Scotland, it changed and blew from the north-west and down the eastern coast of England it sped, slaying thousands by the way. When it was gone, the lords could find but few to gather in the harvest and those that were left demanded high wages.

Many landowners turned their fields into pastureland. For one shepherd and his dog could look after many sheep and there were merchants in Calais ready to buy English wool.

In vain did the lords beg the King to forbid the labourer to ask for hire. If a man fled from his lord's land, whereon he was born, he should be branded with the letter F for fugitive, but still the peasants got away and offered themselves for hire in other places and those for whom they laboured were glad to have them.

The peasants had many grievances. The wars with France had cost much money and the taxes were heavy. There were few who gave thought to the labourer and his troubles, for the monks had become idle and rich, and the friars had forgotten their vows and the priests their duties.

Among the people, there was a band of st.u.r.dy men, who had learned to read and who took ideas of freedom from the Bible. They preached that the peasants should take up arms against the King and his lords, for they said, "they are clothed in velvet and warm in their furs and their ermine, while we are covered with rags. They have wine and spices and fine bread and we oat cake and straw and water to drink. They have leisure and fine houses, we have pain and labour, the wind and the rain in the fields. Yet it is of us and our toil that these men hold their state," and the people said

When Adam delved and Eve span Who was then the gentleman?

So the peasants planned to march to London to seek the new King, the boy Richard II, who was but fifteen years old, and "armed with clubs, rusty swords and axes, with old bows, reddened by the smoke of the chimney corner and old arrows with only one feather," they came to the city, only to find that the gates were shut.

Then they threatened to burn and slay, and the citizens in their fear said, "Why do we not let these good people enter into the city? They are our fellows and what they do is for us." So the gates of the city were opened and the peasants sat down in the houses to eat and drink and afterwards they burned the dwellings of foreigners and great lords and slew many.

The King was left alone in the Tower, for the courtiers had fled, and desiring to speak with the rebels, he rode out to an open s.p.a.ce beyond the city where they were gathered, and there he entered in among them and said to them sweetly, "Ah, ye good people, I am your King. What lack ye? What will ye say?"

Such as understood him answered, "We will that ye make us free for ever, ourselves, our heirs and our lands."