Cressy and Poictiers. Edgar John George

OF THE INVADERS

      It soon appeared that the alarm expressed by the French when they heard that the King of England had set his armed heel on the soil of Normandy was not unfounded or unreasonable.

      Indeed, the martial chief of the English invaders lost no time in making his presence felt, and adding to the terror which the news of his landing had inspired. After dividing his forces into three divisions, he advanced into the country, the centre host being under his own command and that of the Prince of Wales; while on either hand marched the marshals, ravaging as they went, and driving the natives before them as hunters chase the deer. Every evening, at sunset, the three forces met at the place appointed for encamping for the night; and every morning they parted to pursue their successes.

      First among the places that yielded to the English was St. Lo, a rich trading town in Coutantin; and, this conquest achieved, they advanced on Caen, a flourishing and handsome city, with a noble castle and many fine churches, besides the monastery dedicated to St. Stephen, in which reposed the ashes of William the Norman. At Caen, Edward became aware that there was every prospect of resistance, for Robert de Blarguy, with three hundred Genoese, held the castle; while the Count of Tancarville and the Count of Eu, Constable of France, occupied the town with a host of warriors, who, when joined by the townsmen, formed a formidable force.

      It was necessary, under the circumstances, to proceed with caution; and the king quartered for the night in the fields outside the town, with the intention of attacking on the morrow. But the French were meanwhile on the alert; and, headed by the constable, the citizens boldly came forth into the field to do battle with the invaders. Nor did the English shrink from an encounter. No sooner, indeed, did day dawn, than the king and the Prince of Wales prepared for action, and set their men in order. The sight of the English produced an immediate effect; and when they began to approach, the townsmen took fright, turned their backs, and fled through the gates.

      But it was too late to save themselves by flight; and the English, entering with them, forcibly took possession. This, however, was not done without considerable loss. Indeed, the men of Caen showered stones and every description of missile from the windows, and exerted themselves so vigorously that more than five hundred Englishmen lost their lives.

      On hearing of the havoc that had been wrought among his soldiers, King Edward was highly exasperated; and, in his wrath, he thought of vengeance.

      "On my faith," exclaimed he, "I am strongly inclined to put the inhabitants to the sword, and burn the town!"

      Harcourt, however, interposed, and appeased the king's wrath.

      "Sire," said he, "assuage somewhat of your anger, and be satisfied with what has already been done. You have a long journey to make, and there are in this town thousands of men who will defend themselves obstinately. It would cost you many lives, and put a stop to your expedition, without redounding to your honour. Philip de Valois is certain to come to give you battle, and you will have more than full employment for all your men."

      "Sir Godfrey," replied the king, "you are marshal; therefore order as you please. For this time we will not interfere."

      Delighted at the king's answer, Harcourt mounted his horse, ordered his banner to be displayed, rode through the town, and commanded that none of the English should, on pain of death, hurt any man or woman in Caen. This prevented slaughter; but many prisoners were taken, and the Constable of France and the Count of Tancarville were among the number.

      At Caen the king and his army remained for three days; and the English, having made themselves masters of the place, did not fail to make free with what it contained. After the marshal's proclamation, which assured the inhabitants that their lives were safe, was understood, all fear on their part seemed to vanish. Many of them received the invaders into their houses as guests, and others freely opened their coffers, and parted with their gold in consideration of being protected.

      Finding themselves masters, on such terms, of a town larger than any in England, except London, full of noble dames, and damsels, and rich citizens, and stocked with draperies, merchandise, wines, and all manner of good things, the English indulged, without stint, their appetite for pleasure and plunder; and many of them amassed great wealth, which was sent, in barges, down the river to Estreham, to be conveyed to St. Sauveur, where lay the fleet, ready to convey the spoil and the prisoners to England.

      CHAPTER XII

      A SNARE

      It is not unnatural that, when relating what the king said, and what his marshals did, and how his army moved, I should be in some danger of losing sight of my own figure, and even forgetting, in some degree, my own existence. However, I would not, by any means, have the reader conclude that, because silent as to my achievements, I, Arthur Winram, was wholly idle during the march of the English from La Hogue to Caen, or an idle spectator of the events that rendered that expedition memorable.

      In fact, young, new to life, ardent and eager to appear a man, I entered with enthusiasm into the spirit of the enterprise. Far be it from me to sing my own praises; but, being in constant activity, I met with exploits of which I venture to say no warrior of my age could with justice boast. At Caen I was among the first who entered the gates, and barely escaped atoning for my audacity by being stoned to death in the narrow streets; and afterwards gained some experience, and a significant warning to be on my guard, during a mysterious adventure, which involved me in such danger that I well-nigh gave myself up for lost.

      I have already mentioned that, after the king had consented to spare the place, Godfrey de Harcourt rode through the streets with his banner displayed, and commanded that no Englishman should, on pain of death, injure an inhabitant, male or female, and that the proclamation led to the army mingling with the citizens. I was rather too young to profit much by the hospitality or the wealth of the men and women of Caen; but I was not insensible to the wild kind of freedom in which the invaders indulged, and did not fail, like my neighbours, to assume the air of a conqueror, and to roam about the city as if I had been lord of all I beheld.

      It happened that, on the second day of the king's residence in Caen, I was examining, not without interest, the monastery of St. Stephen, in which repose the ashes of William the Norman, when I felt my shoulder slightly touched, and, turning quickly round, found beside me a man with a beetle brow, who, in answer to my question as to his business with me, intimated that he could not speak my language, but placed a missive in my hand.

      Drawing back to guard against surprise – for his appearance was the reverse of prepossessing – I read the document with breathless amazement.

      "If the English page, calling himself Arthur Winram" – so ran the words – "will, at nightfall, meet the bearer of this on the spot on which he receives it, he will be conducted to the presence of one who will clear away the mystery that hangs over his birth, and reveal the story of his parentage."

      I trembled with excitement as these words met my eye, and did not, for an instant, hesitate about venturing on an interview. Having explained to the messenger, in as good French as I was master of, that I should meet him at the time appointed, I hurried back to the prince's quarters, and passed the remainder of the day in vague surmises. I confess that sometimes I suspected a snare; but, considering my position, believing that no one could be interested in harming me, I dismissed my doubts as they rose, and asked, with a smile of contempt, whether, in pursuit of the information for which, from childhood, I had earnestly longed, I, vowed as I was to face all dangers in quest of fame and fortune, would shrink from a hazard which could not be great, and which probably was imaginary.

      Such being the view which I took of the adventure to which I was invited, I awaited in a restless mood the hour for going forth to hear the secret by which, I could not doubt, my destiny, in some measure, hung. At length, the sun having set, I prepared to be gone; and arraying myself, without any weapon save a small dagger, which, having sheathed, I placed in my bosom to be ready to my hand in case of need, I walked forth with the feelings natural to a man about to solve a mysterious question that has for years baffled his intelligence, and preyed on his imagination.

      Making my way through streets filled with warriors flushed with wine, I bent my steps to the monastery of St. Stephen, and there I found, true to his time and appointment, the man with the beetle