Cressy and Poictiers. Edgar John George

St. Denis, awaited the approach of the invaders whom they had gathered to crush.

      Meanwhile, Philip of Valois remained at Paris, expecting that King Edward would come thither to offer battle. However, when the marshals of England, marking their course by burning castles, pushed up to the very gates, and rumours ran that the English were about to pass the Seine, Philip began to stir; and, having ordered all the penthouses of Paris to be pulled down, he prepared to join the army which had assembled to fight for the crown which he unworthily wore.

      When the Parisians, who, by this time, were in feverish alarm, learned that Philip was on the point of leaving the capital, their terror knew no bounds, and they raised a great outcry. In their distress they sent deputies to intreat him not to abandon them at such a crisis. On being admitted to his presence, the deputies fell on their knees.

      "Ah, sire, and noble king," cried they, wringing their hands, "what are you about to do? Are you about to leave your fine city of Paris?"

      "My good people," replied Philip, somewhat touched, "be not afraid."

      "Sire," urged the deputies, "the English are but two leagues from Paris, and when they know you have quitted us they will advance, and we are unable to resist them. We pray you, therefore, to remain and defend us."

      "Fear not," replied Philip; "I tell you the English will not approach nearer than they have done; and as for me, I must go to St. Denis, for I am impatient, above all things, to pursue the English, and to fight with them." Accordingly, Philip of Valois that day left Paris, and, on reaching St. Denis, he found himself at the head of a noble army, with an emperor, a king, and a multitude of princes as his captains, and, what was deemed of immense importance, a numerous body of Genoese cross-bowmen, who, it was hoped, would prove more than a match for those English archers, whose achievements had made them the terror of their country's foes.

      Much annoyed and rather startled was Philip to hear that King Edward had actually left Poissy, and crossed the Seine. However, having given orders to break down all the bridges on the Somme, and vigilantly to guard every spot at which it was possible to pass the river, he marched from St. Denis at the head of his army, which gradually swelled as he went to the number of a hundred thousand men, and pushed forward determinedly till he was within three leagues of Amiens. At this stage, Philip learned that Edward was at Airaines, and took up his quarters for the night at Amiens. Next day, however, he resumed the chase, and about noon appeared at Airaines. But, to his disappointment, he found that the English had left the place that morning, and that they had proceeded to Oisemont, a town in Picardy, five leagues from that which he had just quitted.

      "Never mind," said Philip, haughtily, "Edward cannot escape us; we will shut him up between Abbeville and the Somme, and either take him prisoner, or force him to fight at such a disadvantage that he must lose."

      Flattering himself with anticipations of a great triumph, Philip of Valois, before continuing the hunt after his royal foe, remained at Airaines to wait for his nobles and barons who were expected, while his scouts, who were all over the country in search of intelligence, brought tidings of the foe with whom he was so eager to come up; and he passed the night regaling his fancy with the idea of terminating the war, once and for ever, in his favour, at a blow, or perhaps without striking a blow. Next morning he rose from his couch to act on the information he had obtained.

      It was now Thursday, the 24th of August; and Philip of Valois, mounting his steed, ordered his banner to be displayed, and led his army forth from Airaines, confidently expecting to find the English king and his followers on the banks of the Somme, and either to take them captive, as a birdcatcher does sparrows, or to scatter them, as a hawk does pigeons. Suddenly, as he rode along in front of his array, one of the scouts met him with a face which indicated that he brought news not likely to be welcome.

      "Well," asked Philip, "where are these English? Speak, sirrah!"

      "Sire," answered the scout, "the English have passed the Somme."

      CHAPTER XVI

      GOBIN AGACE

      In a former chapter I mentioned that, among the places taken by the King of England, during his victorious and exciting march through France, was Poix, a town of Picardy, about six leagues from Amiens. The Lord of Poix was absent; and the captain of his castle, not having the means of holding out, surrendered almost without resistance, and allowed the fortress to be entered by the English soldiers at a time when they were flushed with victory and wine.

      It happened that, when the castle was taken, there were within its walls two demoiselles, daughters of the Lord of Poix, and very handsome. Great was the danger of these ladies at this moment; for the invaders, as I have said, were then highly excited with their triumphs, and in no humour to pay excessive respect to female virtue. Fortunately for the ladies of Poix, I had been one of the first to foot the walls of the castle and make my way into the interior; and, aware of the danger in which the demoiselles were placed, I posted myself before them, and, vowing to protect them, prepared, sword in hand, to defend their honour with my life. I confess, however, that I felt, to my consternation, that my influence in their behalf was not likely long to prevail under the circumstances.

      "A murrain take the madcap page!" cried one man-at-arms, frowning on me fiercely.

      "Make way," shouted another, with a hoarse laugh, "and let me advance to console the fair ones in their jeopardy."

      "Only over my body," answered I, as my blood boiled with indignation, and I brandished my sword.

      "Down with the jackanapes!" exclaimed the first speaker, making a thrust at me with a spear.

      I parried the attack, and my stubborn courage was not without its effect. Nevertheless, it was evident that my resistance could not long avail to save the noble demoiselles from insult, and I was just giving way to despair, when Sir John Chandos, a knight of great fame, made his appearance. Not without difficulty, he appeased the soldiers, and, having rescued the young ladies from their dangerous position, conducted them to the king. At his request I accompanied him to the royal presence, and Edward received them with chivalrous courtesy.

      "We do not make war on women," said the king; "and I am bound to protect you against all dangers. But, if there is any stronghold to which you wish to be conducted, name the place, and thither you shall be escorted without delay."

      "To Corbie," was the reply.

      "It shall be as you wish," said Edward; and then turning to Sir Thomas Norwich, he added with a smile, "Sir Thomas, be yours the honour of escorting the noble demoiselles to the castle whither they wish to proceed."

      "Sire," replied the knight, "I will, to the best of my ability, fulfil your command."

      I was, much to my satisfaction, ordered to accompany Sir Thomas Norwich on this expedition; and, finding myself acting as a protector of noble damsels of grace and beauty, began to consider myself a great hero of romance, and was, on our return, indulging in the luxury of building castles in the air, when we encountered a party of armed peasants. After a short skirmish we overcame, with little difficulty, the rustic militia, and took them in a body as captives to the English camp.

      Now this led to important consequences. While running my eye over the prisoners, I remarked one stout fellow, whose countenance struck me as being more intelligent than that of his comrades; and, not without a vague hope of extracting from him such information as might be welcome to the prince, and of service to the king, I singled him out from the party, and entered into conversation.

      "What is your name?" asked I.

      "Gobin Agace," was his answer.

      "You are our prisoner," observed I significantly.

      "Yes," said he; "but you may have heard the story of the mouse that gnawed the toils in which the lion was caught, and set the lion free."

      "And how does that concern the business now in hand?"

      "Much," answered the peasant; "for such a service as the mouse rendered to the lion, I can, I believe, render to your king."

      "Ha! by St. George, I perceive!" exclaimed I, much gratified. "Being a native of this country, you have such knowledge of the fords on the Somme as would secure you an ample reward."

      "In