Authors: Thomas B. Costain
Other writers accepted the incident but disagreed as to the identity of the lady. Some said it was Queen Philippa who lost the garter, which obviously was wrong, for the king would not have made his classic remark if it had been her property; no one could think ill of a husband who wore his wife’s garter on his sleeve. Still others contended that the lady of the story was none other than the Fair Maid of Kent, who later married the Black Prince. This theory seems to be based on slightly better ground. The Fair Maid, a great beauty but a far from amiable lady, was first contracted to marry the second Earl of Salisbury, the son of the fair Katherine, but allowed herself to be swept into a marriage with Lord Holland. This reigning beauty would most certainly be at the ball and, from what is known of her character, she might even have been capable of loosening her garter to attract the king’s attention. Edward may not have been in love with the wife of his old friend (the fact that Froissart tells that story in such detail inclines one to believe there was some degree of truth in it), but there does not seem to be any doubt at all that the king entertained a secret liking for his beautiful madcap niece; secret only in the sense that it was never openly avowed even though it was the cause of much sly gossip about the court.
There is no way of getting closer to the truth, so it seems safe enough to assume that there was a lady who lost her garter and so provoked a much-whispered-about anecdote and led in due course to the finding of a title for the king’s order. No other explanation has been provided, at any rate, for the appearance of the words
Honi soit qui mal y pense
on the regalia of the order.
It is impossible to find the exact date when the order was finally established. The chapel of St. George was finished, as far as Edward was to continue with it, on August 22, 1348. It was even at that stage one of the finest examples of Perpendicular architecture in England. It was built, said the letters of patent, “for motives of piety, to the honor of God, the Virgin Mary, St. George and St. Edward the Confessor.” There is no mention of the order. Nevertheless, it must have been in the king’s mind. There is an item in the accounts, “For making three harnesses for the king, two of white velvet worked with blue garters and diapered throughout the field with wild men.” There was in September 1351 a mention of mantles
to be delivered to the knights, a receipt of payment for twenty-four robes covered with garters.
The original Companions of the order were: two princes of the blood, Edward and the Earl of Lancaster; the earls of Warwick and Salisbury; five barons, Stafford, Mortimer, Lisle, Grey, Mohun; fifteen knights, all of whom had served at Crécy, and one among them whose name stands out for valor and knightly achievement, Sir John Chandos; and the Captal de Buch, a Gascon nobleman of great intrepidity and stainless reputation.
It is more interesting and significant to note those who were not included. No relatives of the queen had been invited, none of the younger princes nor the Earl of Kent, a first cousin. Men of inferior station had been preferred to such powerful members of the aristocracy as the Bohuns, Clintons, and de Veres, the earls of Hereford, Essex, and Northampton, the lords Cobham, Bourchier, and Dogworth, and Sir Walter Manny. The exclusion of so many of the aristocracy may have been due to their lack of military reputation and as such is to be commended, for if the order was to have any excuse for existence it was to pay honor to valor and chivalry. The exclusion of Sir Walter Manny is hard to understand, for no knight had been performing with greater bravery, and he had, moreover, been in charge of the siege of Calais. He was included in the second list of members.
The selection of the first Companions seems to point to a purpose on the king’s part to link the order with the victory at Crécy, for none of the leaders at Neville’s Cross were included.
A
N incident which occurred many years after the founding of the Order of the Garter gives the best possible picture of the royal household, and so it may be inserted at this point.
The second great battle of the Hundred Years’ War, Poictiers, was fought and won in 1356 by the Black Prince. Philip had died and had been succeeded by his son John. The new king was unfortunate enough to be unhorsed and taken prisoner. He was carried to England and taken on a great white horse through the streets of London to the Tower. With the defeated king was his fourth son, Philip, a boy of fourteen, who had fought beside his father, and had been almost as hard to subdue as the king himself. The fierceness of the boy’s temper was demonstrated the first day of their arrival in London.
The evening meal in the Tower was an event of considerable magnificence. The captive King of Scotland was there and all the leading nobility of the island kingdom. Candlesticks of gold and silver lighted the hall, and the tables were covered with standing cups and flagons and ewers of extraordinary size and beauty. The English king, in fact, had been determined to dazzle the eyes of his fellow king and involuntary guest. The French monarch was seated between Edward and Queen Philippa and the boy was a short distance away.
The young prince was in a mood of smoldering resentment and for the most part kept his eyes on the table in front of him, having little or nothing to say and taking small interest in the rich food served.
It was an evidence of Edward’s pride that he kept one of the best tables in Europe; and, incidentally, it was one of the reasons why he was always so deeply in debt. It cost a pretty fortune to supply the food which the lavish king demanded, particularly for occasions such as this. Much of the supplies had to be brought from foreign countries. All the spices of the
East were to be found at the royal board: marjoram, galingal, thyme, basil, coriander, fennel, cloves, and cinnamon. In France the quince had been cultivated to the point where it was regarded as the best of all delicacies, and the state had adopted the practice of giving boxes of the best varieties (some came from Portugal, some from Orleans) to all visitors of note at the point of entry into the country. Edward had often been the beneficiary of this clever custom and had acquired such a taste for the fruit that he had arranged to have boxes sent across the Channel regularly for his use. There they were, in flat silver dishes, quite close to the hand of the melancholy young prince if he desired to indulge in them.
In addition there were apricots from Armenia, plums from Syria, cherries from Cerasus, nuts from the Hellespont, and all the fine fruits of the Far East: pomegranates, figs, and dates.
It is possible also that the thistle was served, for it had become one of the choicest of vegetables; not, however, the common thistle but a rare variety which later was further cultivated and became the artichoke. The bread was French, the white bread of Chailly which Edward had been served on his sojournings in France and which he liked so much that now he used it exclusively. Much to the chagrin, it may be said, of the bakers of London; who, stubborn fellows, believed that the kind they made was at least as good.
This, then, was a meal which would appeal to the palate of even the most fastidious of guests. But the son of the captive king had no appetite. As already stated, he sat in an unhappy silence and refused the dishes offered to him. Suddenly, however, he jumped up from his chair and soundly cuffed the official cup-bearer of King Edward, a member of the English aristocracy.
“Knave!” cried the boy. “You have served wine to the King of England before the King of France!”
An uneasy silence fell over the large company at table. This was indeed a contretemps, not covered by any known law of etiquette. Someone seems to have remarked that this was England, where the King of England was supreme; that the King of France was there in the capacity of prisoner and guest.
“It is true that my father, the King of France,” declared the boy, “is a prisoner. He has been unfortunate. But he is still the King of France and the liege lord of the King of England, who has sworn fealty to him!”
King Edward handled the situation with good humor and diplomacy. He smiled at the boy and said that indeed his father had been the victim of misfortune, for he had fought bravely and well. But, pursued Edward, it had to be recognized that they were in a somewhat unusual position. What did the recognized laws of etiquette have to say about it? The last question was addressed to Queen Philippa, who regarded the boy kindly
before answering that this was indeed a matter which would have to be studied. The young prince returned to his seat and a hum of relieved conversation rose from the crowded tables. It was felt, quite properly, that the royal couple had shown much tact in their attitude.
It required quite as much tact always to handle this fiery French princeling. He did not get along very well with the Black Prince and once engaged in a bitter dispute with him over a game of chess. Again the king and queen acted as mediators and declared in favor of the visitor.
This self-willed young man became regent of France years later. As regent he ruled vigorously and well; he was undoubtedly of the stuff of kings.
The inference might be drawn from the above that the royal couple were amiable and prepared to go to great lengths to set a guest at ease. Another lesson to be drawn from the incident is the extravagance of the court and the lavish scale on which everything was done.
The sun was warm and the sky was clear over the royal palace at Woodstock many years before this, on June 16, 1332, to be exact. When the word was carried to the young king that his wife had been delivered of a second child, a girl, he was so delighted that he indulged in an extravaganza of spending. The child showed every indication of great beauty and he gave her the name of Isabella, after his own mother, who had been for a very brief time in seclusion at Castle Rising. Then he proceeded to make sure that the small Isabella would start in life on a scale fitting her rank and potential beauty. One cradle was not enough for her, she must have one for daily use and one for state occasions. The state cradle cost sixteen pounds, being elaborately gilded and decorated with the escutcheons of England and Hainaut. This did not include the coverlet, which was made of nearly a thousand skins.
The child was placed in the care of William St. Maur and his lady, who already had the Black Prince in their charge. Their pension was raised to twenty-five pounds a year, a truly stupendous salary. Even a little maidservant, whose name seems to have been Joanna Gaunbun and who was appointed as official rocker of the said cradles, was allotted the sum of ten pounds a year. To understand the absurd liberality of these arrangements, it is only necessary to point out that twelve years later that genius in stone design named William of Wynford was creating the dignified beauty of St. George’s Chapel at Windsor on a yearly stipend in the neighborhood of two pounds a year.
Edward’s exuberance could not be controlled. He decided that the
relevaille
of the queen, her first appearance after the birth of the child, was to be notable. Philippa welcomed the members of the court in a state bed with a coverlet of green velvet and wearing a purple velvet robe embroidered with pearls. New costumes in keeping with that of the queen had been provided for her ladies-in-waiting, and even the humblest of her household servants were wearing new livery. When it is revealed that the queen’s household had grown to a total of one hundred and sixty, it will be realized that the quiet little Dutch bride had at that early stage begun to fall in with the ostentatious habits of her royal spouse.
The child was no more than a month old when the king appointed a tailor named John Bromley to engage exclusively in making her clothes. The idea that children should be provided with clothing especially suited to their needs had not yet occurred to anyone and would not for a very long time; with the result that the poor little creatures were subjected to all the discomforts that their elders inflicted on themselves, being trussed up tightly, and belted in, and put to the inconvenience of “points.” For the occasion of the queen’s “uprising,” Master Bromley had the infant looking like a miniature of the queen in a silk dress with garnitures and trimmings of costly fur.
The next year a second daughter was born in the Tower and named Joanna, and again the lavish hand of the king was evident in the steps taken for her care and upbringing. The child was placed in the hands of the Countess of Pembroke, who received for her services the manor of Strode in Kent. An elaborate household was maintained for the two small children, including two chaplains, squires, clerks of this and that, a chief cook, a valet of the larder and kitchen, a valet of hall and chamber, a water carrier, a candlemaker, a porter, and numerous attendants of low degree known as sub-damsels.
In spite of all the things in Edward’s favor—his good looks, his ability, his energy (he was such an early riser that he might have been called the wakecock king), and later his great successes—he was not a popular ruler. It began with his extravagance and the freedom he allowed his people on royal processionals to raid the countryside. Later his continuous demands on Parliament for a fifteenth, a tenth, a fifth of national revenue embittered even the dullest yokel without a farthing to his name. The population grew very tired of the ever-rising cost of his victories and his defeats.
As the years rolled on and the size of the royal family increased, the court became increasingly ostentatious. The lavish habits of Edward reached their highest point when he indulged in his greatest luxury, the formation of the Order of the Garter. The tournaments attracted contestants from all parts of Europe, all of whom had to be received as guests and made the recipients of costly gifts. Things became even worse toward
the later part of the reign when ladies were admitted and costly robes of furred cloth with ermine trimmings had to be provided for them.
Edward was a generous giver, which is commendable in itself but not when carried to such extremes. Princess Isabella grew up to be quite as carefree a spender as her father. She had been given a handsome income, but it never sufficed. She would run into debt and then have to get loans, giving her jewelry or her wardrobe as security. For want of money she always owed wages to her servants and even borrowed from them. Once she pledged her jewels to the royal treasurer and the chamberlain of the Exchequer. Either they told the king or he noticed she was not wearing them. It is said that on this occasion he rebuked her severely.