Authors: Thomas B. Costain
It has already been said that she had retained most of her beauty. The slight tendency to matronliness in her figure would have no other effect on the prince than to enhance her attractiveness in his eyes. She looked intently at the heir to the throne, the man she had always wanted, while he explained his errand.
“Fair Cousin,” she said, “I shall never marry again.”
The prince protested that she was too young and too lovely to retreat from life. “Why do you refuse to marry any of my friends?” he asked. “You may have your choice of them.”
Joan began to weep, being, as one chronicle says, a lady of great subtility and wisdom. “I desire none of them,” she declared.
The prince began to find it hard at this point to retain the air of judicial calm which he showed at all times. He said in tense tones, “There is no lady under heaven that I hold so dear as you!”
As she continued to weep, but not copiously enough to make her very lovely eyes red, he took her in his arms and kissed her.
“Do you not know,” he forced himself to explain, “that the one I have
spoken of to you is a chivalrous knight? That he is the most honorable of men?”
The fair Joan knew that at last the chance to win him over to her had come. She whispered, with her head held down: “Ah, sir, before God, do not talk to me thus. For I have already given myself to the most chivalrous knight under heaven. Because of my love for him, I will never marry again as long as I live.” After a moment she added, “It is impossible that I should have him to my husband, and so my love for him parts me from all men.”
The prince demanded with sudden fierceness the name of the man she loved. His fair and clever cousin would do no more than shake her head and profess her inability to answer.
Edward protested then that he would make it his concern to find who the favored man was and that he would consider him a mortal enemy.
The time had come to reveal the truth. The Lady Joan said, still screening her eyes with her hands: “My dear and indomitable lord, it is you! It is for love of you that I will never have any other knight by my side.”
Edward was quite amazed at this admission and fell at once into a fervent protestation of his love.
“My lady,” he declared, “I vow to God that as long as you live never will I have another woman save you to my wife!”
And so it came about that after all the years which had passed the faithful prince won his fair lady. The prince became a devoted husband, and yet it is hard to escape the impression that if it had been left entirely to him he might have been willing to go on living in solitary state as before; that, in fact, he had been the victim of a woman’s tears glistening on lowered lashes, by the sweet curve of her cheek reviving memories of her girlish charms, by the enticement of a very fine figure bent before him in womanly supplication.
Be that as it may, the happy couple proceeded then to lay their plans most carefully. They knew that the king and queen would be strongly and even bitterly opposed. Queen Philippa had loved the Fair Maid when as a small girl she had fluttered about the court like a butterfly, but as the years passed she had come to assess the Lady Joan at her proper worth. The prince and his bride-to-be on that account made all their preparations quietly for the ceremony before allowing a word of their plans to get out. When the prince finally announced his purpose, he made it clear to his royal father and mother that he would allow nothing to stand in the way of his happiness. Discomfited and sorely disappointed, they nevertheless knew their son well enough to be sure he meant what he said. Reluctantly they gave in and the marriage was celebrated with great pomp and circumstance at Westminster. All the royal family were
present, and all the nobility of England, to see the national hero lead his lady love to the altar.
It was clear to all concerned, however, that there was a rift in the once happy family. King Edward was wise enough to realize the possible consequences and he planned to make his son the lord of Guienne and Gascony and to vest him with all power of government in the French provinces. It was settled that the Black Prince was to have a yearly grant of sixty thousand crowns from the money still being paid on the ransom of the French king. This should have been enough for even as lavish a spender as the heir to the throne, but of course it failed to meet his needs, and he was in debt almost from the first days of his rule.
The prince agreed eagerly to his father’s plan, for he loved the south and was always happiest at Bordeaux. He and his bride left England in February 1363 and did not return until many strange and tragic things had come to pass.
The ruler in Spain at this time was Pedro V, who had been given the nickname of “The Cruel” and most richly deserved it. It will be recalled that little Princess Joanna of England was on her way to marry this unnatural creature when she died in Gascony of the Black Death; and in view of the record he had since established, it may be accepted that the unfortunate child had escaped a much worse fate. Pedro had married Blanche of Bourbon and had thrown her into prison (and later had seen to it that she died), but he had remained faithful to a mistress, Maria de Padilla, and had given it out that they were married. Two daughters, Constance and Isabella, had been born of this union, and their father had demanded that they be accepted as legitimate.
This bloodthirsty despot kept about him a Moslem guard whose leaders he confided in, and he had felt safe in committing a long series of judicial murders which kept his subjects trembling.
A revolutionary party had formed in the country under the leadership of a bastard brother of the king, Henry of Trastamara. Charles V of France had conceived a way of ridding his country of the Free Companies by seeing that they were offered inducements to join the Spanish revolutionaries. Several thousand of them had accepted this bribe, including many of the best English captains. Pedro was a weak leader and he found himself powerless against an opposition bolstered by such capable fighting men. He abandoned his throne, after executing two innocent churchmen, the Archbishop of Santiago and his dean, and came whining to the Black Prince for help.
There was no good reason for Edward to listen to this savage despot. His reputation as a great knight and leader was assured. His court was recognized as the most brilliant in Europe. He was happily married and had one son who bore his name. He enjoyed his life at Bordeaux, in a palace which was broad and spacious and opened out graciously to admit the warm sun and the sea breezes.
Pedro whispered slyly in the ear of the prince that he had left treasure behind him in Castile, so cleverly and securely hidden that no one would ever lay hands on any of it. This he was prepared to divide among the men who would restore him to his throne. Further, he intended to divide his dominions and would give the crown of Galicia to the little Edward, the prince’s very much loved son. These were tempting bribes, but the Black Prince was little concerned with such material considerations. What weighed with him was that a lawful king, the son of a king, anointed with the holy oil, had been ejected by an uprising of his subjects. His deeply rooted feudal sense rebelled at such a thing. What security would there be for other kings if this outrage were permitted to go unrectified?
After convincing himself that it was his duty to support the cause of the predatory Pedro, the prince summoned his council and laid the case before them. He was surprised, and secretly much annoyed, that they did not agree with him. It was Sir John Chandos, the true knight, whose loyalty was so deep that he could give no advice save what he believed himself to be right, who acted as spokesman for the council. Sir John spoke of the cruelty of the deposed king, the sacrilegious acts of which he had been guilty, of the sufferings of the people under him. Why should they undertake war on behalf of such a man?
“Chandos, Chandos!” cried the prince, his handsome face suffused with emotion. “I’ve seen the time when you would have given me the other advice. Whether the cause was right or wrong.”
Chandos shook his head. “No, liege lord,” he declared. “Not when the cause was wrong.”
After several more meetings, with the schism between the prince and his council becoming wider all the time, Edward decided to act. He issued a proclamation, reading in part:
My lords, I take it for granted and believe that you give me the best advice you are able. I must, however, inform you that I am perfectly acquainted with the life and conduct of Don Pedro, and well know that he has committed faults without number, for which at present he suffers; but I will tell you the reasons which at this moment urge and embolden me to give him assistance. I do not think it either decent or proper that a bastard should possess a kingdom as an inheritance, nor drive out of his realm his own brother, heir to the throne by lawful marriage; and no king or king’s son ought ever to suffer it, as being of the greatest prejudice to royalty. Add to this, that my father and this Don
Pedro have for a long time been allies, much connected together, by which we are bound to aid and assist him.
An embassy was sent to England to get the opinion of King Edward and his royal council. The verdict was quickly returned in favor of the prince. Word was conveyed to him, moreover, that his brother, John of Gaunt, who had been made the Duke of Lancaster, would be sent with a force from England to assist in the military operations. A potent argument in favor of intervention had been a prophecy of Merlin, that “the leopards and their company should spread themselves to Spain.” That great fraud had left many senseless prophecies behind him and they seemed to crop up always at the very worst moments, to bolster false causes, to raise unwarranted hopes, to justify the worst of decisions. None had been more harmful than this particular absurdity was to prove.
Quite apart from the acknowledged principle that an outside nation had no right to interfere in the internal troubles of another country, there were good reasons why the prince should have turned a deaf ear to the blandishments of the false Pedro. The French provinces under English rule were seedling with discontent. Edward was not a good administrator and he was following his old method of leaving things in the hands of stewards and deputies. A lack of method had developed which was resented by the people, who had a strong predilection to system and order. It was even more damning that looseness and lack of honesty in the law courts made justice hard to obtain. The revenues were falling off. The prince himself was deeply involved in debt and not at all particular in the ways he employed to meet his obligations; or to evade them, as the case might be. Even the ruling classes of Bordeaux and the wine-growing localities, who favored the English connection because of the easy market it provided for their wine, were growing restive and concerned.
The prince should have realized that his fences needed mending in all parts of the land which had come to England by the Treaty of Bretigny. To absent himself at such a time was to invite trouble. He did not seem to care. His adventurous spirit had taken fire again. Across the Pyrenees lay chances for more glory. Was he to be bound instead to the boredom of law courts and the monotony of administrative detail? Such were for the starling and the sparrow; the eagle must spread his wings and soar. Even a sick eagle; for Edward was not well at all.
The pass of Roncesvalles across the Pyrenees had always been a difficult one, as the great Roland had learned. The English forces marched through boldly but with strict attention to the possibilities of attack. Roncesvalles was in the domain of Navarre and, although Charles the Bad had been paid handsomely for the right of passage, no one put any
stock in his promises. As it turned out, however, they got through without seeing a single plume above the rocky crags or hearing a cry of defiance.
Three days before the march began, Edward had been presented with a second son, who had been named Richard. He departed, therefore, in high spirits. This mood did not desert him when his army debouched on the other side of the gloomy mountain heights, which had greeted them with sullen rains and blasts of wind sweeping through the declivities. Even when he found that the forces of Henry of Trastamara under French command consisted of sixty thousand men while his own, after the reinforcements under John of Gaunt had been added, were about half that number, his feeling of confidence did not leave him. He marched through the rains to the flat country around Vittoria and came face to face with the enemy forces near Navarrete.
The story of Navarrete did not differ much from the now familiar pattern. The Black Prince rode through the lines and prayed aloud: “God of Truth, Father of our Lord, who hast made and fashioned me, condescend through Thy benign grace that the success of the battle today may be for me and mine. Advance banners in the name of heaven and St. George!”
When the division which the prince commanded himself struck the forces led by Sancho the Stammerer, a brother of Henry, the Spaniards turned in terror and fled so precipitously that Edward suspected a ruse and did not pursue. There was no serious opposition offered except by the Free Companies under Bertrand du Guesclin. The latter fought like a demon, with Pedro shouting furiously from the safety of the English lines that none were to be spared. When his shrill cries of “Kill! Kill!” attracted the attention of the great Frenchman, Du Guesclin plunged out from his own array and attacked Pedro with such concentrated power and fury that the deposed king fell in a faint. Before he could be revived, the prince had persuaded Du Guesclin to surrender and had placed him in the custody of the Captal de Buch, thereby turning the tables between those two gallant paladins, as will be explained later.
The conduct of Pedro the Cruel, exhilarated by the victory his English allies had won for him, was so disturbing that all the Saxon leaders under the prince found it hard to contain themselves. The next morning Pedro came to the tent of his benefactor and offered to pay him the full weight of Du Guesclin in silver if the brave Frenchman were turned over to him. When this was refused, he begged to have his half brother delivered into his hands as well as all Spanish prisoners of high rank, his avowed purpose being to cut off their heads. The prince refused brusquely and demanded of Pedro a promise that he would pardon all his opponents. The leniency of the English robbed the revengeful monarch of much of the pleasure he had anticipated from his restoration.