In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince

by Evelyn Everett-Green

There had been work enough to fill their minds and hands for the whole time the Prince had been able to spare them from his side; and an interchange of letters between him and his lady love had helped Raymond to bear the long separation from her. She had assured him of her changeless devotion, of her present happiness and wellbeing, and had bidden him think first of his duty to the Prince, and second of his desire to rejoin her. They owed much to the Prince: all their present happiness and security were the outcome of his generous interposition on their behalf. Raymond's worldly affairs were not suffering by his absence. Master Bernard de Brocas was looking to that. He would find all well on his return to England; and it were better he should do his duty nobly by the Prince now, and return with him when they had subdued their enemies, than hasten at once to her side. In days to come it would grieve them to feel that they had at this juncture thought first of themselves, when King and country should have taken the foremost place.

So Raymond had taken the counsel thus given, and now was one of those to be foremost in the field on the morrow. No thought of fear was in his heart or Gaston's; peril was too much the order of the day to excite any but a passing sense of the uncertainty of human life. They had come unscathed through so much, and Raymond had so long been said to bear a charmed life, that he and Gaston had alike ceased to tremble before the issue of a battle. Well armed and well mounted, and versed in every art of attack and defence, the young knights felt no personal fear, and only longed to come forth with honour from the contest, whatever else their fate might be.

Monday morning dawned, and the two opposing armies were all in readiness for the attack. The fighting began almost by accident by the bold action of a Gascon knight, Eustace d'Ambrecicourt, who rode out alone towards what was called the "battle of the marshals," and was met by Louis de Recombes with his silver shield, whom he forthwith unhorsed. This provoked a rapid advance of the marshals' battle, and the fighting began in good earnest.

The moment this was soon to have taken place, the brave James Audley, calling upon his four knights to follow him, dashed in amongst the French in another part of the field, giving no quarter, taking no prisoners, but performing such prodigies of valour as struck terror into the breasts of the foe. The French army (with the exception of three hundred horsemen, whose mission was to break the ranks of the bowmen) had been ordered, on account of the nature of the ground, all to fight on foot; and when the bold knight and his four chosen companions came charging in upon them, wheeling their battle-axes round their heads and flashing through the ranks like a meteor, the terrified and impressionable Frenchmen cried out that St. George himself had appeared to fight against them, and an unreasoning panic seized upon them.

Flights of arrows from the dreaded English longbow added immeasurably to their distress and bewilderment. The three hundred horsemen utterly failed in their endeavour to approach these archers, securely posted behind the hedges, and protected by the trenches they had dug. The arrows sticking in the horses rendered them perfectly wild and unmanageable, and turning back upon their own comrades, they threw the ranks behind into utter confusion, trampling to death many of the footmen, and increasing the panic tenfold.

Then seeing the utter confusion of his foes, the Prince charged in amongst them, dealing death and destruction wherever he went. The terror of the French increased momentarily; and the division under the Duke of Normandy, that had not even taken any part as yet in the battle, rushed to their horses, mounted and fled without so much as striking a blow.

The King of France, however, behaved with far greater gallantry than either his son or the majority of his knights and nobles, and the battle that he led was long and fiercely contested.

If, as the chronicler tells us, one-fourth of his soldiers had shown the same bravery as he did, the fortunes of the day would have been vastly different; but though personally brave, he was no genius in war, and his fatal determination to fight the battle on foot was a gross blunder in military tactics. Even when he and his division were being charged by the Prince of Wales at full gallop, at the head of two thousand lances, the men all flushed with victory, John made his own men dismount, and himself did the same, fighting with his axe like a common soldier; whilst his little son Philip crouched behind him, narrowly watching his assailants, and crying out words of warning to his father as he saw blows dealt at him from right or left.

The French were driven back to the very gates of Poitiers, where a great slaughter ensued; for those gates were now shut against them, and they had nowhere else to fly. The battle had begun early in the morning, and by noon the trumpets were sounding to recall the English from the pursuit of their flying foes.

Such a victory and such vast numbers of noble prisoners almost bewildered even the victors themselves; and the Prince was anxious to assemble his knights once more about him, to learn some of the details of the issue of the day. That the French King had either been killed or made prisoner appeared certain, for it was confidently asserted that he had not left the field; but for some time the confusion was so great that it was impossible to ascertain what had actually happened, and the Prince, who had gone to his tent to take some refreshment after the labours of the day, had others than his high-born prisoners to think for.