Cressy and Poictiers: The Story of the Black Prince's Page

by John G. Edgar

"St. George for Guienne!" shouted the English.

"Montjoye, St. Denis!" replied the French.

But the conflict was soon over. The constable, after fighting bravely, fell, and most of his knights were slain around him.

Pursuing their career, the prince and his riders next came in contact with the German cavalry, under the Counts of Saltzburg, Nassau, and Neydo, and the Germans fared as ill as the French had done. The three counts were slain, and the Germans, seeing their leaders fall, took to flight.

Not stopping to make prisoners, the prince, with Chandos by his side, charged on—his friends rallying to his standard, and his enemies flying from his war-cry. What remained of the second division of the French was speedily dispersed; and the Duke of Orleans, who was in command of a body of reserve, fled from the field without an effort to stay the progress of the conqueror.

But, as Chandos had predicted, John of Valois did not fly. Even in the midst of panic and flight, he maintained, as a knight and a soldier, the character which he enjoyed throughout Christendom. Mounted on his white steed, arrayed in royal armour, and accompanied by Philip, his youngest son, John, at the head of his division, faced the English and Gascons under the Earl of Warwick, and fought dauntlessly and well. But his courage and prowess could not turn the fortune of the field. Around him his men fell in heaps; and when he, after receiving two wounds in the face, was beaten to the ground, the survivors lost hope, and began to escape towards Poictiers.

But still John of Valois was in no mood either to fly or to yield. Rising from the ground, and with his son still by his side, he rallied his broken ranks, and, with his battle-axe in his hand, advanced on foot to renew the conflict, not without the hope of Fortune declaring herself on his side.

By this time the battle had lasted about three hours, and it was nearly noon; and the Prince of Wales, seeing that his enemies were flying in all directions, had halted after one of his charges, and, with a few men-at-arms around him, was calculating the results of the engagement, when suddenly, on foot, with the fury of a lion, and battle-axe in hand, John made his last desperate effort to retrieve the day; and, as the prince turned to renew the conflict, his eye was lighted up with that joy which warriors feel in the prospect of a stern encounter with foemen worthy of their steel. But few around the prince shared his enthusiasm. In fact, it was a most critical moment, and one thrust with a spear, one blow with a battle-axe, might have changed the fate of the day. Fortunately, however, the Earl of Warwick, returning from the pursuit, charged the French in the flank, and they, giving way, fled, in utter confusion and despair, towards Poictiers, the pursuit continuing to the gates of the city.

And now the field was won, and the French were flying and the English pursuing on all hands, when the Prince of Wales suddenly perceived the body of Lord Robert de Duras lying near a bush; and as Lord Robert de Duras was nephew of the Cardinal of Perigord, and as the prince believed that the cardinal had played him false on the previous day, his ire kindled at the sight.

"Place this body on a shield," said he, addressing two squires, "and see it carried to Poictiers, and present it to the Cardinal of Perigord, and say I salute him by that token."