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

by John G. Edgar

It was not, however, till afternoon—not, in fact, till three o'clock—that Philip of Valois, who had left Abbeville in the midst of a heavy fall of rain, came up—at the head of that seemingly countless host, which had gathered from so many countries to his aid—with the handful of invaders he had vowed to crush as a potter's vessel. As the French approached, the sun, which had been obscured all the morning, broke through the clouds, and added to the effect of their chivalrous display. Nor could anything have been more impressive. Banners and pennons flew; armour glistened; bridles rang; and from the armed multitude—panting for blood and carnage—rose loudly shouts of "Kill! kill! kill!"

It happened, on that memorable day, that the Count of Alençon led the van of the French army, and that in front of his cavalry he had placed the Genoese, whose cross-bows were deemed likely to do terrible execution. But, fatigued with a hasty and long march, the Genoese were not in the best condition for the work they were designed to do, and the delay which took place in consequence caused considerable confusion. Philip, as was his wont when in any way annoyed, lost his temper, and, as usual when he did so, his wrath instantly got the better of his discretion.

"In the name of God and St. Denis," he roared, "order the Genoese forward and begin the battle!"

Nothing could have exceeded the imprudence of attacking formidable foes with an army in such disorder as that of France then was. But Philip's blood was boiling at the sight of his enemies seated calmly on the grass, and he was incapable of calculating chances. Accordingly orders to attack were given; and the Genoese, supported by a large body of men-at-arms, splendidly arrayed, approached with a loud shout which was intended to make the English tremble. But the Genoese were much mistaken. No notice whatever was taken of the noise. The Genoese then raised a second shout. It, however, had quite as little effect as the first. The Genoese then raised a third shout. But not one iota more attention was paid to it than had been paid to the first and second. The Genoese then presented their cross-bows and began to shoot, and instantly—suddenly, as if by magic—the English were in motion and on their feet. Every archer was stringing his bow; every footman was brandishing his pike; every horseman was mounting his steed. All the thirty thousand stood calmly contemptuous of odds, and sternly resolute to conquer or die.

No time was now lost by the English in trying conclusions. Making a step or two forward, at a signal from their leaders, the archers in the division commanded by the prince, which was drawn up in the form and manner of a portcullis or harrow, with the men-at-arms in the rear, bent their bows, and sent a shower of arrows with such force in the face of the foe, that the Genoese flung down their cross-bows, and attempted to retreat. Again Philip lost his temper, and, with his temper, everything like prudence.

"Kill these scoundrels," shouted he; "for, by St. Denis, they only serve to stop our road to victory."

"Yes," cried the Count of Alençon, "let us ride over the bodies of the Genoese." And, without hesitation, the men-at-arms charged the cross-bowmen, and cut down the unfortunate mercenaries right and left.

Meanwhile the King of England, leaving the post of honour to the Prince of Wales, and without putting on his helmet, took his station by the windmill which I have already mentioned, and kept his eye on every part of the field. Marking the confusion among the French, he sent a messenger with orders to his son to charge upon them where their disarray was greatest; and gallantly was the duty performed. Nothing, indeed, could exceed the heroism with which the heir of England—bestriding his grey barb, inspiring those around him to despise odds, and defy the press of numbers—fought to win his spurs that day. It was an exciting spectacle to see one so young enacting such a part on such an occasion; and, inspirited by his example, the English advanced with increasing enthusiasm, and rushed on with a determination before which their enemies fell or were fain to give way.

But the great lords of France did not relish the idea of being beaten by a warrior in his teens; and, as the conflict went on, the prince was exposed to serious danger. By a simultaneous movement, the Count of Alençon advanced from one side and the Count of Flanders from the other, and, coasting, as it were, the archers, bore down with irresistible force on the prince, at the head of their riders; while Philip of Valois, guided by their banners, hounded forward a body of French and Germans, who, breaking through the archers, engaged in hand-to-hand encounter with the prince's men-at-arms. Fortunately, Lord de Roos and the Earl of Northampton lost no time in bringing the second division to the rescue. But the peril was still so extreme, that the Earl of Warwick, apprehending the worst, sent Sir Thomas Norwich to the king, who was still posted by the windmill.

"Sire," said the knight, "the Earl of Warwick, and others about your son, are attacked by the French, and are sorely handled; wherefore they intreat that you will come to their assistance with your battalion; for, if the French increase, as they are like, your son and they will have much to do."