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

by John G. Edgar

At first everything went smoothly enough. The chief towns of Flanders made much of their count, and laid such rich presents at his feet that his eyes were dazzled, and so far all was well. But on one point they were determined—namely, that they—and not he—should select his bride, and that the bride should be none other than the English princess who was now, with her mother, in the camp before Calais.

Unfortunately, as it happened, the Count of Flanders had two strong objections to the matrimonial union which his subjects were so anxious to bring about. In the first place, he wished to marry a daughter of the Duke of Brabant; and, in the second place, he was utterly averse to marry Isabel of England.

"I will never," said he, almost in tears—"I will never marry a daughter of the man whom I hold responsible for my father's death."

"But," said the Flemings, "this English alliance will best enable us to resist the oppressions of the French, and our connexion with England is much more profitable than could be a connexion with any other country."

Nevertheless, the Count of Flanders remained obdurate; and the Flemings, equally stubborn in their way, not only adhered to their purpose, but gave their hereditary ruler to understand that he was neither more nor less than a prisoner—nay, more, they intimated that he was likely so to continue until he listened to reason, and consented to be guided by them.

"You will never," said they, "have your liberty, unless you take our advice; and if your father had taken our advice he might have been one of the greatest princes of Christendom, instead of being—what he became—a vassal of France."

Naturally, the count found his position extremely perplexing, and his captivity wearisome, and, under the influence of continual importunities on the part of the Flemings, his resolution began to give way.

"Well," said he, one day, "I begin to think you are in the right, and that the advantages to be gained from an alliance with England are very great."

Gratified to hear the count express himself in such language, the Flemings relaxed his bonds, gave him a little more liberty, and allowed him to recreate himself with field sports, especially that of hawking, which was his favourite pastime. But he felt that he was still a prisoner. Whenever he rode out to fly his hawk, he found himself vigilantly guarded; and, ere long, to relieve himself from a predicament which daily became more awkward, he consented to do all that the Flemings required of him, and, with the best grace he could assume, intimated his willingness to espouse the English princess, whose name he disliked, and whose face he had never seen.

And now, for a time, matters went on as favourably as the Flemings could have desired, and ambassadors were sent to Calais to inform the King and Queen of England that the count was ready to espouse the princess. Edward and Philippa were delighted beyond measure with the intelligence, and did not conceal their satisfaction.