Edward looked at him fully, and the tears washed the eyes of the Princess.
“Seigneur,” she said, “you can with a very comfortable heart return to England, knowing how loyally Johan will uphold you here.”
She felt warmly towards Johan, for she knew that it was he who had turned aside the Prince’s vengeance from Jean le Cros and saved him from the crime of taking the life of a son of the Church.
Perhaps the Prince thought of that too; perhaps he thought that the blood of the three thousand slain in Limoges was as heavy a burden to bear as the blood of a bishop.
“Ay, save Acquitaine, Johan,” he murmured, “for the honour of England.”
His eyes turned wistfully to the fading day that died beyond the oriel window. Surely, he thought, I have drunk of the last drop of bitterness. I, Edward of Wales, to return to England a useless man, leaving defeat behind for a younger knight to redeem.
The Duke of Lancaster stood watching him, with many thoughts in his heart, and presently Edward turned to him and spoke, in a voice earnest and feeble.
“Johan, when the King dies I shall be in my grave.”
The Princess broke his speech by a sharp, piteous intake of breath, and caught desperately at his slack hand.
“Oh, Jehanne,” he said, “I have flattered your fears long enough. And now I must speak straightly.”