With a small escort Charles left Bruges, and reached Calais on July 14th, where he had been preceded by the duchess, eager to greet her brother, who had actually landed on July 4th, with the best equipped army—about twenty-four thousand men—that had ever left the shores of England, and the latest inventions in besieging engines.
The expedition proved a wretched failure—a miserable disappointment to the English at home, who had been lavish in their contributions. Charles seems to have been put out by the place of landing. His own plan is clear from the letter quoted. He wished the two armies of Edward and himself to sweep a large stretch of territory as they marched toward each other. The one thing that he objected to was a consolidation of the two forces. Incapacity to turn an unexpected or an unwelcome situation to account was one of the duke's most deeply ingrained characteristics. He showed no inventiveness or resourcefulness. He held his own army at a distance from the English, much to the invader's chagrin, who was forced to march unaided over regions rendered inhospitable by Louis's stern orders, and outside of cities ready to hold him at bay. "If you do not put yourself in a state of security, it will be necessary to destroy the city, to our regret," was the king's message to Rheims, and the most skilful of French engineers was fully prepared to make good the words.
Open hostilities were avoided. Edward camped on the field of Agincourt, where perhaps he dreamed of his ancestor's success, but no fresh blaze of old English glory illumined his path. He did not proceed to Paris, there was no coronation at Rheims, no comfortable reception within any gates at all, for Charles was as chary as Louis himself of giving the English a foothold, though he advised Edward to accept an invitation from St. Pol to visit St. Quentin. This, however, proved another disappointment. Just as Edward was ready to enter, the gates opened to let out a troop which effectually repulsed the advancing foreigners. The Count of St. Pol had changed his mind.
"It is a miserable existence this of ours when we take toil and trouble enough to shorten our life, writing and saying things exactly opposite to our thoughts," writes the keenest observer of this elaborate network of pompous falsehoods[6] wherein every action was entangled. Louis XI trusted no one but himself, while he played with the trust of all, and his game was the safest. His fear of the invaders was soon allayed. "These English are of different metal from those whom you used to know. They keep close, they attempt nothing," he wrote to the veteran Dammartin.
It was, indeed, a patent fact that Edward was not a foe to be feared. Baffled and discouraged, he readily opened his ears to his French brother, and Louis heaped grateful recognition on every Englishman who helped incline his sovereign to peaceful negotiations. Velvet and coin did their work. Edward was easily led into the path of least resistance, and an interview between the rival kings was appointed for August 29th. Great preparations were made for their meeting on a bridge at Picquigny, across which a grating was erected. Like Pyramus and Thisbe, the two princes kissed each other through the barriers, and exchanged assurances of friendship. Edward was, indeed, so easy to convince that Louis was in absolute terror lest his English brother would accept his invitation to show him Paris before his return. No wonder Edward was deceived, for Louis was definite in his hospitable offers, suggesting that he would provide a confessor willing to give absolution for pleasant sins.
The duke was duly forewarned of this colloquy. On August 18th, he was staying at Peronne, whence he paid a visit to the English camp. It was ended without any intimation of Edward's change of heart towards the French king whom he had come to depose, though his plan was then ripe. On the 20th, Charles received a written communication with the news which Edward had disliked broaching orally, and was officially informed that the king had yielded to the wishes of his army, and was considering a treaty with Louis XI., wherein Edward's dear brother of Burgundy should receive honourable mention did he desire it.
On hearing these most unwelcome tidings, Charles set off for the English camp in hot haste, attended by a small escort, and nursing his wrath as he rode.[7] King Edward was rather alarmed at the duke's aspect when the latter appeared, and asked whether he would not like a private interview. Charles disregarded his question. "Is it true? Have you made peace?" he demanded. Edward's attempt at smooth explanations was blocked by a flood of invectives poured out by Charles, who remembered himself sufficiently to speak in English so that the bystanders might have the full benefit of his passionate reproaches. He spared nothing, comparing the lazy, sensual, pleasure-loving monarch, whose easeful ways were rapidly increasing his weight of flesh, with the heroism of other English Edwards with whom he was proud to claim kin. As to the offers to remember his interests in the perfidious peace that perfidious Albion was about to swear with equally perfidious France, his rejection was scornful indeed. "Negotiate for me! Arbitrate for me! Is it I who wanted the French crown? Leave me to make my own truce. I will wait until you have been three months over sea." Among those who witnessed the scene were several Englishmen who sympathised with Charles—if we may believe Commines. "The Duke of Burgundy has said the truth," declared the Duke of Gloucester, and many agreed with him." Having given vent to his sentiments, Charles hurried away from his disappointing ally and reached Namur on the 22d, where he spent the night.
Edward troubled himself little about his brother-in-law's summary of his character. He was tired of camp hardships, and both he and his men found it very refreshing to have Amiens open her gates to them at the order of Louis XI. Food and wine were lavished upon all alike. It was a delightful experience for the English soldiers to see tables groaning with good things spread in the very streets, and to be bidden to order what they would at the taverns with no consideration for the reckoning. They enjoyed good French fare, free of charge, until their host intimated to King Edward that his men were very intoxicated and that there were limits in all things. But Louis did not spare his money or his pains until he was sure that a bloodless victory had been won. He fully realised the importance of extravagant expenditure in order to reach the goal he had set himself.
"We must have the whole sum at Amiens before Friday evening, besides what will be wanted for private gratifications to my Lord Howard, and others who have had part in the arrangement.... Do not fail in this that there may be no pretext for a rupture of what has been already settled."
Though they had now no rood of land, the English returned richer than they came, and they eased their amour propre by calling the sums that had changed hands, "tribute money."[8]