Late after vespers, the king of France had not more about him than sixty men, every one included. Sir John of Hainault, who was of the number, had once remounted the king; for the latter's horse had been killed under him by an arrow. He said to the king, "Sir, retreat while you have an opportunity, and do not expose King Philip abandons the field of battle yourself so needlessly. If you have lost this battle, another time you will be the conqueror." After he had said this, he took the bridle of the king's horse and led him off by force; for he had before entreated him to retire.
The king rode on until he came to the castle of La Broyes, where he found the gates shut, for it was very dark. The king ordered the governor of it to be summoned. He came upon the battlements and asked who it was that called at such an hour. The king answered, "Open, open, governor; it is the fortune of France." The governor, hearing the king's voice, immediately descended, opened the gate, and let down the bridge. The king and his company entered the castle; but he had with him only five barons—Sir John of Hainault, the lord Charles of Montmorency, the lord of Beaujeu, the lord of Aubigny, and the lord of Montfort. The king would not bury himself in such a place as that, but, having taken some refreshments, set out again with his attendants about midnight, and rode on, under the direction of guides who were well acquainted with the country, until, about daybreak, he came to Amiens, where he halted.
This Saturday the English never quitted their ranks in pursuit of any one, but remained on the field, guarding their position The English after the battle and defending themselves against all who attacked them. The battle was ended at the hour of vespers. When, on this Saturday night, the English heard no more hooting or shouting, nor any more crying out to particular lords, or their banners, they looked upon the field as their own and their enemies as beaten.
They made great fires and lighted torches because of the darkness of the night. King Edward then came down from his post, who all that day had not put on his helmet, and, with his whole battalion, advanced to the Prince of Wales, whom he embraced in his arms and kissed, and said, "Sweet son, God give you good preference. You are my son, for most loyally have you acquitted yourself this day. You are worthy to be a sovereign." The prince bowed down very low and humbled himself, giving all honor to the king his father.
The English, during the night, made frequent thanksgivings to the Lord for the happy outcome of the day, and without rioting; for the king had forbidden all riot or noise.
77. The Sack of Limoges (1370)
As a single illustration of the devastation wrought by the Hundred Years' War, and of the barbarity of the commanders and troops engaged in it, Froissart's well-known description of the sack of Limoges in 1370 by the army of the Black Prince is of no small interest. In some respects, of course, circumstances in connection with this episode were exceptional, and we are not to imagine that such heartless and indiscriminate massacres were common. Yet the evidence which has survived all goes to show that the long course of the war was filled with cruelty and destruction in a measure almost inconceivable among civilized peoples in more modern times.
Source—Chroniques de Jean Froissart (Société de l'Histoire de France edition), Chap. XCVII. Translated in Thomas Johnes, Froissart's Chronicles, Vol. II., pp. 61-68 passim.
When word was brought to the prince that the city of Limoges[590] had become French, that the bishop, who had been his companion and one in whom he had formerly placed great confidence, was a party to all the treaties and had greatly aided and assisted in the surrender, he was in a violent passion and held The Black Prince resolves to retake Limoges the bishop and all other churchmen in very low estimation, in whom formerly he had put great trust. He swore by the soul of his father, which he had never perjured, that he would have it back again, that he would not attend to anything before he had done this, and that he would make the inhabitants pay dearly for their treachery....[591]
All these men-at-arms were drawn out in battle-array and took the field, when the whole country began to tremble for the consequences. At that time the Prince of Wales was not able to mount his horse, but was, for his greater ease, carried in a litter. They followed the road to the Limousin,[592] in order to get to Limoges, where in due time they arrived and encamped all around it. The prince swore he would never leave the place until he had regained it.