4. o 0 2 _ Srom f0e fetfirarg of QprofeBBor Wtfftdm %tx\xy> (Screen (2$equeaff)eb 6g 0tm to f$e fetfirarg of Qprtttcefon £0eofo£tcaf ^emtnarg HQ 1143 .E33 1870 Edgar, John G. 1834-1864. Noble dames of ancient story CHIPP’S BOOK STORE, 910 BBOAD ST,, Newark, N. 3. The Countess, who had clothed herself In armour, was mounted on a war-horse, encouraging the inhabitants to defend themselves. Pago 120. J NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. ■ BY J. G. EDGAK, AUTHOR OF “THE BOY CRUSADERS,” ETC. 8 Jutl-Jage Illustrations. GALL & INGLIS. Snntwn: 80 PATERNOSTER ROW. $bmtag;(r: G GEORGE STREET. \ MURRAY ANDGIEB, EDINBURGH, PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY’S STATIONERY 0FFIC3. CONTENTS, Isabel the Fair, Queen op England . Philippa of Hainault, Quefn of England Katherine, Countess of Salisbury . . Joan, Countess of Montfort ... Agnes, Countess of Dunbar ... Agnes, Countess of Foix .... Joan Plantagenet, Princess of Wales . Florence of Biscay. Isabel Plantagenet, Countess of Bedford Leonora D’Acuniia, Queen of Portugal . , Constance of Castille, Duchess of Lancaster Isabel of Bavaria, Queen of France Valentine Visconti, Duchess of Orleans . , page 9 18 100 115 133 140 153 176 182 193 208 227 271 PREFACE F EW periods of English history, from the age of the First great Edward to the age of Queen Victoria, are replete with events more interesting in themselves, and more important in their results on our destinies as a nation, than that which witnessed the battles of Cressy and Poictiers. In the following pages I have endeavoured to do something towards popularising the history of the fourteenth century, by giving an account of the royal and noble ladies who then flourished—influencing the warriors whose exploits have been celebrated by Froissart, and whose pedigrees have been illustrated by Dugdale. In doing so, I have quoted freely from the famous chronicler, who wrote, as he tells us, ‘that the honourable enterprises, noble adventures, and deeds of armies performed in the wars between England and France, might be properly related, and held in perpetual remembrance—to the end that the brave, taking example from them, might be encouraged in 6 PREFACE. their well-doing; ’ and I have so framed my narra¬ tive as to give some idea, not only of the battles and sieges with which the heroines of Froissart were associated, but of the dress, manners, and style of conversation which prevailed at the period when Edward III. and his son, the Black Prince, won the victories that made Englishmen, for a time, almost masters of France. I cannot under the circumstances venture, like the old chronicler from whose pages I have so largely quoted, to expect ‘ that all those who shall read may derive pleasure and instruction from my work, and that I may fall into their good graces; ’ but I would fain hope that my sketches may not be altogether uninteresting to English readers as re¬ lating to the heroines of European history at that era of English chivalry—marked and rendered me¬ morable by the institution of the order of the Garter. J. G. E. NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. JfsaM % Jot, <®mm of (Smjglanfr. O N Sunday, the 28th of February 1308, the cathedral of Boulogne was the scene of a magnificent ceremony. On that day and in that edifice, Edward, King of England, espoused the daughter of the King of France. Seldom had a grander company witnessed a royal marriage. The presence of four kings, three queens, several princes, many nobles and knights, and many dames and demoiselles of rank and beauty, added to the splendour of the wedding. Every form likely to render the occasion memorable was carefully observed; and when the festivities were at an end, the youthful pair, accompanied by the Counts ofEvrenx and Valois, uncles of the bride, embarked for Dover, with as fair a prospect of happiness as generally, under the circum¬ stances, lies before the mind’s eye of mortals. The bride seemed qualified, both by rank and appear¬ ance, to fill with credit the high place for which she was destined. On both sides she was descended from kings. She was the only survivor of the three daughters who sprang from the union of Philip the Fair and Joan the heiress of 10 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORF. Navarre. Her name was Isabel, and, though she had not yet completed her thirteenth year, her precocious beauty had already made her celebrated as Isabel the Fair. Froissart describes her as one of the greatest beauties in the world. Nor did Fortune in giving to Isabel the King of England as a husband appear niggardly towards one to whom nature had been so lavish of gifts. At that time Edward, besides being the handsomest prince in Christendom, held the very highest rank among the sovereigns of Europe. Abroad his influence was great, and at home he was regarded with boundless affection as heir of the man who had made England so powerful and so prosperous. It was Wednesday, the 7th of February, when Edward landed with his bride at Dover, and Sunday, the 25th of February, was fixed for the coronation. On that day an im¬ mense crowd assembled at Westminster, and the press was so great, and the curiosity to catch a glimpse of the young queen so keen, that many persons were thrown down, and one knight trampled to death under foot. Nor did matters go quite smoothly in so far as the ceremony was concerned. Edward, with the indiscretion which ultimately proved his ruin, had appointed Piers Gaveston, a Gascon adventurer, to carry the Confessor’s crown ; and, as this was the highest honour to which a subject could on such an occasion aspire, the barons who were present bent their brows and clinched their hands. Even words were not wanting to indicate the antipathy with which the Gascon was regarded. ‘ By my father’s soul! ’ exclaimed an earl of the blood royal, * but for the queen’s presence, I could slay the minion on the spot.’ Isabel seemed in no better humour than the barons. It is said that, between their marriage and coronation, she and her husband had indulged in the luxury of a domestic quarrel. Moreover, the arrangements of the ceremony at Westminster were not to her liking. It was late in the 11 ISABEL THE FAIE. afternoon before the coronation was over, and at the banquet nothing was served to the queen’s table till it was dark. Isabel pouted, and evinced much discontent, and doubtless took care to inform her uncles, who were present, that Gaveston was to blame for everything that had gone wrong. Piers Gaveston was a Gascon, of handsome person and high accomplishments. His father had fought well on the continent for the first Edward; and the old king, grateful for the warrior’s services, and perhaps pitying the cruel fate of his wife, who is said to have been burned as a sorceress, took their son Piers under his protection, and had him brought up and educated with the Prince of Wales. The position of the young Gascon was enviable; and he made the most of his advantages. While acquiring the accomplishments which in after days moved the envy of England’s barons, he insinuated himself into the good graces of England’s heir, and, as time passed on, became such a favourite, that the prince could not be happy when out of his company. Nevertheless Gaveston had his checks. Presuming on his influence at court, he led the prince into some lawless freaks, such as creating a riot, breaking into the Bishop of Chester’s park, and destroying that prelate’s deer. But it was not a reign in which men could break the law with impunity; and both the prince and the favourite were immediately punished. Young Edward was banished from court for six months, during which his father sternly refused to see him; and Gaveston was banished from the realm, 1 lest the prince, who delighted in his company, might, by his evil and wanton conduct, fall into evil and naughty rule.’ The precautions of the old king were vain. No sooner did the first Edward expire at Burgh-on-the-Sands, than the second Edward recalled Gaveston to England, and created him Earl of Cornwall. When he embarked for 12 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. France, Gaveston was left guardian of the kingdom ; when he landed at Dover with his bride, Gaveston was there in great state to receive him; and no sooner did he set foot on shore, than he took the favourite in his arms and called him ‘ Brother Peter.’ At this time Isabel was only thirteen. But she was, by nature, imperious and intriguing. Albeit a girl, she was eager to have her own way in everything ; and when she found that she could not have her own way, she set her face against those by whom she was baffled, and went to work as she best could to effect their ruin. Finding herself thwarted by Gaveston, she rapidly formed a strong aversion to the favourite. Nor, indeed, was her antipathy inexcus¬ able. Edward, by his lavish grants of money to Gaveston, had reduced himself to poverty. Royal personages, like their neighbours, are alive to the inconvenience of pecuniary embarrassment; and Isabel, feeling the pinch all the more that she had constantly the Gascon before her eyes rolling in wealth given him by her husband, wrote in the most querulous tone to her father, complaining of the influence he exercised. Norwas Isabel’s the only voice raised against the favourite. Even before her arrival the barons had exclaimed against his recall, and threatened, on that account, to put a stop to the coronation. Edward, however, promised to satisfy them as to Gaveston in parliament; and when, in April, a parliament was held in London, they insisted on his banish¬ ment. Unable to resist, but unwilling to comply, the king got over the difficulty by sending the Gascon to Ireland, and entrusting him with the government of that country. In Ireland, Gaveston acquitted himself with credit, and seemed in a fair way of conquering the prejudices against him. But ere eighteen months elapsed the king, sadly missing the favourite’s face, lost patience, and not only re¬ called the Gascon, but made matters worse by giving him in marriage a lady of the great House of De Clare. ISABEL THE FAIR. 13 Among the Anglo-Normans the De Clares held the fore¬ most rank. So immense were their possessions, that castles all over England and Wales owned them as lords, and from Westminster to Newminster there were few religious houses on the windows of which their armorial hearings were not to be seen. Moreover, they could boast of an alliance worthy of their wealth and grandeur. One of the earte of Gloucester, known as ‘ the Red De Clare,’ had married a daughter of the first Edward, and, dying a few years later, left her a widow, with a son, Gilbert, and three daughters. Of these, Margaret, then in her teens, was the fairest. Ed¬ ward, of course, stood in the relationship of uncle to this damsel; and he availed himself of his position as king and kinsman to bestow her on the Gascon whom he called 4 Brother Peter.’ Isabel was, doubtless, mortified to see a man whom she treated as an enemy so highly favoured by her husband. It does not, however, appear that the young Earl of Gloucester objected to the match; and as Gaveston, besides being Earl of Cornwall, was a most handsome and accomplished cava¬ lier, Margaret de Clare probably thought she might have gone farther and fared worse. The barons of England, however, exclaimed against being thus bearded. After refusing to attend a parliament at York, they did attend a parliament at Westminster; but they came with arms and horses, and in a mood the reverse of compromising. Indeed, they took the government into their own hands, appointed a committee of 1 ordainers,’ to arrange the affairs of the kingdom and of the king’s household, and sternly insisted on the favourite’s banishment. Edward yielded so far as to send Gaveston across the Channel, and Isabel probably flattered herself that she had seen the last of him, If so, she greatly deceived herself. It was not her father’s interest to have a man whose presence in England kept king and barons at discord living quietly in exile. No sooner, therefore, did Philip the Fair hear of 14 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Gaveston’s arrival in France, than he issued orders for his arrest. In alarm, the Gascon fled to Flanders; but, finding that in Flanders also he was denied refuge, he returned to England. Another king would have been horrified to see his face. Edward not only received him with open arms, but appointed him to the office of Secretary of State. Isabel did not share, in any degree, the delight which Edward felt at Gaveston’s return. In her anger, she pointed out to the Gascon the baneful influence which his presence had on the king’s affairs, and, in no measured language, expostulated with him on the iniquity of exposing his bene¬ factor to unpopularity. Gaveston, whose Gascon vanity had always been considerable, and whose head was now turned with prosperity, replied with contempt; and the queen, in no serene humour, complained to Edward. But after having been treated by Gaveston as a brawling girl, Isabel was treated by Edward as a spoiled child. Enraged beyond measure at the favourite’s influence being greater than her own, she vowed vengeance, and brooded over what she deemed her wrongs. As the likeliest person to set matters right, she thought of her father, and wrote to the French monarch, that Gaveston was leading the king to ruin, and that, of all women on earth, she was the most injured and the most unhappy. More than three years had now elapsed since Isabel was married at Boulogne; and, during that period, Philip theFair, who was a crafty and faithless man, had been keenly watch¬ ing English affairs. Not without a Capet’s ambition to make France the great monarchy of Europe, he had exerted himself to keep the king and barons of England at feud, and secretly fomented the discord that prevailed. Nor was Philip’s the only mischievous influence at work. Robert Winchelsea, Archbishop of Canterbury, who had been*proved guilty of conspiracy in the previous reign, and fain to leave the country, had returned from exile to renew his plot against the monarchy. Unfortunately Edward, by his display of friend- ISABEL TIIE FAIB. 15 ship for Gaveston, played the game of his enemies ; and in 1312 he suddenly found himself menaced by an armed baronage, inspired by the counsels of the primate, and en¬ couraged by the King of France, and by the sympathy of the Queen of England. At the head of this confederacy was the king’s cousin, Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, a prince of the blood, who, in his own right and that of his wife, the heiress of the Lacies, possessed five earldoms, and the honour of Pontefract. Lancaster, who was a host in him¬ self, was closely allied with Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pem¬ broke, and Guy Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick. All the three were sons of men who had been noted royalists in the old Barons’ War; but Pembroke and Warwick exhibited much of the spirit that fifty years earlier animated the Bigods and Bohuns; and Lancaster had the ambition, if not the ability, to play the part of Simon de Montfort. At this crisis Edward was at York, with the queen and Gaveston. Isabel, between the king and the favourite, must, considering the encouragement she had given to insurrection, have found her position peculiarly awkward. At first, however, Edward treated the confederacy with contempt, and listened while Gaveston exercised his lively insolence at the expense of the confederates. Lancaster’s style of dress was somewhat picturesque ; Pembroke was thin, dark, and sallow; Warwick had a dark complexion, and, when in a rage, foamed at the mouth; and the fa¬ vourite was in the habit of calling Lancaster ‘ the stage- player,’ Pembroke ‘ Joseph the Jew,’ and Warwick ‘ The Black Dog of Ardern.’ But the day had gone by for dealing in nicknames. Every hour the business became more serious; and ere long the king, while listening to the Gascon’s talk and encouraging his vanity, was roused from his inaction by tidings that the barons were marching to take him by surprise. Edward was perplexed in the extreme. However, it was necessary to do something, and that quickly. Without 16 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOHY. delay, therefore, he set out from York, with the queen and Gaveston, for Newcastle. But, on hearing that the king had left, the barons, being in a persistent humour, pursued their course northward ; and the king, finding that he was closely followed, left the queen in the castle of Tynemouth, embarked with Gaveston for the coast of Yorkshire, and, placing the Gascon in the strong fortress of Scarborough, repaired to the midland counties. Never did crowned monarch find himself in a more unhappy position than that of the young king; and the most enthusiastic of royalists must have despaired, when they heard of the son of the conqueror of Evesham flying before a band of malcontent barons. Meanwhile Isabel, who was now in her seventeenth year, remained at Tynemouth, and soon learned that Lancaster had seized Newcastle, and despatched Pembroke in pursuit of Gaveston. However, the queen was in no danger. Lan¬ caster, whose interest it was to maintain a good understand¬ ing with Philip the Fair, avoided every appearance of harsh¬ ness to Philip’s daughter. Messengers speedily came to Tynemouth to give her full assurances of safety. ‘Madam,’ said' they, ‘be under no apprehensions; you are in no peril. Our sole object is to get the favourite into our hands.’ Following on Gaveston’s track, as a blood-hound on that of a marauder, Pembroke appeared before Scarborough. In that fortress Gaveston believed himself secure; but, being without provisions to hold out for any time, he, after a siege of three days, offered to capitulate; and terms were granted. It was agreed that he should be carried southward, and lodged in Wallingford ; but Wallingford he was destined not to reach. In fact, the conditions of capi¬ tulation were grossly violated. It appears that, while travelling southward with Gaveston as his prisoner, Pembroke one day pretended great eager¬ ness to go out of the way to visit his countess in Oxfordshire, ISABEL THE FAIR. 17 and, leaving the favourite at Deddington in charge of his servants, he took his departure. During Pembroke’s absence, Warwick suddenly presented himself, surrounded the place with soldiers, seized Gaveston without ceremony, and carried him off. Being conveyed to Warwick castle, Gaveston was brought to trial, and Lancaster, sitting in judgment, pronounced sentence of death. In vain Gaves¬ ton appealed to the terms of capitulation. He was hurried off to Blacklow Hill, a gentle knoll about a mile from the castle, and hard by the Avon, and there beheaded in presence of the barons. While Lancaster and Warwick were wreaking their ven¬ geance on Gaveston, Isabel, leaving Tynemouth, returned south, and took up her residence at Windsor. At first Edward did not join her. On hearing of his favourite’s violent death, he expressed strong resentment at the outrage, and much regret that he had not power to punish its per¬ petrators. Learning that the barons were approaching London, Edward retired sullenly to Canterbury. After some pensive reflection, however, he repaired to Windsor, and in the company of his fair spouse endeavoured to cheer himself with the hope of better days. Windsor had been the favourite residence of Eleanor of Castille; and it was unfortunate, perhaps, for the king that his memory could not carry him back to the time when hi3 admirable mother kept her court there, and when at Christ¬ mas no one was more full of gamesomeness in the hall, as Englishmen and Englishwomen of all ranks heard with delight, than his mighty father, whose policy had made Eng¬ land so great, and whose victories in war and peace had made them so proud of England. The contrast, indeed, between past and present would have been saddening ; but Edward of Carnarvon was still under thirty, and Isabel the Fair was still under twenty, and they might have been spared a world of woe and shame if one could have profited 18 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. by the example of Edward of Westminster, and the other by the example of Eleanor of Castille. It was now the autumn of 1312, and amid regret for the past and alarm for the future, the nation learned that Isabel, having been nearly five years a wife, was about to become a mother. At length, on the morning of Monday, the 13th of November, a few hours before sunrise, lights glanced from the windows of the castle; the drawbridge was lowered; the tramp of horses sounded on the causeway; and messengers rode forth to carry to city, and town, and cathedral, tidings that an heir had been born to the English throne. Some days later, the ancient chapel of St. Edward was opened, and the royal infant was carried to the bap¬ tismal font; where, in presence of a noble company and seven godfathers, Cardinal Arnold, the papal nuncio, per¬ formed the ceremony. The Count of Evreux, Isabel’s uncle, was present on the part of Philip the Fair, and both the queen and the count were anxious to name the infant Louis; but the king said, ‘ My son must be called after his grandsire,’ and the heir of England received the names of Edward Louis. After the christening of Prince Edward, the Ivingand Queen of England accepted an invitation to visit the court of France. Before going, Isabel exercised all her influence to terminate the discord between her husband and the barons. Edward, though softened at the time, was not much inclined either to forget or forgive. However, Cardinal Arnold and the Count of Evreux, taking counsel with the young Earl of Gloucester, contrived to accommodate matters; and arrange¬ ments were made for settling all disputes formally in Parliament. Isabel, having so far succeeded in her object, accompanied her husband to the continent; and, having visited Guienne, they repaired to Paris; where, while being magnificently entertained, they were deluded with the project of a new crusade. At that time Philip the Fair had just plundered the ISABEL THE FAIR. 19 knights of the Temple; and, to atone for the cruelty with which he had pursued the military monks to get at their wealth, he promised to undertake an expedition for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. Amidst the festivities that welcomed the coming of Isabel and Edward, the cru¬ sade was uppermost in everybody’s mind. The French king, the princes of the blood, and many of the nobles took the cross, and the ladies vowed to accompany their lords to the holy war, as in other days Eleanor of Guienne had accompanied Louis the Young, and Margaret of Provence Louis the Saint. Edward, considering the state of England, ought to have been the last man to dream of going to Asia; but the young king was not moderate in his potations. Indeed, a chroni¬ cler describes him as * given much to drink, which made him oftentimes bewray his own secrets.’ Probably when indulging in golden cups brimful of ruby wine, and elevated with the juice of the grape, he felt some vague ambition to emulate the exploits of Eichard Coeur de Lion, or of his own mighty sire. In any case, Edward having, among others, assumed the cross, and pledged himself to go to the Holy Land, returned with Isabel to England, to learn that nearer home he had a duty to perform which would brook no delay. In fact, the truth could no longer be concealed, that while he had been celebrating his marriage, and contending with his barons to save Gaveston, affairs north of the Tweed had reached such a stage that nothing but a great effort could save Scotland to the English crown. When the first Edward died, in July 1307, at Burgh-on- the-Sands, Eobert Bruce, the Norman Earl of Carrick, had for more lhan twelve months been pursuing his patriotic object of restoring independent sovereignty in Scotland Great, however, were his difficulties ; slight his successes; awful his reverses. But he did not despair, for he knew well how old and infirm the King of England was; he calcu¬ lated with confidence on death soon claiming its prey; and 20 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. he glowed with anticipations of triumph on hearing that. Edward had breathed his last, after ordering his bones to be carried before the English army into Scotland.* ‘More easy,’ exclaimed Bruce, as his noble Norman countenance was lighted up with hope, ‘ more easy will it be to wrest a kingdom from the second Edward, than it was to gain half a foot of land from the first; and,’ added he, perhaps remembering, not without sadness, that he was the adopted son of the benefactor whom he had opposed, ‘ I more fear the bones of the dead king than I do his living heir.’ Bruce’s view proved correct. Young Edward had little relish for the rude warfare which the Scots carried on ; and in 1313, when the king, after taking the cross at Paris, with Isabel, landed in England, no place in Scotland, with the exceptions of Stirling and Dunbar, remained in possession of English subjects. It was under such circumstances that Adam Gordon, and Patrick, the great Saxon Earl of Dun¬ bar, came to the English court to implore succour, and that Edward promised to relieve them without delay. Before undertaking an expedition against the Scots, however, Edward recognised the expediency of a full reconciliation with his barons; and Isabel, whose inclination to play a part in affairs of state grew yearly stronger, undertook to mediate. Accordingly, in October 1313, a par- * ‘ When he perceived that he could not recover,’ says Froissart, ‘ he called to him his eldest son, who was afterwards king, and made him swear by the saints, in presence of all his barons, tha^as soon as he should be dead he would have his body boiled in^Iarge cauldron until the flesh should be separated from the bonea that he would have the flesh buried and the bones preserved, and mat every time the Scots should rebel, he would summon his people and carry with him the bones of his father; for he believed most firmly that as long as his bones should be carried against the Scots, these Scots would never be victorious. His son, however, did not fulfil what he had sworn, but had his father carried to London and buried; for which much evil befell him.’ ISABEL THE FAIK. 21 liament was held at Westminster, and an impressive scene enacted. The king, the queen, and the barons appeared in Westminster Hall, in presence of the populace; and Isabel, having acted as mediator, Edward received the submission of the barons, and formally pardoned all con¬ cerned in the murder of Gaveston. But in this business there was much delusion, and in a few months disputes were renewed with such heat, that Lancaster and others declined to accompany their sovereign to Scotland. The king, however, had already received a grant from parliament for the war ; and, having left Isabel at Eltham, he, at the head of an anny of a hundred thousand men, early in June 1314, passed the gates of Berwick, and, accompanied by his brothers-in-law, Ralph Lord Monthermer and the Earl of Hereford; his cousin, Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pem¬ broke ; his nephew, Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, and by Giles de Argentine, a knight of St. John who had won great fame in the crusades, and in the wars of Henry of Luxembourg, marched northward to encounter the Scots. It was the evening of Sunday, the 23rd of June, the eve of midsummer, when Edward, having marched towards Stirling, found the Scots posted on the margin of a rivulet known as the Bannockburn; and it was Monday morning when Bruce, against fearful odds, won that victory with wjrich his name is indissolubly associated. Never was a gallant army headed by a brave king more thoroughly routed than that of England. Some fell by the weapons of foes, others perished in the pits so skilfully dug, many were drowned in the rivulet, and twenty thousand Englishmen, including several hundred knights, lost their lives. Gloucester was beaten from his horse and slain; Hereford and Ralph Monthermer were taken prisoners; and Pembroke, seeing that all was lost, forced Edward from the field. Argentine might, without dishonour, have accom¬ panied the king southward, but exclaiming, ‘ ’Tis not my 22 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. wont to fly,’ he turned back, spurred into the middle of the Scots, and fell pierced with many wounds. Rumour soon carried to the men of the north of England intelligence of the defeat at Bannockburn ; and the ill news flying apace speedily ran through the country, and reached the queen in her palace, the malcontent barons in their castles, and the inhabitants of every town, and hamlet, and grange, that Edward the King,—Edward the Plantagenet,—Edward the son of him whose step was another man’s stride, whose right hand was strong alike to smite and to save, and w'hose name was loved in England and respected all over Europe and in the East,—was a fugitive, perhaps a captive or a corpse.* But though the English had lost a battle they had not lost a king. Edward, on leaving the field, closely pursued by Douglas, rode towards the Tweed. Dreading the peril of the way, however, he deemed it politic to take shelter at Dunbar, and, after recruiting his energies within the castle of the Cospatricks, embarked for Berwick, and from that Border town journeyed to York. While Edward was at York brooding over his disaster, and, when too late, endeavouring to redeem his error, Isabel had not only to deplore her husband’s terrible defeat, but to mourn the death of her father. In November 1314, Philip the Fair went the way of all flesh, and his eldest son Louis, who had previously worn his mother’s crown of * Barnes, in his History of Edward III., describing the exultation of the Scots after Bannockburn, says that they sang songs of triumph about their towns, and gives the following specimen: — 1 Maidens of England, sore may ye mourn, Eor your lovers ye have lost at Bannockburn, With heve a low! * What ho! weneth the king of England So soon to have won all Scotland, With a rumby low l* ISABEL THE FAIR. S3 Navarre, ascended the throne from which, in 987, Hugh Capet pushed the heir of Charlemagne. Meantime a calamity, more severe in its way than the defeat of Bannockburn, befell England, and made itself felt in the palace of the queen, as well as the cottage of the peasant. During the autumn of 1314, while the Scots, almost unchecked, were ravaging the north, the weather was wretched in the extreme. Rain fell in torrents. In vain the husbandman and the shepherd prayed for fair weather. Corn, unripened and unreaped, rotted in the fields; the flocks and herds, exposed to intolerable wet and cold, died of dis¬ temper on the hills and in the meadows. Next year matters became worse. The inundations had destroyed the seed, and in many places the hay was so long under water that it could not be mown. Plague came in the track of famine, and carried off victims by the thousand ; and England, scourged at once by war, famine, and pesti¬ lence, appeared to be on the verge of ruin. 1 Alas, on what evil days are we fallen !’ exclaimed men who recalled the peace and prosperity of the previous reign. ‘ Edward the old and the hoary lies in the tomb, and the world is going to ruin ! ’ When the aspect of affairs was so menacing, and when the dearth was such that provisions were with difficulty obtained for the royal household, Isabel was at Eltham, in that palace where Henry III. and Eleanor of Provence had in other days kept many a merry Christmas; and it was there that, in the midst of adversity and gloom, she gave birth to her second son, John of Eltham. Shortly after the birth of this prince the queen went northward to join her husband, whose difficulties were by no means diminishing. About the close of 1315, when the pestilence was carrying off thousands, Guy Beauchamp, Earl of Warwick, expired at one of his castles; and Lancaster, affecting to suspect that his confederate had been poisoned by the 24 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. friends of Gaveston, became more obstreperous than ever. Pretending that his enemies were favoured by the king, he absented himself from parliament, seized strongholds, and indicated, in a manner not to be mistaken, his determina¬ tion to defy the royal authority and set himself above the laws of the land. Hitherto Isabel had been treated by the potent earl as a friend; but now she had the misfor¬ tune to make him her enemy. Affairs, it would seem, had reached such a stage that everybody recognised the prudence of making friends ; and Isabel, doubtless feeling the necessity pretty strongly, took a step which led to important consequences. While the king and queen were at York, Richard Kellaw, Bishop of Durham, died; and, as his successor, the monks chose Henry of Stamford. Up to this time Isabel, warned perhaps by the example of Eleanor of Provence, had refrained from exercising her influence to advance her relatives, and Englishmen had no opportunity of complain¬ ing, as in other days, that ‘ England was devoured by the queen’s kindred.’ Nevertheless the royal house of Capet was not without representatives in this country. During the' thirteenth century Louis, one of the sons of Charles of Anjou, whose name as King of Sicily is associated with the Sicilian Vespers, espoused Agnes, heiress of Beaumont, in France. Louis and Agnes had two sons, who found their way to England,—Henry, Viscount Beaumont, who held great possessions, and Louis de Beaumont, who was an ecclesiastic and treasurer of the church of Sarum. Natu¬ rally enough, Louis cast his eye covetously on the see of St. Cuthbert, and the queen, naturally enough also, inter¬ fered on behalf of her kinsman. ‘ My lord,’ said Isabel to her husband, falling on her knees, * I have never before asked anything for any of mine. If you love me, take such steps as that my cousin, Louis Beaumont, may be Bishop of Durham.’ ‘ Indeed ! ’ exclaimed the King, ‘ it is well thought of; ISABEL THE FAIR. 25 for, in truth, he is a'person peculiarly fitted to defend the marches against the Scots.’ Accordingly Isabel was gratified. Indeed no difficulty was found in bringing the business to a satisfactory con¬ clusion. Edward applied to the Pope; the King of France seconded Edward’s application; the Pope was willing to please the two kings; Louis became Bishop of Durham ; and the Beaumonts, doubtless feeling grateful to Isabel, were ready to do her a good turn when opportunity occurred. But Lancaster, who had been all anxiety to have his own chaplain elected to the see, was much annoyed; and, regarding the queen with dislike as the person by whose influence he had been baffled, he resolved, when occasion served, to let her feel his enmity. While Isabel was thus making new friends and new foes, she was losing relatives near and dear. In June 1816 her brother Louis, King of France, died, and was succeeded by Philip the Long; and in February 1317 her aunt, Mar¬ garet, Avidow of Edward I., expired at Marlborough Castle, and Avas laid at rest in the church of the Grey Friars, Avliicb she had founded in London.* It was at the festival of Whitsuntide, shortly after the death of Queen Margaret, that Edward and Isabel, while keeping their court at Westminster, were startled by an incident of which the gossips of the period did not fail to make the most. While the king and queen were dining publicly in Westminster Hall, a woman, fantastically at¬ tired and mounted on horseback, entered, and riding round the table, delivered to Edward a letter, wherein was signified the great neglect he showed of such as had done him and his father noble service, and taxing him with advancing men of unworthy parts. * Margaret left two sons — Thomas of Brotherton, Earl of Nor¬ folk and Earl Marshal of England, born 1300; and Edmund, Earl of Kent, born 1301. 26 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. In fact, not a month passed without something occurring to rekindle the war between the king and the barons. At this period Edward sustained a serious loss. Robert Bruce, who had long had his eye on Berwick, sent Randolph and Douglas to seize that town. The attempt of the Scots succeeded; and Edward, eager to regain so important a stronghold, summoned his fighting men, left the queen in Yorkshire, and, in July 1319, marched northward, accom¬ panied by Lancaster. Hard by the river Aire, and about a mile from Ferry¬ bridge, stands the little town of Brotherton, with a church dedicated to St. Edward, in which repose many of the war¬ riors slain in the skirmish that preceded the battle of Towton. Hunting one day in the neighbourhood in 1300, Queen Margaret was obliged to take refuge in the town; and in a house, the site of which, near the church, tradition still indicates, she gave birth to her eldest son, Thomas of Brotherton, afterwards Earl of Norfolk. To this place, associated with the memory of her aunt, Isabel, who had recently become the mother of a princess, named Eleanor, retired to pass her time with her children and in peace as she hoped, till her husband’s return. She was much mis¬ taken in her anticipations. It was autumn; Edward was before Berwick; and Isabel was at Brotherton, when rumours crept southward that Lan¬ caster, either bribed by the Scots, or actuated by malice to¬ wards the king, had deserted the camp with all his forces, and that a Scottish army was rapidly approaching York. At first this could hardly be credited; and Yorkshiremen laughed at the idea of an invasion in such circumstances. But, ere long, the truth came out. In fact, William Melton, Archbishop of York, having seized a Scottish scout, wrung from him the information that Randolph and Douglas were within a few miles with ten thousand men, and that they intended to seize the queen. Startled, as ho . well might be, at the nearness of the danger, the archbishop ISABEL THE FAIR. gathered an army to encounter the Scots, and Isabel fled to York. But the archbishop was routed at Milton-on-the Swale, and the queen, feeling the reverse of secure in York, removed to Nottingham. Meanwhile Edward, discouraged by Lancaster’s desertion, and alarmed at an inroad which placed Isabel in such jeopardy, abandoned the siege of Berwick and set his face southward, with the hope of meeting Douglas and Randolph on their return and avenging the outrage they had com¬ mitted. But the invaders, warned of his purpose, changed their route, and, loaded with spoil, regained their own country. For awhile after this Edward was at peace with Scotland; but he had his hands full at home. Lancaster daily be¬ came more unreasonable, and matters daily became worse. At length, the cloud which had been so long gathering burst. When the baroijs insisted on nominating the officers of the royal household, Lancaster appointed as chamberlain to the king—but in reality as spy on the king’s actions—a young gentleman on whom he believed he could depend. The individual, indeed, seemed well qualified for the post. His name was Hugh Despenser; he was son of Hugh Despenser, an Anglo-Norman lord ; and he was grandson of Hugh, Lord Despenser, who figured as Justiciary of Eng¬ land in 1264, during the domination of the baronial oli¬ garchy, and who fell with Simon de Montfort on that August day, in 1265, when the great Edward crushed the baronial oligarchy as a potter’s vessel. Moreover, the young Despenser, while not deficient in courage, was highly ac¬ complished, and sufficiently learned in the arts of a courtier to wind himself around the king, as ivy creeps round the oak it is destined to destroy. Unhappily, Edward, in defiance of all prudence, made Despenser his bosom friend. Untaught by severe experi¬ ence, the king united the new favourite in marriage Avith 28 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Eleanor de Clare, sister of the lady whose hand had been given to Gaveston ; and, not content with this, elevated his father to so high a position that the nation expressed loud discontent, and the barons, on the Welsh marches, in 1321, took up arms. Lancaster, enraged to find himself like a woodcock caught in its own springe, headed the insurrec¬ tion, and sent from St. Alban’s peremptory orders to the king at Westminster, to banish the Despensers beyond sea. Edward hesitated. On learning, however, that the malcon¬ tents, f all clothed in green, but their right hands yellow,’ were marching on London, he became pliant; and Lancaster, having reached Westminster, held an assembly of barons, and, without the concurrence of prelates or commons, con¬ demned the Despensers to perpetual exile, and sent them out of the country. Such was the position of affairs,—the Despensers in exile, the king in doubt, and the barons in arms,—when, in the autumn of 1321, Isabel resolved on a pilgrimage to the shrine of Thomas a-Becket, and left Westminster for Canterbury. Intending to rest for the night at Leeds, a royal castle on the river Lea, in Kent, she sent forward messengers to intimate her purpose. But she found that there was a lioness in the way. In fact, Leeds Castle, which formed part of the dower of Queen Margaret, had, on the death of that princess, been entrusted by the king to Bartholomew Badlesmer, a baron of high rank and of such wealth that he was known as ‘ the rich lord Badles¬ mer ; ’ and he, ‘ having joined the party of Lancaster, had just taken divers soldiers out of the castle of Leeds, and thence marched to Canterbury with nineteen knights, having linen jackets under their surcoats, all his squires being in plate armour, and so went to the shrine of St. Thomas, to the great amazement of the townsmen.’ * Before going, however, he gave the castle in charge of his spouse. * Dugdale’s Baronage. ISABEL THE FAIR. 29 The Baroness Badlesmer was Margaret, aunt and coheir of Thomas, son of Richard de Clare, and a lady of defiant spirit and a dauntless heart. Probably, she had been warned against any attempt on the part of the royalists to gain possession of Leeds. At all events, when the queen’s marshal appeared, and stated that Isabel intended to pass the night there, Dame Margaret treated the message with much disdain. ‘ The queen,’ said she, 1 must find a lodging elsewhere ; for into this castle I admit nobody during my lord’s absence without letters from him.’ In vain Isabel rode forward to remonstrate. 1 Nobody,’ cried the dame, ‘ shall enter here without letters from my lord; ’ and, with little ceremony, she gave a signal to the archers and slingers, who obeyed so promptly that several of the queon’s attendants were slain. Isabel was not, at this time, charitably disposed towards the barons of England. It was believed, indeed, that Lancaster had not only been privy to the design of Douglas and Randolph, but that he had actually sold her to the Scots, and sent them towards Brotherton; and she had not, by any means, forgotten the circumstances that caused her flight from Brotherton to York, and from York to Nottingham. Her reception before Leeds castle roused all her anger; and, on returning to the king, she demanded revenge. Never was Edward in a better position to deal with his enemies. In the absence of the Despensers, his failings were forgotten; and Lancaster’s treachery, his dealings with the Scots, and his lawless and arbitrary conduct, were generally reprobated. Every circumstance promised success to the royal cause in case of the king striking a decisive blow; and he lost no time in gratifying Isabel’s desire for vengeance. For once, the spirit of the great Edward seemed to so NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. animate his son, and Isabel’s heart beat in accord with that of her husband. Mustering an army, Edward braced on his armour, mounted his war-steed, and marched to Leeds Castle. The indomitable spouse of Bartholomew Badlesmer shouted defiance. But it was now no war of words. Resistance was vain; the fortress was taken ; and the dame was sent, with her children, to the Tower. Elate with success, Edward was not inclined to leave his work incomplete. Indeed, he had scarcely a choice; for the barons were in arms, and Isabel was urging him, with all her eloquence, to put them down with the strong hand. Having spent his Christmas at Chichester, where his father had often resided in a house since converted into a grange, the king sounded his trumpets, and took the field at the head of his army. Isabel now luxuriated in the prospect of triumph over Lancaster and Badlesmer and the barons. Fortune, indeed, favoured her husband as she had never favoured him before. Many who had reluctantly taken part with the barons, came to the royal standard ; and others, who had been foremost in rebellion, surrendered to the king’s mercy. Lancaster, greatly dis¬ mayed, left Gloucester, with Robert, Lord Clifford, and the Earl of Hereford, and marched northward, in hopes of being supported by the Scots. He had been dreaming of another Lewes at a time when England was much more likely to witness another Evesham. Edward was in no humour to give up the game, or to allow the escape of an enemy by whom, for years, he had been exposed to cruel mortifications. Accompanied by the Earls of Angus and Athol, captains of skill and ex¬ perience, and looking no unworthy representative of the royal house of which he was the head, he came up with the rebels at Burton-on-Trent, attacked them with energy, routed them, and drove them in disarray from the field. Recovering from their fright, and still trusting to their alliance with the Scots. Lancaster. Clifford, and Hereford ISABEL THE FAIR. 31 continued their march northward. At Borough Bridge, however, they were stopped by Andrew de Hartcla, governor of Carlisle, and made a last struggle, in which Hereford fell. But Edward was again upon them; and their efforts were vain. Surrounded and beaten, Lancaster fled into a church; and, having been taken prisoner with Clifford and many other lords, he was conveyed to York. Nothing could have been more complete than the king’s victory. Indeed, he was master of his kingdom, and in a fair way to prosper. Even the execution of Lancaster and his confederates, Clifford, Badlesmer, and others who were sentenced by a court martial at York, might have been regarded by the nation as a necessary severity. But he immediately forgot himself so far as to recall the Despen- sers, and not only allowed them to gorge themselves with the spoils of the Lancastrians, but created the elder Des- penser Earl of Winchester. A strong reaction in public feeling was the consequence of the king’s impolitic conduct. Many who had loudly denounced Lancaster as a traitor now pretended to regard him as a patriot, and to believe that miracles were wrought at his tomb; and, while ‘ much resort was made to his picture hung up in St. Paul’s Church,’ no person in England was more ready to render him the honour due to a martyr than the queen. Moreover, Isabel, who hated the Despensers with a perfect hatred, began thoroughly to dislike her husband for the favour he showed them. For a time, the quarrel of Isabel and her adversaries was confined to the court, and not made so public as to give scandal to the nation. Ere long, however, circumstances brought the affair to a crisis. On the 23rd of January, 1322, Philip the Long died, and Charles the Fair, Isabel’s youngest and only surviving brother, ascended the throne of France. Immediately, events took a trim, which could hardly fail to lead to strife. Charles, in 1323, renewed with Kobcrt Bruce a league of amity into which his ?2 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. father, Philip the Fair, had entered with John Baliol; and, at the same time, he took advantage of Edward’s delay in doing homage for Guienne and Ponthieu to threaten an invasion of these provinces. Probably, the Queen of England was not without reason suspected of fomenting the quarrel. In any case, a desperate struggle between the younger Despenser and Isabel took place at that period. Despenser triumphed ; and Isabel, finding that her French attendants were dismissed, vowed vengeance. ‘ In the palace of my husband,’ wrote she to her brother, ‘ I am of no more consideration than a servant.’ 1 It is out of the question,’ said Despenser, when he became aware of this epistle, 1 for Cornwall to remain in possession of a woman who corresponds with the enemies of the state.’ While, therefore, Charles of France, indignant at his sister’s wrongs, was indulging in menaces at Guienne, Despenser deprived Isabel of Cornwall. As for Edward, his fate was already sealed. Between an intriguing wife and an unscrupulous favourite, the unfortunate king was daily brought nearer to the verge of ruin, and the queen availed herself of her feuds with Despenser to quarrel with a husband whom she had ceased to love. ‘ I will not admit my lord to my presence,’ she said; and when Edward submitted, she exclaimed, ‘ Behold how this Despenser has deprived me of the love of my lord.’ In fact, Isabel had now a favourite of her own. During the year 1322, she had taken up her residence in the Tower of London at the time when her second daughter, Joan, was born. But the Tower was a prison as well as a palace ; and, almost under the same roof with the queen, there was living in captivity the man destined, as years passed, to lead her on, step by step, to deceit, crime, shame, and insanity. It was Roger Mortimer. The Mortimers were lords of Wigmore and Ludlow, and of high account among the Anglo-Norman barons. One ISABEL TIIE FAIR. 33 of them came into England with the Conqueror; another wedded Maude, daughter of William Clito, the heir of Robert Curthose; and in the barons’ war, Roger Mortimer, chief of the name, took part with the third Henry against Simon de Montfort, and urged on by his wife, Maude de Braose, heiress of Brecknock, rendered valuable ser- vices to the royal cause at the time when the struggle was brought to a decisive issue at Evesham. Enjoying, in consequence, high favour at court, they obtained for their son Edmund the hand of Margaret de Fendles, a Spanish lady, who was kinswoman to Eleanor of Castille; and, when Edmund died in 1303, Roger, Edmund’s son by Margaret de Fendles, succeeded as lord of Wigmore and Ludlow. At the time when his father was laid at rest among his ancestors in the church at Wigmore, Mortimer was little more than sixteen. On reaching manhood, he was united to Joan, daughter of Peter Joinville, lord of Trim in Ireland, and nephew of the celebrated chronicler of St. Louis’s crusade, and knighted by Edwafd I. on that day when the honour was conferred on the Prince of Wales; and accompanying the king northward, he gave an early proof of his restless and insubordinate nature. In fact, lie left the royal army without permission, and exposed himself to the inconvenience of having his lands seized by the sheriff. His punishment, however, was not prolonged. Queen Margaret having interceded in his behalf, King Edward relented ; and Mortimer, pardoned and restored, lived to ruin the reputation of Margaret’s niece, and to take the crown from the head of Edward’s son. Meanwhile, Mortimer did good service as a knight, and bore himself bravely in the wars of Wales, of Scotland, and of Gascony. At the time when Edward Bruce, King Robert’s brother, invaded Ireland, he was entrusted with the government of that country, and signalised his term of power by driving all the Lacies to Scotland. Returning 34 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. to the marches of Wales, and observing the increasing power of the Despensers, he took up arms with the Earl of Hereford, and, afterwards, marched with Lancaster to London, when the malcontent earl came to insist on the banishment of the Despensers. But after the siege of Leeds castle, Mortimer, whether pricked by hereditary loyalty, or convinced that the rebellion would prove a failure, went to the king and endeavoured to make his peace. Not placing much faith in Mortimer’s promises, however, Edward sent him to the Tower; and it was there, while passing weary hours in melancholy musing, that the captive Marchman bethought him of insinuating himself into the queen’s good graces. At that date, Isabel was in her twenty-sixth year, and in full possession of those charms which fascinated contem¬ poraries, and justified Froissart in ranking her as ‘ une des plus belles dames du monde.’ The descriptions of Edward’s French spouse which have come down to us, and the statuette which exists to confirm their accuracy, represent her as a woman with a full but graceful form, a fair face, long drawn features, brown hair, dreamy eyes, laughing lips, and an expression in which Spanish gravity and French gaiety seem to struggle for mastery. Array such a woman in the dress of the period, the chaperon, coin- toise, and particoloured garments which were fashionable two centuries later; surround her with her damsels and ladies of honour, and with such ceremony as the wives of lings then observed; and you will perhaps have some idea of the discontented daughter of Philip the Fair and Joan of Navarre, as she appeared in the gardens of the Tower, when Mortimer caught glimpses of her from the window of his prison. Mortimer was not a man to content himself with wor¬ shipping at a distance, as an Indian worships his star. By some means or other he obtained an interview, with the hope of interesting Isabel in his fate. Not more than Isabel the fair in the gardens of the Tower. —P. 34 ISABEL TIIE FAIR. 35 thirty-five, handsome, gallant, and audacious, perhaps he scarcely doubted about making an impression. His suc¬ cess, however, was much more signal that even he could have anticipated; and ere long he had the satisfaction of enlisting the queen’s whole heart and imagination in his cause. It appears that Mortimer was, at this time, under sen¬ tence of death, and that Isabel, having exercised her influence so effectually as to have the sentence changed to imprisonment, told the captive to live in hope of freedom. But Mortimer, not being gifted with that patience which, according to the Arab proverb, is the price of all felicity, and animated by a haughty and turbulent spirit that brooked no restraint, involved himself in new troubles by organising, in captivity, a plan for seizing Windsor and Wallingford. In consequence, he found himself, a second time, in the predicament of being doomed to die. It was this time beyond the power of the queen to save him ; but, most probably at her instigation, Louis Beaumont, Bishop of Durham, exerted himself so successfully as to obtain a reprieve; and of this circumstance Mortimer made such an excellent use that, one day, the king, while at Lancaster, learned that the captive had escaped. Edward ground his teeth in bitter rage; and instantly issued orders which he believed would ensure Mortimer’s recapture. Not only were the sheriffs of English counties and the bailiffs of English seaports commanded to levy ‘ hue and cry,’ and take the fugitive dead or alive, but strict injunctions were sent to the seneschal of Gas¬ cony and the constable of Bordeaux to make diligent search for him, and instantly to seize him if by chance he ventured to set foot in their territories. More¬ over, Mortimer’s dame, Joan Joinville, Avas arrested at Ludlow, and, at the same time, three of his daughters. The king caused Joan to be conveyed to the Castle of Skipton in Craven, ‘ alloAving her only one waiting Avoman, c 5G NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. an esquire, a laundress, a groom, and a page and sent one daughter to a convent in Norfolk, a second to a convent in Lincoln, and a third to a convent in Bedford. But Mor¬ timer was not to be found. Neither the sheriffs of the counties, nor the bailiffs of the seaports, nor the seneschal of Gascony, nor the constable of Bordeaux, made anything of the search; and the only result of enquiry as to his escape was to prove that it had been very cunningly devised and very courageously executed. At the time when Mortimer was immured in the metro¬ politan fortress, Sir Stephen Segrave was constable of the Tower, and Gerard Alspath was jailer. Finding that his life was in extreme danger, but resolved not to lose hope without an effort to save himself, Mortimer invited the constable to a banquet, and contrived, by drugs administered in his wine, to render him utterly unconscious of what was taking place around him. Having so far succeeded, Mor¬ timer, with the aid of the jailer, broke through the wall of his prison, got into a kitchen, made a ladder of ropes, climbed up the chimney, lowered himself from the roof by means of the ladder, and safely reaching the ground passed through the sentries without being discovered, and finding a wherry under the walls of the Tower crossed the river, leaped ashore, mounted in haste, and riding with all speed to Hampshire reached the coast, and embarked for France. Ere Mortimer’s escape from the Tower, the dispute between Edward and Charles the Fair had assumed a warlike aspect. In the autumn of 1324, the French in¬ vaded Guienne ; and Edward, having sent a force to oppose their progress, was preparing to cross the sea, when Isabel, professing much anxiety for peace between her husband and brother, offered her mediation. Edward thereupon intimated to the Pope his intention of sending the queen as ambassador to France; and, in March 1325, she embarked at Winchelsea, and landed at Boulogne. ISABEL THE FAIR. 37 After remaining two days at the abbey of that town, in which, seventeen years earlier, her marriage had been celebrated, Isabel set out for Paris; and Charles the Fair, on being informed of her approach, sent Robert of Artois, Lord of Crucy, and other men of rank, to meet her. When she entered the capital and reached the palace, Charles rose, took her in his arms, kissed her, and gave her a hearty welcome; and when she, with tears and lamenta¬ tions, narrated all her sufferings, the King of France promised her redress. ‘ Fair sister, be appeased,’ he exclaimed. ‘ By the faith I owe to God and St. Denis, I will provide a remedy.’ ‘ My lord and brother,’ said Isabel, kneeling down, ‘ I pray that God may second your intentions.’ It was necessary, however, to throw dust in Edward’s eyes; and Isabel soon announced that she was bringing to a successful issue the business on which she had come to Paris. On this point, of course, the difficulties were easily surmounted under the circumstances; and, on May 31, 1325, a treaty of peace was concluded. Edward, however, was not alert in paying the homage for Guienne and Ponthieu, and the French court, having suggested that his son might perform the ceremony in his stead, the Prince of Wales, then in his thirteenth year, embarked at Dover, and soon reached Paris, to be used as an instrument in hurling his father from the throne of his ancestors. No sooner had the Queen of England been installed at the French court, and been joined by her son, than she prepared to execute her projects of revenge. At first she was cordially supported by her brother, who, a short time after Isabel’s arrival, summoned his barons to Paris. ‘ What, my Lords,’ he asked, ‘is most proper to be done in this business of my sister, the Queen of England ? ’ ‘ Sire,’ replied they, ‘ the queen should be allowed to purchase friends and assistance in the kingdom of France, and she should be assisted underhand with gold and silver, 38 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. tlie metals wherewith the love of gentlemen and poor soldiers is acquired. But it is well that you should appear ignorant of the enterprise, lest you should incur the enmity of the King of England, and bring a war on your king¬ dom.’ Charles the Fair acceded to the advice of his lords, and Isabel enlisted the services of many lords, knights, and esquires, who engaged to carry her back to England in triumph. About the same time, the barons of England sent to inform the queen, that if she could collect a thousand men-at-arms, and land with her son at the head of them, they would obey her as their lawful sovereign. Isabel hastened to Charles the Fair, and the French king, after reading the letter she had received, spoke to her in accents of encouragement. ‘ God be your help,’ he exclaimed, ‘ your affairs will prosper so much the better. Take of my subjects as many as your friends desire. I freely give my consent, and I will order the necessary sums of money to be distributed among them.’ So far all went smoothly. But the business which took the Queen of England and the Prince of Wales to Paris being settled, Edward naturally expected his wife and son to return home. In this, however, he was disappointed. Isabel had no such intention ; and when Edward wrote to the prince to return to England, he found his epistolary efforts of no avail; for the royal boy was wholly under the influence of his mother, and Isabel was under the influence of Roger Mortimer, who had found his way to Paris to aid in her projects. But Mortimer’s presence soon excited a baneful influence on her affairs. Rumour, indeed, whispered such tales of the Queen of England and the exiled March- man, that even Charles the Fair could not but blush. Gradually, as the scandal grew stronger, he became cold towards Isabel; as time passed, he refrained from holding any correspondence with her; and at length, under the ISABEL TEE FAIR. 39 influence of a mandate addressed to him by the Pope, ho commissioned Robert of Artois to communicate to her that she must forthwith leave his kingdom, or he would make her depart with shame. 1 Madam,’ said Artois, when he informed the queen of her peril, 1 1 recommend you to set out for the Empire, where there are many noble lords who may greatly assist you; particularly William, Count of Hainault, and his brother John, who are both great lords, and much dreaded by their enemies.’ Isabel now saw that she must be gone. She, therefore, ordered her baggage to be packed up; and having, with her son, left Paris, she took the road to Hainault, and entered the country of Cambray. ‘ When she found she was in the territories of the empire,’ says Froissart, ‘ she was more at her ease, passed through Cambresis, entered L’Ostrevant in Hainault, and lodged at the house of a poor knight, called Sir Eustace Ambreticourt, who received her with great pleasure and entertained her in the best manner he could. . . . ‘ The arrival of the queen in Hainault was soon known in the house of the good Earl of Hainault, who was then at Valenciennes: Sir John, his brother, was also informed of the hour Avhen she alighted at the house of the Lord of Ambreticourt. This Sir John, being at that time very young, and panting for glory, like a knight-errant, mounted his horse, and, accompanied by a few persons, set out from Valenciennes for Ambreticourt, where he arrived in the evening, and paid the queen every respect and honour. 1 The queen was at that time very dejected, and made a very lamentable complaint to him of all her griefs ; which affected Sir John so much, that he mingled his tears with hers, and said : “ Lady, see here your knight who will not fail to die for you, though every one else should desert you. Therefore will I do anything in my power to conduct you and your son, and restore you to your rank in England by 40 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. the grace of God and the assistance of your friends in those parts. And I, and all those whom I can influence, will risk our lives on the adventure for your sake, and we will have a sufficient armed force, if it please God, without fearing any danger from the King of France.” ‘ The queen, who was sitting doAvn, and Sir John stand¬ ing before her, rose, and would have cast herself at his feet, out of gratitude for the great favour he had just offered her. But the gallant Sir John, rising up quickly, caught her in his arms, and said, “ God forbid that the Queen of England should ever do such a thing! Madam, be of good comfort to yourself and company, for I will keep my promise, and you will come and see my brother and the countess his wife, and all their fine children, who will be rejoiced to see you ; for I have heard them say so.” The queen answered, “ Sir, I find in you more kindness and comfort than in all the world besides, and I give you five hundred thousand thanks for what you have said, and offered me.” ‘ After this conversation, Sir John de Hainault took his leave and went to Douay, where he slept at the abbey. The next day, after having heard mass and taken some refreshment, he returned to the queen, who received him with great joy. She had finished her dinner, and was going to mount her horse when Sir John arrived. The Queen of England quitted the Castle of Ainbreticourt; and, in taking leave of the knight and his lady, she thanked them for their good cheer, adding that she trusted a time would come when she and her son would not fail to remember their courtesy. ‘ The queen then set off accompanied by Sir John, who with joy and respect conducted her to Valenciennes. Many of the citizens of the town came out to meet her, and received her with great humility. She was thus intro¬ duced to William, Earl of Hainault, who, as well as his countess, received her very graciously. The queen re- 41 ISABEL THE FAIE. mained at Valenciennes during eight days with the good earl and his countess, Joan of Valois.’ Meanwhile, John ot Hainault engaged knights and squires to take part in his adventure. In vain Count William expressed doubts and fears. Nothing could subdue John’s chivalrous enthusiasm. 1 1 can die but once/ he said ; ‘ the time is in the will of God; and all true knights are bound to aid, to the utmost in their power, all ladies and damsels who are comfortless and forlorn.’ Accordingly the preparations were completed; and Isabel, having taken leave of the count and countess, left Valen¬ ciennes, embarked at Dordt with Roger Mortimer and John of Hainault, commended herself to the care of God, and, setting sail for England, landed on September 24, 182G, at Orwell, in Suffolk. Soon after she was joined by Henry, Earl of Lancaster, Thomas, Earl of Norfolk, Edmund, Earl of Kent, Henry, Viscount Beaumont, and several bishops, and by so many nobles, knights, and gentlemen, with their forces, that all apprehension of danger began to vanish. When Isabel landed at Orwell, Edward was in London; and every man who comprehended the crisis, and possessed the faculty of calculating chances, perceived that with the church, the barons, the princes of the blood, the queen, and the heir to the crown arrayed against him, the king was on the brink of ruin. In his mind, however, 1 hope the charmer ’ still lingered ; for he believed that he could count on the national sympathy and popular support which, in 1297, had enabled his father to triumph over one of the mightiest combinations ever formed against a wise and patriotic ruler. But influences, of which Edward was hardly aware, were at work. In 1323, Adam Orleton, Bishop of Here¬ ford, a bad and unscrupulous man, had been implicated in Lancaster’s insurrection, and brought to trial. Orle¬ ton, however, being a bishop, refused to answer, and the 42 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. prelates, rising in a body, removed him from the bar, and placed him under protection of the Primate. Not to be baffled, Edward caused Orleton to be tried in his absence; and Orleton, having been found guilty, was deprived of his property, and forced to submit. But he vowed vengeance ; and, while intriguing and plotting to bring about Edward’s ruin, he so poisoned the popular mind with accounts of the royal failings, real and imaginary, that the poor king’s weaknesses were the theme of every tongue. Edward was not aware of the prejudices that had been excited ; and, after offering a reward of a thousand pounds for Mortimer’s apprehension, he endeavoured to rally the Londoners to the royal standard. However, the attempt proved a signal failure; and he, having entrusted the Tower to his second son, John of Eltham, and Walter Stapleton, Bishop of Exeter, rode out of London, attended by Chancellor Baldock, journeyed westward, and sought security at Bristol, a place with strong walls, and a for¬ midable castle. The Earl of Arundel and the elder Despenser remained in the town ; the king and the younger Despenser took possession of the castle. On learning where her foes were, Isabel lost no time in marching to Bristol, and laying siege to the place. Nor was her patience exposed to any severe trial. Alarmed at the queen’s power, the townsmen offered to surrender; and Isabel entered, seized the elder Despenser and the Earl of Arundel, and, having put Despenser to death, laid siege to the castle. At this stage, Edward perceived that all was lost, and in his despair, bethought him of an escape to Wales. With this view, he embarked with Despenser in a little boat, and put to sea. But fortune proved unfavourable. Suspicion was excited, and Hugh, son of Viscount Beau¬ mont, following in a barge, brought the boat back, and delivered the ill-fated king and Despenser to the woman who thirsted for the blood of both. ISABEL THE FAIL. 43 From Bristol, Isabel marched to Hereford, and there she avenged herself on Despenser and Arundel, by causing them to be executed. Edward’s hour had not yet come ; and he was committed to the custody of the Earl of Lan¬ caster to be imprisoned at Kenilworth. The queen then proceeded to London; and, after being welcomed with shouts of joy by the multitude, who, since Edward’s de¬ parture, had seized the Tower and torn the Bishop of Exeter to pieces, she summoned a parliament. On January 7, 1327, Isabel’s parliament met at West¬ minster, and deposed the king. His trial was, of course, a mockery; the articles contained no specific charge of misgoveminent; and no evidence was adduced. Never¬ theless, when Bishop Orleton gravely put the im¬ portant question ‘ whether King Edward should reign over them,’ not a voice was raised in the royal captive’s favour, and Sir William Trussel, a justiciary, who had presided at the mock trial of the Despensers, renounced, in the name of the'parliament of England, all allegiance to the unhappy man. It was the object of Isabel, in deposing her husband, to raise her son to the throne, and, in conjunction with Mor¬ timer, to govern England in the name of Edward III. An unexpected obstacle, however, presented itself. The prince, though not fourteen, was gifted with intelligence; and, with a vague suspicion that something was wrong, he positively refused to accept the crown without his father’s consent. Commissioners were, however, sent to Kenil¬ worth, and returned with intelligence that the unhappy captive had not only endorsed the warrant for his own deposition, but that he was comforted by the people of England accepting his son as their sovereign. Isabel noAV caused the Prince of Wales to be pro¬ claimed king; and on Sunday, the 1st of February, 1327, he was crowned at Westminster. It was not intended, however, by the queen and Mortimer, that the young king A\ NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STONY. should exercise any real power; and, under the circum¬ stances, they deemed it politic to distract his attention from English affairs by an expedition against the king of Scots, who had just declared that he intended, in the event of not having a final peace on his own terms, to invade England, notwithstanding the truce between the kingdoms. Accord¬ ingly, preparations were made; the king, under the auspices of Isabel and Mortimer, went northward in May ; and at York, he was joined by John of Hainault, who, at their invitation, came to England with a body of horse to take part in the expedition. At York, the fighting men of England gathered around the royal standard; and never had the capital of the north worn a gayer aspect. Isabel and young Edward lodged at the house of the Black Friars, and the army about the city. But John of Hainault and his men en¬ joyed the best quarters. The knight occupied the monas¬ tery of the White Friars; and the Hainaulters had the handsomest suburbs of the city assigned to them. Every¬ body appeared to be passing the time pleasantly; when suddenly the men composing the army destined to fight the Scots disturbed everything like harmony by a battle among themselves. It was Trinity Sunday; the king and queen were keeping their court at the house of the Black Friars, and Isabel gave a banquet in the dormitory, where 1 might bo seen a numerous nobility, wine well served, with plenty of strange dishes, so disguised that it could not be known what they were; and ladies most superbly dressed, who were expecting with impatience the hour of the ball.’ Soon after dinner, however, arose as great an uproar in York as if the Scots had been at the gates, and to the festive board came intelligence that an affray was taking place between the Hainault yeomen and the English archers. Immediately the foreign lords and knights left the court, and hastened to their quarters. But the English ISABEL THE FAIIt. 45 archers were no respecters of persons, and shouting * Down with the outlandish men,’ they aimed at masters as well as servants. Fierce was the strife about the hedges and enclosures, and afterwards in the streets and squares, and it was not till many archers fell, and many of the Hainaulters were wounded, that order was restored. Even then the English shewed so much resentment, that it required vigilant care on the king’s part to restrain the bowmen from a new attack.* For weeks after this affray the English army remained at York. At length, in July, the Scots under Douglas and Randolph entered England, passed Carlisle, and, marking their march with the usual devastations, penetrated through Cumberland into Northumberland, and thence into the wild and mountainous parts of the bishopric of Durham. Edward, leaving Isabel and the ladies of her court at York, marched northward to encounter the invaders; but the expedition, about which so much work had been made, came to nothing. Avoiding a battle, the Scots con¬ tinued to ravage and burn; and Edward, in spite of his eagerness, could not bring them to an engagement. On one occasion his life was in the utmost peril. One night when the Scots were encamped in Stanhope Park, Douglas suddenly crossed the Were with two hundred horse, entered the English camp, forced his way to the royal tent, * ‘It was supposed,’ says Froissart, ‘that this affray was occa¬ sioned by the friends of the Spensers and the Earl of Arundel, in revenge for their having been put to death by the advice of Sir John de Hainault. ... If this unfortunate quarrel had not happened, they would have passed the time very pleasantly; for there was such plenty in the city and surrounding country, that during more than six weeks, while the king and the lords of Eng¬ land, with upwards of 40,000 men-at-arms, remained there, the provisions were not dearer. Good wines from Gascony, Alsace, and the Rhine were in abundance and reasonable; poultry and oth( r such provisions at a low price; hay, oats, and straw, of a good quality and cheap, were delivered at tlioir quarters.’ 46 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. cut some of the cords, killed the king’s chaplain and chamberlain, and had almost succeeded in reaching the king, when the alarm was given and he was under the necessity of retreating. After this exploit Douglas and Kandolph availed themselves of ‘ a dark moonless night ’ to cross a morass hitherto deemed impassable, and retreat to their own country. It was the last time that the Scots were to get off on such easy terms. Not much pleased, probably, with the result of his first attempt at war, Edward repaired to Durham. After resting in that town for two days, he led his army back to York, where he found Isabel, ‘ who received the king and nobles with great joy, as did all the ladies of the court and city.’ The English army was then disbanded, and John of Hainault and his men having been conducted to Dorset, embarked for the continent, and landing at Nassau, made a pilgrimage to ‘ our Lady of Boulogne,’ and then went to their own country. While young Edward was learning his apprenticeship in warfare, and Isabel was keeping her court at York, the captive king in his prison at Kenilworth was resigning himself to his fate. In his dungeon, however, he was haunted by a strong desire to see the queen and the prince; and at times he spoke to the jailers in such a tone that the tears ran down their rugged cheeks. ‘ Wherein,’ he asked, ‘ have I offended Isabel, my wife, and Edward my son, whom they have now made king, that neither of them will now let me speak with them, not even so much as let me see their faces ? ’ ‘ Most worthy Lord,’ replied the jailers much affected, * be not displeased if we declare the truth to your Highness. It is because they are both made to believe that you intend to strangle them if you get them into your power.’ 'Alas! alas!’ exclaimed the incarcerated monarch, * am I not here a prisoner in your power and at your dis¬ posal ? God is my witness, I never had such a thought. ISABEL TIIE FAIR. 47 Would to God I might leave this world at once and end all my fears and troubles.’ * His wish was soon to be gratified. During the expedition against the Scots, Edward had been doomed by Isabel and Mortimer; in the autumn of 1327 arrived the hour of his destruction. Before proceeding to the last extremity, however, they resolved upon removing the captive from Kenilworth to Berkeley Castle, and placed him in the hands of Gourney and Maltravers, two men who were not likely to be scrupulous. As he was led out from Kenilworth and past the granges of the castle, Gourney placed a crown ol straw on his head, and the soldiers mocking him, said, ‘ Fare forth, sir king.’ After suffering other indignities at the hands of his new keepers, Edward found himself in the Castle of Berkeley. But, unscrupulous as Gourney and Maltravers were, some warrant was necessary to embolden them to venture on regicide. This Orleton contrived to furnish, and, after writing to chide them for giving the captive too much liberty, and not doing the service that was required of them he concluded with the equivocal line— Edwardum occidere nolite timere bonum est. This, while furnishing a sufficient excuse to himself m case of need, furnished a sufficient warrant to Gourney and Maltravers, and they hesitated no longer. On the night of September 22, 1327, the people about Berkeley Castle were awakened from their sleep by piercing cries that seemed to come from the lips of a human being in the last stages of mortal agony. When morning dawned it was bruited about that Edward had suddenly expired, and the massive gates of the castle were thrown open that people might come and see with their own eyes. The corpse bore no marks of violence ; but the distorted features # Barnes’s Edward III., p. 19. 48 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. and tortured countenance told as plainly as words could have done that a crime had been committed, and the public indignation could not be repressed. Nevertheless, so great was the fear entertained of Isabel and Mortimer, and their worthy coadjutor, Bishop Orleton, that there appeared some probability of the murdered king being denied Christian burial. At this stage, however, Thokey, Abbot of Gloucester, attended by his monks and a procession from the city, had the courage to go and claim the body. Observing all possible respect, the abbot placed the corpse in his own chariot, which was drawn by white stags to the abbey, and there, with all befitting ceremonies, committed to the dust. As miracles had been reported to be wrought at the tomb of Lancaster, so miracles were now reported to be wrought at the tomb of Edward; and people flocked in such numbers from various parts of England with offerings, that the money sufficed to rebuild the south aisle of the church. It was while this popular homage was being rendered to the memory of the murdered king, that Isabel and Mortimer, in January 1328, held a parliament at York, and received commissioners appointed by Robert Bruce to treat of a final peace with the Scots. Many of the chief men of the kingdom, however, absented themselves, and little business could be transacted. Nevertheless, the young king was persuaded to sign a deed renouncing all claim to sovereignty over Scotland, and to appoint com¬ missioners to treat at Edinburgh of a marriage between David Bruce, son of the King of the Scots, and Joan, the daughter to whom Isabel had given birth at the time of her residence in the Tower. Isabel and Mortimer were gratified with the success of the negotiation at Edinburgh, and in April 1328, they held a parliament at Northampton to confirm the treaty. Many of the magnates again absented themselves; but those who were present sanctioned the treaty, and so grave 49 ISABEL THE FA IB. •was the discontent in consequence, that the Earl of Lan¬ caster, in conjunction with the Earls of Norfolk and Kent, the king’s uncles, Henry, Viscount Beaumont, and many other nobles, assembled their forces with the object of pull¬ ing down Mortimer from the high place he so unworthily occupied. But the project utterly failed. In fact, Lan¬ caster, deserted by the king’s uncles, was obliged to submit; Beaumont, with three of his confederates, was under the necessity of escaping to the continent. Mortimer now seemed to have put all enemies under his feet; and, having caused himself to be created Earl of March, he began to affect a state more than royal. In order to make friends, he united one of his daughters to John, Lord Hastings, and another to Edward, son of the Earl of Norfolk. Carrying the king in his train, he made a pro¬ gress to Ludlow and Wigmore, and held Bound Tables, in imitation of Arthur. ‘ He is in reality a king,’ people remarked: ‘ Only the king of Folly,’ said his eldest son Geoffrey. Returning from the marches of Wales, Mortimer, with a retinue of nine score of knights, richly caparisoned, each attended by esquires and gentlemen, accompanied Isabel to Berwick, to which town the queen-mother, in July 1328, conducted her daughter Joan. Randolph and Douglas, in the absence of Robert Bruce, who was then sick unto death, appeared to receive the royal bride; and the prin¬ cess, who from the circumstances of her marriage was called Joan Makepeace, carried northward the Ragman’s Roll, and other evidences of the right of the English kings to sove¬ reignty over Scotland. Naturally enough, her arrival on the Border excited much interest, and the crowds who flocked to see her as she crossed the Tweed gazed with admiration on Isabel’s splendid cavalcade, the long train of horses, the ladies with merlins on their wrists, and the men in glittering mail and rich surcoats. Never had they wit¬ nessed a more magnificent display. But Mortimer, with 50 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. Lis nine score of knights, outshone all rivals, and haughty was the Marchman’s glance as, side by side with Isabel, he rode along, rejoicing in his triumphs, and little antici¬ pating the fate which he had by his crimes and follies prepared for himself. For the present, however, Mortimer was in some degree safe. Indeed an event, fraught with most important conse¬ quences, occurred to delay the day of retribution. Early in February 1328, Charles the Fair, the youngest of Isabel’s three brothers, breathed his last, without male issue; and Edward, as son of Isabel, claimed the vacant throne. The French, however, decided in favour of Philip, son of Charles of Valois, brother of Philip the Fair, who, relying on the Salic law, urged his right as heir-male of the Capet kings; and Edward, who, without denying the validity of the Salic law, pleaded that it did not, in regard to succes¬ sion, bar the sons of king’s daughters, so far acquiesced in the judgment as, at the instance of Isabel and Mortimer, to go to Amiens, and do homage for Guienne and Ponthieu. But he performed the homage with reluctance ; and when he returned to England, he became aware that the nation regarded his homage as an act of humiliation.* Soon after this a rumour crept abroad that Edward II. was still alive, and a prisoner in Corfe castle ; and the Earl of Kent, repenting of the part he had taken in the deposi¬ tion of his brother, went to Corfe castle, and ordered the governor to conduct him to the presence of ‘ Sire Edward.’ A parliament being held at Winchester, in March 1330, Kent was arrested, convicted on a charge of conspiracy, and executed as a traitor. But as it was supposed that the earl had been inveigled into his enterprises by the artifices * ‘Many in England,’ says Froissart, ‘murmured that their king should do homage to Philip, who had not so near a right to the crown of Franco as himself. Neither the king nor his council was ianorant of this.’ ISABEL THE FAIR. 51 of Isabel and Mortimer, his sentence caused so much indig¬ nation, that the headsman declined to do his office, and the condemned prince remained four hours on the scaffold before anyone could be found to enact the part of executioner. At length a malefactor, who seems also to have been a lunatic, was brought from the Marshalsea, and, having been promised pardon on condition of undertaking the duty, beheaded Kent amidst the execrations of the multitude. By the judicial murder of the Earl of Kent, Mortimer, whose arrogance had long given great offence, became the object of general hatred; and rumours ran that Isabel, who shared the unpopularity of her paramour, was likely, ere long, to furnish such conclusive evidence of her adultery as could not fail to convince the least credulous. ‘ The whole country,’ says Froissart, alluding to the' execution of Kent, 1 were much concerned at it, and bore an illwill to the Lord Mortimer ever after. Not long after, great infamy fell on the queen-mother, whether with just cause or not I am ignorant; but it was commonly said that she was with child, and in this was the Lord Mortimer inculpated. The king was likewise informed that the Lord Mortimer had been the author of all the charges respecting the Earl of Kent, and consequently was the author of his death, through jealousy, and that the whole country believed him loyal and honest.’ Now it was that Edward, awaking as if from a dream, became aware of the scandalous iniquity of the system to which for years he had given the sanction of his name, and began to ponder how he could free England and himself from a degrading tyranny. In his perplexity he sought the counsel of John Stratford, Bishop of Winchester, a wise and good man who had faithfully served the king’s father when to do so was perilous, and to William Montacute, a young knight, whose ancestors had held high rank since the Conquest, and whose descendants were to hold still higher rank in centuries to come. By the advice of Stratford, D ba NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. and with the aid of Montacute, Edward prepared to take strong measures. It was the autumn of 1330, and parliament having been summoned, met at Nottingham. Isabel and Mortimer took up their residence in the castle, and many nobles came to the city; but they came in no serene humour. A scowl sat on many a countenance; and ‘ an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth,’ was on many a tongue. Mortimer soon became aware that he was no longer safe, and on the afternoon of Friday, October 19, he proclaimed to the council, in the royal presence, that a plot was formed against himself and the queen-mother, and that to this plot the king was privy. Edward, taken aback, and perhaps apprehensive as to his own safety, denied the charge. Mortimer treated the king as a liar, and took precautions to guard against surprise. Edward, with his blood boiling, proceeded with the execu¬ tion of his project. Nor had he any serious reasons to fear for its success. Montacute had already enlisted the aid of Sir William Eland, and several other knights on whom he could rely; and they had discovered a subterranean passage, with stairs through the rocks to the keep, which Mortimer was in the habit of using when he paid secret visits to Isabel, and which is still known as ‘ Mortimer’s hole.’ On the evening of the day when Mortimer accused the king before the council, Isabel had retired to her chamber ; and Mortimer in the next room was engaged in serious deliberation with Henry Burgersh, Bishop of Lincoln, and other adherents. No danger was apprehended ; for the keys of the castle were, as usual, under the queen-mother’s pillow, and the door of the chamber was guarded by Hugh Turpiiton and John Monmouth, knights whose fidelity was secure. It is probable that Mortimer and his confederates were devising measures to defeat the king’s plot, when sud¬ denly the clash of swords silenced their voices, and Monta¬ cute and his comrades, having overpowered Turpiiton and Monmouth, rushed in with stern determination on their ISABEL TIIE FAIR. 53 faces. It wa3 an awful moment. Burger sh stared in terror; Mortimer sprang to his feet; and Isabel, bearing tbe scuffle, rusbed from ber chamber, and, supposing that Edward was present, raised ber voice to save ber para¬ mour. ‘ My sweet son,’ cried she, ‘ spare our gentle Mortimer.’ ‘ Madam,’ replied Montacute, ‘ my lord tbe king is not here.’ ‘ But do him no harm,’ said Isabel imploringly, * for be is our worthy knight, our dearest friend, our well-beloved cousin.’ The queen’s entreaties were vain. In fact, Edward bad remained without, and Montacute, paying little atten¬ tion to the queen’s interference, with Eland’s aid, suc¬ ceeded in overpowering Mortimer, and, without delay, sent him off to tbe Tower of London. Edward now summoned a parliament to meet at West¬ minster on tbe 26th of November, and in that assembly articles of impeachment were exhibited against Mortimer. He was charged with the murder of Edward II., and other crimes. Parliament having declared him notoriously guilty, he was condemned without a hearing and sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn. The sentence was rigidly en¬ forced ; and his body, after hanging for two days and two nights on a gibbet, by the king’s command, was granted to the Grey Friars in London, who buried it in their church. Isabel was spared the exposure of a public trial; and if rumour erred not, she was in no state of mind to undergo such an ordeal. For some time, indeed, after Mortimer’s execution, Isabel was not heard of, and a belief prevailed that she had expired of agony on the day when Mor¬ timer hung on the gibbet. Whether it was the birth of a child or the fit of insanity reported to have been caused by the grief she experienced at the tragic end of the man for whom she entertained a criminal affection, that rendered absolute secrecy as to her whereabouts a 54 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. political necessity, it seems impossible to discover. But for some reason or other the existence of the queen- mother was shrouded in an impenetrable mystery. At length, when Edward had been king for several years, it became known that she had survived the day which wit¬ nessed the last throes of her paramour, and that she was still in the land of the living. A few miles to the north-east of King’s Lynn stands Castle Eising, once a considerable seaport, but now a small village with a church built in the Norman style, and dedicated to St. Lawrence. On the south side of the village are the ruins of a castle which was erected on a bold eminence, in 1176, by William de Albini, a high Anglo- Norman, who, by his marriage with Alicia, widow of Henry Beauclerc, obtained the castle and earldom of Arundel, and which was inherited from the Albini by Kobert de Monhalt, who possessed the fortress at the time when Edward III. was proclaimed under the auspices ol Isabel and Mortimer. It appears that Robert de Monhall and Emma his wife were not blessed with offspring ; and, being the last heir- male of his line, in May 1627, by a deed at Nottingham, he, in consideration of being paid the sum of ten thousand marks by the king, conveyed Castle Rising and other strongholds to the king’s mother. In 1829, Monhalt died, and in 1631, Emma his Avidow, by a deed dated in London, surrendered all her rights to the queen- mother, and died, and was buried at Shadguset. At the death of Emma, Isabel entered into possession of Castle Rising: and in 1334, Robert Morley, afterAvards King EdAvard’s admiral, Avhose mother Avas sister of Monhalt, confirmed the settlement made by his uncle in her favour.* At Castle Rising, accordingly, Isabel took up her resi¬ dence. Ere this, she had been deprived of her enormous * Blomfield’s Norfolk. ISABEL THE FAIR. 55 jointure : but she was furnished with the means of main¬ taining such a household as was considered decorous in the circumstances. ‘ The king,’ says Froissart, ‘ by the advice of his council, ordered his mother to be confined in a goodly castle, and gave her plenty of ladies to wait and attend upon her, as well as knights and esquires of honour. He made her a handsome allowance to keep and maintain the state she had been used to ; but forbade that she should ever go out or show herself abroad, except at certain times when any sIioavs were exhibited in the court of the castle. The queen thus passed her time there meekly ; and the king, her son, visited her twice or thrice a year.’ Indeed, Castle Eising seems to have been furbished with all the means and appliances likely to render banishment from the world tolerable; and, under ordinary circum¬ stances, Isabel might have learned to enjoy her seclusion. It seems that she endeavoured to seek the consolations of religion; but having lost, in the way she had done, such peace as the world can give, she was hardly likely to find that peace which the world cannot give; and one can imagine the widowed queen, deprived of the crown which she had worn, haunted by the spectre of a murdered husband, tortured by avenging memory and unavailing remorse, wandering through the halls of the Albini, seeking rest and finding none. But if Isabel sympathised with the ambition and took pleasure in the fame of her son, she could not have been altogether without consolation. Scarcely a year that passed over her head failed to increase his power and reputation; and, at the height of his grandeur, he con¬ tinued year by year to cheer the solitude of her retreat Avith his presence. Eecords still faintly preserve traces of Isabel’s residence at Castle Eising, and of the visits which Edward found leisure to pay to his widowed and forlorn mother. 56 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOET. In 1340, Isabel despatched her precept to John de Cokesford, mayor of Lynn, to send her eight carpenters to make preparations; and, in that year, both Edward and his queen made some stay at Castle Eising, as appears by the account rolls of Adam de EefFham and John de Newtoun, and a present of wine that was sent. In 1344, Edward was at Castle Eising ; and, from that place, he dates some letters to be presented by William, Bishop of Norwich, to the Pope at Avignon. In 1357, the king grants a safe conduct to William de Leith, a Scot, who went to Castle Eising to wait on the queen-mother. By that time Isabel was near her end, and on the 22nd of August, 1358, she drew her last breath at Castle Eising. Before her death, she expressed a wish that she should be buried in the church of the Grey Friars in London; to which, in other days, she had been a benefactress; and, accordingly, in November, her corpse was removed to the capital.* ‘ About this time,’ says Froissart, 4 the lady Isabella of France, mother of the king, died. The king ordered a most magnificent and pompous funeral for her at the Friars’ Minors, at which all the prelates and barons of England, as well as the lords of France, attended.’ Isabel was buried in the midst of a tomb of alabaster in the choir of the church, beneath whose roof rested the remains of Margaret of France her aunt, and of Eoger Mortimer her paramour. But notwithstanding her magni¬ ficent funeral, it is probable that her obsequies excited little interest among the people, who at that time were, in right of * * The king, by letters,’ says Blomfield, ‘ directed the Sheriffs of London and Middlesex to cleanse the streets of London, called Bishopsgate and Aldgate, against the coming of his mother’s body, and directed by another (Dec. 1), the treasurer and barons of the exchequer to allow 91. which the sheriffs had expended for that purpose.’ ISABEL THE FAIR. 57 her claims, devoting all their energy to the conquest of France. Indeed, most men of the generation that had wit¬ nessed Isabel’s coronation at Westminster, and many also of the generation that had cheered her on to her own and the second Edward’s destruction, and then branded her as ‘ the she-wolf of France’ for gratifying their prejudices of the hour, had disappeared; and, during her long seclusion at Castle Rising, the queen-mother had been almost as much forgotten by the English nation as if, guiltless of her husband’s murder, she had been lying by his side in the abbey of Gloucester. 58 ^IjUtpp nf Jfamaulf, of ^ircflanb. I T was the opening of the year 1328, and Edward IIT. was holding a parliament at York. At the same time the capital of the North witnessed a royal wedding. On the 28th of January, in presence of many English nobles, and a hundred Scottish magnates who had come southward to negotiate a peace, the boy-king, under the auspices of his mother and Mortimer, appeared in the minster, and there, in his sixteenth year, received the hand of Philippa, daughter of the Count of Hainault. The lady was some¬ what older than himself. On the occasion of Philippa’s marriage, the Court of England made a great display in her honour. The event, however, was not celebrated with general joy. Indeed, the alliance seemed the reverse of satisfactory to the nation. People complained loudly that money voted to carry on the Scottish war had been spent in the festivities at York ; they complained, moreover, that the match had been hastily made by the queen-mother and Mortimer for their own ends, and they talked with contempt of the parentage of the young bride. Of such complaints one, at least, was wholly unreason¬ able. Both through her father and mother, Philippa inherited the blood of kings'and emperors. Her father, William, Count of Hainault, derived his descent from the Carlovingian line; and her mother, Joan of Valois, was a PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 59 Capet, and sister of Philip of Yalois, who was just then beginning to figure as sovereign of France. Moreover, Philippa was fair to look upon, in the bloom of girlhood, with a rosy complexion and a tall figure, inclining, how¬ ever, to that fulness which appears in the likenesses of her that have descended to posterity. Nor was the alliance with Hainault any such sudden freak as some people represented. As early as the year 1319, Edward II. had thought of Count William’s daughter as a fitting bride for his son, and employed Walter Staple- ton, Bishop of Exeter, to furnish a correct report of the young lady’s appearance and character; and the result was, in both respects, satisfactory. 1 The damsel whom we saw,’ reported the bishop, ‘ has fine hair, between blond and brown; her head is well formed; her forehead high and wide; her head is well set on her shoulders ; her face rather narrow between her eyes, and the lower part of her countenance thin and more expressive than even her forehead; her eyes are brown, dark, and deeply set; her nose straight enough, except at the point, where it is a little thick and flattened, but not pug; the nostrils also large; her mouth is rather wide; the lips, and particularly the upper one, somewhat thick; the canine teeth, and those of her second set, are white enough, but the others not so white; the upper teeth pro¬ ject a little over the under ones, but this does not appear*, except in a very trifling degree; her ears and chin are fine; her neck and shoulders and all her limbs well formed, with¬ out any defect, and nothing to displease in any way that can be seen. 1 The damsel in everything much resembles her father; and, as appears to us, is in all things pleasing. She will be nine years of age at the next feast of the nativity of St. John; neither too tall nor too short for such an age ; and of a good carriage suitable to her rank. Much praised and much loved she is by her father and by her mother, and by NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. CO all the household, so far as we could perceive, learn, and judge.’* At that period, nothing was done to bring King Edward’s matrimonial project to a conclusion; but when years had passed over, and Isabel the Fair with her son visited the court of Hainault, the business was advanced a stage. In fact, while the prince was with his mother at Valenciennes, the youthful pair seem to have taken quite a fancy to each other, and to have manifested a decided relish for each other’s company. 1 Earl William,’ says Froissart, ‘ had at that time four daughters—Margaret, Philippa, Joan, and Isabella. The young King Edward paid more court and attention to * The original, which appears in Oliver’s Bishops of Exeter, runs as follows:— ‘Anno Domini mccc ” 0 decimo nono, et consecrationis Domini Walteri Exonieusis Episcopi anno undecimo. ‘ Inspeccio et descriptio filie Comitis Hanonie que vocatur Philippa, et fuit Kegina Anglie nupta Edwardo Tertio post Conquestum. ‘La damoisele que nous veymes si ad les chevaux assez beaus entre bloy et brun; la teste nette; le front long et lee, et se boute auques avant; le visage contre les deus oils plus estreit, et le visage contreval plus grelle et plus esclendre uncore que nest le front; les oils bruns, et auq’es noirs, et auq’es profond; le nees assez uni et owel sauve que a la poynte si cst grossett et auq’es platt, mes nient camus; les narilles auq’es larges; la bouche largette; les levercs et nomiement celle desouz grossett; les dentz que sunt chaynz et reerus assez blanks; et les autres ne sunt pas si blanks; les dentz desouz 6unt assis unpoi dehors ceux desus, mais ceo ne apert fors que mou poi; les orailles et le menton assez beaux; le col, les espaules, et tot le corps et membres contreval assez de bone taille et les membres bien fourniz sanz mahayn et rien ne cloce que hom puisse apercevoir; et si est bruno de qui reyn par tut et molt resemble au pere, et en totes autres choses assez pleisante si come il nous semble. Et sera la damoisele del age de IX. anz a la feste de la Nativite Seint Johan prochein avenir si come la mere dit. Ne trop grande, ne trop petite quant a tel age, et si est de beau port et bien aprise come a son estat, et bien proise et bien ame de pere et de mere et de tote la meignee, si avant come nous le poyons ver enquero et savoir.* PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 61 Philippa than to any of the others. The young lady also conversed more frequently with him, and sought his com¬ pany oftener than any of her sisters.’ No sooner was Edward seated on the English throne, than Isabel and Mortimer sent ambassadors to ask one of the princesses of Ilainault in marriage for the young king. The answer was satisfactory, and Adam Orleton, Bishop of Hereford, was despatched to select from among the count’s daughters the lady most likely to figure with credit as queen of England. The bishojj fixed upon Philippa; and, the pope having granted a dispensation, the princess, under the escort of her uncle, John of Hainault, left Valenciennes and her home, embarked at Wissant, landed at Dover, and, passing through London, journeyed to York. The marriage festivities over, John of Hainault took his departure from England. A few Hainaulters, however, remained with Philippa; ‘among whom,’ according to Froissart, ‘was a youth called Walter de Manny, to attend on and carve for her, who afterwards performed so many gallant deeds of arms, and in such different places, that they are not to be counted.’ Having kept the festival of Easter at York, Edward and Philippa moved soutlrward; and on Sunday, February 26, 1330, a short time before the judicial murder of Edmund, Earl of Kent, the queen was crowned at Westminster. Previously, however, she had taken up her residence at Woodstock ; and it was at that palace, on June 15, 1330, that Philippa gave birth to her son Edward, destined, as the Black Prince, to make himself the pride of England and the terror of England’s foes. By this time, King Edward, though still under eighteen, was weary of the yoke of his mother and Mortimer. It gradually became evident that affairs could not long remain as they were; and while Philippa was nursing the Black Prince at Woodstock, Edward, having consulted Stratford and opened his heart to Montacute, took the 62 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. steps that resulted in Mortimer’s execution at Tyburn, and Isabel’s seclusion at Castle Rising. About a year after the revolution which made Edward in reality a king, Philippa was visited by her mother Joan of Valois; and Edward proclaimed that a grand tournament should be held in London to celebrate the birth of the Prince of Wales, and that he and twelve other knights would appear as challengers. Accordingly, great prepara¬ tions were made; the lists were set up in Cheapside, and a gallery was erected at one end of the enclosed space for the accommodation of the queen and the ladies of her court. It was Monday, the 28th of September, the day after the feast of St. Matthew ; and the Londoners and the inhabitants of the adjacent counties having flocked to Cheapside to wit¬ ness the exciting spectacle about to be presented, Philippa, with the ladies of her court, took their places in the gallery, while a multitude of high-born dames and damsels might have been seen riding about arrayed, after the fashion of the reign, in parti-coloured tunics, Avith short hoods and liripipes wrapped round their heads, with girdles richly decorated with gold and silver, and with small SAvords, commonly called daggers, stuck through pouches before them. At the hour appointed for the opening of the tourna¬ ment, EdAvard, heading the challengers, rode into the lists, and looked a king of Avhom his people might Avell be proud. His form and face Avere all that could have been wished. He was six feet high, and admirably pro¬ portioned, Avith well-turned limbs, a comely face, a high nose, long and thoughtful features, a broAv expressive of rare intellect, and an eye that could captivate or command. It Avas good policy for such a sovereign to show himself publicly to his subjects ; and Edward must have felt such to be the case, as his appearance Avas hailed Avith shouts of applause. At this moment, hoAvever, loud shrieks suddenly rent PHILIPPA OF n A IN AULT. 63 the sky, and all eyes were directed towards the gallery occupied by the queen and her ladies. In fact, the scaffold, having been carelessly constructed, gave way, and, while the spectators shouted in alarm, the whole structure tumbled to the ground. At first, the fair occupants of the gallery were given up for lost. Fortunately, however, nobody was killed, nor was anyone seriously injured. Edward, much enraged, summoned the car¬ penters, and threatened them with severe punishment; but Philippa interposed, threw herself at the king’s feet, and pleaded so earnestly on behalf of the men, that Edward was pacified and induced to grant his pardon. Matters having thus been settled, the business of the tournament was resumed, and for three days the champions who were present exerted themselves to excel in deeds of arms. No doubt can be entertained that the scene at the tour¬ nament in Cheapside tended to make Philippa popular in England; and about the same time the young queen, pro¬ bably at the suggestion of her mother, set her heart on a scheme for enriching the country, which would, of itself, have sufficed to render the reign memorable in England’s annals. At that period, England had gradually grown rich in flocks and herds, and the wool was celebrated on the con¬ tinent ; but no great success had been achieved by the natives in manufacturing the article which they produced in abundance. Efforts had, indeed, been made by the kings of England to introduce the art. In the reign of the Conqueror, or of Henry Beauclerc, a body of Flemings, driven from their home by an irruption of the sea, had settled at Ross in Pembroke, and at Worsted in Norfolk; and introduced the manufacture that in the reigns of the third Henry and the first Edward made Norfolk famous for ‘ worsted stuff.’ Nevertheless, the great bulk of English wool was exported to Flanders, and the Flemings 64 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. grew rich on the manufacture of the article which the English produced. While such was the state of affairs, Edward induced parliament to pass a law prohibiting the exportation of wool, and declaring that workers of cloth, from whatever country they came, should be allowed to settle. At the same time Philippa invited Flemings to repair to her hus¬ band’s dominions, and some seventy Walloon families arrived in England to pursue their industry under the pro¬ tection of their royal countrywoman. Norwich and Bristol appear to have been the "towns that stood highest in Philippa’s favour, and profited most by the weaving of woollen cloth. In 1335, John Kemp and his countrymen established a manufactory at Norwich, and pursued their art with great vigour and success. In 1340, Thomas Blanket and others set up looms in Bristol, and, encouraged by the queen, on whom the town had been settled, made Temple Street their head-quarters, and rapidly increased in prosperity and wealth. But the manufacture was not confined to Norwich and Bristol. Bath speedily followed the example set, and the clicking of looms was ere long heard at Kendal, Sudbury, York, Worcester, Gloucester, in Berkshire and Sussex, and many other places throughout England. While Philippa was watching over the manufacture established under her patronage, England was not wholly occupied with the arts of peace. In fact, almost ere the act of parliament for encouraging manufacturing industry was in force, Edward, with seeming reluctance, was drawn into those wars with Scotland and France which occupied his attention almost to the close of his life. It seems that the matrimonial alliance between the heir of Robert Bruce and Joan * Makepeace ’ had scarcely been celebrated, when the hero of Bannockburn breathed his last, and the regents of Scotland were either unable or unwilling to fulfil the treaty. One clause especially, PHILirPA OF HAINAULT. 65 which guaranteed to English nobles restitution of estates possessed by tbeir ancestors north of the Tweed, was evaded. In vain Edward had earnestly endeavoured to settle the matter amicably; in vain he sent messenger after messen¬ ger with entreaties to the Scottish court. No satisfactory answer was returned; and Henry, Viscount Beaumont, who had married one of the co-heirs of John Comyn, Earl of Buchan; David, Earl of Athol, who had married Beau¬ mont’s daughter, Katherine; and Gilbert Umfraville, Earl of Angus, and many other men of high rank, finding that they could get no redress by peaceful means, resolved to right themselves with the strong hand. Before venturing on the enterprise, however, they communicated with Edward Baliol, son of John Baliol, King of Scots, and tempted him with hopes of obtaining the crown which was his by here¬ ditary right. For many years after the death of his father John, Edward Baliol lived in peace on his lands at Quimper, in France. About 1331, however, he attempted to rescue one of his servants from the officers of justice, and in consequence found himself the inmate of a prison. At that time, Beau¬ mont, being an exile and hanging about the court of Paris, interceded with Philip of Valois; and Baliol, released at Beaumont’s request, lent a ready ear ro his benefactor’s suggestions, and screwed up his courage to seize the Scottish crown. When actually invited, in 1332, he hired the swords of forty-five German knights and a few hundred men, and left France with a resolution to conquer. At this crisis, Edward was no doubt somewhat perplexed. A breach of the treaty with the Scottish court was not precisely what the husband of Philippa wanted. Indeed, he appears to have exerted himself strenuously to maintain the peace so solemnly negotiated, and to have done all that a King of England could to prevent a rupture. But, at the same time, a war with the Scots was not one which, for many reasons, Edward was likely to shirk in 66 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY tlie event of its being thrown in his way. He could not fail to remember that, since his grandsire died at Burgh-on- the-Sands, the English had been inclined to show the white feather, and that the Scots had carried matters with a high hand. It was not merely that a magnificent army had given way before rude and undisciplined ranks, and that an English king, turning his back on a lost field, had only escaped a degrading captivity by a humiliating flight. This was not the worst of the misfortune. The defeat at Bannockburn had left behind a most pernicious impression; and Englishmen believed to such a degree in the invinci¬ bility of the Scots, that hundreds of them were wont to shrink from conflict with a handful of the men whom the first Edward had chased like deer from the field of Falkirk. It was impossible for the English king, being what he was, to think of Bannockburn and Falkirk, without an ambition to wipe out the memory of one, and rival the glory of the other. Nevertheless, Edward steadily set his face against any attack on Scotland; and Baliol and Beaumont, finding that they could not pass the English marches, resolved to go by sea. Everything seemed to prosper. Collecting a fleet at Bavenspur, they set sail, entered theFrith of Forth, landed at Ivinghorn, marched towards Perth, routed a Scottish army on the 14th of August, at Dupplin Moor, seized Perth, and, in the abbey of Scone, crowned Baliol as King of Scotland. Having assumed the title of ‘ The Conqueror,’ Baliol sent to offer the King of England his homage, and the resto¬ ration of Berwick. Ere this, Edward had published a proclamation against the war, and even deprived Beaumont of his English estates. Moreover, he had planned an expedition to Ire¬ land to establish order in that distracted country, and a parliament was sitting at Westminster to deliberate on the expedition, when news arrived that Baliol had been suc¬ cessful in his enterprise, and that, in retaliation, ‘ certain PHILIPPA OF II AIN AULT. 67 Scottish nobles’ were preparing to invade the north of England. Edward, on hearing this, abandoned the idea of a voyage to Ireland, and summoning fighting men, moved northward to watch the movements of the Scots. Philippa accompanied her husband on this expedition, and put herself in the way of acquiring that knowledge of northern warfare which enabled her, fourteen years later, in the day of danger, to inflict a signal defeat on the ene<* mies of her husband and the country of her adoption. Meanwhile Baliol, defeated at Annan, fled to Lord Dacre at Gillesland; and Archibald, Lord Douglas, guardian of Scotland, setting all prudence at defiance, made an inroad by the west marches, and devastated thirty miles of country. This was enough. Such outrages could no longer be com¬ mitted with impunity ; and the fighting men of England having been summoned to meet at Newcastle, Edward and Philippa left Durham, and passed St.. George’s day on the banks of the Tyne. Marching northward, Edward pre¬ pared to lay siege to Berwick, and, meanwhile, provided for Philippa’s safety by placing her securely in the castle of Bamborough. Nowhere could have been found a place more likely to afford thorough security in ease of attack. Founded eight centuries earlier, on the sea-eoast over against the Fern Islands, by Ida the Flame-bearer, and by Ida named after his queen, it stood on a perpendicular rock, and looked solid as the rock it occupied. Protected on the land-side by a high and precipitous mass of stone, and on the sea-side by natural banks and defences, it was only accessible on the south-east, and, in that age, was deemed impregnable. Moreover, its ramparts com¬ manded an extensive sea-view of the Fern Islands, Holy Island, Berwick, and the long line of coast stretching to St. Abb’s Head ; and it might be considered no unpleasant place of retreat, when, in the month of May, Philippa, then twenty-three, was lodged within its walls. 68 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. Believing his spouse to be absolutely secure, Edward marched forward to Berwick, and sat down before that ancient town, in whose castle his grandsire had, in 1291, awarded the crown of Scotland to Baliol, and through whose walls he had, in 1296, charged on his good steed Bayard into the midst of a hostile garrison. Since that period, however, the place had been greatly strengthened ; and the young king resolved, instead of taking it by assault, to reduce it by a blockade ; and his plan seemed so certain of success, that the governor in despair implored the Scots to come to its relief. Eager to save a town of such importance from Edward’s grasp, Archibald, Lord Douglas, as Guardian of Scotland, raised a mighty army, and, accompanied by the high steward and chief nobles of Scotland, marched towards the mouth of the Tweed. But, instead of advancing to the relief of the garrison, they crossed the river in full view of their imperilled countrymen, and proceeded along the coast towards Bamborougli, believing that Edward, alarmed for his queen’s safety, would raise the siege of Berwick, and hurry to the rescue of Bamborougli. Philippa was no doubt somewhat alarmed when Douglas and the high steward advanced to Bamborougli, and, with expectations of being followed by the King of England, blocked up the fortress erected by Ida. But any appre¬ hensions on her part were unfounded ; and Edward treated their approach to Bamborougli with the calm indifference of a man who perfectly comprehended his own position, that of his queen, and that of his enemies. In vain they raged, threatened, and attacked. The young king would not abandon the object on which he had set his heart; and the Scots, finding they had to deal with a warrior not to be deluded by such devices, resolved to make the best of circumstances; and, screwing up their courage for a conflict, they retraced their steps, recrosscd the Tweed, and having on the 18th of July encamped at a PHILIPPA OF nAINAULT. 69 place named Bothul, near the eminence known as Halidon Hill, offered battle. Philippa no doubt felt greatly relieved when Douglas and the high steward drew off their forces. All ground for anxiety was not, however, removed; for she must have felt that a battle was imminent, and half feared that it might be liker Bannockburn than Falkirk. But ere long, messengers arrived with intelligence which banished all apprehensions. It was the 19th of July, 1338, the eve of St. Margaret’s day; and Philippa and her ladies were probably on the ramparts of Bamborough, looking northward with anxious eye, when Edward, accepting the challenge of the Scots, moved his army to Halidon Hill, and awaited the hour of triumph and revenge. Perhaps his patience might have been severely tested; but as the armies stood regarding each other, a huge Scot, named Turnbull, accompanied by a black mastiff, having advanced and defied the bravest of the English to single combat, was cut to pieces, with his dog, by Kobert Benhale, a young knight of Norfolk. In¬ furiated at the sight of their champion’s blood, as bulls are at the sight of scarlet, the Scots uttered a howl of rage, and charged up the hill. Terrible was their onset. But it was without effect. Firm stood the English bowmen; and fearful was the execution wrought by the shower of arrows with which they hailed the rush of their foes. A sangui¬ nary conflict ensued, Douglas and the high steward fell ,* and the Scots, beaten and terrified, gave way, and fled towards their own country with an impression, not soon to be effaced, that they had now T to deal with a king whose kingdom was not to be ravaged, and whose subjects were not to be butchered with impunity. Edward, profiting by his victory, now prepared to take possession of Berwick, and Philippa, leaving Bamborough, entered the town with her husband; and, having issued orders for public thanksgiving throughout England, the king 70 NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STORY. made a donation of twenty pounds a year to the Cistercian nuns, whose convent was near the field of victory. But, decisive as seemed the battle of Halidon Hill, Ed¬ ward soon discovered that it was but the beginning of a long and irksome war. David Bruce and his young queen, indeed, fled to France, and Edward, pursuing his victory, overran Scotland, restored Baliol to the throne, and put down all resistance. But no sooner was his back turned, than the Scots rose to vindicate their independence; and turned fiercely on Baliol and the nobles who supported his throne. At length, in 1335, while Baliol was in the south, David, Earl of Athol, being entrusted with the chief command in Scotland, while engaged in besieging Kil- drummy, was attacked and slain in a battle at Kilblain; and Viscount Beaumont avenged the death of his son-in-law with impolitic cruelty. Exasperated to fury, the Scots besieged Beaumont’s daughter, the widow of Athol, in the castle of Lochindores, and that lady sent to implore King Edward’s aid. Fortunately for Katherine Beaumont, Edward, during the siege of Lochindores, was in the north, and inspir¬ ing his adherents with a vigour before which the Scots were falling back in various quarters, when he received her message. Without delay he marched to her relief, raised the siege, brought off the widowed countess and her ladies, and having, to secure his conquests, repaired the castles of Edinburgh and Stirling, he crossed the Tweed to attend a parliament at Nottingham. When the year expired, and 1336 opened, Edward, finding that the Scots were again up in arms, marched northward to put them down. Having, during her hus¬ band’s absence, retired to Hatfield, in Hertfordshire, Philippa, at that palace, gave birth to her son, William of Hatfield. In September, however, when the king returned to England, she went northward to meet him at Durham, and there, albeit guiltless of any intention to offend, was < Madam,’ cried the monk, ‘ our patron saint would be highly offended if a woman, no matter how high her rank, should sleep in his convent. P. 71. » t ^ * . .. :f ' : ' ' ■ •• v, ; ... . . 1 • 1 v ■ *> 1 . • ’ i . ... . V - “■ - > 'V 7 ' . ' <; ;u v- i « ] J • ... • * t i PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT, 71 well-nigh committing an offence which, according to the monks, would have exposed her for ever to the wrath of their founder. It was the autumn of 1336 ; and it would seem, that ere Philippa, who had halted at York, reached Durham, Ed¬ ward had taken up his quarters in the priory, which was situated near the castle, and dedicated to St. Cuthbert. Plaving supped with her husband, the queen went to her chamber, and was on the point of retiring to rest, when she was alarmed by the monks, who came to the door in the utmost consternation. 1 What is the matter ? ’ asked Philippa in great astonish¬ ment. * ‘ Madam, madam,’ cried the monks, * our patron saint, during his life, sedulously eschewed the company of women, and highly offended would he be, if one—no matter how high her rank—should sleep beneath the roof of his convent.’ The monks, as it turned out, were doing no more than their duty. Nothing less than a special licence from the pope was, in that age, sufficient to sanction the presence of ladies in a monastery. Besides, on this occasion, a violation of the rule was regarded as peculiarly unfortunate; because it occurred in one of the religious houses dedicated to a saint who, in his lifetime, was of all others remarkable for his aversion to the proximity of the fair sex. Indeed, it is said of Cuthbert that he would not tolerate a milch cow in his neighbourhood, because wherever there was such an animal there must be a woman to milk it, and that, wherever there was a woman, there must be mischief. But right or wrong, Philippa did not wait to argue the question. Alarmed at the idea of having, even in ignorance, erred on such a point, and perhaps half dreading the anger of the offended saint, she hastily dressed, and hurried away to seek lodgings for the night in the castle. Soon after this adventure, Philippa’s father, William, 72 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. surnamed the Good, who had been ‘ exceedingly honoured during his life by all ranks of men,’ went the way of ail flesh, and was buried in the church of the Cordeliers at Valenciennes; her brother William, who had married Joan, daughter of the Duke of Brabant, succeeded as Count of Hainault; and her mother, Joan of Valois, retiring from the world, became a professed nun in the convent of Foun- taine au Tartres; while her sisters were the wives of Euro¬ pean princes, one having been married to the Count ot Juliers, another to the Emperor of Germany. The circle in which she had been reared being thus broken up, Ed¬ ward’s queen gradually came to consider England as her country, and, notwithstanding prejudice and her relationship to the house of Valois, won the reputation of being ‘ a most constant and true-hearted lover of the English nation. * Ere this, the relations between England and France had become such that war appeared probable Edward had never lost sight of his claim to the French crown; and Philip of Valois had kept up a continual irritation in the public mind of England, secretly furnishing the Scottish insurgents with men, arms, and engines of war. In order to avert hos¬ tilities, Edward sent the Bishops of Durham and Winchester to the Court of Tar is to treat with Philip and David Bruce; but the result of the embassy was very unsatisfactory. The King of France openly avowed his resolution of aiding the Scots to the utmost of his power, and fitted out a naval force, which captured some English ships at sea, plundered and ravaged Jersey and Guernsey, and burned Portsmouth. Enraged at such outrages, and encouraged by Robert d’Ar¬ tois, who, exiled from France, reached England disguised^ as a merchant, and availing himself of an insurrection of the Flemings, who, under Jacob von Arteveld, the famous brewer, had risen against the Count of Flanders and the King of France, Edward formed a league with the Flemings and the Emperor of Germany, and embarking at Orwell in July * Sandford. PHILIPPA OF IIAINAULT. 73 1338, sailed for Flanders. Philippa did not accompany her husband to the continent. No sooner, however, had Ed¬ ward formed his alliances, and taken up his residence at the castle of Louvain, than he sent to the queen that, 1 if she would come to him, it would give him much pleasure, for he should not be able to repass the sea that year.’ On receiving this message, Philippa, 1 with many of the nobility, and well accompanied by ladies and damsels,’ em¬ barked for Flanders, reached Louvain, and, while keeping her court with great state during the winter, gave birth to her third son, afterwards known as Lionel of Clarence. While Philippa was residing quietly at Louvain, and Edward was maturing his schemes, and causing gold and silver to be coined at Antwerp, Philip of Valois was not idle. Having secured the alliance of John, King of Bohe¬ mia, an old blind man, and persuaded the Pope to excom¬ municate the Flemings, he gathered an army and advanced to give the King of England battle. On the 18th of Octo¬ ber 1339, the two kings met face to face; but the French retreated without risking an engagement, and Edward, having assumed the title and quartered the arms of King of France, prepared to return to England ; and leaving Phi¬ lippa at Ghent, embarked at Antwerp and sailed for London. Meanwhile, England, during Edward’s absence, had suf¬ fered much from the descents of Quiriel and Bahucet, two French admirals, who attacked and plundered Southampton, Sandwich, Winchelsea, Kye, Dover, and Portsmouth, and captured several ships, among which was the ‘ Christopher,’ a magnificent vessel, built by the king and laden with stores for Flanders; and Edward, to guard his coasts, fitted out a fleet, and appointed Sir Bobert Morley his admiral. Having done this, he was ready to sail with forty ships, on board of which were many ladies, ‘ countesses, and baronesses, and gentlemen’s wives, who were' going to attend the queen,’ when he received the somewhat startling information that Philip of Valois had stationed Quiriel and Bahucet at Sluys 74 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. ■with a mighty armament, and positive orders, on peril of their lives, not to allow the King of England to land on the continent. Nothing daunted, Edward embarked at the Orwell, and, on Saturday the 24th of June, 1340, on approaching the coast of Flanders, ‘ saw so many masts standing before it that it looked like a wood.’ A furious battle then took place, and, for a time, was bravely maintained on both sides. At length victory inclined to the English; and the French, losing hope and heart, leaped from the ships, and attempted to save themselves by swimming. Many in con¬ sequence found a watery grave. The victory being com¬ plete, Edward, Avith his knights, set off on foot on a pilgri¬ mage to ‘ our lady of Archembourg,’ and then, mounting his horse, hastened to the queen. During EdAvard’s visit to England, Philippa must have been alarmed at the preparations making to preclude his return. However, she remained at Ghent, ‘ where she was often visited and comforted by Jacob von Arteveld, and other lords and ladies; ’ and in that town, at Midsummer, she gave birth to her fourth son, who Avas named John, and afterAvards, from the place of his birth, celebrated as John of Gaunt; and Avhen EdAvard, fresh from his naval victoiy, arrived, ‘ she received him with great joy and kind¬ ness,’ and presented him Avith the infant prince, Avho, in after days, Avas knoAvn to fame as ‘ time-honoured Lancaster.’ At this time Philippa’s brother, the Count of Hainault, aided by Jacob von Arteveld, was defending himself against Philip of Yalois. The temper of the King of France Avas the reverse of celestial; and none of his knights had courage to inform him that his mighty fleet was destroyed. A court jester, hoAvever, undertook the delicate duty, and began the business by abusing the English as coAvards and dastards. ‘ Why do you call them so ? ’ asked Philip, Avhose curi¬ osity was aroused. ‘ Because,’ replied the jester, * they durst not leap out PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 75 of their ships as our brave men did, when defeated off Sluys.’ Philip soon learned the whole ; and, flying into a violent rage, he retreated to Arras, and disbanded his army. Ed¬ ward, eager for a meeting, sent an offer to decide their dis¬ putes by single combat, but Philip declined the challenge. ‘ The message,’ said he, ‘ is addressed to Philip of Yalois, not to the King of France, and it cannot therefore be in¬ tended for me.’ As the year passed on, however, Edward laid siege to Tournay; and Philip came to the relief of the place, and an engagement appeared inevitable. But Joan of Valois, who, as sister of one of the kings and mother-in-law of the other, naturally desired to terminate the war, left her convent, and ‘ took great pains with both parties to make up a peace, so that they might separate without a battle.’ It is said that Ilobert, King of Sicily, renowned as an astrologer, warned Philip that misfortune awaited him if he fought with Edward. Philip, alarmed at such a prediction from such a man, was not eager for trying conclusions; and Edward, while unlikely to be much influenced by the royal astrologer’s prediction in his favour, was daunted by the want of money. Indeed, his continental allies had so thoroughly emptied his coffers, that he had scarcely the means of returning to Eng¬ land. Such being the state of affairs, Joan of Yalois suc¬ ceeded in bringing about a truce; and while Edward, somewhat crestfallen, returned to Ghent, and with Philippa and their sons sailed for England, Philip, now exultant, ‘ having settled, to his liking, part of his business, set out from Lisle, and took the road towards his good city of Paris.’ But Philip’s chuckling was premature, as he was ere long to learn to his bitter experience. Of the two kings, however, Philip had, at present, all the merriment to him¬ self. Edward was in no joyous mood, and the circumstances under which he set foot on English ground were by no means such as to cheer his spirits. It was near midnight on Thursday the 30th of November, 76 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. 1340, and silence, unbroken even by a warder’s tread, reigned in the Tower of London. In fact, the great metro¬ politan fortress was left unguarded. Nicholas de la Beche, the constable, had gone to visit some favourite dame in the city; and the warders, not above following the constable’s example, had wandered from their posts in search of adven¬ tures. All was still, and the night was at the gloomiest, when Edward and Philippa landed at the stairs. Never felt man more amazed than did the king when he found himself in the Tower, and discovered that the place was deserted. In great wrath he sent for Andrew Aubrey, Mayor of London, and, having summoned the ministers of state, he gave orders that all of them, with the exception of the chancellor, should be committed to prison. An untOAvard storm was the result of this violent proceed¬ ing. Many of the captive ministers were clergymen, and the Archbishop of Canterbury Avrote a letter, charging Ed- Avard Avith a violation of the great charter, threatening him Avith the thunders of the Church, and excommunicating the officers Avho had executed his orders. Ear from yielding, the king vindicated his conduct in a letter to the Bishop of London, and, having severely criticised the archbishop, threatened so strongly in the exercise of temporal authority to proceed against him as a rebel, that the primate thought proper to make his submission. At this period EdAvard Avas surrounded by difficulties that must have Aveighed heavily on his mind ; and it was probably while on the eve of visiting his mother Isabel, at Castle Bising, that at Philippa’s suggestion, and in the hope of forgetting, amid chivalrous recreations, the cares of Avar and politics, he proclaimed his intention to hold a tournament at Nonvich. Early in 1341, the king and queen proceeded to Norfolk, and in its chief toAvn, Avhich iioav ‘ resounded Avith the merry music of the loom,’ took up their residence in the monastery, Avhere they av ere joined by Chancellor Bourchier, Avho, though holding the great seal, I’HILIPPA OF nAINAULT. 77 was as brave a warrior as ever laid lance in rest.* In February, the lists were erected, and in presence of the king, the queen, and the chancellor, the tilting began; and steeds pranced, and banners waved, and the citizens and commonalty, whom the weaving trade had enriched, crowded to gaze and shout, while lances were shivered and knights unhorsed. Having presided over the passage of arms at Norfolk, Edward and Philippa went northward; and having kept the Christmas of 1341 at Melrose, returned by Berwick, where they kept the Easter of 1342; and the Scots being included in the truce with France, the king held a tourna¬ ment, to which many Scottish knights were invited.^ But every attempt on Edward’s part to cultivate friendship with his northern neighbours proved futile; and no sooner did David Bruce return from France, in June 1342, than he commenced a war which ended in signal deteat and a long captivity. Meanwhile, an event occurred on the continent which attracted the attention and awoke the ambition of England’s warriors. On the death of the Duke of Brittany, a war of succession broke out in that province between Charles of Blois and the Count of Montfort; and while Philip of Valois * ‘ The first lay chancellor was Sir Robert Bourchier, one of the most eminent soldiers of a most warlike age; and when Edward re¬ solved to put down the ascendency of the ecclesiastics by, inter alia, depriving them of the marble chair, he appears to have considered nothing but the shrewdness and energy of this stout knight, who might be relied on for boldly confronting the opposition of the lords spiritual, but who had in nowise been educated for judicial functions, had been “armed ” since boyhood, and accompanied the king in all his military expeditions.’ f ‘ The king,’ says Ridpath, ‘ came down from Melrose to keep his Easter at Berwick. He there held a tournament, wherein twelve Scottish knights entered the lists with as many English. At this tournament two of the Scottish knights were killed, and, on the side of the English, Sir John Twyford, a knight of the Earl of Derby.’ 73 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. took part with Charles of Blois, Edward espoused the cause of the Count of Montfort. The country was drained ot money; but parliament granted the king an aid of thirty thousand sacks of wool to carry on the war, and Edward despatched forces to Montfort’s aid, under Sir Walter Manny and Bobert of Artois. But their success was not decisive ; and Artois, having returned to England and died of his wounds, the king vowed to undertake an expedition in person; and, landing in Brittany, he pitched his camp before Yannes, and laid siege to that place. Ere Vannes could be taken, however, a truce was brought about by the interference of the pope; and on a Sunday, in August 1343, Edward landed at Weymouth, not perhaps without a conviction that his projects of conquest on the continent only exposed him to the inconvenience of being plundered, and to the ridicule of being fooled, by foreigners. Soon after returning from Brittany, the king applied himself to the institution of that order which marks the age of English chivalry. Upon new year’s day, Edward, having resolved to hold a grand Bound Table, in imitation of King Arthur, issued letters of protection for foreign knights, coming and going, to try their valour at solemn jousts at Windsor, on St. George’s day. 4 About this time,’ says Froissart, ‘ the King of England determined to establish an order of knighthood, consisting of himself, his children, and the most gallant knights in Chris¬ tendom. . . . He ordered it to be denominated “ Knights of the Blue Garter.” . . . lie summoned, therefore, all the earls, barons, and knights of his realm, to inform them of his intentions. . . . The king founded a chapel at Wind¬ sor, in honour of St. George, and established canons there to serve God, with a handsome endowment. . . . The cele¬ bration of the order was fixed for St. George’s day next ensuing, to be held at Windsor, 1344 ; and the queen was to be present, accompanied by three hundred ladies and PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 79 damsels, all of high ranks, and richly dressed in similar robes.’ When Edward had arranged the plan of the Order of the Garter, he placed it under the protection of the Holy Trinity and several saints, of whom the chief was St. George, whom his ancestors, the old Dukes ^of Guienne, had recognised as their patron. The order included twenty-five knights, and their dress consisted of a blue woollen mantle, lined with scarlet cloth; a surcoat of woollen cloth, narrower and shorter than the mantle, and fastened round the body by a girdle ; a hood of the same material as the surcoat; and on the left leg a garter of blue silk, embroidered with gold; with a scutcheon of St. George, and the motto of the order in letters of gold, and buckles, bars, and pendants of silver gilt. The laws and ordinances, however, were not duly enacted till 1349, when. Edward, in connection with the Garter and the Chapel of St. George, appointed the foundation of the military knights, originally known as 1 the poor Knights of Windsor.’ It appears from letters written by Edward at Castle Rising to be presented to the pope at Avignon, that in August 1344, the king was on a visit to his mother; and it also appears that the king and Philippa were about that pei’iod lodged in the Priory of Norwich, which 1 city was so much in favour with the queen, as to ask her to request the king for a grant of all his royal jurisdiction belonging to the fee of the castle, which she did accordingly, and obtained it.’ But all this time Edward’s ambition to seize Prance never slept; and while his imagination was excited with visions of battles won and fortresses taken, Philip of Yalois was, by his perfidy and cruelty, bringing about a crisis of which Edward was certain to avail himself. A tournament, it seems, was held in France, and thither, without misgiving, the knights of Brittany repaired. Philip, without assigning a cause, or giving the benefit of trial, caused twelve of them to be beheaded; and their 80 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. friends and kinsmen in a body rallied round the Montfort standard, and invited the English to come to their aid. Edward, though his pride had been fretting like the winds in the cave of iEolus, and though his ambition had been surging like the waves of the sea, must have hesitated But the temptation was strong; for the nation was clamorous for war, and people only asked the king not to be any longer cheated by foreigners. With his heart beating to the music of the hour, he sent his defiance to Philip, mustered an English army, and prepared to embark at Southampton for Gascony. At the same time bitter jests which passed between the kings deepened the enmity with which they now regarded each other. Philip instituted the Gabelle, a law which secured the monopoly of salt and salt-water to the royal treasury; and Edward continued to receive from parlia ment aids in wool to fit out his armament. ‘ Philip of Valois does now indeed reign by the Salic law,’ exclaimed Edward, when he heard of the impost on salt. ‘ By St. Denis ! ’ shouted Philip, when this was repeated to him, ‘ I can afford to laugh at the jests of a wool-mer¬ chant.’ ‘About this time,’ says Froissart, ‘ Sir Godfrey de Har- court, who had been banished from France, arrived in England. He was received by the king in his palace. . . . Soon after this, the king assembled a large fleet of ships at Southampton, and sent thither his men-at-arms, and his archers. About St. John the Baptist’s day, 1346, the king took leave of the queen; and, setting out, left her to the care of his cousin, the Earl of Kent. . . . He took the road to Southampton, where he tarried until he had a favourable wind, when he embarked with his whole army. On board the king’s ship were the Prince of Wales and Sir Godfrey de Ilarcourt. ‘ When they embarked, the weather Avas as favourable as the king could Avish to can-y him to Gascony; but the PHILIPPA OP HAINAULT. 81 third day the wind was so contrary, that they were driven on the coast of Cornwall, where they cast anchor and remained for six days and six nights. During this time, the king altered his mind with respect to going towards Gascony, through the advice and representations of Sir God¬ frey de Harcourt, who convinced him that it would be more for his interest to land in Normandy. . . . The king, who at that time was in the flower of his youth, and who desired nothing better than to combat his enemies, paid much attention to what Sir Godfrey de Harcourt, whom he called cousin, had said. He commanded his sailors to steer straight for Normandy. . . . ‘ When the fleet of England was all safely arrived at La Hogue, the king leaped on shore first; but by accident he fell, and with such violence that the blood gushed out of his nose. The knights that were near him said, “Dear Sir, let us entreat you to return to your ship, and not think of landing to-day, for this is an unfortunate omen.” The king instantly replied, “For why? I look upon it as very favourable, and a sign that the land is desirous of me.” His people were much pleased at this answer.’ Ere long news reached Philippa that Edward had, on landing, conferred knighthood on the young Prince of Wales; and that, guided by Harcourt, the English were ravaging France. Indeed, at this period the news became every day more exciting. One day brought intelligence that Edward had ravaged France up to the very gates of Paris; another that Philip of Valois had summoned his nobles, as well as John of Hainault and the blind king of Bohemia, to his aid; a third that the English were retreating towards Calais, before an army so much superior in number that their doom looked dark. Such tidings were not calculated to elate the nation ; and the face of everybody, from the queen to the peasant gathering in the yellow corn, wore an air of sad suspense. By the beginning of September, however, exultation 82 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. appeared on every face, and shouts of enthusiasm were heard in every city and castle and grange. By that time, news had arrived that on Saturday, the 26th of August 1346, Edward, having passed the Somme at Blanchtaque, had turned to bay, posted his men near the village of Cressy, ascended a windmill, and seen a mighty and magni¬ ficent army give way before his scanty ranks; that the English archers had dispersed the far-famed crossbowmen of Genoa; that the Prince of Wales, fighting in the midst of the knights and squires and yeomen of England, had utterly routed the chivalry of France and Germany ; that the blind King of Bohemia, maddened at the idea of yielding to a warrior in his teens, had placed himself with bridles interlaced between his knights, and fallen in a desperate charge; and that Philip of Valois—brave as he was—had been forced by John of Hainault to fly from the lost field, and fain to escape to the castle of Bray ; and that the English had' laid siege to Calais, with every prospect of winning the town. While the English at home were elate with the news of Edward’s victory at Cressy, and the English abroad were besieging Calais, Philippa was alarmed by rumours that David Bruce, encouraged by supplies of money and men from Philip of Valois, had assembled his magnates at Perth, and mustered a great army to invade England, with the object of forcing the king to raise the siege of Calais. On hearing this, the Queen of England moved northward to York to defend her husband’s dominions; and about the beginning of October, David Bruce, accompanied by the High Steward, Lord Douglas, and the Earl of Moray, en¬ tered England by the west marches, with an army consisting of many men-at-arms, knights, and squires, many men on geldings and galloways, and many foreigners, part of whom were Frenchmen, the others Genoese. But Philippa, at this crisis, did not fail in her duty to England and her husband. PHILIPPA OF HA IN AULT. 83 * When all the Scots were assembled,’ says Froissart, ‘they amounted together to about forty thousand combatants. But they could not make their preparation so secretly as to prevent news of it coming to the knowledge of the Queen of England, who had taken up her residence in the north, near the borders. She wrote and sent summons to all who were attached to the King of England to come to York by a certain day.’ Having, with the aid of the Archbishop of York, Edward Baliol, Lord Neville, and Lord Percy, got together sixteen thousand men, Philippa resolved to give the invaders battle. She therefore advanced to Neville’s Cross, near Durham, where David Bruce was encamped, and prepared with her handful of men to give battle to his numerous host. It was the morning of Saturday, the 17th of October 1346, when Philippa, on her palfrey, escorted by a strong guard, under the lords Ogle and D’Eincourt, rode along the English ranks, and exhorted every man to do his duty. ‘ The Queen of England,’ continues Froissart, 1 came to the place where her army was, and remained until it was drawn out in four battalions. The first was under the command of the Bishop of Durham and the Lord Percy; the second under the Archbishop of York and the Lord Neville ; the third under the Bishop of Lincoln and Lord Moubray; the fourth was commanded by Lord Baliol, governor of Berwick, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Lord Boos. Each division had its just proportion of men- at-arms and archers, as was expedient. 1 The queen now advanced among them, and entreated them to do their duty well in defending the honour of their lord and king, and urged them, for the love of God, to fight manfully. They promised her that they would acquit themselves loyally to the utmost of their power, and perhaps better than if the king had been there in person. The queen then took her leave, and recommended them to the protection of God and St. George. 84 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. ‘ The two armies were soon in motion, and the archers on each side began to shoot. But those of the Scots did not long continue it, whilst the English shot incessantly. When the battalions were got into close combat, the en¬ gagement was sharp and well fought. The battle com¬ menced about nine o’clock, and lasted till noon.’ It appears that the battle of Neville’s Cross was begun by Lord Douglas, who, at the head of a body of cavalry, ad¬ vanced furiously on the English. But Douglas and his Scottish horse were driven back with great loss: and David Bruce, who is said to have displayed a courage worthy of his father’s son, ordered his trumpets to sound, and, with his whole force, advanced on the foe. For a brief space of time, fortune, so often fickle on such occa¬ sions, seemed to favour the Scots, and the High Steward of Scotland, who led the Scottish van, charged Lord Percy’s division with such energy, that the English gave •way. At the crisis, however, Baliol hastened to Percy’s rescue, and having by a masterly movement forced the high steward to retire, he turned round on the King of Scots, whose division he attacked so fiercely in flank, that it was instantly shaken. David Bruce, however, fought gallantly; and encou¬ raging his men by voice and example, he did all that a brave man could to avoid defeat. Throwing themselves into a circle, and fighting around their king, the Scots struggled furiously, till not eighty of the king’s division remained alive. Even then, David, disdaining to ask quarter, continued to give blow for blow. But John Copeland, an esquire of Northumberland, threw himself upon the royal warrior and compelled him to surrender, after a fierce combat, in which the squire lost two of his teeth, and the king received several wounds. By this time it was noon, and all was over. The high steward was in full retreat ; Douglas and several earls, bishops, and knights were prisoners; and Moray, with thousands of Scots, rniLIPPA OP IIAINAULT. 85 among whom were nobles, and knights, and esquires, and soldiers, were stretched on the lost field never more to rise. * When the Queen of England,’ says Froissart, ‘ heard that her army had gained the day, 'she mounted her palfrey and went to the field of battle. She was informed that the King of Scotland had been made prisoner by a squire of the name of John Copeland, but who had rode off with him they could not tell whither. The queen ordered him to be written to, to bring the King of Scots to her, and to tell him that he had not done what was agreeable to her in carrying off his prisoner without leave. All that day, the queen and the army remained on the field of battle.’ For some days after Philippa’s victory at Neville’s Cross, she continued unaware what had become of the King of Scots. Ere long, however, she learned that Cope¬ land, after taking him, had pushed through the crowd, ridden in haste from the field of battle, made for the castle of Ogle, on the Blythe, and secured his royal captive in that stronghold. Much displeased on hearing this, the queen despatched messengers to demand that he should be brought to York; but Copeland resolutely refused to surrender his prisoner. ‘ I will be answerable for the safe keeping of the King of Scots,’ said the squire, calmly, ‘ and I will not deliver him up but to my sovereign lord the king, or to his order.’ Philippa, on receiving this answer, expressed much indig¬ nation, and made bitter complaints to the king, who was still before Calais. Edward therefore summoned Copeland to Calais; and thither, without delay, the northern esquire repaired. ‘ Ha ! welcome ! ’ exclaimed the king; ‘ welcome, my brave squire, who, by his valour, has conquered my ad¬ versary the King of Scots ! ’ ‘ Sire,’ said Copeland, falling on one knee, ‘ if God, out of His great kindness, has given me the king of Scots, and 86 NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STORY. permitted me to conquer him in arms, no one ought to he jealous of it; for God can, when He pleases, send His grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord. Sire, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender him to the order of my lady the queen; for I hold my lands of you, and my oath is to you, not to her, except it be through choice.’ 1 John,’ replied the king, 1 the loyal service you have done us, and our esteem for your valour is so great, that it may well serve you as an excuse; and shame fall upon all those that bear you any ill will. You will now return home, and convey your prisoner, the King of Scots, to my wife ; and, by way of remuneration, I assign lands, as near your house as you can choose them, to the amount of five hun¬ dred pounds sterling a year, for you and your heirs; and I retain you as a squire of my body and my household.’ Keturning to England, Copeland reached home, ‘ assem¬ bled his friends and neighbours, and, in company with them, took the King of Scots, and conveyed him to York, where he presented him, in the name of the king, to the queen, and made such handsome excuses, that she was satisfied.’ * When Philippa had provided for the defence of the North, she set out for London. The kingdom being now secure, she prepared to join Edward, with ‘a great many ladies, who were glad to accompany her in order to see fathers, brothers, and friends.’ Three days before the feast of All Saints, the queen embarked at Dover, and the wind being favourable, reached Calais, which the king was still besieging. On her arrival the king held a grand court, and * Froissart. —‘For this eminent service,’ says Ridpath, * Copeland was created a knight-banneret, and, for supporting the dignity of that rank, received a grant of 500 1. a year, 400/. of which was to be paid out of the customs of the port of London, and 100/. out of those of the port of Berwick, until provision should be made for himself and his heirs of rents of land and other revenues of equal value in come convenient place.’ PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT, 87 gave magnificent entertainments to all the lords and ladiea who were there. The siege of Calais was long and arduous; and Philip of Valois assembled a great army and advanced to relieve the town. But finding that Edward was too strongly entrenched to be attacked, Philip abandoned the attempt, and about the end of August 1347, the Calesians, finding it impossible to hold out any longer, consented to yield. Edward, how¬ ever, demanded that six of the principal citizens should be delivered up to him, to be dealt with at his pleasure. Eustace St. Pierre and five others devoted themselves for their townsmen, and with cords around their necks and the keys of Calais in their hands, they surrendered to Sir Walter Manny, who conducted them to the English camp, and presented them to the king. It is impossible to believe that Edward, who was a generous prince, really intended to execute the six Cale¬ sians; and the scene which was enacted by Sir Walter Manny, the king, and queen, in presence of the knights and squires, was such as to lead to the conclusion that it was got up to give Philippa an opportunity of playing the part of intercessor. 1 Most gallant king,’ cried the captive Calesians, falling on their knees and lifting up their hands, ‘ you see before you six citizens of Calais who have been capital merchants, and who bring you the keys of the castle and of the town. We surrender to your absolute will and pleasure, to save the inhabitants of Calais, who have suffered much distress and misery. Condescend, therefore, out of your nobleness of mind, to have mercy and compassion upon us.’ ‘ Ah, gentle king ! let me beseech you to restrain your anger,’ said Sir Walter Manny, while barons, and knights, and squires shed tears of pity; ‘ you have the reputation of great nobleness of soul; do not, therefore, tarnish it by such an act as this; nor allow any man to speak in a disgraceful manner of you. In this instance,'all the world will say you 88 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. have acted cruelly if you put to death six such men, who, of their own free will, have surrendered themselves to your mercy for the sake of their fellow-citizens.’ ‘ Be it so,’ replied the king, as he gave a wink; ‘ let the headsman be sent for.’ ‘ Ah, gentle sir ! ’ cried Philippa, falling on her knees; ‘ since I have crossed the sea with great danger to see you, I have never asked you one favour. Now I most humbly ask, as a gift, for the sake of the Son of the blessed Mary, and for your love to me, that you will be merciful to these six men.’ ‘ Lady ! ’ replied the king, after silently looking at her for a time, ‘ I wish you had been anywhere else than here. You have entreated in such a manner that I cannot refuse you ; I therefore give them to you to do as you please with them.’ The queen, having saved the lives of the citizens, con¬ ducted them to her house. After ordering the halters to be taken from their necks, she saw them served with dinner; and then, presenting each of them with six nobles, caused them to be safely escorted out of the camp. In the meantime Edward summoned Sir Walter Manny and the Earls of Warwick and Strafford. ‘ My lords,’ said he, ‘ there are the keys of Calais; go and take possession. You will imprison the knights you find there ; but you will send out of the town all the other inhabitants, and all the soldiers who may have come there to serve for pay, as I am resolved to repeople the town with English.’ Edward’s orders were obeyed. Everybody, with the exception of a priest and two old men, who, knowing the usages of the place, were retained to point out the different properties, were expelled; and the castle having been pie- pared for the king and queen, Edward and Philippa mounted their horses, rode towards the gate, and entered with drums beating and trumpets sounding. PHILIPPA OP HAINAULT. 89 Establishing themselves in the castle of Calais, the King and Queen of England remained there till the birth of their daughter Margaret, who in after years became the wife of John Hastings, Earl of Pembroke. A truce for two years between England and France was then agreed to, and Edward and Philippa returned to England. Sir Aymer de Pavie was then appointed governor of the castle of Calais, and Sir John Montgomery governor of the town, and Sir John Gattesden marshal. At the same- time thirty-six substantial citizens, with their wives and families, were sent to inhabit the place ; and Englishmen began to boast that, come what might, they carried at their girdles the key of France and Flanders. On reaching England in the autumn of 1347, Edward and Philippa held a great tournament at Windsor, to cele¬ brate the success of the English against the Scots and French in those operations which, including the battles of Cressy and Neville’s Cross, had closed so brilliantly with the surrender of Calais. But by this time an enemy less easy to deal with than Scots or Frenchmen was approaching England. A pesti¬ lence which, appearing in Asia in 1346, travelled westward, sweeping the face of the globe, and sparing neither Christians, Jews, nor Saracens, reached the coasts of Dorset and Devon, found its way to Bristol, and, having devastated that seat of the woollen manufacture, hastened from Bristol to Gloucester, from Gloucester to Oxford, and from Oxford to London. In some places the mortality was such that the living were not sufficient to bury the dead; and in London it carried off fifty-seven thousand persons. No city suffered more severely from the plague than Nor¬ wich. But as its fury abated its terrors were forgotten. Men went on marrying and giving in marriage, sowing and reaping, spinning and selling, fighting and feasting ; and in 1351, when Philippa visited Norwich, people seemed to have quite recovered their gaiety. On Monday, the feast of St. 90 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Nicholas, a tournament was held in honour of the queen’s visit, and a grand banquet was given by the citizens in honour of Edward, Prince of Wales, who, on the occasion, accompanied his mother to the place where she was so popular, ere going on the expedition which resulted in his adding another victory to the glories of his father’s reign. On the 22nd of August 1350, Philip of Yalois departed this life, and his eldest son, John, a brave and chivalrous man, but quite unequal to a contest for kingdoms and crowns with the conqueror of Halidon and Cressy, was crowned as King of France. Indeed, John, while courageous to excess, had little of that discretion which is the better part of valour. Early in his reign he executed the Count of Eli, Constable of France, who was Edward’s prisoner on parole, and the King of England vowed to avenge the death of the con¬ stable, who was not only his prisoner but his friend.* With this object he sent the Duke of Lancaster into Nor¬ mandy with an army, while the Prince of Wales at the head of another ravaged Auvergne, Limousin, and Berry. It was the month of October 1355 when the Prince of Wales, who about this time began to be known as the Black Prince, from wearing black armour to set off his fair complexion, left England for Gascony; and ere a year elapsed England was again ringing with news of victory. John of Valois vowing to fight the Prince of Wales, so ran the story, assembled an army so numerically superior that his triumph seemed certain, and the French king, having mustered his forces in the plain of Chartres, came up with the English in the environs of Poictiers. Never did the destruction of men appear more inevitable than the eight thousand whom the Black Prince headed on the 19th of September 1356, when they found themselves threatened * ‘ The Earl of Eu and Guines,’ says Froissart, * was also in London a prisoner: he was a very gallant knight, and so amiable that ho was always well received by the king, queen, barons, and ladies of the court.’ PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 91 with famine, and face to face with a host of sixty thousand . warriors. But ascertaining that the French king was disin¬ clined to treat, they prepared to fight, and from the moment the battle began they had fortune on their side. In vain John and his youngest son Philip, who fought by his father’s side, struggled to redeem the day. Both were forced to yield themselves prisoners, with the prospect of being brought to share the captivity of David Bruce in England. On the 24th of May, 1357, the Black Prince and John of Yalois, having landed at Sandwich, and halted at Can¬ terbury to offer on the shrine of Thomas a Becket, crossed the Thames, and entered the capital. It was a touching spectacle ; for the King of France, as he rode through London, was mounted on a white steed, and the prince on a little black hackney by his side. Riding through London, he was conducted with his son Philip to the Savoy, a great palace built in the thirteenth century by Peter of Savoy, purchased from him by Eleanor of Provence for her son Edmund of Lancaster, and still the property of Prince Edmund’s heirs. At the Savoy, John of Yalois, with his son, was for some time lodged and 1 visited by the King and Queen of England, who often entertained him sumptuously, and afterwards were very frequent in their visits, consoling him all in their power.’ When on one occasion Edward and Philippa entertained John of Yalois and his son Philip, an awkward scene took place. The cupbearer naturally served Edward before the captive king; and the French prince losing temper, started from table, seized the cupbearer, and boxed his ears with a ferocity which shocked the company. * You ought,’ he exclaimed, ‘ to have served the King of France before the King of England, for though my father is unfortunate, he is still your master’s sovereign.’ Soon after, John of France was removed with his son to Windsor, which was then being magnificently rebuilt under the eye of William of Wykeham. 92 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. While John of Valois was at Windsor, in tlie spring of 1358, Edward prepared to celebrate St. George’s Day with, a grand tournament; and Philippa was presented by her husband with five hundred pounds ‘ for the preparation of her apparel.’ On the occasion when the Queen of England appeared in this costly dress, her captive kinsman was present, and is recorded to have said in scorn, I never saw so royal a feast and so costly made with tallies of trees, without paying of gold and silver.’ But John did not take kindly to his captivity; and soon after the truce expired in May lo59, he met Edward at Westminster, and there agreed to a treaty which ceded to England one half of France. Under the influence of his son, the Dauphin, the States rejected this treaty; and Edward, in no serene humour, crossed the Channel with an army with which he swept the country, carrying all before him. At length, on reaching Bretigny, he consented to make peace ; and King John having come to Calais, there signed the treaty of Bretigny, by which Edward waived his claim to the French crown, and John, besides agreeing to pay three millions of golden crowns for his ransom, gave up Guienne, Poitou, Saintonge, and Limousin to England. Edward, after concluding this treaty, had scarcely re¬ turned to England, and rejoined Philippa, when they were visited by the King of Cyprus. Having come to rouse the sovereigns of Europe to undertake a crusade, and pre¬ sented himself to the Pope, the Emperor, the King, of Navarre, and the King of France, lie determined on crossing to England. ‘I shall never rest,’ said he, ‘till I have exhorted King Edward and his sons to put on the cross.’ Accordingly, he landed at Dover, pursued the way by easy stages to London, and having been conducted to lodgings prepared for him in the city, was magnificently entertained. ‘It would take me a day,’ says Froissart, ‘were I to attempt relating to you the grand dinners, suppers, and PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 93 other feasts and entertainments that were made, and the magnificent presents, gifts, and jewels which were given, especially by Queen Philippa, to the accomplished King of Cyprus. In truth, he was deserving of them : for he had come a long way and at great expense to visit them, to exhort the king to put on the red cross, and assist in re¬ gaining countries now occupied by the enemies of God. ‘ But the king politely and wisely excused himself by saying, “ Certainly, my good cousin, I have every inclina¬ tion to undertake this expedition, but I am growing too old, and shall leave it to my children. I make no doubt that, when it shall have begun, you will not be alone, but will be followed most willingly by my knights and squires.” “ Sir,” replied the King of Cyprus, “ what you say satisfies me. I verily believe they will come, in order to serve God, and do good to themselves : but you must grant them permission so to do, for the knights of your country are eager for such expeditions.” “Yes,” answered the King of England, “ I will never oppose such a work, unless some things should happen to me or to my kingdom which I do not at this moment foresee.” The King of Cyprus could never obtain anything more from King Edward in respect to this crusade. ‘About this time King David of Scotland had some affairs to transact with King Edward, which made it neces¬ sary for him to come to England; so that when he heard that the King of Cyprus was there, he hastened his journey, in order to meet him, and made such despatch that he ari’ived in London before he left it. The two kings were much rejoiced to meet, and congratulated each other upon it. The King of England gave them two grand entertain¬ ments in his palace of Westminster. At the last of these, the King of Cyprus took his leave of the King and Queen of England, who made him very magnificent presents. ‘ King Edward gave him a ship called the “ Katherine,” which was very beautiful and well built. The King of 94 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. England had her constructed, by his orders, to make the voyage to Jerusalem ; she was valued at twelve thousand francs, and lay in the harbour of Sandwich. The King of Cyprus was much pleased with this gift, and returned many thanks for it. He made no long stay after this in England, but returned to the King of France.’ * But the King of Cyprus was disappointed in his hope of meeting with the King of France. On reaching that country, he learned that John had left it to return to England. It seems that the Duke of Anjou, one of the hostages left at Calais for the payment of the French king’s ransom, had made his escape, and John came to England to vindi¬ cate himself from the suspicion that this breach of faith had his sanction. ‘ If,’ said the chivalrous monarch, ‘ good faith were banished from the rest of the world, it should still be found in the breast of kings.’ It was early in January 1364, and Edward and Queen Philippa, having kept their Christmas at Eltham, were living at that palace when informed of John’s arrival at Dover. His reception was all that he could have desired; and having been * * Henry Picard, Vintner, Mayor of London,’ says Stowe, ‘ in ono day, did sumptuously feast Edward King of England, John King of Prance, the King of Cyprus (then newly arrived in England), David King of Scots, Edward Prince of Wales, with many noblemen and others; and after the said Henry Picard kept his hall against all comers whosoever, that were willing to play at dice and hazard. In like manner, the Lady Margaret, his wife, did also keep her chamber to the same intent. The King of Cyprus, playing with Henry Picard in his hall, did win of him fifty marks. But Henry, being very skilful in that art, did after win of the said king the same fifty marks and fifty more ; which when the said king began to take in ill part, though he dissembled the same, Henry said to him : “ My lord and king, be not aggrieved; I covet not your gold, but your play; for I have not bid you hither, that I might grieve you, but that among other things I might try your play,” and gave him his money again, bestowing his own among the retinue.’ PHILIPPA OP IIAINAULT. 95 lodged in the Savoy, he there passed the winter gaily with his countrymen. But the captive king’s days were num¬ bered. Ere winter passed he became alarmingly ill, and on the 8th of April he breathed his last. Edward and Philippa had marked John’s illness with uneasiness; and they were much concerned at his death. But ere long they had to mourn the untimely end of one who was much nearer and dearer. At an early age, Lionel, Duke of Clarence, the third son of Edward and Philippa, espoused Elizabeth de Burgh, daughter of the Earl of Ulster, and had a daughter, Philippa of Clarence, afterwards wife of Edward Mortimer, Earl of March. In 1363, however, the Duchess of Clarence died, and a marriage was negotiated between Lionel and Yiolante, daughter of the Duke of Milan. Accordingly, Lionel proceeded to Milan, to receive the hand of his bride, and the wedding was magnificently celebrated with a feast at which Petrarch was one of the guests.* But soon after, Lionel fell a victim to the climate, and, to the grief of his parents, breathed his last at Alba. Misfortunes seldom come singly; and almost ere news of Lionel’s death reached England, Edward appears to have given indications not to be mistaken of being no longer the Edward of other days. As old age came on, with it * ‘ The banquet,’ says Stowe, ‘ at which Francis Petrarch was pre¬ sent among the chiefest guests, had about thirty courses of service at the table, and, betwixt every course, there were as many presents of wondrous wine intermixed. There were in one only course seventy goodly horses, adorned with silk and silver furniture; and in another several vessels, falcons, hounds, armour for horses, costly coats of mail, breast-plates glistering of massy steel, helmets and corslets decked with costly crests, apparelled distinct with costly jewels, soldiers’ girdles, and lastly, certain gems by curious art set in gold and purple, and cloth of gold for men’s apparel in great abundance ; and such was the sumptuousness of that banquet, that the meats which were brought from table would sufficiently have served ten thousand men.’ 96 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. came follies and weaknesses, and he began to exhibit himself in a character in which the people never had expected to see the husband of Philippa and the conqueror of Halidon and Cressy. Among the queen’s maids of honour was a lady cele¬ brated in chronicles as Alice Perers. She belonged to a family of this name, whose members, possessing Perers Manor in Norfolk, had flourished in that county since the reign of Henry III., and mingled their blood, by marriage, with the Ormesbys and other magnates, who at that time lorded it over the province. Alice was the wife of a knight named Thomas Nerefield, who possessed Holt, and doubt¬ less she was attractive and perhaps accomplished. At all events, by her wit and beauty she appears to have excited the admiration of the king, and to have received, as early as 1368 and 1369, such substantial proofs of his favour in the shape of several manors, as lead to the conclusion that at that time he had been betrayed into the amour which involved him in humiliation at the hour of death.* Perhaps Philippa was spared the pain which she must have felt if aware of her husband’s folly. In fact, by this time the life of the good queen was drawing to a close; and in August 1369 it became evident that all would soon be over. Of her seven sons, only one was present to witness the last scene of her life. William of Windsor, William of Hatfield, and Lionel of Clarence were in the grave. Ed¬ ward, Prince of Wales, John of Gaunt, and Edmund of Langley, were fighting on the Continent. Only Thomas of Woodstock, then a boy of fifteen, was in England. It was Under such circumstances that Philippa, sick unto death at Windsor, summoned her husband and son to the couch from ■which she was never to rise, and spoke for the last time. * When the good lady perceived her end approaching,* says Froissart, ‘ she called to the king, and extending her right hand, put it into the right hand of the king, who was * Blomfield’s Norfolk. PHILIPPA OF HAINAULT. 97 very sorrowful at heart, and thus spoke: “We have enjoyed our union in happiness, peace, and prosperity; I entreat, therefore, of you, that on our separation you will grant me three requests.” The king, with sighs and tears, replied : “ Lady, ask; whatever you request shall be granted.” “ My lord, I beg you will acquit me of whatever engage¬ ments I may have entered into formerly with merchants for their wares, as well on this as on the other side of the sea. I beseech you also to fulfil whatever gifts or legacies I may have made, or left to churches, here or on the Conti¬ nent, wherein I have paid my devotions; as well as what I have left to those of both sexes who have been in my service. Thirdly, I entreat, that when it shall please God to call you hence, you will not choose any other sepulchre than mine, and that you will lie by my side in the cloisters of Westminster.” The king, in tears, replied: “ Lady, I grant them.” Soon after, the good lady made the sign of the cross on her breast, and, having recommended to God the king and her youngest son Thomas, who was present, gave up her spirit, which I firmly believe was caught by the holy angels, and carried to the glory of heaven, for she had never done anything, by thought or deed, that could endanger her losing it. Thus died this Queen of England, in the year of grace 1369, the vigil of the Assumption of the Virgin, the 15 th of August.’* The mortal remains of Philippa were conveyed to West¬ minster, and laid in the Confessor’s chapel, near the spot * A strange story is told of Philippa having, on her death-bed, confessed to William of Wykeham that John of Gaunt was not her son. * Queen Philippa, wife to Edward the Third,’ says Baker, ‘upon her death-bed, by way of confession, told Wykeham that John of Gaunt was not the lawful issue of King Edward, but a suppositit ious son; for when she was brought to bed at Ghent of a daughter, knowing how desirous the king was to have a son, she exchanged the daughter with a Dutch woman for a boy whereof she had been delivered about the same time with the queeu.’ 93 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. where repose Henry III. and Edward I. and Eleanor of Castille. Edward bestowed a costly funeral on the excel¬ lent woman who for forty years had been his wife, and raised to her memory a splendid monument of black touch¬ stone, surmounted with her effigy carved in alabaster, sur¬ rounded with the figures and shields of thirty kings and princes and nobles to whom she was related, and inscribed with a Latin epitaph, in which her praises were sung in high, but not too high, terms. Notwithstanding this show of reverence for Philippas memory, Edward speedily forgot her, and decency and self-respect. Soon after the good queen was laid at rest in Westminster, he granted all her jewels and goods and chattels to Alice Perers, then the wife of Sir Thomas Nere- field ; and on the death of her husband in 1371, he allowed her to exercise more than the influence of a wife. L o secret, indeed, appears to have been made of the position she occupied at Windsor and Shene ; and in London she dis¬ played herself with an audacity which shocked grave persons. On one occasion, when a tournament was held at Smithfield, Alice Perers appeared as i the Lady of the Sun 5 and, mag¬ nificently attired, she was conducted in a chariot from the Tower, and through Cheapside, attended during the pro¬ cession by dames and damsels, each of whom held the bridle rein of a knight’s horse; while sober citizens, looking on with melancholy eye, mourned the departed glory of the hero of Cressy, and sighed as they thought of the husband of the good Philippa being the puppet of an abandoned woman.* Nor, unless chronicles lie, was this the worst of the * «Soon after the death of King Edward,’ says Blomfiold, speaking of Alice Perers, * she being obnoxious to the Duke of Lancaster and other great lords, was accused of the statute of maintenance, and at¬ tainted (anno 1, Richard II.) in Parliament and her goods forfeited; but in the third year of the said king, being then the wife of William de Wyndsore, he restored to them divers manors. PHILIPPA OP nAINAULT. 99 scenes that closed that long and eventful reign. In June 1377, about a year after the death of the Black Prince, Edward, worn out with time and trouble, and deserted by his courtiers, lay dying at Shene. Every chance of recovery was gone; but Alice Perers still flattered him that he should live, and prevented him from receiving those reli¬ gious consolations which sustain the hearts of frail men when on the brink of eternity. At length his speech began to fail; and she, drawing the ring from his finger, left him to his fate. The menials followed, carrying away with them whatever they could lay hold of in the scramble. No one remained but a poor priest, who so earnestly ad¬ monished Edward, the dying king, to lift up his heart to God, that, rousing himself from his lethargy, he endea¬ voured by signs to express his penitence ; and, having with much difficulty pronounced the name of Jesus, he ceased to breathe. Edward’s death restored him to the good opinion of the world; he was again thought of as the great king and conqueror. Charles of France declared that he had reigned most nobly and valiantly, and ought to be remembered with honour among heroes ; and his subjects bewailed his death, as, followed by his sons John of Gaunt, Edmund of Langley, and Thomas of Woodstock, his corpse was con¬ veyed from Shene to Westminster, and interred with much pomp by Philippa’s side, hard by the shrine of that sainted Saxon whose crown he inherited and whose name he bore. a 100 giatjjeriiu, dounfcss of Saltfibmjj. A BOUT the close of the thirteenth century, when the first Edward reigned in England, the fame of that great king attracted to the court of Westminster several foreigners whose talents and acquirements enabled them O 0 to win distinction as diplomatists. Indeed, such persons must at that period have been par¬ ticularly welcome in England. In his struggle with Philip the Pair and Pope Boniface, Edward must have highly valued the services of those who possessed diplomatic skill. Even could the feudal barons have been made to com¬ prehend that language had been given to conceal thoughts, their devotion to the crown could hardly have been relied on ; and the clergy—with such exceptions as Anthony Bekc, Bishop of Durham—being much better subjects to the Pope of Rome than to the King of England, were out of the question. Under such circumstances, Edward gladly availed him¬ self of the adventurous talent of Europe, and, as sovereign of England, found his advantage in so doing. While the king had the satisfaction of being represented at foreign courts by men of high accomplishments, the country greatly profited by the infusion of new blood and keen intelligence. In fact, a stately elegance—the result of civilisation, and an acquaintance with a wider world than that of which the Bigods and Bohuns had any experience— was introduced into the social life of England.* * < A certain loro of pomp and pleasure ’—says Mr. Hannay—‘ a certain not ungraceful ostentation, eeem to ruffle like a plume in the KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 101 Among tlie adventurers who, with blood and intellect for their heritage, found their way to England at this period, were two brothers of the name of Grandison, Odo and William. They were natives of Burgundy, and de¬ scendants, it was said, of the Emperors of Constantinople. But, except cultivated minds and handsome persons, they had little to recommend them in their adopted country. Nevertheless, their success was signal. Odo, who was a statesman, figured at one period as Secretary of State; at another, as ambassador at continental courts. William, ■who was a fighting man, attached himself to Edmund, Earl of Lancaster, the king’s brother, and took to wife Sybil de Tregos, a great heiress in Wiltshire. By the Wiltshire lady he had three sons and two daughters; and of this family, Katherine was the youngest and the most interesting. Indeed, her beauty and her grace early won her distinction; and she became celebrated as Katherine the Fair. Of course, such a being was not, in an age of chivalry, likely to sigh for want of admirers or suitors. In good time she became the bride of a man whose valour and wisdom raised him high among the warrior-statesmen of the century. At an early period of Edward III.’s life, William Mont- acute was in the young king’s confidence; and, after playing an important part in that strange scene at Nottingham castle which resulted in the arrest and execution of Mor¬ timer, he was recognised as the man whom, of all others, the king delighted to honour. Having been summoned to cap of the men of Edward III.’s days. Feudalism had flowered, so to speak, and was enjoying itself in the sunshine of its prosperity, with all its heraldic banners fluttering in the breeze. The earlier barons, not less noble, had been perhaps a shade more grim; and, in turning from earlier writers to Froissart, we feel — is it the wine they are drinking, or the love-songs they are singing, or a haunting thought of the Countess of Salisbury ?—that we are two or three generations nearer the Cavaliers .’—Essays from the Quarterly, 1C2 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOHY. parliament from June 1331 as Lord Montacute, and gifted ■with lands and castles, lie was, on the 16th of March 1337, created Earl of Salisbury. Long ere this date, however, Montacute had won a prize, which perhaps he more highly valued than castles or manors. About 1327, Katherine Grandison became his wife ; and, in 1329, she made him father of a son, who was named William, and who was the eldest of a family of two sons and four daughters. Meanwhile, the Earl of Salisbury had rendered many important services. In Edward’s war with the Scots he highly distinguished himself; and he was one of the warriors who accompanied the King of England when he em¬ barked for Flanders to pursue his schemes on the crown of France. Moreover, when Edward, after his campaign in 1339, returned to England, Salisbury and Robert Ufford, Earl of Suffolk, were the persons left at Ypres by the king to watch over his interests on the Continent. While in this position, however, Salisbury’s usual good fortune did not attend him. Marching from Ypres to meet Jacob von Arteveld, he was suddenly attacked near the town of Lisle by a body of French; and, having been under the necessity of yielding to superior numbers, he was sent as a prisoner to Paris, and incarcerated in the Chatelet. Among the grants made by King Edward to the Earl of Salisbury was the castle of Wark, a great feudal pile, occupying a strong and elevated position on the south bank of the Tweed. This stronghold, within the Avails of which the chiefs of the House of De Roos, in other days, main¬ tained baronial state, had become ruinous during the reign of the second Edward. Its importance, hoAvever, as a bar¬ rier against the Scots was recognised, and Salisbury had rebuilt its Avails and manned its battlements. At Wark the Countess of Salisbury resided during her hus¬ band’s captivity; and it AA r as at Wark that she Avas the heroine of that remarkable scene, the description of Avhich KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 103 forms one of the most romantic and poetical chapters of Froissart. The life of a lady of the fourteenth century, situated as the Countess of Salisbury then was, might be somewhat monotonous ; but it was not solitary, and could hardly be very dull. In fact, the castle of almost every baron was a school of chivalry ; where young nobles, first as pages, and afterwards as squires, served an apprenticeship to knight¬ hood, and were taught ‘ to serve God and the ladies.’ Besides, the wife of every great baron had a number of damsels in attendance, who were the daughters of knights and nobles, and whom she instructed in embroidery and needlework. In order to realise the kind of life led by the Countess of Salisbury at that period, we must imagine her seated in the great hall at Wark, surrounded by her damsels, working with them, or setting them their tasks, or reading to them from some holy book, or from one of the chivalrous romances which were in fashion with the nobility of that age. But such occupations were sometimes rudely interrupted. A hostile army appeared before the walls ; and the ladies, old and young, had to bestir themselves, and exercise their skill in surgery, and to make salves and attend the wounded, and to encourage the garrison in their efforts to resist and repel the besiegers. It happened that, in the year 1342, David Bruce, the young King of Scots, having then returned from his exile in France, gathered an army, and entered the north of England. Wasting and plundering as he went, David Bruce ravaged Northumberland and Durham, and laid siege to Newcastle. Sir John Neville, however, defended that place with such vigour that the Scots were fain to retire, and, while returning homeward loaded with booty, they passed in sight of Wark. Indignant at seeing the spoils of their country carried off with - impunity, Sir William Montacute, Lord Salisbury’s kinsman, who was governor of the castle, sallied forth at the head of a body of horse, 104 noble dames of ancient stoey. attacked the Scots in the rear, and, having killed hundreds of them, regained the castle, with many horses laden with booty. The King of Scots was naturally much enraged at this unexpected charge. Without delay he resolved to be revenged, and, leading his army towards the castle, gave orders for a general assault. In this emergency the coun¬ tess roused herself to energy, and proved what influence she could exercise over warriors in the hour of peril. t The Countess of Salisbury, who was esteemed one of the most beautiful and virtuous women in England,’ says Froissart, ‘ was in this castle, which belonged to the Earl of Salisbury, who had been taken prisoner with the Earl of Suffolk, near Lisle, and was still in prison at the Chatelet in Paris. The king had given him this castle upon his mar¬ riage, for his many deeds of valour, and for the services he had received from the said Earl. . . . The Countess com¬ forted much those within the castle, and from the sweetness of her looks, and the charm of being encouraged by such a beautiful lady, one man, in time of need, ought to be worth two. The attack lasted a considerable time, and the Scots lost a great many men ; for they advanced boldly up to it, and brought large beams and trees to fill up the ditches that they might bring their machines, if possible, to play upon the castle.’ _ But their manoeuvres were of no avail. Indeed, the countess was so successful in her efforts that the Scots weic everywhere repulsed with loss, and so disheartened that they would gladly have abandoned the siege and made for their own country. Their king, however, expressed liis resolution to remain till he reduced the castle; and having filled up the ditch, prepared next day to batter down the walls with his engines of war. The position of the Countess of Salisbury was now the reverse of pleasant. It was no time to yield to despair, however; and as the King of England was understood to KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. ]0o he at Berwick, it was determined forthwith to con¬ vey to him intelligence that Wark Avas in the utmost danger. But the castle Avas so closely invested by the Scots, that nobody Avould venture on so hazardous an attempt as that of carrying a message. Indeed it is said that ‘ not one Avould agree to quit the defence of the castle, or of the beautiful lady, and there Avas much strife among them.’ At length Sir William Montacute, the governor, resolved to undertake the perilous duty, and intimated his intention in words befitting the occasion. ‘ Gentlemen,’ said Sir William, having by a gesture com¬ manded silence, ‘ I am Avell pleased Avith your loyalty and heartiness, as well as your affection to the lady of this castle, so that, out of my love for her and for you, I will risk my person in this adventure. I have great confidence and trust in you, and that you will defend the castle till I return.’ ‘ We Avill —Ave Avill! ’ cried they. * On the other hand,’ continued the governor, ‘ I have the greatest hopes in our lord, the king, and that I shall bring him Avith me speedily, with succour, to your great joy, and that you Avill all be reAvarded for the gallant de¬ fence you have made.’ The Countess of Salisbury and those who Avere present were much cheered Avith this brave speech, and, Avhen night came, Sir William prepared to depart. Fortunately for his purpose, the rain fell in torrents ; and as the Scots, on that account, kept their quarters, he succeeded in leaving the castle privately and passing unobserved through their camp. But the governor’s adventure was not ended. About day-break, when half a league from the Scottish outposts, he encountered two Scotchmen driving some cattle to their camp. A scuffle ensued ; and Montacute, having severely wounded his antagonists, entrusted them with a message to their countrymen. ‘ Go,’ said he, ‘ and tell your king that William Montacute 106 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. has passed through his army, and is gone to seek for succour from the King of England, who is now at Berwick.’ The intelligence had the desired effect. The name of the conqueror of Halidon was terrible to his foes; and the Scots, on hearing that Edward was so near, mani¬ fested the utmost eagerness to cross the Tweed and seek safety in their forests and mountains. David Bruce, indeed, did not share their anxiety to avoid an encounter. How¬ ever, he yielded to their persuasions, and, raising the siege, marched northward and sought security in the recesses of Jedwood. The Countess of Salisbury and the garrison were over¬ joyed at the departure of the Scots. At first, of course, they were unaware of the cause of their sudden disappear¬ ance. Within six hours, however, the matter was fully ex¬ plained by the approach of King Edward, who, on hearing of the state of affairs at Wark, had not lost an hour in hurrying to the rescue of the imperilled countess and her castle. Not much pleased that the Scots had escaped him, Edward ordered his soldiers to take up their quarters where they were; and then, attended by ten knights, he proceeded to the castle to salute the countess, whom he had not seen since her marriage. On hearing of his approach, the coun¬ tess ordered the gates to be opened, and went forth to wel¬ come him to her husband’s castle. At that time the Countess of Salisbury must have seen more than thirty summers, but without being divested of the charms which entitled her to be considered among the most captivating women of her day and generation. Time, indeed, had ripened the charms which had won her the title of Katherine the Fair. Beautiful features, a graceful air, a noble carriage, elegant and affable manners, and a form that rivalled aught of which Grecian sculpture could boast,_such is the description of this noble dame as handed down by chroniclers and minstrels. Imagine such a being, exquisitely beautiful, but not more beautiful than virtuous, KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 107 her countenance radiant with joy, her eye brilliant with gratitude, her rich blood mantling through a clear cheek, and her high spirit imparting dignity to every step; array her in the rich dress of the period — the sideless gown broidered with fur or velvet, so worn over the kirtle as to make part of it appear a jacket — the stomacher sparkling with jewels — the skirt full and picturesque ; and you will have before your 4 mind’s eye ’ Katherine, Countess of Salisbury, as she stepped forth to thank Edward for his timely succour. ‘ As soon as the lady knew of the king’s coming,’ says Froissart, ‘ she set open the gates, and came out so richly beseen, that every man marvelled at her beauty, and could not cease to regard her nobleness, with her great beauty and the gracious words and countenance that she made. When she came to the king, she kneeled down to the earth, thanking him for his succour, and so led him into the castle to make him cheer and honour, as she that could right well do it. Every man regarded her marvellously; the king himself could not withhold his regarding of her, for he thought that he never before saw so noble nor so fair a lady; he was stricken therewith to the heart with a sparkle of fine love, that endured long after; he thought no lady in the world so worthy to be beloved as she. 1 Thus they entered into the castle hand in hand; the lady led him first into the hall, and after into the chamber nobly apparelled. The king regarded so the lady that she was abashed ; at last he went to a window to rest him, and so fell into a g cat study. The lady went about to make cheer to the lords and knights that were there, and com¬ manded to dress the hall for dinner. ‘ When she had all devised and commanded them, she came to the king with a merry cheer (who was in a great study), and she said: — “Dear sir, why do you study so? For your grace not displeased, it appertaineth not to you so to do. Bather ye should make good cheer and be joyful, 10S NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. seeing ye have chased away your enemies who durst not abide you ; let other men study for the remnant. 4 Then the king said: — “Ah, dear lady, know for truth, that sith I entered into the castle, there is a study come to my mind, so that I cannot choose but to muse, nor I can¬ not tell what shall fall thereof; put it out of my heait I cannot.” “ Ah, sir,” quoth the lady, “ ye ought always to make good cheer to comfort therewith your people. God hath aided you so in your business, and hath given you so great graces, that ye be the most redoubted and honoured prince in all Christendom, and if the King of Scots hath done you any despite or damage, ye may well amend it when it shall please you, as ye have done divers times ere this. Sir, leave your musing and come into the hall, it it * please you; your dinner is all ready.” “ Ah, fair lady, quoth the king, “ other thing lyeth at my heart that ye know not of; but surely your sweet behaving, the perfect wisdom, the good grace, nobleness and excellent beauty that I see in you, hath so sore surprised my heart, that I cannot but love you, and, without your love, I am but dead.” 4 44 Right noble prince, for God’s sake, mock nor tempt me not. I cannot believe that it is true ye say, nor that so noble a prince as ye would think to dishonour me and my lord, my husband, who is so valiant a knight, and hath done your grace so good service, and as yet lyeth in prison for your quarrel. Certainly, sir, ye should in this case have but small praise, and nothing the better thereby. I had never as yet such a thought in my heart, nor, I trust in God, never shall have lor no man living. If I had such intention, your grace ought not only to blame me, but to punish my body.” 4 Therewith the lady departed from the king, and went into the hall to haste the dinner ; then she returned again to the king, and brought some of the knights with her, and said, “Sir, if it please you, come into the hall; your KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 109 knights abide you to wash. Ye have been too long fasting.” ‘ Then the king went into the hall and washed, and sat down among his lords, and the lady also. The king ate but little; he sat still musing, and, as he durst, he cast his eyes upon thedady. Of his sadness his knights had marvel, for he was not accustomed so to be; some thought it was because the Scots were escaped from him. All that day the king tarried there, and wist not what to de. Some¬ times he imagined that honour and truth defended him to set his heart in such a case to dishonour such a lady, and so true a knight as her husband was, who had always well and truly served him; on the other part, love so con¬ strained him that the power thereby surmounted honour and truth. Thus the king debated in himself all that day * and all that night. ‘ In the morning he arose and dislodged all his host, and drew after the Scots to chase them out of his realm. Then he took leave of the lady, saying, “ My dear lady, to God I commend you till I return again, requiring you to advise you otherwise than ye have said to me.” “ Noble prince,” quoth the lady, “ God the Father glorious be your conduct, and put you out of all villain thoughts. I am, and ever shall be, ready to do your grace service to your honour and to mine.” Therewith the king departed all abashed.’ Very soon after the king’s visit to Warlc, the 'Countess of Salisbury learned that her husband was likely to recover his liberty. While Edward was chasing the Scots and skirmishing with them, conferences were held by some discreet men on both sides with the object of con¬ cluding a peace between the two kingdoms. At length a truce for five years was agreed to ; and one of the condi¬ tions was that the Earl of Moray, then a prisoner in England, should obtain his liberty if the King of France would set free the Earl of Salisbury. Philip consented to the exchange of prisoners. Edward sent the Earl of Moray 110 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. home; and Salisbury, after having, with Edward’s consent, taken an oath never to bear arms against France, was allowed to sail for England. But it was not an age in which Englishmen of rank and reputation were in the habit of reposing lazily on their laurels, nor was there much difficulty in conceiving enter¬ prises worthy of their fame as knights and warriors. After such a reign as that of the second Edward, there were too many rights to be recovered, and too much territory to be reconquered. Accordingly the Earl of Salisbury, pre¬ cluded from taking part in the Avars of France, forthwith found work to do near home. It seems that the Montacutes had claims on the sove- reignty of Man. In 1249 Alfrica, a princess of Man, daughter of Olaf the Black, and sister of Magnus, last Norwegian king of the island, having been brought to England, was given in marriage to Simon de Montacute, whose son mortgaged the revenue for seven years to Anthony Beke, Bishop of Durham. Their hold on Man, however, was somewhat precarious; and Robert Bruce’ while pursuing his successes, seized the island, and be¬ stowed it on his nephew, Thomas Randolph, Earl of Moray. . The time for recovering possession seemed to have arrived; and Edward not only authorised the Earl of Salisbury to undertake the conquest, but furnished him with ships and soldiers for the enterprise. No time was lost. Salisbury’s ability and energy carried all before him ; and, in addition to his honours and dignities in Eng¬ land, he had the gratification of being crowned Ivin" of Man. ° Meanwhile Edward had not forgotten the captivating countess, whom he had seen at Wark on the Tweed. ‘ He could not put her out of his mind,’ says Froissart, ‘ for love reminded him of her day and night, and represented her beauties and lively behaviour in such bewitching points of view, that he could think of nothing else, notwithstanding KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. ill that the Earl of Salisbury was one of his most trusty coun¬ sellors, and one who, in England, had most loyally served him. Out of affection for the said lady, and his desire to see her, he ordered a great feast and tournament to be proclaimed to be holden in London the middle of August. He commanded that all barons, lords, knights, and squires of his realm should be there without fail, if they had any love for him; and he expressly ordered the Earl of Salis¬ bury to have the lady, his wife, there, with as many young ladies as he could collect to attend her. ‘ The earl very cheerfully complied with the king’s request, for he thought of nothing evil; and the good lady dared not say “ nay.” She came, however, much against her will; for she guessed the reason which made the king so earnest for her attendance, but was afraid to discover it to her husband, imagining, at the same time, by her conduct and conversation to make the king change his opinions.The ladies and damsels were most superbly dressed and ornamented, according to their dif¬ ferent degrees, except the Countess of Salisbury, who came there in as plain attire as possible. She was not willing that the king should give up too much time to admire her; for she had neither will nor inclination to obey him in anything evil that might turn out to her own or her husband’s dishonour.’ It was on. the occasion of this great tournament at Windsor, that a trifling accident led to the institution of ‘ the most illustrious of all European orders.’ While the Countess of Salisbury was dancing—so runs the story—• often told—her blue garter happened to fall on the floor; and the king, not yet fully cured of his passion, stepped forward to lift it up. As Edward did so, and the coun¬ tenance of the countess indicated some confusion, several of the nobles significantly smiled at the monarch’s display of gallantry. Edward, however, retained his presence of mind, and turning round with sudden seriousness, he ITS NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOItY. chocked their mirth with the memorable exclamation, ‘ Iioni soit qui mal y pense ; ’ and declared, moreover, that ere long sovereign honour should be rendered to that garter. In order to make good his word, he instituted the famous order of knighthood which marks the age of English chivalry.* Foreign chronicles assert that when the Earl of Salisbury returned to England, the countess informed him of Ed¬ ward’s conduct to her, and that he, retiring secretly from the court, went to France, and delivered to Philip de Yalois engagements of Olivier de Clisson and Godfrey de Ilarcourt to aid the English king, in consequence of which Clisson was beheaded and Ilarcourt banished. The state¬ ment is very improbable. At all events, Salisbury was present at the tournament held in the countess’s honour, and played a conspicuous pajt in the lists. Indeed, his exertions would seem to have been imprudently severe; and he was so bruised and fatigued that he expired eight days later, and was buried in the church of the Grey Friars in London. The Countess of Salisbury survived the brave earl several years. Out of his extensive possessions she was nobly provided for, and might successfully have aspired to a second husband. But she passed her widowhood in strict seclusion, and did not put herself in the way of making matrimonial conquests. The story of her having * ‘Nor,’ says Aslimole, ‘hath it happened otherwise with the order of the Golden Fleece ; even that also hath met with the same fate; for it is said that its founder, entering one morning into the chamber of a most beautiful lady of Bruges (generally esteemed hia mistress), found upon her toilet a fleece of low-country wool, whence some of his followers, taking occasion of sport, as of a thing unusually seen in a lady’s chamber, he vowed that such as made it the subject of their derision, should never be honoured with a collar of the order thereof, which he intended to establish to express the love he boro that lady.’ KATHERINE, COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 113 captivated John, King of France, when he was brought prisoner to London after Poictiers, appears to be purely fabulous. Had the countess been alive at that period, she would have been a woman verging on fifty. But, in fact, she had at that date been some years in her grave. In 1354, the Countess of Salisbury breathed her last. From the union of William Montacute and Katherine Grandison sprang two sons, William and John, and four daughters—Sybil, wife of Edmund, son of the Earl of Arundel; Philippa, wife of Koger Mortimer, Earl of March ; Elizabeth, wife of Giles, Lord Badlesmer; and Agnes, who appears to have died unmarried. Her eldest son William succeeded his father as Earl of Salisbury, and wa3 one of the heroes of Cressy; and her second son, John, who was a man of great note in his day, wedded the heiress of the Monthermers, and, like his brother, fought at Cressy. When William died without heirs, John Montacute, his nephew, succeeded to the earldom, and made himself famous as one of the Lollards. He espoused Maude, daughter of Sir Adam Francis, a citizen of London, who had previously been the wife of Sir John Aubrey and Sir Alan Burchall. As Maude’s husband, he became proprietor of the manor of Shenley, and was 1 so transported with zeal,’ says the chronicler, ‘ that he caused all the images that were in the chapel at Shenley, there set up by Sir John Aubrey and Sir Alan Burchal, his wife’s former husbands, or any of their predecessors, to be taken down and thrown into obscure places; only the image of St. Katherine, in regard that many did affect it, he gave leave that it should stand in his bakehouse.’ * Thomas Montacute, eldest son of this Lollard nobleman, was the last Earl of Salisbury of his name. He first es-. poused Alice Holand, a daughter of the Earl of Kent, and after her death, Alice Chaucer, a granddaughter of the # Dugclale’s Baronage. 114 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. poet. By his marriage with Alice Holand, he had one daughter, who became the wife of Bichard Neville, a younger son of the Earl of Westmoreland, and mother of Bichard Neville , 1 the stout Earl ’ of Warwick and Salisbury, who, on Easter Sunday, 1471, fell fighting against the fourth Edward at Barnet. Among the grants with which Edward III. rewarded the valiant and loyal services of the Earl of Salisbury, was Bisham, in Berks. At this place, which, in the days of the crusades, was a preceptory of the knights of the Temple, the earl founded a religious house for monks of the Augus¬ tine order, and within the abbey of Bisham, whither pro¬ bably the bones of her husband had been removed from the Grey Friars, London, the Countess of Salisbury was laid at rest. Afterwards her eldest son, by his will, dated 1397, bequeathed his body to be buried at Bisham, and ordered ‘ that his executors should bestow five hundred marks for furnishing the structure to make a tomb there for his father and mother.’ Other descendants of the Countess of Salis¬ bury were interred at Bisham, in that grey old building hard by the river Thames. Thither Warwick, ‘ the king¬ maker,’ and his brother, Lord Montacute, were borne from the field of Barnet; and thither the king-maker’s grandson, Edward Plantagenet, Earl of Warwick, after his judicial murder by Henry VII. in the Tower. At the period of the Beformation, and the dissolution of monasteries, the abbey of Bisham was destroyed; and nothing remains to mark the spot where repose the ashes of Katherine the Fair, or of the ‘ proud setter-up and puller-down of kings.’ 115 loan:, €amtm of fftmtfforf. NE day, late in tlie autumn of 1341, when an armistice \_7 had secured a cessation of hostilities between Edward, King of England, and Philip of Yalois, an exciting scene was enacted at Eennes, in Brittany. A lady, young and beautiful, holding a boy in her hand, and looking every inch a heroine, appeared in the midst of the knights and fight¬ ing men who guarded the city, and in eloquent and inspi¬ riting language exhorted them to maintain the rights of her husband, who had just been taken prisoner by the French. The lady was the Countess of Montfort; the boy was her son; and the feudal magnate whom the French had led into captivity was John, Earl of Montfort, who, in opposi¬ tion to Charles of Blois, asserted his claim to be Duke of ■'Brittany. It appears that Arthur, Duke of Brittany, who lived at the beginning of the fourteenth century, was twice married. By his first wife, a daughter of Guy, Count of Limoges, he had two sons, John and Guy; by his second wife, Jolande, daughter of the Count of Dreux, and widow of Alexander, King of Scotland, he had one son, John, who being de¬ scended, on the female side, from Simon de Montfort, the conqueror of the AlbigensesJ figured as Earl of Montfort. John, who was Duke of Brittany, died in April, 1341, with¬ out issue ; having previously taken measures to exclude his half-brother from the duchy. In fact, in spite of the inter¬ pretation so recently given to the Salic law, he had nominated as his heir, Joan, daughter of his brother Guy, and, in order to secure her succession, united her in marriage to Charles H 116 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY - . of Blois, who, being a nephew of Philip of "Valois, was sup¬ posed to have sufficient influence to make good his young wife’s claim to the province. Everything seemed favourable to the claims of Charles of Blois and his spouse, when the Duke of Brittany expired at Caen, and was laid at rest in the church of the Car¬ melites of Ploermel. But appearances proved deceptive. The Earl of Montfort had wedded Joan, sister of Louis, Count of Plunders ; and perhaps, of all women then living, the Countess of Montfort was the least likely to allow her husband to submit tamely to exclusion from his inheritance. Prompt measures were adopted to vindicate his rights, and no sooner did he receive intelligence of his elder brother’s death, than, accompanied by the countess, he set out for Nantes, which was the capital of Brittany, and took posses¬ sion of the city. After holding a court and receiving the homage of the-inhabitants, he proceeded to Limoges, and, pursuing his career, made himself master of Brest, Rennes, Hennebon, Vannes, Aurai, and Goy la Forest, and found himself addressed everywhere as Duke of Brittany. So far all went prosperously. But meanwhile Charles of Blois was not quite inactive. Hastening to Paris, he laid his case before Philip of Valois, complained that his wife’s in¬ heritance had been illegally seized by her uncle, and repre¬ sented that Montfort had passed over to England, and done homage for the duchy to King Edward. Naturally enough, anxious to see his nephew Duke of Brittany, Philip con¬ voked the twelve peers of France, to decide on the rival claims, and, at the same time, summoned Montfort to ap¬ pear before the Court. Montfoit evinced no reluctance to obey the summons. Leaving Nantes, where, with the countess, he had been celebrating his triumphs, the earl, with four hundred horsemen, rode towards Paris. Having entered the French capital, and repaired to the palace, he presented himself to Philip of Valois and the twelve peers. JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 117 ‘ Sir,’ said lie, advancing towards Philip and making a reverence, ‘ I came here in obedience to your commands and good pleasure.’ ‘Earl Montfort,’ replied Philip, ‘I thank you for so do¬ ing ; but I am much surprised how you could think, or dare, of your own accord to invade the Duchy of Brittany, Avhere you have no right, for there are nearer heirs than you; and, in order the better to strengthen your claim, you have- been, as I am informed, to do homage for it to my enemy the King of England.’ ‘ Sir,’ exclaimed Montfort, ‘ do not believe it, for in good truth you have been misinformed.’ ‘ Indeed 1 ’ said Philip. ‘ Yes,’ continued the earl; ‘ and with regard to my claims, of which you have just spoken, with all due deference to your grace, I believe you are quite mistaken; for I know of no nearer relation to the duke, my brother, lately deceased, than myself; and I shall not think myself a rebel, or be ashamed, for not giving up my right.’ ‘ Sir Earl,’ replied Philip, ‘ you speak well; but I command •you, by what you now hold and expect to hold from me, that you quit not the city of Paris for fifteen days, when the peers and barons shall try this question of relationship ; at which time you will know what your right is; and if you act otherwise you will incur our displeasure.’ Montfort bowed his head to Philip, left the Court of Peers, returned to his hotel, and sat down to dinner. He was in an uneasy frame of mind, however, and retiring to his chamber, he reflected pensively on some circumstances connected with his interview which were rather suspicious. At length, concluding that he was not to have fair play, and resolving to begone, he called a few of his attendants, mounted his horse, and rode quietly out of Paris. His de¬ parture was so well managed, that for days it was believed that he was still in the French capital, and rumoured that ill health confined him to the house. 118 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Meantime the Countess of Montfort remained at Nantes, and the earl, hastening thither, related all that had hap¬ pened. 1 You have done well and acted wisely,’ said the countess. But it was necessary to prepare for the worst. Hardly a doubt indeed could now remain as to what would be the decision of the twelve peers; and acting on the countess’s advice, Montfort £ wrote to all the towns and castles which had surrendered to him, established in each able captains, with plenty of soldiers, cavalry as well as infantry, and paid them handsomely.’ Events speedily demonstrated the necessity of such precautions. Philip, albeit reigning in consequence of that interpretation of the Salic law, which had been given in his favour, disre¬ garded it when it interfered with the prospects of his nephew, and the Court of Peers, which was devoted to Philip, decided against Montfort, and in favour of the wife of Charles of Blois; and ere long Charles, accompanied by the lords of France, and Prince Louis of Spain, entered Brittany, and appeared with an army before the walls of Nantes. The position of Montfort, however, was by no means desperate ; but it was soon rendered so by an unfortunate quarrel with Sir Herve de Ldon, one of his barons. In a sally made by the townsmen of Nantes, under the guidance of Sir Herve, many were killed and many made prisoners. The earl, amazed at this mischance, reproached Sir Herve in severe terms; and the knight, indignant at being so treated, vowed to make Montfort repent his words. An opportunity soon occurred. The burghers, horrified at the destruction of their property and the captivity of their kins¬ men, became eager for peace; and, assembling privately under Sir Herv^’s influence, they proposed, on condition of their friends being set free, to allow the French to pass through one of the gates to attack the castle and seize Mont¬ fort. Everything was accordingly arranged; and about All Saints’ Day the French entered, made straight for the ‘ Look at my child here ; if it please God, he shall be his restorer.’ P. 119. JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 119 castle, broke down the gates, seized the earl, and took posses¬ sion of Nantes; and, while the townsmen did homage to Charles of Blois, Montfort was led captive to Paris, and im¬ prisoned in the tower of the Louvre. Fortune now seemed to have deserted the Montfort cause, and Charles of Blois perhaps flattered himself that his progress as a conqueror would be easy and rapid. If so, he was mistaken, and he soon found that there was a lioness in the way. ‘ I wish now,’ says Froissart, ‘ to return to the Countess of Montfort, who possessed the courage of a man, and the heart of a lion. She was in the city of Rennes, when she heard of the seizure of her lord; and, notwithstanding the great grief she had at heart, she did all she could to com¬ fort and reanimate her friends and soldiers. Showing them a young child, called John after his father, she said—“ Oh, gentlemen, do not be cast down by what we have suffered through the loss of my lord. He was but one man. Look at my child here ; if it please God, he shall be his restorer, and do you much service. I have plenty of wealth, which I will distribute among } T ou, and will seek out for such a leader as may give you a proper confidence.” ‘ When the countess had, by these means, encouraged her friends and soldiers at Rennes, she visited all the other towns and fortresses, taking her young son, John, with her. She addressed and encouraged them in the same manner she had done at Rennes; she strengthened her garrisons both with men and provisions, paid handsomely for every¬ thing, and gave largely wherever she thought it would have a good effect. She then went to Hennebon, near the sea, where she and her son remained all that winter, fre¬ quently visiting her garrisons, whom she encouraged and paid liberally.’ But Charles of Blois was strongly supported; and the Countess of Montfort perceived the impossibility of car¬ rying on single-handed the war with France; and the 120 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. necessity of securing a potent ally was so evident, that she resolved on sending an ambassador to England. Accord¬ ingly, Sir Amauri de Clisson was selected for the mission, and departed to the court of Westminster. Edward, who was then feasting the Earl of Salisbury, after that noble¬ man’s return from captivity in Paris, consented to send aid to Brittany, and ordered Sir Walter Manny ‘ to collect as many men-at-arms as Sir Amauri should judge proper, and to make every possible haste to go to the assistance of the Countess of Mcntfort, and also to take with him two or three thousand of the best archers of England.’ While Sir Walter Manny was making preparations and embarking his soldiers, the Countess of Montfort was at Hennebon, and Charles of Blois Avas approaching with a formidable force. Her situation seemed rather critical. Quite undaunted, however, the countess prepared for re¬ sistance ; and, albeit unaware of the success of Sir Amauri de Clisson’s mission, cherished hopes of succour from England. Nothing could have exceeded her spirit and energy; and •while the garrison sallied and skirmished with the besiegers, she took a part in the operations, which lent mettle to her adherents. ‘ The countess, who had clothed herself in armour,’ says Froissart, ‘ was mounted on a war-horse, and galloped up and down the streets, entreating and encouraging the in¬ habitants to defend themselves honourably. She ordered the ladies and other women to unpave the streets, carry the stones to the ramparts, and throw them on their enemies. She had pots of quicklime brought to her for the same purpose. ‘ That same day, the countess performed a very gallant deed. She ascended a high tower to see how her people behaved; and having observed that all the lords and others of the army had quitted their tents, and were come to the as¬ sault, she immediately descended, mounted her horse, armed as she was, collected three hundred horsemen, sallied out at JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 121 their head by another gate that was not attacked, and, galloping up to the tents of her enemies, cut them down, and set them on fire, without any loss; for there were only servants and boys, who fled at her approach. ‘As soon as the French saw their camp on fire, and heard the cries, they immediately hastened thither, bawling out “ Treason—Treason,” so that none remained at the assault. The countess, seeing this, got her men together, and, finding that she could not re-enter Hennebon without great risk, took another road leading to the castle of Brest, which is situated near. The Lord Louis of Spain, who was marshal of the army, had gone to his tents, which were on fire; and, seeing the countess and her company galloping off as fast as they could, he immediately pursued them with a large body of men-at-arms. He gained so fast on them, that he came up with them, and wounded or slew all that were not well mounted ; but the countess and part of her company made such speed, that they arrived at the castle of Brest, where they were received with great joy. ‘ On the morrow, the lords of France who had lost their tents and provisions took counsel if they should not make huts of the branches and leaves of trees near to the town, and were thunderstruck when they heard that the countess had herself planned and executed this enterprise; whilst those of the town, not knowing what was become of her, were very uneasy: for they were full five days without gaining any intelligence of her. ‘ The countess, in the meanwhile, was so active, that sire assembled from five to six hundred men, well armed and mounted, and, with them, set out about midnight from Brest, and came straight to Hennebon about sunrise, riding along one of the sides of the enemy’s host, until she came to the gates of the castle, which were opened to her. She entered with great triumph, and sounds of trumpets and other war¬ like instruments, to the astonishment of the French, who 122 NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STOIIT. began arming themselves to make another assault upon the town, while those within mounted the walls to defend it. The attack was very severe, and lasted till past noon. The. French lost more than their opponents ; and then the lords of France put a stop to it, for their men were killed and wounded to no purpose.’ It was under such circumstances that Charles of Blois, leaving Louis of Spain and Sir Herve de Leon to prosecute the siege of Hennebon, marched off to attack Aurai. But Hennebon was still closely pressed; and the besiegers made such progress in battering and destroying the walls with their machines, that the defenders began to falter. Moreover the Bishop of Leon, who was uncle of Sir Hervd de Leon, held a conference with his nephew, and, after agreeing to surrender, returned to the town to bring the Breton knights over to his determination. The suspicions of the countess, however, were aroused; and, of course, at such a crisis, she was all fire and energy. 1 For the love of God,’ she said to the lords of Brittany, 1 doubt not of receiving succours within three days.’ But the bishop spoke so eloquently, and used such arguments, that they were almost gained over to his purpose; and Sir Herve de Leon, not doubting the result of the conference, had ad¬ vanced to the walls as if to take possession, when suddenly the countess, looking from a window of the castle, uttered an exclamation of joy. ‘ I see,’ cried she, ‘ the succours I have so long wished for and expected ; they are coming.’ ‘ Now,’ said the Bretons to the bishop, ‘ we may break up the conference ; for we are not now inclined to follow your advice.’ ‘ My lords,’ replied the bishop, ‘ then our company shall separate; for I will go to him that seems to me to have the clearest right.’ Having sent his defiance to the countess, the bishop left the town with his party and joined Sir Herv6, who, much 1 JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 123 annoyed at the failure of their project, avenged himself by ordering the largest machine as near as possible to the castle, and commanding that it should be worked so in¬ cessantly, as to throw stones night and day into the tOAvn. By this time, the townsmen, rushing to the housetops and ramparts, beheld 1 a numerous fleet of great and small vessels, Avell trimmed, making all the sail they could toAvards Iiennebon.’ It Avas the fleet of Sir Walter Manny and the English. MeanAvhile, the countess was preparing to give her auxiliaries a fitting reception. She made ready hall and chamber, and hung them with tapestry to receive the English; she sent a noble company to meet them; and, when they landed, she went forth to bid them welcome, conducted them to the castle, and saw that they were con¬ veniently lodged. Next day she entertained them at a magnificent banquet. * After the entertainment,’ says Froissart, ‘ Sir Walter Manny, who was captain of the English, inquired of the countess the state of the town and of the enemy’s army. Upon looking out of the Avindow, he said he had a great inclination to destroy that large machine which was placed so near, and much annoyed them, if anyone Avould second him. . . . They went to arm themselves, and then sallied quietly out of one of the gates, taking Avith them three hundred archers, who shot so well, that those Avho guarded the machine fled; and the men-at-arms, who folloAved the archers, falling upon them, sleAvthe greater part, and broke doAvn and cut in pieces this large machine. They then dashed in among the tents and huts, set fire to them, and killed and wounded many of their enemies, before the army was in motion. After this, they made a handsome retreat. * When the enemy Avere mounted and armed, they galloped after them like madmen. Sir Walter Manny, seeing this, exclaimed, ‘ May I never be embraced by my 124 NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STOHY. mistress and dear friend, if I enter castle or fortress before I have unhorsed one of these gallopers.’ He then turned round and pointed his spear towards the enemy, as did his two brothers of Laude, Halle, . . . and many others, and spitted the first coursers. Many legs were made to kick the air. The conflict became very serious; for rein¬ forcements were perpetually coming from the camp, and the English were obliged to retreat towards the castle, which they did in good order, until they came to the castle ditch. There the knights made a stand until all their men were safely returned. ‘ Many brilliant actions, captures, and rescues might have been seen. Those of the town who had not been of the party to destroy the large machine now issued forth, and, ranging themselves upon the banks of the ditch, made such good use of their bows, that they forced the enemy to withdraw, killing many men and horses. The chiefs of the army, perceiving that they had the worst of it, and that they were losing men to no purpose, sounded a re¬ treat, and made their men retire to the camp. As soon as they were gone, the townsmen re-entered and went each to his quarters. The Countess of Montfort came down from the castle to meet them, and with a most cheerful countenance kissed Sir Walter Manny and his companions, one after the other, like a noble and valiant dame. After Sir Walter Manny performed this exploit, Louis of Spain and Sir Herve de Leon lost heart. Despairing of taking Hennebon, they broke up their camp and proceeded to join Charles of Blois, who, after a siege of ten weeks, succeeded in seizing Aurai. But this success was counter¬ balanced by several victories achieved by Sir Walter Manny, who, leaving Hennebon at the head of the English, defeated Louis of Spain at Quimperle, and took the castle of Goy la Foret; and Charles of Blois, somewhat exas¬ perated, resolved on renewing his attack on Hennebon, appeared again before the walls, and erected fifteen or six- JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 125 teen large engines, which threw stones into the town. But the countess proved as formidable as ever; and, her enemy’s prospect of success not being such as to render him enthu¬ siastic, he agreed to a truce, which was to last from the feast of St. Remy to All Saints’ Day 1342. Matters having been thus arranged, Charles of Blois went to Carhaix, and the countess, leaving Sir Walter Manny at Hennebon, sailed for England. It was about the time when Edward was holding his celebrated tournament in honour of the Countess of Salis¬ bury, that the heroic spouse of John de Montfort reached England, with her daughter Joan, ‘ the damsel of Bre¬ tagne,’ and became the guest of Queen Philippa. The countess then arranged a marriage between her son John and Edward’s daughter Mary, who died soon after it was celebrated; and the king, having promised her the aid she required, ‘ entreated his dear cousin, Lord Robert oi Artois, that he would collect as many men-at-arms and archers as he could, and pass over with the countess to Brittany.’ Preparations were soon made; and about Easter Lord Robert of Artois and the countess sailed from Southampton with an armament commanded by the Earl of Oxford and other English nobles. But the visit of the Countess of Montfort to England, and her success at the English court, were perfectly known to Charles of Blois; and, in order to intercept her, he had stationed off Guernsey a fleet of Spanish and Genoese vessels, under the command of Louis of Spain. Soon after sailing, with a fair wind, the English became aware that they had foes to encounter. ‘In an afternoon, when they were near the island of Guernsey,’ says Froissart, ‘ they perceived the large fleet of the Genoese, of which the Lord Louis was commander. Upon this the sailors cried, “ Gentlemen, arm yourselves and make ready, for here are the Genoese and Spaniards bearing down upon us.” The English then sounded their 12G NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STOEY. trumpets, spread out their pennons to the wind, ornamented with the devices of their arms, and the banner of St. George. . . . The fleets approached each other, and the Genoese began to shoot with their cross-bows at random, which the English archers returned. This continued some time, and many were wounded ; but when the barons, knights, and squires were able to come to close combat, and could reach each other with their lances, then the battle raged, and they made good trial of each other’s courage. The Countess of Montfort was equal to a man ; for she had the heart of a lion, and, with a trusty sharp sword in her hand, she combated bravely. This engagement be "an about vespers and lasted till night parted them.’ It was with a determination to renew the action in the morning that the combatants parted. But it was ordered otherwise. A fog and a storm separated the antagonistic fleets ; and Robert of Artois and the Countess of Montfort reaching the coast, landed at a port near Vannes and com¬ menced operations. Robert of Artois having taken Vannes, the countess entered it with great joy before going to Hen- nebon ; but her triumph was of brief duration. In fact, the capture of Vannes excited the rage of the opposite party ; and Sir Herve de L4on resolved on an effort to rescue the place. Soon after the countess and Sir Walter Manny left for Ilennebon, Vannes was beleaguered, and the town taken by storm, and the English slaughtered. Robert of Artois, after a brave struggle, with great difficulty escaped to Ilennebon ; but his days were numbered. His wounds were so severe that he was recommended to go to England, ‘where he would find more skilful surgeons and physi¬ cians;’ and when he reached London, it appeared that his case was hopeless. He soon breathed his last; and the King, while laying his body at rest in St. Paul’s Church, swore that he would never rest till he had avenged his death and the daughter of his comrades. The autumn of 1312 arrived; the war still went on in JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 127 Brittany, and the Countess of Montfort was at Hennebon, when she learned that Edward had embarked at Sandwich, landed near Vannes, and that he had laid siege to the town. No doubt the presence of so potent an ally inspired her with high hopes; and she lost no time in going to thank him for crossing the sea to do battle in her behalf. ‘ As soon as the Countess of Montfort knew of the arrival of the King of England,’ says Froissart, ‘ she set out from Hen¬ nebon, accompanied by Sir Walter Manny, and other knights and squires, and came towards Vannes to compli¬ ment the king, and entertain him and all the barons of his army. After a stay of four days she and her suite returned to Hennebon.’ But the result of Edward’s expedition to Brittany was not so brilliant as had been anticipated. The siege of Vannes went on in a way that was the reverse of encouraging; and, somewhat disappointed, he repaired to Rennes. At Rennes, however, there was no prospect of victory; and hearing that Charles of Blois was at Nantes he marched thither, hoping to allure Charles to an engagement, and terminate the war at a blow. Such was Edward’s project. It was, however, no part of the plan of Charles of Blois to try conclusions with such an antagonist as the conqueror of Halidon Hill. Remaining in Nantes he applied for aid to Philip of Valois; and Philip sent his son, the Duke of Normandy, with a French army to crush the invader. The duke was at the head of so superior a force that he was very confident of doing something to render the expedition memorable ; but, on approaching the English, he found them so strongly posted that his inclination for the game of carnage weakened and died. For some time the armies remained encamped near each other without coming to blows; and, as the spring advanced, two cardinals, sent by the pope, came to mediate. At first the result of their efforts was not encouraging; but, after persevering, they persuaded the 123 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOKY. belligerents to consent to a truce ; and, conferences having been held in the Priory of the Magdalen at Malestroit, everything was arranged. Peace having been thus tem¬ porarily restored, ‘ the King of England went to the Coun¬ tess of Montfort at Hennebon; and when the king had been some days at Hennebon with the countess, and had arranged his affairs, he gave her in charge to the two brothers, De Spinefort, Sir William Cadoudal, and others, and set out with his knights for England.’ Next time Edward appeared on the continent, he appeared with an English army at his back, and victory on his helm, to conquer at Cressy. After the truce of Malestroit, the countess took up her residence at the castle of Montfort with her son, and, fighting woman as she was, perhaps rejoiced in an arrange¬ ment which gave her some prospect of repose. But the truce of Malestroit was destined to be rudely broken. Many of the Breton knights having gone to a tournament at Paris, Philip of Valois caused Olivier Clisson and eleven others to be arrested and put to death without trial. A fierce outburst was the consequence. The kinsmen of the murdered men declared in a body for the Montfort cause; Godfrey Harcourt, threatened with destruction, crossed to England to invoke Edward’s aid ; the widow of Clisson, having surprised a fort belonging to Philip, slaughtered the garrison before his eyes; and the son of Clisson took refuge in ‘ the castle of Montfort with the countess and her son, who was nearly of the same age with himself.’ When Harcourt reached the court of England and told his story, Edward was naturally indignant at what had oc¬ curred ; and, having written to the pope to complain of the infringement of the truce of Malestroit, and set free Sir Herve de Leon, who was his prisoner, that the Breton knight might carry a defiance to Philip of Valois, he pre¬ pared for action. In the midst of the excitement which prevailed in England, the Earl of Montfort escaped from JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 12) Ins prison in the Louvre, left Paris disguised as a merchant, reached a seaport, embarked, and made his way to London. At the palace of Westminster he found Edward bent on war, and had an interview, which must have been satis¬ factory. The king agreed to furnish the earl with a body of troops, under the command of the Earl of Northampton, and the earl to do homage to the king for Brittany. Ac¬ cordingly, Montfort, having done homage to Edward at Lambeth in the archbishop’s palace, embarked with an English force. His expedition, however, came to nought; and, after failing in an attack on Quimper, he gave way to sickness and felt that his end was drawing nigh. Having made a will, nominating the King of England guardian of his son, John, he died on September 26, 1345, and was buried in the church of the Holy Cross at Quimperle. The death of the Earl of Montfort crushed the hopes with which his unexpected restoration to liberty had inspired the countess. But nothing could break her spirit. Indeed, the events which now occurred on the continent were cal¬ culated to console her in bereavement. Everywhere her allies were successful. The Earl of Derby, landing with one army in Gascony, carried all before him; Edward, landing with another army in Normandy, ravaged France to the gates of Paris, overthrew Philip of Valois at Cressy, and took Calais ; Sir Thomas Dagworth, an English knight of fame, was sent with a force to sustain the Montfort cause in Brittany and fight against the enemies of the countess. An incident soon occurred to cheer her widowhood. While the countess remained in Hennebon, Sir Thomas Dagworth, among other enterprises, took Roche D’Errien; and Charles of Blois, vowing to recover it, as Vannes had been recovered from Robert of Artois, mustered a great army and marched to the place. A battle ensued in which the English had the worst of the encounter; but afterwards, falling at night on their enemies, who felt so secure as to 130 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. keep no watch, they took Charles of Blois in his tent and conducted him prisoner to Hennebon. The triumph of the Montfort party seemed complete. But at this crisis the wife of Charles manifested a spirit which almost rivalled that of the widow of Montfort, and undertook most cheerfully to continue the war. Under her auspices the struggle was carried on with as much courage as it had been by her husband ; and, in August 1350, just before the death of Philip of Yalois, Sir Thomas Dagworth and all his men, having been betrayed by Raoul de Caliours, were slain before the castle of Aurai. But still the Countess ' of Montfort continued the contest; and in 1357, during King John’s captivity, the Duke of Lancaster landed with an army in Brittany, to aid her efforts. Charles of Blois, who had recovered his liberty, thereupon in alarm applied to Charles, Regent of France, for support. But, occupied with multitudinous difficulties, Charles paid little attention to the entreaties of his kinsman. At length, in 1364, when King John had died at the Savoy, and the regent had ascended the French throne as Charles V., the long struggle which had desolated Brittany was brought to a decisive issue. As early as the time of the Duke of Lancaster’s expedition, the young Earl of Montfort had taken part in the enterprises of his adherents and allies. Having now arrived at manhood, and at an age to fight for his rights, he was besieging Aurai, when in- fonned that Charles of Blois and Bertrand du Guesclin, the famous Breton knight, and many of the lords of France, were busily arraying men-at-arms to march and raise the siege, and bring the long war to a conclusion. Montfort was doubtless dismayed. However, he sent messages into Aquitaine, entreating the knights and squires of the Black Prince to come to his assistance. In that age such an invi¬ tation was well-nigh irresistible. Sir John Chandos, with four hundred warriors, marched into Brittany; many knights at the same time, leaving England, crossed the sea to take JOAN, COUNTESS OF MONTFORT. 131 part; in the decisive encounter; and Montfort found himself at the head of a force little inferior in numbers to that with which his hereditary foe came to overwhelm him. It would seem that Charles of Blois, at the last, was in¬ clined to compromise matters; but he was scarcely his own master. When taking leave of his wife he received instruc¬ tions which forced him to do or die. Laying her hand on his arm, in the presence of Guesclin and the Breton barons, she said : 1 My lord, you are going to defend your inheri¬ tance and mine (for that which is mine is yours), which the Lord John de Montfort has seized, and kept for a very long time, most wrongfully as God knows. The barons of Brit¬ tany, who are here present, know very well that I am the lightful heiress. I therefore most earnestly bog and entreat of you, that you will not listen to any treaty or composition which may be offered, so that the whole body of the duchy may be ours.’ Madam, replied Charles, 1 1 promise faithfully to com¬ ply with your request.’ It was the morning of Sunday, October 9,1364, when the hostile armies faced each other at Aurai, in order of battle; and many masses were said, and the sacrament administered to all who wished it. Various attempts were made to nego¬ tiate, but in vain ; for Charles was hampered by the parting commands of his wife ; and the English, after having come sofai, weie in no mood to be cheated out of a fray. * Listen not to overtures of peace,’ said they to Sir John Chandos; foi we have expended our whole fortune in coming here, and aie so poor that we have no hope save in a battle, cither to lose all or to set ourselves up again.’ Accordingly, the embattled hosts came hand to hand, and fierce was the sti ife. . Ere long, however, the English proved too much len their antagonists; and the French, falling into confusion, began to fly. Sir John Chandos then advanced on the bat¬ talion of Du Guesclin; and the Breton warrior was taken prisoner. AJi was now dismay and disorder; but Charles 132 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. of Blois, surrounded by some knights and squires who pre¬ ferred death to reproach, fought to the last. At length, after his standard-bearer was slain and his standard thrown to the ground, he fell facing his foes, side by side with his bastard son, John of Blois, and several warriors of Brittany. When the field was won, the Earl of Montfort was in¬ formed that Charles of Blois was among the slain. ‘ My lord,’ said some of the knights, ‘ be of good cheer, for we have seen your adversary, the Lord Charles among the slain.’ ‘ I wish to see him myself,’ said the earl, rising; 1 for I should have as much pleasure in seeing him dead as alive; ’ and he walked with Sir John Chandos towards the spot where, covered with a shield, his foe lay dead. ‘ Ha ! ha ! my Lord Charles ! ’ exclaimed Montfort, when the shield was raised, and he looked at the dead man very sorrowfully. ‘ Fair cousin, how much mischief has happened to Brittany from your having supported your pretensions by arms ! God help me ! I am truly unhappy at finding you in this situation; but now it cannot be amended.’ Having thus expressed himself, Montfort burst into tears; and Sir John Chandos, perceiving his grief, pulled him by the skirt. ‘ My lord,’ said the brave knight, £ let us go away and return thanks to God for the success of the day; for with¬ out the death of this person you never would have gained your inheritance of Brittany.’ The victory of Montfort and the death of Charles of Blois at Aurai, virtually closed the long war, in which Joan the Fleming had played the part of a heroine. Her son was, by the treaty of Gueraude, acknowledged as Duke of Brit¬ tany; and, long after she followed her husband to the tomb, chroniclers wrote and minstrels sang, how, in the struggle carried on for the rights of her captive husband and her infant son, she proved that ‘ she had the courage of a man and the heart of a lion.’ 193 gjfjTO, (tattto of gmtlrcn A MONG the warriors who figured as the comrades of Robert Bruce, in his struggle for the Scottish crown, and who played a conspicuous part on the decisive day of Bannockburn, Thomas Randolph was of high account. Randolph was heir of a family whose chiefs had been Lords of Nitlisdale, and, during the reign of the early Plantagenets, set their faces against the English supremacy. His father, moreover, married Isabel, daughter of Robert Bruce, Earl of Garrick; and Randolph, being in this way nephew of the Norman hero who aspired to the Scottish throne, not unnaturally, after a little wavering, cast in hi3 lot with his heroic kinsman. When the struggle was ended, and the triumph achieved, Randolph was rewarded with the earldom of Moray, the lordship of Annandale, the Isle of Man, and other lands and baronies taken from men who had fought on the losing side. He lived to the year 1332, and having married Isabel, daughter of Sir John Stewart of Bonkhill, he left by that lady, whose cousin after¬ wards became king, two sons, Thomas and John, who were successively Earls of Moray, and a daughter, Agnes, who was married to Patrick, Earl of Dunbar and March, and who was described in homely phrase as Black Agnes. The House of Dunbar was founded in the eleventh cen¬ tury, by Cospatrick, the Saxon Earl of Northumberland; who, deprived and banished by the Norman conqueror, found refuge in the dominions of Malcolm Canmore. The husband of Black Agnes was the ninth in descent from 134 NOBLE DAMES OJT ANCIENT STORY. Cospatrick; and liis ancestors had constantly been in alliance with the Plantagenet kings, and strongly supported the English interests north of the Tweed. His grandfather had done good service to Henry III.; his father had fought well and faithfully for Edward I., and suffered much for his loyalty to that great sovereign; and he himself, when a boy, had first been in arms on that memorable expedition, when the chivalry of England, led by the conqueror of Evesham and Falkirk, made so mighty a display before the castle of Cerlaverock. At that time everything seemed prosperous. But evil days were at hand. The misfortunes of the second Edward ren¬ dered the Earl’s situation dangerous; the king’s defeat at Bannockburn rendered it desperate. The position which he had hitherto occupied could no longer be maintained; and when Edward, flying from his pursuers, found shelter in the castle of Dunbar, he perceived the necessity of free¬ ing the Earl from his allegiance. When, therefore, the unhappy king escaped safely to Berwick, Earl Patrick no longer hesitated to do homage to Bruce, who was his cousin. Perhaps, however, his faith to the throne that had been set up, Avas held in some doubt, and it was deemed politic to furnish him with a bride whose prejudices were all in favour of Scottish independence and the new order of things. In any case, Earl Patrick espoused the daughter of Thomas Eandolpli, Earl of Moray, and became a subject of Eobert Bruce. It was a great change; and doubtless the earl felt that it was not in every respect pleasant. However, he con¬ tinued faithful to his new friends; and, when Edward IIL advanced northward in 1333, he accepted the post of governor of the castle of Berwick. But the result of the battle on Halidon Hill forced him to come to terms with the conqueror; and, submitting with the best grace he could, he was received into the English king’s protection. The Earl of Dunbar, however, was not destined to emu- AGNES, COUNTESS OF DUNBAR. 135 late towards the third Edward the loyalty which his father had shown towards Edward’s grandsire. Pie did, indeed, attend the parliament held by Baliol, in February 3334. But probably her husband’s conduct w as little to the liking of Bandolph’s daughter; and it is not difficult to compre¬ hend how a man in Earl Patrick’s position—doubting, hesi¬ tating, and full of regret for the past, uneasiness as to the present, and apprehensions for the future—might be in¬ fluenced by a young and beautiful wife, of remarkable energy and ardent patriotism. In any case, in December 1334, when Edward was advancing through the Merse at the head of an army, the earl renounced his allegiance, and joined the Scots. Edward, as events hurried on, experienced much incon¬ venience from having Dunbar as a foe. Most of the earl’s fortresses, indeed, were in no condition to resist such an assailant as the King of England; but the idea of besieging his principal castle was one which the bravest warrior might well decline to entertain. In fact, the castle of Dunbar, founded on a rugged rock washed by the sea, with fortifi¬ cations of immense strength, and strongly garrisoned, was, in that age, deemed impregnable. Situated as it was, how¬ ever, in a territory that had yielded to Edward, the strong¬ hold proved a sore nuisance to the English king. The excursions of the garrison annoyed the adjacent country ; and the port, under shelter of the walls, was particularly convenient for the reception of supplies from France and other countries on the continent. Such being the state of the case, Edward, when preparing for his war with France, resolved on attempting its reduction, and entrusted the operation to his warlike baron, William Montacute, Earl of Salisbury. ‘ The king destroyed the greatest part of the country,’ says Froissart, ‘and took many more forts than his people had achieved from the Scots for a long time. ITe placed in them several able and expert knights and esquires; among 1.16 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOltY. whom were Sir William Montacute, and Sir Walter Manny, who made many severe skirmishes and attacks upon the Scots, and, according to custom, were always victorious.’ ‘ In order the better to secure their entrance and retreat, and to harass the country, Sir William Montacute fortified the tower of Roxburgh, upon the borders of Scotland, and made it a strong castle, able to resist any attack. He gained so much favour by his enterprises that the king created him Earl of Salisbury, and married him to a noble and honour¬ able lady. . . . True it is that the Scots did greatly disturb the English; they kept themselves in the wild parts of Scotland, among marshes and forests, where no one could follow them, and harassed the English so constantly that there were skirmishes almost every day, in one of which the Earl of Salisbury lost an eye by his too great boldness.’ It was in the month of January 1338, while affairs were in this posture, that Salisbury, accompanied by several English nobles, appeared before Dunbar, and laid siege to the castle. Earl Patrick was then with the Scottish army beyond the Forth; but Black Agnes, quite undismayed by the approach of the foe, prepared to hold out against all comers. It soon appeared that, like the Countess of Mont- fort, she * possessed the courage of a man and the heart of a lion,’ and, like the Countess of Salisbury, the art of making the garrison exert themselves to the very utmost of their power. Her nature was so fearless that no peril could daunt her; her vigilance such, that no stratagem could take her by surprise. Among the engines of war which Salisbury brought to this celebrated siege, was a huge machine called * a sow.’ The sow appears to have been a large fabric, constructed of wood, and moved on wheels. Being well roofed, and having stages within, it served the double purpose of conveying miners to the foot of the wall, and armed men to the storm. Once, when the pioneers advanced under cover of this machine to mine the wall, Black Agnes looked over the When the stones thrown by the engines shook the tower, Black Agnes sent one of her ladies with a white handkerchief to wipe off the mark.—P. 137, ■■ ' I. - - # AGNES, COUNTESS OF DUNBAE. 137 battlements. ‘ Look well to your sow,’ she cried, ‘ or I will make her cast her pigs.’ When the engine, having failed to make the impression desired by the besiegers, was destroyed by the garrison, and hastily evacuated by the miners and sol¬ diers, she exclaimed : ‘ Methinks, Montacute, your sow has farrowed her pigs; ’ and when the stones thrown by the engines of war shook the tower, and produced some confu¬ sion on the ramparts, she sent one of her ladies, in the splendid and picturesque attire of the period, with a white handkerchief, to wipe off the mark which had been made near the ramparts. Ere long Salisbury began to despair of taking Dunbar by force. Foiled in every effort by the countess, who cele¬ brated her successful defence by addressing to the assail¬ ants biting taunts and scoffs, the English earl had recourse to stratagem, and attempted to find his way into the fortress by bribing the porter. Accordingly, the porter having been bribed, agreed, at a certain hour, to admit Salisbury and his soldiers; and the earl congratulated himself on his cer¬ tainty of success. But there is much between the cup and the lip. Everything, indeed, appeared to go smoothly; and, at the time appointed, the gate was opened. Salisbury im¬ mediately rushed in ; but John Copeland, his squire, forced him back. ‘ My lord,’ said he, ‘ we are betrayed ; this is a snare; ’ and he succeeded in saving Salisbury at the expense of his own liberty. In fact, the porter had revealed the whole business to the countess; and as Salisbury, much crestfallen, retired from the attempt, she looked over the wall, waved her hand, and cried, ‘ Adieu ! Monsieur Mon¬ tacute ! ’ Notwithstanding this failure, Salisbury was not without hope. The besiegers had blocked up the harbour with two Genoese galleys and other ships; and it was believed that the garrison would soon have to choose between surrender and starvation. But Sir Alexander Earn say, a warrior cele¬ brated as ‘ the flower of knighthood,’ undertook to relieve 138 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. them. At the Bass he put a quantity of provisions and war¬ like stores on hoard a light ship, passed, at dead of night, right through the English vessels, eluded their vigilance, and, entering the harbour, raised the spirits of the countess and her soldiers by a timely relief. ISot content with the credit acquired by this exploit, he next day made a sudden and unexpected sally, and did great execution on the be¬ siegers; and, having thus signalised his courage and prowess, he next night crowned his enterprise by leaving the harbour in the same way, and as safely, as he had entered it. Meanwhile the countess did all that courage and frank¬ ness could do to animate the garrison to defend the castlo to the last. Barnes says she was 4 so liberal of her hands to her soldiers, and so pleasant in her speech, that she in¬ spired them with extraordinary valour.’ The consequence was, that when spring came and went, and the summer’s sun smiled on pool and stream, Salisbury found that he had been twenty weeks before the place, and that he was quite as far from the attainment of his object as on the first day. Under these circumstances, Salisbury no longer deluded himself with anticipations of success. He fully recognised the wisdom of wasting no more time on what appeared an impossible enterprise, but raised the siege and beat a re¬ treat. The successful resistance of the countess to the flower of England’s soldiery had a great influence in raising the spirits of the Scots, and the renown of Black Agnes became almost as great in the land as that of her father had been. The Countess of Dunbar long survived the achievement which made her name known to fame, and succeeded to the great possessions of her family. Of her two brothers, the elder fell, in 1332, at the battle of Dupplin Moor; the younger fell, in 1346, at the battle of Neville’s Cross; and, as the only surviving child of the great Randolph, she became possessed of the earldom of Moray, the lordships of Annandale and Man, the baronies of Morton and Tibbers in Nithsdale, Mordington, Dunse, and Longformacus in AGNES, COUNTESS OF DUNBAR. 139 Berwickshire, Mochrum in Galloway, Cumnock in Ayr¬ shire, and Blantyre in Clydesdale. The earldom of Moray was a male fief; but, owing to Dunbar’s great power and the countess’s popularity, they were allowed to enter upon it and assume the title in addition to their own. The countess left a numerous progeny. Her eldest son, George, succeeded his father as tenth Earl of Dunbar and March; and her second son, John, became in her right Earl of Moray. But their grandeur was about to pass away. The granddaughter of Black Agnes was betrothed to the Duke of Roth say, eldest son of the King of Scotland; and a large sum of money was advanced as part of her dowry. But Earl Douglas, ambitious to marry his own daughter to the Scottish prince, contrived to have the con¬ tract annulled; and, while Marjory Douglas was married to Rothsay in the church of Bothwell, Elizabeth Dunbar, instead of donning the veil of a bride, took the veil of a nun, and entered a convent at Perth. A fierce war, which cost Scotland dear, was the conse¬ quence of the king’s breach of faith. Reverting to the hereditary policy of his house, George, Earl of Dunbar, allied himself with Henry, King of England, and, at East Nisbet and Homeldon, avenged himself fearfully on the Scottish nation for the injury of which his daughter had been the victim. His son George, the grandson of Agnes, figured for a brief period as eleventh earl. But he was forfeited by the first James for his father’s rebellion; and the descendants of Black Agnes had nothing left but the little barony of Kilconquhar in Fife. There they vegetated till the reign of Queen Mary, recalling the days when, ac¬ cording to Matthew Paris, ‘ Earl Patrick was held to be the greatest of all the nobles of Scotland,’ mourning over their departed glory, marvelling at the audacity of the new men who had risen on the fall of their house, whose chiefs the greatest of England’s kings had addressed as ‘the noblest of men and the dearest of friends.’ 140 €anxdm of Jf ax%. A T the time when the rival claims of Edward of England and Philip of Valois, on the crown of France, were submitted to the parliament, there was a third candidate for the regal dignity. This was Philip, Count of Evreux, who had married Joan, daughter of Louis the Tenth. The count found his claim set aside ; but, inasmuch as his wife inherited from her grandmother unquestionable rights to Navarre, he had the gratification of being recognised as sovereign of that kingdom, and of reigning as Philip the Third. After making an expedition to Granada, and fighting against the Moors, Philip, in 1343, breathed his last, leaving a son, Charles, who succeeded him on the throne of Navarre and afterwards gained an unenviable notoriety as Charles the Bad, and several daughters, who made great marriages. One became the wife of the King of Aragon; another of the Viscount Rohan ; a third of Philip of Valois, King of France ; and a fourth, Agnes by name, of Gaston Phoebus, Count of Foix. Among the feudal houses which flourished in the Europe of the fourteenth century, that of Foix was one of the most famous; and among the chiefs of the house of Foix none was more widely known than Gaston Phoebus. Fortunately, Froissart visited the count at his Castle of Orthes, and left a character and description of him which enable us to form an idea of the man, and to understand, not only the style in which he lived, but the way in which he spent his time. AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 141 ‘ I began my journey,’ says Froissart, ‘ inquiring on all sides for news, and, through the grace of God, continued it without peril or hurt, until I arrived at the count’s resi¬ dence at Orthes in Bearn, on St. Katherine’s day, in the year of grace, 1388. The Count de Foix, as soon as he saw me, gave me a hearty welcome, adding, with a smile and in good French, that he was well acquainted with me, though he had never seen me before, but he had frequently heard me spoken of. ... . ‘ Count Gaston Phoebus de Foix, of whom I am now speaking, was at that time fifty-nine years old, and I must say that, although I have seen very many knights, kings, princes, and others, 1 have never seen anyone so handsome, cither in the form of his limbs and shape or in countenance, which was fair and ruddy, with grey and amorous eyes, that gave delight whenever he chose to express affection. He was so perfectly formed one could not praise him too much. ‘ He loved earnestly the things he ought to love, and hated those which it was becoming him to hate. He was a prudent knight, full of enterprise and wisdom. He had never any men of abandoned character with him, reigned prudently, and was constant in his devotions. These were regular nocturnals from the Psalter, prayers from the ritual to the Virgin, to the Holy Ghost, and from the burial service. He had every day distributed, as alms at his gates, five fiorins in small coin to all comers. He was liberal and courteous in his gifts, and well knew how to take when it was proper, and to give back where he had confidence. 1 He mightily loved dogs above all other animals, and, during the summer and winter, amused himself much with hunting. He never liked any foolish works nor ridiculous extravagancies, and would know every month the amount of his expenditure. He chose from his own subjects twelve of the most able to receive and administer his finances. 142 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Two of them had the management for two months, when they were changed for two others; and from whom he selected one as comptroller, in whom he placed his greatest confidence, and to whom all the others rendered their accounts. This comptroller accounted by rolls or written b >oks, which were laid before the count. ‘ He had certain coffers in his apartment, from whence he took money to give to different knights, squires, or gen¬ tlemen, when they came to wait on him, for none ever left without a gift; and these sums he continually in¬ creased, in order to be prepared for any event that might happen. He was easy of access to all, and entered very freely into discourse, though laconic in his advice and in his answers. He employed four secretaries to write and copy his letters; and these secretaries were obliged to be in readiness the moment he came from his closet. He called them his good-for-nothings, to whom he gave his letters after he read them, either to copy or to do anything else he might command. ‘ In such manner did the Count de Foix live. When he quitted his chamber at midnight for supper, twelve servants bore each a large lighted torch before him, which were placed near his table, and gave a brilliant light to the apartment. The hall was full of knights and squires; and there were plenty of tables laid out for any person who chose to sup. No one spoke to him at table unless he first 1 egan a conversation. He commonly ate heartily of poultry, but only the wings and thighs, for in the daytime he neither ate nor drank much. He had great pleasure in hearing minstrels, as he himself was a proficient in the science, and made his secretaries sing songs, ballads, and roundelays. He remained at table about two hours, and was placed where fanciful dishes were served up to him, which having seen he immediately sent them to the tables of his knights and squires. In short, everything considered, though 1 had been before in several courts of kings, dukes, princes, AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 143 counts, and noble ladies, I was never at one which pleased me more, nor was I ever more delighted with feats of arms, than at this of the Count de Foix. There were knights and squires to be seen in every chamber, hall, and court, going backward and forward, and conversing on arms and amours. Everything honourable was there to be found.’ Matters, however, were not as they should have been. No dame graced the board or presided over the feast. The lady’s bower was deserted. ‘ It is well known,’ said an old squire to Froissart, ‘ that the Count and Countess de Foix are not on good terms, nor have they been for a long time.’ In the midst of his state the count was, perhaps, ill at ease. There was remorseful gloom in the heart that beat under that broad chest, and there was blood on those hands and fingers celebrated as so ‘ handsome and long.’ It was in 1349, the year in which Philip of Valois married Blanche of Navarre, that the Count of Foix, then about twenty, and perhaps the handsomest man of the period, espoused Blanche’s sister, Agnes, while in her teens. Everything seemed likely to go smoothly when Agnes left Navarre for the castle of Orthes; and in good time she made the count father of a beautiful boy, who was named Gaston, and regarded with no slight interest as the heir of great feudal power and possessions. Unfortunately, in the household of the Count of Foix there were ‘ elements of disturbance.’ Perhaps Gaston Phoebus kept a mistress; perhaps more than one. At all events, it is certain that he had an illegitimate son, named Evan, of the same age as his heir, and that he regarded this boy with affection. Such being the case, no wonder can be felt that there should have been domestic quarrels; and circumstances occurred which led to a life-long separation, rendered memorable by a tragical event. It happened that when the Lord d’Albret was a prisoner of the Count of Foix, Charles, King of Navarre, brother of the countess, offered to pledge himself to the amount of 144 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. fifty thousand francs for D’Albret’s ransom. Gaston Phoebus, however, had little confidence in the honour of his brother-in-law, and declined to have him as surety. The countess, greatly piqued at' her husband’s want of faith in her brother, gave way to indignation, and high words were the consequence. ‘ I know the King of Navarre to be crafty and faithless,’ said the count, ‘ and I will not accept his security.’ ‘ My lord,’ exclaimed the countess, ‘ you show but little confidence in my brother, when you will not trust him for fifty thousand francs. If you never gain more from the Armagnacs and Labrissiens than you have done, you ought to be contented. You know that you are to assign over my dower, which amounts to fifty thousand francs, into the hands of my brother. Therefore you cannot run any risk for the repayment.’ ‘ Lady, you say truly,’ replied the count. ‘ But if I thought the King of Navarre would stop the payment for that cause, the Lord d’Albret should never leave Orthes till he had paid me the utmost farthing. Since, however, you entreat it, it shall be done; not out of love to you, but out of affection to my son.’ For this time the Countess of Foix had conquered, and the Lord d’Albret was set at liberty. But her victory involved her in awkward consequences. D’Albret, indeed, paid the money to the King of Navarre ; but Charles the Bad did not pass it on to the Count of Foix; and Gaston Phoebus began to storm. At length he lost all patience, and resolved to send his wife to obtain for him something like justice. ‘ Lady,’ said he, ‘ you must go to your brother in Navarre, and tell him that I am very ill-satisfied with him for with¬ holding from me the sum he has received on my account.’ ‘ My lord,’ replied the countess, ‘ I will cheerfully go thither.’ Accordingly, the Countess of Foix and her attendants set AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 1-15 out from Ortlies, and reached Pampeluna. Nothing could have exceeded the joy evinced by the King of Navarre at his sister s ai rival; and, when she delivered the count's message, nothing could have exceeded the coolness with which he listened and answered. i My fair sister,’ said he, ‘ the money is yours, as your dower from the Count de Foix; and since I have possession of it, it shall never go out of the kingdom of Navarre.' ‘ Ah, my lord,’ protested the countess, ‘ you will by this create a great hatred between the Count de Foix and me ; and if you persist in this resolution, I shall never dare return, for my lord will put me to death for having deceived him.’ ‘ I cannot say how you should act, whether to remain nr return,’ replied the king, somewhat embarrassed; ‘ but as I have possession of the money, and as it is my right to keep it for you, it shall never leave Navarre.’ The countess was much perplexed. In truth, between the harsh husband and the unprincipled brother, her posi¬ tion was cruel. Charles the Bad was utterly unwilling to let such a sum of money go out of his hands; and she found any efforts to get a satisfactory answer quite vain. Knowing how irritable Gaston Phoebus was, and afraid to face him with an account of what had occurred, she took refuge in inaction, and remained in Navarre. Meanwhile the Count of Foix was highly enraged be' cause the countess did not return to Ortlies ; and, forgetting how little she was to blame in the whole transaction, he began to detest her with all his heart. f I perceive the malice of the King of Navarre in the matter,’ he said; ‘ but why did not she come back, after having delivered her message ? ’ Matters, however, remained unchanged ; and the Countess of Foix had been some years in Navarre when she was visited by her son Gaston, now a fine young gentleman of fifteen or sixteen, ‘ a very handsome figure, and the exact resemblance to his father in his whole form.’ Naturally, 146 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. young Gaston was joyfully received by liis mother, and splendidly entertained during liis stay with her. When about to leave, be endeavoured to persuade the countess to accompany him to Ortbes; but her dread of Gaston Phoebus bad not been dissipated by time or absence. ‘ Did the Count de Foix order you to bring me back ? ’ asked she. ‘ No,’ he replied. ‘ When I set out from Orthes no such order was given.’ ‘ Then,’ she said, ‘1 cannot go ; for I fear to trust myself with him.’ Entreaties and remonstrances proving vain, young Gaston took leave of his mother, whom he was not destined again to see, and proceeded to Pampeluna to visit his uncle, the Iving of Navarre, with whom he remained ten days. After having been hospitably entertained, Gaston was presented with many valuable jewels and other articles, and was on the eve of departing, when the king beckoned him privately into a chamber, and handed him a bag containing powder. ‘ Gaston, my fair nephew,’ said he, * will you do what I am about to tell you ? You see how unjustly the Count de Foix hates your mother, who being my sister, it displeases me as much as it should you. If you wish to reconcile your father to your mother, you must take a small pinch of this powder, and when you see a proper opportunity, strew it over the meat destined for your father’s table. But take care no one sees you. The instant he shall have tasted it, he will be impatient for his wife, your mother, to return to him ; and they will henceforward love each other so strongly that they will never again be separated. You ought to be anxious to see this accomplished. But do not tell any one; for if you do it will lose its effect.’ ‘ My lord,’ replied the boy, who believed everything his uncle had said, ‘ I will cheerfully do what you desire;’ and leaving Pampeluna, he returned to Orthes. ‘Well, Gaston,’ said the count, on seeing him, ‘what AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 147 news bring you from Navarre; and what presents have been given you ?’ ‘ Very handsome ones,’ answered Gaston, who hastened to display the various valuables which he had received. All this passed, however, without Gaston’s mentioning the bag of powder, which he believed was to exercise so magical an effect on his father’s heart. But its existence was soon discovered by another, and revealed to the count in a way that roused his worst suspicions. ‘ Jt was customary,’ says Froissart, ‘ in the Hotel de Foix, for Gaston and his bastard brother Evan to sleep in the same chamber. They mutually loved each other, and were dressed alike, for they were nearly of the same size and age. It fell out that their clothes were once mixed together, and the coat of Gaston being on the bed, Evan, who was malicious enough, noticing the powder in the ba»* said to Gaston, “ What is this that you wear every day on your breast ? ’ Gaston was not pleased with the question, and replied, “ Give me back my coat, Evan; you have nothing to do with it.” Evan flung him the coat, which Gaston put on, but was very pensive the whole day. 1 1 hree days after, as if God was desirous of saving the life of the Count de Foix, Gaston quarrelled with Evan at tennis, and gave him a box on the ear. The boy was vexed at this, and ran crying to the apartments of the count, who had just heard mass. The count, on seeing him in tears, asked him what was the matter. “In God’s name, my lord, replied Evan, “ Gaston has beaten me, but he deserves beating much worse than I do.” “ For what reason ?” said the count, who began to have some suspicions. “ On my faith, said Evan, “ ever since his return from Navarre he wears on his breast a bag of powder. I know not of what use it can be, nor what he intends to do with it, except that he once or twice told me his mother would soon return hither, and be more in your good graces than ever she was.” “ IIo,” said the count, “hold thy tongue, and be sure thou 148 NOLLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. do not mention what thou hast just told me to any man breathing.” ‘ The Count deFoix was very thoughtful on this subject, and remained alone till dinner-time, when he rose up, and seated himself as usual at his table in the hall. His son Gaston always placed the dishes before him and tasted the meats. As soon as he had served the first dish, and done what was usual, the count cast his eyes on him, having formed his plan, and saw the strings of the bag hanging from his pourpoint. This sight made his blood boil, and he said, “ Come hither, Gaston, I want to whisper you something.” The youth advanced to the table, Avhen the count opening his bosom, undid his pourpoint, and, with his knife, cut away the bag. The young man was thun¬ derstruck, and said not a word, but turned pale with fear, and began to tremble exceedingly, for he was conscious he had done wrong. ‘ The count opened the bag, took some of the powder, which he strewed over a slice of bread, and calling a dog to him, gave it him to eat. The instant the dog had eaten a morsel, his eyes rolled round in his head, and he died. The count on this was very wroth, and indeed had reason. Rising from table he would have struck his son with a knife. But the knights and squires rushed in between them, saying, “ For God’s sake, my lord, do not be too hasty ; but make further inquiries before you do anything ill to your son.” ‘ The first words the count uttered were in Gascon, “ Ho, Gaston, thou traitor! For thee, and to increase thine inheritance, have I made war, and incurred the hatred of kings, and borne myself gallantly against them; and thou wishcst to murder me. Know, therefore, thou shalt die by this blow';” and leaping over a table with a knife in his hand he would have slain him. But the knights and squires again interfered, and on their knees said to him with tears, “ Ah, ah, my lord ! for Heaven’s sake do not kill AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 149 Gaston. You have no other child. Perhaps he was igno¬ rant what was in the bag, and may therefore be blameless.” “ Well,” replied the count, “ let him be confined in the dungeon, but so safely guarded that he may be forth¬ coming.” The youth was, therefore, confined in the tower. ‘ This business went to the heart of the count, as he plainly showed; for he assembled at Orthes all the nobles and prelates of Foix and Bearn. When they were met he informed them of the cause of his calling them together, and told them how culpable he had found Gaston; inso¬ much that it was his intention he should be put to death. They unanimously replied to this speech, “ My lord, saving your grace’s favour, we request that Gaston be not put to death. He is your heir; and you have none other.” . . . He complied with their request, but said he would keep him some time in prison. On this promise those who had * assembled departed, and Gaston remained a prisoner in Orthes. . . . ‘ The Count de Foix had caused him to be confined in a room of the dungeon where there was little light; there he remained for ten days. He scarcely ate or drank anything of the food which was regularly brought to him, but threw it aside. . . . The count would not permit anyone to remain in the chamber to advise or comfort him. He therefore never put off the clothes he had on when he entered his prison. This made him melancholy and vexed him, for he did not expect so much harshness. He there¬ fore cursed the hour he was born, and lamented that he should come to such an end. ‘ On the day of his death, those who brought him food said, 11 Gaston, here is meat for you.” He paid not any attention to it, but said, “ Put it down.” The person who served him, looking about, saw all the meat untouched that had been brought the last few days. Then, shutting the door, he went to the count, and said, “ My lord, for God’s sake 150 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. look to your son; lie is starving himself in his prison. I do not believe he has eaten anything since his confinement.” ‘ On hearing this the count was enraged, and, without saying a word, left hi3 apartment and went to the prison of his son. In an evil hour he had in his hand a knife, with which he had been paring and cleaning his nails. He held it by the blade so closely that scarcely the thickness of a groat appeared of the point; when, pushing aside the tapestry that covered the entrance of the prison, through ill luck, he hit his son on the vein of the throat, as he uttered, ‘ Ha, traitor, why dost thou not eat ?’ and instantly left the room without saying or doing anything more. The youth was much frightened at his father’s arrival, and withal exceedingly weak from fasting. The point of the knife, small as it was, cut a vein, which as soon as he felt, he turned himself on one side and died.* ‘ The count had barely got back to his apartments when the attendants of his son came and said, “ My lord, Gaston is dead.” “ Dead !” cried the count. “ Yes, God help me; indeed he is, my lord.” The count would not believe it, and sent one of his knights to see. The knight, on his return, confirmed the news. The count was noAV bitterly affected, and cried out, “ Ha, ha, Gaston, what a sorry business has this turned out for thee and for me! In an evil hour didst thou go to visit thy mother in Navarre. Never shall I again enjoy the happiness I had formerly.” ‘ He then ordered his barber to be sent for; and was shaven quite bare. He clothed himself, as well as His household, in black. The body of the youth was borne, with tears and lamentations, to the church of the Augustin friars of Orthes, where it was buried.’ The grief of the Countess of Foix must have been almost * Anderson says of the Count de Foix: ‘He entered the prison with a knife in his hand, with which he cut his son’s throat .’—Royal Genealogies, 639. AGNES, COUNTESS OF FOIX. 151 intolerable when tidings reached her in Navarre that her only son had perished by the hand of his father; and even the heart of Charles the Bad must have been penetrated with remorse when he reflected on the consequences of his attempt at vicarious murder. After an occurrence so tragical all hope of reconciliation with her husband must have vanished from the countess’s mind; and she passed long years saddened by a terrible memory. Both she and her husband long survived the death of the son who had been cradled amidst so many fair hopes; and it was not till the last decade of the century that death suddenly claimed the count as its prey. It was an August day, in the year 1391; and the Count de Foix, then more than sixty, accompanied by his illegiti¬ mate son, Evan, Avas hunting in the forest of Sauveterre. All day he was in pursuit of a boar; and it was not till evening that the beast was killed and cut up. The attendants then asked the count where he would have his dinner prepared. ‘At the inn of Rion,’ he answered, ‘ where we will dine, and ride home in the cool of the evening.’ Having thus intimated his intention, he rode with his company at a slow pace to the village of Rion; and, dis¬ mounting at the inn, went to his chamber. The weather being excessively warm, even for August, the chamber was not only strewed with rushes and fresh leaves, but, for coolness and perfume, hung with boughs newly cut; and on entering he seemed to experience a pleasant sensation. * These greens,’ he said, ‘ are very agreeable to me, for the day has been desperately hot.’ Seating himself while the table was being spread, he conversed with Evan and his knights about his dogs and the sport they had had, and then called for water to wash. A squire and knight advanced, one bearing a silver basin, the other a napkin, and Gaston Phoebus rose and stretched out his hands. No sooner, however, did his fingers touch the cold Avater than his colour changed; and falling back, he 152 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. exclaimed: ‘ I am a dead man ! Lord God, have mercy on me!’ Great was the alarm; and, as his son and the knights carried him to another chamber and laid him on a bed, the idea that he had been poisoned occurred to those present. The squires who had brought the water were eager to free themselves from suspicion. ‘ Here,’ said they, ‘ is the water. We have already drunk of it, and will now again in your presence; ’ and they did so, to the satisfaction of all. Meanwhile the count lay silent and suffering great pain. They covered him well, and put water, and bread, and spices in his mouth. But it was of no avail. He survived the attack half an hour, and, without once speaking, quietly expired. After some time the corpse was put into a coffin, removed to Orthes, and conveyed, with the face uncovered, to be interred in the church of the Cordeliers. 153 foait of Matas. ~|"N the autumn of 1361, a royal wedding was solemnised -*■ i n the chapel at Windsor, in presence of the Queen of England and her court. The ceremony excited much interest; and caused some surprise, for the bridegroom was 1 the flower of English knighthood,’ and the bride was one of the fairest of England’s daughters; and there was a good deal of scandal mixed up with the affair. In fact, the career of the lady had been such as to make the grave and the decorous shake their heads; and the warrior-prince, with whom she now stood at the altar, had in other days appeared * at the baptismal font as sponsor for the children whom she had by a former husband. The persons united under such circumstances were Edward, Prince of Wales, victor of Poictiers, and Joan Plantagenet, daughter of Edmund, Earl of Kent, and widow of Sir Thomas Holand, who, as her husband, had enjoyed that territorial dignity. Edmund, Earl of Kent, was one of the sons whom the first King Edward had by his second wife, Margaret of France, and the prince who was so cruelly put to death during the domination of Queen Isabel and Roger Mortimer. Having espoused Margaret, daughter of John, Lord Wake, Edmund left two sons and two daughters; and of these Joan was the youngest and the most beautiful. Her per¬ sonal charms made her remarkable even in that age of captivating women ; and she became celebrated as the Fair Maid of Kent. But her discretion docs not appear to have equalled her beauty; and as time passed on, her 154 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. matrimonial adventures won her a somewhat unenviable notoriety. From an early age the Prince of Wales is understood to have cherished a romantic affection for his fascinating kins¬ woman. Circumstances, however, proved adverse to their union ; and Joan of Kent, after remaining unwedded to the age of twenty-five, probably thought there was no more time to lose. Indeed, on going into the matrimonial market, she seems to have done so with the determination of making up for her disappointments, and so far to have forgotten herself as to have been guilty of something very like bigamy. Much mystery hangs over this part of her life; but there is no doubt that she was at the same time claimed as wife by Sir Thomas Holand, a Lancashire knight whose family had risen into importance under the patronage of the Earls of Lancaster, and by William Montacute, Earl. of Salisbury, son of that countess whose memory is associated with the Order of the Garter. Fierce was the contention ; and, though it is difficult to compre¬ hend the position which Joan occupied between the rival claimants, it is improbable that it was in any degree credit¬ able to her. At length the Pope was appealed to; and Holand having in his petition represented ‘ that Salisbury had intended to wed Joan of Kent had not a precontract with her by him been formerly made ; . . . . also that nevertheless the earl, taking advantage of his absence in foreign parts, made a second contract with her, and unjustly withheld her,’ Clement VI., upon full hearing of the cause, gave sentence for Holand and against Salisbury. Accord¬ ingly Holand was acknowledged as her husband; and Salisbury, acquiescing in the papal sentence, consoled him¬ self by espousing one of the daughters of John de Mohun, Lord of Dunster. While the wife of Holand, to whom she bore two sons and two daughters, Joan on the death of her brother became Countess of Kent, and Holand, as her husband, was re- 155 JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. cognised as earl. But the Lancashire knight did not long survive to enjoy his elevation. Shortly after the battle of Poictiers he went the way of all flesh; and Joan found herself as charming a widow as had appeared since the days of Dido, but by no means inclined, like the Queen of Carthage, rather to perish on a funeral pile than submit to the infliction of another husband. All this time the Black Prince continued a bachelor; not indeed that attempts had never been made to find him a bride worthy of figuring as Princess of Wales and Queen of England. Various matches were talked of. One of the ladies proposed to him as a wife was a daughter of Philip of Valois; a second a daughter of the Duke of Brabant; and a third a daughter of the King of Portugal. But each of the negotiations came to nought; and, in the midst of all those triumphs which associated his name with glory, the Prince of Wales never quite got over his early attach¬ ment to his fair kinswoman. If we are to believe the story told of the way in which the romance was revived, and the victor of Poictiers led to espouse the heroine of his early dreams, an English noble, whose name history does not mention, having fallen in love with the widowed Countess of Kent, and found his suit tardy, entreated the prince’s good word ; but that after certain denials, she told him plainly ‘ that when she was under ward she had been disposed of by others; but now, being mistress of her own actions, she would not cast her¬ self beneath her rank, but remember that she was of the blood royal of England, and therefore resolved never to marry again but to a prince of quality and virtue like himself;’ and that the hero, while pleading the cause of his friend, felt the old flame rekindled. But however that may be, it is certain that soon after ILoland’s death a mar¬ riage was projected. Grave, however, were the scruples of the king and queen; almost insuperable the objections of the Church. Edward and Philippa were averse to their 156 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. son wedding a woman whose reputation was so much the worse for-wear; and the Church not only objected to a marriage on the score of nearness of kin, but because the prince had appeared as godfather to the sons of the countess. Ere long, however, all difficulties were over¬ come. The king and queen reluctantly gave their consent; Pope Innocent granted an absolution and a dispensation; and, on the 10th of October, 1361, they were solemnly united in the royal chapel at Windsor.* After their marriage the Prince and Princess of Wales resided at the castle of Berkliamstead, and ‘ kept a noble and grand state.’ But a parliament, held in England during the winter, to form establishments for the king’s sons, inti¬ mated an opinion that the prince should repair to Aquitaine, of which he was governor ; and 1 remonstrated with him, and told him from the king his father that it would be proper for him to reside in his duchy, which would furnish him withal to keep as grand an establishment as he pleased.’ The barons and knights of Aquitaine were also very de¬ sirous that he should reside among them, and had entreated the king to allow him so to do. On hearing all this, the prince readily assented, and made every preparation be¬ coming his own and his wife’s rank. Before the Prince and Princess of Wales left England for the continent, the king and queen visited Berkham- * There is a memorandum, ‘ Given at London,’ by and under the 6eal of Simon, Archbishop of Canterbury, dated on the day of the wedding, setting forth the particulars of the ceremony, and telling us who were present, viz. Queen Philippa, the Queen of Scotland, the Countess ofHainault, the prince’s sister Isabel, and his brothers, John of Gaunt and Edmund of Langley, Dukes of Lancaster and York; William Bishop of Winchester, John of Lincoln, and Eobert of Salisbury ‘ assisted’ the Archbishop, together with the Abbot of Westminster, the deans of Windsor, Lichfield, and Lincoln. The Earls of Warwick and Suffolk, and several other noble lords and ladies, took part in the procession. The banns were asked publicly in the chapel, and the knot was tied with ‘ the kiss of peace.’ JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. 157 stead to bid them farewell. Froissart was then at the English court, and relates a strange prophecy of which he heard on the occasion. ‘ I, John Froissart,’ he says, * will literally say what, in my younger days, I heard at a mansion called Berkham- stead, distant from London thirty miles, and which, at tlio time I am speaking of, in the year of our Lord, 1361, belonged to the Prince of Wales, father of King Eichard. As the prince and princess were about to leave England for Aquitaine, to hold their state, the King of England, Queen Philippa, my mistress, the Dukes of Clarence and Lancaster, the Lord Edmund, who was afterwards Earl of Cambridge and Duke of York, with their children, came to this mansion to visit the prince and take leave of him. ‘ I was at that time twenty-four years old, and one of the clerks of the chamber to my lady the queen. During this visit, as I was seated on a bench, I heard the following con¬ versation of a knight to some of the ladies of the queen. He said : u There was in that country a book, called Brut, which many say contains the prophecies of Merlin. Ac¬ cording to its contents, neither the Prince of Wales, nor Duke of Clarence, though sons to King Edward, will wear the crown of England, but it will fall to the house of Lancaster.” ’ Soon after this the prince and princess left England, which they were not destined to see again till that gloomy period when the hero came to his native land to die. ‘ When all was ready,’ says Froissart, 1 they took leave of the king, the queen, and their brothers, set sail from England, and were landed at La Eochelle, . . . where they were received with great joy, and remained four whole days. As soon as the Lord John Chandos, who had go¬ verned the duchy of Aquitaine a considerable time, was informed that the prince was coining, he set out for Niost, where he resided, and came to La Eochelle, with a hand¬ some attendance of knights and squires, where they feasted 158 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. most handsomely the prince, princess, and their suite. The prince was conducted from thence, with great honour and rejoicings, to the city ofPoictiers. The borons and knights of Poitou and Saintonge, who at that time resided there, came and did homage and fealty to him. The prince rode from city to city, and from town to town, receiving every¬ where due homage and fealty. He at last came to Bordeaux, where he resided a considerable time. The earls, viscounts, barons, knights, and lords of Gascony came thither to pay their respects to him, all of whom he received in so gracious and pleasing a manner, that every one was contented. Even the Count de Foix came to visit him, whom the prince and princess received most honourably, and treated him magnificently.’ While in Aquitaine, Edward and Joan resided sometimes at Angouleme, and at other times in the monastery of St. Andrew at Bordeaux. At Angouleme, in 1364, Joan gave birth to a son, who was named Edward, and at Bordeaux, in 1366, to a second son, who was named Richard. But before the latter event took place, the attention of the Black Prince had been attracted to the fratricidal war which was then raging in Castille, and which was destined to cost him so dear. It appears that Alphonso, King of Castille, who died while besieging Gibraltar, in 1350, left by his wife, Mary of Portugal, a son Peter, and by his mistress, Eleanor de Guzman, a son Henry. No sooner did Alphonso expire, than a struggle for the mastery began, and, Peter being victorious, Henry fled to Aragon. Matters, however, did not long remain quiet. Indeed the King of Castille was guilty of such severities, that he became known as Peter the Cruel, and he was accused of having, to gratify his mistress, caused his wife, Blanche of Bourbon, a princess of the blood royal of France, to be poisoned 5r butchered. This excited the anger of Charles, King of France, and when applied to by Henry for aid to dethrone his brother, JOAN PLANTAGENET, TIUNCESS OF WALES?. 159 Charles despatched several companies of free lances, under Bertrand du Guesclin, the famous Breton knight. Du Guesclin, at the head of these terrible warriors, con¬ ducted Henry into Spain; and Peter, unable to cope with such an antagonist, left his kingdom to be seized by his illegitimate brother, and repaired to Bordeaux to crave from the Black Prince aid in regaining the crown he had lost. ‘ The prince, who was anxious to see his cousin the king, Don Pedro,’ says Froissart, ‘ and also to do him the more honour, rode out of Bordeaux, attended by his knights and squires, to meet him. When they met, he saluted him very respectfully, and paid him every attention by speech and action j for he knew perfectly how so to do : no prince of his time understood so well the practice of good breeding. .After their meeting, when they had refreshed themselves, as was becoming them to do, they rode towards Bordeaux. The prince placed Don Pedro on his right hand, and would not suffer it to be otherwise. During their return, Don Pedro told the prince his distresses, and in what manner his brother the bastard had driven him out of the kingdom of Castille. . . . ‘ Conversing on this subject, as well as on other topics, they rode on to Bordeaux, and dismounted at the monastery of St. Andrew, the residence of the prince and princess. The king, Don Pedro, was conducted to an apartment which had been prepared for him. When he had dressed himself suitably to his rank, he waited on the princess and the ladies, who all received him very politely.’ It does not appear that Don Pedro made a very favourable impression on Joan of Kent. Indeed, when informed, while at her toilet, that the Black Prince had decided on espousing the dethroned king’s cause, she ex¬ pressed much regret. ‘ I deeply grieve,’ she said, ‘ to hear that my husband should have allowed himself to be imposed on by a man so treacherous and so cruel.’ 160 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. ‘ I see,’ said the prince when he heard this, * that she wants me to be always at her side. Btit, by St. George, I must and will restore Castille to its right inheritor.’ The prince lost no time in summoning free companies to his standard, and assembling an army to aid Peter; and he soon had a noble host ready to march into Spain. All was bustle and excitement, and it was in the midst of the preparations that Joan’s ill-fated son, Richard, was born at Bordeaux. 1 Time passed away so quickly while the prince was col¬ lecting his stores, and waiting the arrival of his brother, the Duke of Lancaster,’ says Froissart, ‘ that the princess was taken in labour, and through God’s grace, delivered of a fine boy, on a Wednesday, the feast of the Epiphany, in the year 1367. The prince and his whole household were much rejoiced at this event. On the following Friday he was baptized about noon, at the holy fount of St. Andrew’s church. The Archbishop of Bordeaux performed the cere¬ mony. The Bishop of Agra and the King of Majorca were his godfathers.’ The enterprise of the Prince of Wales resulted in a glorious victory. On the morning of Sunday, the 3rd of April, 1367, he totally defeated Henry and Du Guesclin at Navaretta. Henry fled to France ; Du Guesclin was taken prisoner; and Peter was once more king. But when restored to his throne, he evinced the basest ingrati¬ tude towards his benefactor; and the prince returned to Bordeaux overwhelmed with debt, incurred during the expedition, and under the influence of a disease so myste¬ rious that it was ascribed to poison. Meanwhile, Joan, in the absence of her husband, was exposed to some danger, and under considerable apprehen¬ sion. On reaching France, Henry gathered some free companies, and threatened to attack Aquitaine. When the princess heard of the peril that menaced her husband’s duchy, she was seriously alarmed. ‘ She was much as- JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF "WALES. mi tonislied on hearing it,’ says Froissart; « but since lie was in the territories belonging to the crown of France, she sent •special ambassadors to the King of France, to entreat that he would not suffer the bastard of Spain to make war upon her, nor to have any support from France to carry such designs into effect, for too serious evils would arise from it. The King of France immediately assented to the request of the princess.’ Disgusted beyond measure with Peter of Castille, and much depressed in health and spirits, the Black Prince reached Bordeaux with the prisoners taken at Navaretta, the chief of whom was Du Guesclin. As he approached the city, the princess, accompanied by her son Edward, then three years of age, came out to meet him. One day, some time after, when the princess was holding a court, and the prince, notwithstanding his Wretched health and his pecuniary difficulties, was in a good humour, he cast his eye on Du Guesclin, who was short and corpulent, and quite the reverse of comely, and calling the captive knight, asked him how he fared. 4 My lord,’ replied Du Guesclin, ‘ I was never better; I cannot be otherwise than well, for I am, though in prison, the most honoured knight in the world.’ ‘ How so ? ’ asked the prince. ‘ In truth,’ answered Du Guesclin, 1 they say in France, as well as in other countries, that you are so much afraid of me, and have such a dread of my gaining my liberty, that you dare not set me free; and this is my reason for thinking myself so much valued and honoured.’ 1 What, Sir Bertrand,’ exclaimed the prince, * do you imagine we keep you a prisoner for fear of your prowess ?' By St. George, it is not so; for you shall name your own ransom, and, be it great or small, you shall be free.’ ‘ Then I name a hundred thousand crowns,’ said Du Guesclin. 162 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. * And how can you expect to raise a sum so enormous ? asked the prince. ‘ Ah, my lord,’ exclaimed the captive, * I know a hundred knights in my native Brittany who would pawn their last horse and mortgage their last acre rather than that Du Guesclin should either remain captive or be rated below his value. Yea; and there is hardly a woman in France, now toiling at the distaff, who would not devote a day’s earnings to set me free ; and, if all the fair spinners in France employ their hands to redeem me, think you, prince, I shall abide much longer with you ?’ ‘ My lord,’ said the princess, addressing her husband, ‘ I name fifty thousand crowns as my contribution to the ransom of your prisoner, for, though an enemy of my country, a knight who has shown such courteous protec¬ tion to women deserves the aid of every woman worthy of her sex.’ 1 Ah, lady,’ cried Du Guesclin, throwing himself at Joan’s feet, ‘being the worst favoured knight in France, I never reckoned on any goodness from your sex, save from those I have aided and protected with my sword; but your bounty makes me think less contemptuously of myself.’ Having recovered his liberty, Du Guesclin returned into Spain, defeated Peter the Cruel on the 13th of August, 1368, at Montiel, and reseated Henry of Trastamare on the throne of Castilie. Meanwhile the Prince of Wales was, owing to Peter’s breach of faith, exposed to much inconvenience for want of money. In order to pay the troops who had taken part in the expedition, he endeavoured to impose a liearth-tax throughout Aquitaine, which raised a howl of discontent The Gascons, declaring that they had ever been exempt from taxation of all kinds, appealed to the King of France; and Charles, in contempt of the treaty of Bretigny, which conveyed the province in full sovereignty to the King of JOAN TLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. IG3 England, sent messengers to cite the Prince of Wales before the chamber of peers. ‘Very well,’ said the prince, ‘we will willingly attend on the appointed day at Paris, but it will be with our helmet on our head, and accompanied by sixty thousand! men.’ Events now hastened rapidly on to a crisis, and war was. declared. The prince, on hearing while keeping his court at Angouleme that the Dukes of Anjou and Berry were invading Aquitaine at different points, resolved to take the field. ‘ It was also told the prince,’ says Froissart, 1 that so far as could be imagined, they were marching to form a juncture near Angouleme to besiege him and the princess therein, and advised him to consider of it. The prince, who was valour itself, and full of resources, replied that his enemies should never find him shut up in town or castle, and that “ he would immediately march and take the field against them.” Clerks and knights were instantly employed to write and send off letters to loyal friends and subjects to meet him at the town of Cognac. His rendezvous was fixed there, and he soon left Angouleme, attended by the princess and his young son Kichard.’ But the result of the campaign was by no means so glorious as had been anticipated. Edward Prince of Wales was no longer the Edward of Poictiers and of Navaretta. Every exertion aggravated his disorder; and, after be- sieging and taking the town of Limoges, where he is said to have exhibited a severity which shocked his own friends, he returned to Cognac, where the princess had remained, and not intending to do any more that season, disbanded his forces. Scarcely had the Prince and Princess of Wales returned to Bordeaux when they had to mourn the death of their eldest son, Edward. Both of them were much grieved at this event; and, what was still worse, the malady of the prince daily grew more alarming. In these circum- 761 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. stances lie was advised by bis physicians and surgeons to return to England; and, supposing that in his native air he might recover his health, he agreed, placed Aquitaine under the charge of his brother, John of Gaunt, embarked at Bordeaux with the princess and their son Bichard, and, having favourable weather, arrived safely at Southampton, and set out for Windsor. But the prince was by this time so weak that he had to travel in a litter instead of making the journey on horseback. ‘After having refreshed themselves for two days,’ says Froissart, ‘ all mounted their horses and took the road for Windsor, except the prince, who was carried in a litter. On their arrival they found the king, who was there. He received his children very kindly, and made many inquiries into the state of Guienne. After the prince had made some stay with the king, he took his leave and retired to his manor of Berkhamstead.’ It soon appeared that the malady of the Black Prince was mortal, and that even the air of his native England could not restore the energies of the hero who had contri¬ buted so greatly to her glory in Europe. For years, how¬ ever, he lingered, and it was not till Sunday, the 8th of June, 137G, when he was at the palace of Westminster, that death came to claim its prey. His body was em¬ balmed, placed in a leaden coffin, and kept until Michaelmas that he might be buried with due pomp when parliament assembled ; and he was then with much ceremony interred in the cathedral of Canterbury,—his favourite suit of black armour being suspended over his tomb. Joan of Kent was now a second time a widow; and this time her responsibility Avas great; for Edward III. was an old man, and her son Bicliard, a lad of ten, Avas likely at an early period to be king. The boy Avas imme¬ diately recognised as heir to, the throne. ‘ After the feast of Michaelmas,’ says Froissart, ‘ when the funeral of the prince had been performed in a manner JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OP WALES. 1G5 suitable to bis birth and merit, the King of England caused the young prince Richard to be acknowledged as his suc¬ cessor to the crown after his decease by all his children, the Duke of Lancaster, the Earl of Cambridge, the Lord Thomas, his youngest son, as well as by all the barons, earls, prelates, and knights. He made them swear solemnly to observe this; and on Christmas-day he had him seated next to himself, above all his children, in regal state, that it might be seen and declared he was to be king.’ The Princess of Wales now became a convert to the doctrines preached by Wickliffe; and, having taken up her residence with her son at the manor of Kennington, she was there when the Londoners, indignant at the protection afforded by John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, and Lord Percy to the Reformer, rose, gutted the palace of the Savoy, and broke into Percy’s house.* A few months later, in June, 1377, Edward III. breathed his last at Shene : and at Westminster Richard was crowned King of England. It would have been something novel in history if, con¬ sidering the circumstances of England, a minority so long as that of Richard had passed over without serious troubles. The very reverse proved the case. In order to replenish the exchequer, parliament imposed a poll-tax of a penny- on all persons above fifteen; and the tax being collected with rigour caused general discontent. Agitators were not wanting to excite the passions of the populace on such an occasion, and Jack Ball, a crazy priest, made himself * ‘ Then,’ says Baker, ‘ this furious multitude ran to assail the Savoy, which a knight of the duke’s seeing, hastes to the place where his lord dined, and acquaints him with this uproar in the city. The duke, upon hearing it, leaps from the table so hastily, that he hurt both his shins on the form, and, with Sir Henry Percy alone, takes boat, and goes to Kennington, near Lambeth, where the princess with the young prince lay, to whom he complains of the riot and the violence offered him.’ 1C6 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. particularly conspicuous in the county of Kent. Every Sunday after mass he was in the habit of haranguing the people in market-places, expatiating on their grievances, and inciting them to insurrection. ‘ My good friends,’ he would say, * things cannot go on well in England, nor ever will, until everything shall be in common, when there shall be neither lord nor vassal, and all distinctions levelled; when the lords shall be no more masters than we are. How ill have they used us 1 And for what reason do they thus hold us in bondage ? Are we not all descended from the same parents, Adam and Eve? Yet they are all clothed in velvets and rich stuffs, ornamented with ermine and other furs, while we are forced to wear poor clothes. They have wines, spices, and fine bread; and if we drink, it must be water. They have handsome seats and manors, while we must brave wind or rain in our labours in the field ; but it is from our labour that they have wherewith to support their pomp. Let us go to the king, who is young, and remonstrate with him on our servitude, telling him we must have it other¬ wise, or that we shall find a remedy for it ourselves.’ At that time—it was 1381—there lived at Dartmouth a man named Wat Tyler; and into his cottage, while he was working on the roof of a house hard by, went the tax-gatherer to demand payment of the poll-tax. A dispute arose between the official and Wat’s wife as to whether her daughter was fifteen or not; and the tax-gatherer declaring he should soon ascertain, laid hold of the girl with indelicate freedom. Hearing the dispute, Wat came into the cottage, and, having killed the tax-gatherer on the spot, became captain of the Kentish men, appointed Jack Ball his chaplain, gathered a multitudinous rabble, and, after creating a riot at Canterbury, marched towards London. When this occurred, the princess-mother happened to have undertaken a pilgrimage to Canterbury ; and greatly alarmed was she to learn that the condition of the country JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. IC7 was such as to render it unsafe to travel. Nevertheless, by- hurrying from Canterbury to London, she trusted to escape all danger, and set out in haste without ventuz'ing to stop by the way. In her hope of reaching London without molestation she was disappointed. At Blackheath, where the insurgents are said to have numbered a hundred thousand, they surrounded her car, caused much confusion, and were so violent that she felt great alarm both on her own account and that of her ladies. However, they did not proceed to extremities. A few of them, indeed, insisted on kissing the princess’s cheek; but they refrained from mischief; and Joan, thanking God for her escape, hurried on with her retinue to the Tower of London, where she found the king, her son, Avith the Archbishop of Can¬ terbury, and several men of high rank, among whom was the Earl of Salisbury, who in other days had claimed her as his wife. Affairs now looked most gloomy. Gathering from all quarters, the mob entered London tumultuously; and, after indulging to excess in strong drink, forced their way into the Tower, massacred the Archbishop of Canterbury, and frightened Joan almost out of her senses. The scoundrels,’ says Froissart, 1 entered the apartment of the princess, and cut her bed, which so terrified her that she fainted, and in this condition was by her servants and ladies carried to the river side, whence she was con¬ veyed to the house called the Wardrobe, where she con¬ tinued that day and night like a woman half dead.’ At the Wardrobe the princess-mother remained while the work of murder and spoliation went on. The insurgents, hounded on by Ball, Tyler, and Jack Straw, another de- magogue of the day, plundered and burned the palace of the Savoy, destroyed Newgate, the Temple, the Priory of the Knights of St. John, and the Sanctuary of the Flemings, sixty of whom they beheaded. But, after two days of anarchy and bloodshed, the rioters were informed that the 169 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. young king would confer with them at Mile End, and Bichard, leaving the Tower, gave such assurances that the men of Essex and Hertford went quietly home. ‘ When the people had been appeased at Mile End,’ says Froissart, ‘ and were setting off for their different towns as speedily as they could receive the king’s letters, King Bichard went to the Wardrobe, where the princess was in the greatest fear. He comforted her, as he w r as very well able to do, and passed there the night. On the Saturday morning the king left the Wardrobe, and Avent to West¬ minster, where he and all the lords heard mass in the abbey.’ Matters Avere still in a most unsatisfactory state. The Kentish men, under Wat Tyler, maintained their position, and affairs Avere at the worst, Avhen the king, after hearing mass at Westminster, mounted and rode eastAvard. Attended by William Wahvortli, Mayor of London, and sixty other persons, he encountered the multitude, and Wat Tyler spur¬ ring forAvard to address him, came so close that the head of the demagogue’s horse touched the tail of the king’s. While Wat with one hand played with his dagger, he Avith the other seized Bichard’s rein, as if Avith violent intent. But the mayor seeing this, dreAV his sAvord and inflicted a severe Avound on the demagogue’s neck, and Avhen Wat Avheeled round to address thq. mob, an esquire, named Standish, felled him to the ground. ‘ You have killed our captain,’ shouted the Kentish men, bending their boAvs. ‘ My lieges,’ said Bichard, riding forAvard, ‘ I am your king, and I will be your captain.’ This appeal from the young king to the better nature of the Kentish men touched them as Englishmen. Some of them knelt for pardon; others taking to the fields, de¬ camped ; and the insurrection AA’as at an end. * The king,* says Froissart, ‘immediately took the road to the Wardrobe, to visit the princess, his mother, Avho had remained there two days and two nights, under the greatest fears, as indeed ‘ M y lieges,’ said Richard, riding forward, ‘ I am your King, and I will be your captain P. 168. J JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. 1G9 she Lad cause. On seeing the king her son, she was mightily rejoiced, and said, “Ha ! La ! fair son, what pain and anguish Lave I not suffered for you this day 1 ” “ Cer¬ tainly, madam,” replied the king, “I am well assured of that, hut now rejoice and thank God ; for it behoves us to praise him, as I have this day regained my inheritance and the kingdom of England, which I had lost.” The king remained the whole day with his mother. The lords retired to their own houses. A proclamation was made through all the streets, that every person who was not an inhabitant of London, and who had not resided there for a whole year, should instantly depart. After this proclama¬ tion had been heard, no one dared to infringe it, but all departed instantly to their homes quite discomfited.’ At the time of Wat Tyler’s insurrection, the princess- mother had, under peculiar circumstances, the company of her daughter Joan Holand, who after the battle of Aurai, had been espoused by John Duke of Brittany. It seems that the duke’s alliance with the English exposed him to the incon¬ venience of being expelled from his province, and that with his duchess he sought an asylum in England. Weary¬ ing of exile, however, he returned to the continent, and finding the English alliance less profitable than in other days, made his peace with the King of France. This step highly exasperated the barons and knights of England ; and they manifested their indignation by preventing the return of the duchess to her husband. ‘ Since,’ said they, ‘ the Duke of Brittany has so ill and treacherously acquitted himself, whenever he shall demand back his duchess, let us not consent, but send him his two enemies, the sons of Charles of Blois. lie is duke through our power; and an ungrateful return does he make for what he has had from us. We ought therefore to act in like manner to him for his disgraceful conduct.’ So the Duchess of Brittany remained in England with her mother, and was residing there, when Anne of Bohemia, 170 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. sister of the Emperor Wenceslaus, came to England as King Richard’s bride. Early in Richard’s reign, Sir Simon Burley was sent to the emperor to demand the hand of his sister for the young King of England. The emperor had no objections to the match; but he entertained some doubts as to the state of the country of which it was proposed to make the princess queen; and he deemed it prudent to send the Duke of Saxony to view the land, and inquire. The duke came, saw, and was satisfied; and, as time passed on, he con¬ ducted the princess to England. ‘ They conducted her to Calais,’ says Froissart, ‘ when the Brabanters returned, after they had delivered her to the barons of England. The young lady made no stay at Calais, but till the wind was favourable. She embarked on a Wednesday morning when the vessels were manned, and the same day arrived at Dover, where she halted to repose herself. On the third, she set out for Canterbury, where the Earl of Buckingham received her very grandly. The lady pursued her journey to London, and was most honourably received by the citizens, the ladies and damsels of the town and country, who were all assembled to meet her. She was married to the king in the chapel of the palace of Westminster, the twentieth day after Christmas. ‘ On the wedding-day, there were great feastings. That gallant and noble knight, Sir Robert de Namur, had always accompanied her from the time he quitted Germany until she was married, for which the Emperor and the King of England held themselves much obliged. The king carried his queen to Windsor, where he kept an open and noble house. They were very happy together. She was accom¬ panied by the Princess of Wales and the Duchess of Brittany, who was, at that time, separated from her husband.’ Meantime Joan’s other daughter, Maude Holand, had been given in marriage. In iact, the young Count of St. JOAN PLANTAGENET, PRINCESS OF WALES. 171 Pol, having been taken prisoner on the continent and brought to England, soon captivated the fancy of the king’s half-sister, and espoused her after a courtship under romantic circumstances. The Count of St. Pol,’says Froissart, ‘had an agreeable prison in the beautiful castle of Windsor, and was allowed the liberty of amusing himself with hawking whenever he pleased in the environs of Westminster and Windsor. He was thus trusted on the faith of his word. ‘ The princess-mother resided at that time at Windsor with her daughter, the Lady Maude, the most beautiful woman in England. The young Count de St. Pol and this lady fell loyally in love with each other; they frequently met at dancings, carollings, and at other amusements; so that it was suspected the young lady tenderly loved the count; and she discovered the whole to her mother. A treaty of marriage was then entered into between the Count of St. Pol and the Lady Maude IToland. The count was ran¬ somed for six score thousand francs; of which one half was remitted on his marriage; the remainder he was to pay. When the treaty had been concluded between the young people, the King of England granted permission to the count to cross the sea in order to procure his ransom, on his promise to return within the year. The young count returned to England to acquit himself of his. engagements to the king, and to marry his bride. He paid the sixty thousand francs according to his ob¬ ligation, and recrossed the sea, but did not enter France, for the king disliked him much. The count and countess went, therefore, to reside at the castle of Han-sur-IIeure, which the Lord of Moraine, who had married his sister, lent them; and there they remained during the life of the Kin 2 of France.’ Soon after the arrival of Anne of Bohemia, a tragical event, which involved her son, Sir John Ploland, in trouble, brought down Joan of Kent with sorrow to the grave. 172 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STONY. In concert with the French, who landed in Scotland under John de Vienne, Admiral of France, the Scots made pre¬ parations for invading the north of England; and Eichard, still in his teens, buckled on his armour and led a gallant army to encounter his enemies. On his march toward the frontier, Eichard halted at Beverley; and as the warriors composing his army were too numerous to find quarters in the town, many of them went to the adjacent villages. It happened that a German knight in search of lodgings was endeavouring to make himself understood ; and two squires of Sir John Holand, the king’s half-brother, began to ridi¬ cule his bad English. Two archers in the service of Sir Ralph Stafford, son of the lord of that name, being present, took great part with the German; and, a quarrel arising, one of the archers drew his bow and shot one of the squires. On hearing of his squire’s death, Holand w r as greatly enraged. In his wrath he swore neither to eat nor drink till he had executed vengeance; and, mounting his horse after nightfall, he rode off in the direction of the village where the fray had taken place. While galloping furiously along a narrow lane in the dark, he happened to meet Stafford, who had been summoned on the same business, and a few words passing struck at him with his sword. The blow proved fatal; Stafford fell mortally wounded; and Holand rode on without knowing what he had done. When, however, he learned that he had slain a man of such consideration as the heir of Lord Stafford, he hastened to the church of John of Beverley, and took refuge in the sanctuary. The affair created much sensation, and caused deep con¬ cern. When Lord Stafford heard of the death of his son, who was a young man of popularity and accomplishments, he was profoundly grieved. But he resolved not to forget his duty to his country. Presenting himself to the king, who at the time was attended by his uncles and many knights, he bent his knee. JOAN PLANTAGENET, PEINCESS OF WALES. ]“3 My lord, said he, 1 thou art King of England, and hast solemnly swore to maintain the realm in its rights and to do justice. Thou art well acquainted how that thy brother, without the slightest reason, has murdered my son and heir. I therefore come and demand justice. Otherwise thou wilt not have a worse enemy than me. I must likewise inform thee my son’s death affects me so bitterly that, if I were not fearful of breaking up the expedition by the trouble and confusion I should make in the army, and the defections it would cause, by my honour, it should be avenged in so severe a manner that it should be talked of in England a hundred years to come. For the present, however, and during the expedition, I shall not think of it, for I wish not the Scots to rejoice at the misery of Earl Stafford.’ 1 Be assured,’ replied the king, ‘ I myself will do justice, and punish the crime more severely than the barons would venture to do. And never for any brother will I act other¬ wise.’ When the expedition was over, Lord Stafford, grieved in spirit and hoping to find consolation for his loss by kneeling at the Holy Sepulchre, went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and while on his return died at llhodes. The king mean¬ while refused to pardon his half-brother; and the princess- mother was so concerned at the misfortune which her son’s rashness had brought upon him, that her health gave way and she began to droop. In fact, Joan was no longer the beautiful and graceful woman who had won the heart of the hero of the age, and been contended for by rival suitors. She was verging on threescore, and so bulky in person as to appear unwieldy. But she could at times display some¬ thing of her old tact and energy; and in her last days caused some surprise by the activity she showed when eager to make peace between her son and John of Gaunt. ‘ The king,’ says Dugdale, speaking of the eighth year of Kichard’s reign, ‘ guided by evil counsel, turned against the Duke of Lancaster. But the Princess Joan travelled 174 NOBLE DAMES OE ANCIENT STORY. from place to place to reconcile them, though she was very corpulent, and spared neither pains nor charge in journeying to and fro, till she had made a perfect reconciliation.’ But this was the last work of the widow of the Black Prince in the service of the state. Feeling that her end was approaching, she retired to her castle of Wallingford; and there by her will, dated the 7th of August, 1385, she * be¬ queathed her body to be buried in the chapel at Stanford, near the grave of her first husband; and gave to her son King Richard, her new bed of red velvet, embroidered with ostrich feathers of silver, and heads of leopards of gold, with boughs and leaves proceeding from their mouths ; also to her son Thomas, Earl of Kent, her bed of red camak, paled with red and rays of gold, and to John Holand, her other son, one bed of red camak.’ In 1385, soon after making her will, Joan of Kent breathed her last at Wallingford. It does not appear that the memory of her early indiscretions died with her. Indeed, her sins were visited upon her ill-fated son. When the prediction alluded to by the knight, whom Froissart heard conversing with the queen’s ladies at Berkhamstead, w r as fulfilled, and Richard was dethroned by his cousin, Henry of Lancaster, the son of Gaunt availed himself of the princess-mother’s equivocal reputation, to question her son’s legitimacy. On the occasion of Richard resigning *his crown in the Tower of London, Henry, without any excessive delicacy, alluded to the suspicions that were entertained. ‘ The common report of the country,’ said he, ‘ is that I have a better right to the crown than you have. This was told to our grandfather, King Edward, of happy memory, when he educated you, and had you acknowledged heir to the throne ; but his love was so strong for his son, the Prince of Wales, nothing would make him alter his purpose, but you must be king. If you had followed the example of the prince, or attended to the advice of his counsellors, like a JOAN PLANTAGENET PRINCESS OF WALES. 175 good son who should be anxious to tread in the steps of a father, you might still have been king; but you have always acted so contrary, as to occasion the rumour to be generally believed throughout England and elsewhere, that you are not the son of the Prince of Wales, but of a priest or canon. ‘ I have heard several knights, who were of the house¬ hold of my uncle the prince, declare that he was jealous of the princess’s conduct. She was cousin-german to King Edward, who began to dislike her for not having children by his son, since he had stood godfather to two sons by her former marriage with Sir Thomas Holand. She knew well how to keep the prince in her chains, having through subtlety enticed him to marry; but, fearful of being divorced by his father for want of heirs, and that the prince would marry again, she, it was said, got connected with some one, by whom she had you and another son, who died in his infancy, and no judgment can be formed of his cha¬ racter. But you, from your manners and mode of acting, so contrary to the gallantry and prowess of the prince, are thought to be the son of a priest or canon; for, at the time of your birth, there were many young and handsome ones in the household of the prince at Bordeaux. Such is the report of this country, which your conduct has confirmed ; for you have ever shown great affection to the French, and an inclination to live on good terms with them, to the loss and dishonour of England.’ Jflorm* of girscajj. A T the time when Froissart was at the castle of Orthes, he felt some curiosity as to a knight who stood in tho same relationship to Gaston Phoebus de Foix as Evan had stood towards Gaston the younger, and applied for informa¬ tion to the squire who had revealed to him the domestic misfortunes of the husband of Agnes of Navarre. ‘ I once asked him,’ says the chronicler, ‘ about Sir Peter de Bearn, bastard brother to the count, who seemed to me a knight of great valour, and if he were rich or married. “ Married, indeed, he is,” replied he, “ but neither his wife nor children live with him.” “ For what reason ? ” said I. “ I will tell you,” replied the squire. ‘ Sir Peter de Bearn has a custom, when asleep in the night-time, of rising, arming himself, drawing his sword, and fighting, as if he were in actual combat. The chamberlains and valets, who sleep in his chamber to watch him, on hearing him rise, go to him and inform him what he is doing; of all which he tells them he is ignorant, and that they lie. Sometimes they leave neither arms nor sword in his chamber, when he makes such a noise and clatter, as if all the devils in hell were there. They there¬ fore think it best to replace the arms; and sometimes he forgets them, and remains quietly in his bed.” I again asked if he had a large fortune with his wife. “ Yes, in God’s name, had he,” says the squire ; “ but the lady keeps possession of it, and enjoys the profits, except a fourth part, which Sir Peter has.” “ And where does the lady reside ? ’ FLOEENCE OF BISCAY. 177 “ She lives with h er cousin, the King of Castille. Her father was Count of Biscay, and cousin-german to Don Pedro, who put him to death.” ’ . f 4 mu ® t he confessed there is much difficulty in recon¬ ciling this account of the wife of Sir Peter of Bearn with the statements of genealogists. In fact, it appears that in 1287 Diego Lopez Diaz de Haro, high steward and standard- bearer to King Sancho, was made Count of Biscay, with command over all the country from Burgos to the sea; but that, afterwards displaying a dangerous ambition, he was in 1289 slain at court in the king’s presence. However, he left a daughter, who, having been espoused by the king’s brother, had a son, John, who was recognised as Count of Biscay, in right of his mother, and surnamed Codes, be¬ cause he -had lost an eye while battling with the Moors. But John, like his predecessor, showed himself refractory* and met with a similar punishment. In 1327 he was killed by the king s order; and his pretensions were inherited by his daughter Mary. In 1329 John de Lara espoused Mary of Biscay, and in her light became lord of that province, the inhabitants of which differed from other Spaniards in customs as well as language,. making the women drink before the men, ever after a King of Castille attempted to poison his son in a cup of wine ; holding themselves free from the payment of taxes, and not allowing any prelate to come among them ; * and he had a son, Nugna, and two daughters, Joan and Isabel. On the 28th of November, 1351, John de Lara and his countess ceased to live. Nugna died some time after his parents. . Joan, who was wife of Tellio de Castell, was put to death in 1359. Isabel, who was wife of John de Arragon, * When Ferdinand the Catholic,’ says Anderson, ‘came in pro¬ gress hither, the people rose and drove back his companion, the bishop of Pampeluna, from the king’s presence, and gathering all the dust on which they thought the bishop had trod, threw it into the sea.’ 178 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. was put to death in 1361 ; and Peter the Cruel took posses¬ sion of Biscay and its dependencies, and annexed them to the crown. Such are the particulars as to the house of Biscay furnished by genealogists.* It appears, however, from the narrative of Froissart, that there was a survivor; that the survivor was a damsel; and that the damsel’s name was Florence ; that Florence was a lady of honour to Blanche of Bourbon ; that, with regard to the murder of that illstarred princess, she spoke with more courage than prudence; and that King Peter, who was then gratifying his savage propensities without fear or scruple, wished to seize and imprison her. Florence, how¬ ever, received warning from her friends that she was in danger, and that if she valued life and liberty she must lose no time in saving herself. ‘ Lady,’ said they, ‘ fly; for if Don Pedro lay hands on you, he will put you to death, or at least imprison you; for he is much enraged that you should say he strangled his queen, sister to the Duke of Bourbon and the Queen of France, in her bed; and your evidence is more readily believed than any other, inasmuch as you were of her bed¬ chamber.’ Not having any fancy for trusting to Peter’s tender mercies, Florence took the advice. Hastily preparing for a journey, she escaped with a few attendants, passed through Biscay, and, reaching the territories of the Count of Foix, threw herself on his protection. The count, who is described as ‘ kind and affectionate to all ladies and damsels,’ his own wife of course excepted, regarded her with compassion, detained her at his court, and placed her under the auspices of the Lady de la Karasse, a great baroness of the country, and provided her with everything suitable to her rank. The chivalrous courtesy which the Count of Foix exhibited to Florence of Biscay was not perhaps wholly * See Anderson's Royal Genealogies, p. 713. FLORENCE OF BISCAY. 179 disinterested. Though a fugitive, she was an heiress, who might yet‘enjoy her own;’ and Gaston Phoebus was not unmindful of his brother Sir Peter, who was ‘ much in his good graces.’ In any case, he determined on making a match, and succeeded in his object. Sir Peter married Florence; and, when that revolution which placed Henry of Trastamare on the throne of Castille occurred, the count exercised his influence so effectually that the lady had her lands restored. J For a time all seemed to go well; and Florence, residing with her husband at the castle of Languedudon, in Biscay became mother of a son, who was named Peter, and a daughter, who was named Adrienne. But suddenly matters changed for the worse. Sir Peter fell into the habit of lighting in his sleep, and caused such alarm by his out¬ rageous conduct on such occasions, that Florence became as anxious to get back to Castille as at an earlier period she had been to leave it. r • time ifc lia PP enoc V says Froissart, * was on the mght following a day when he had hunted a wonderfully large bear m the woods of Bearn. This bear had killed our of his dogs, and wounded many more, so that the others were afraid of him ; upon which Sir Peter drew his sword of Bordeaux steel, and advanced on the beast with great rage, on account of the loss of his dogs. He com¬ bated him a long time with much bodily danger, and with great difficulty slew him When he returned to his castle of Languedudon, and had the bear carried with him, everyone was astonished at the enormous size of the beast, and the courage of the knight who had attacked and slain it. When the Countess of Biscay, his wife, saw the bear, she instantly fainted, and was carried to her chamber, where she continued very dis¬ consolate all that day and the following day, and would not say what ailed her.’ Meanwhile Sir Peter commenced his somnambulations 180 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. in a style which must have rendered him most perilous to the inmates of the castle ; and when it was found that the knight was given, ‘ when asleep in the night-time, to rise, arm himself, draw his sword, and" to begin fighting, as if he were in actual combat,’ his lady not unnaturally began to think of escaping with her children, and to persuade her¬ self that a little pious fraud was excusable under the cir¬ cumstances. At all events, on the third day she sounded her husband on the subject. ‘ I feel,’ said she, ‘ that I shall never recover my health till I have made a pilgrimage to St. James’s shrine at Compostella. Give me leave, therefore, to go thither, and to carry my son Peter and my daughter Adrienne with me, I request you.’ Sir Peter offered no objection to the proposed pilgrimage of his spouse ; -and Florence, resolved not to cause any alarm, packed up all her jewels and plate unobserved, and, taking her children with her, left the castle of Languedudon. In¬ stead of. returning, however, she went on a visit to her cousins, the King and Queen of Castille ; and, once safe at the court of Castille, she made no secret of her determina¬ tion neither to return nor send her children. 1 It is rumoured,’ said the squire, ‘ the lady was afraid of something unfortunate happening the moment she saw the bear, and this caused her fainting ; for that her father once hunted this bear, and during the chase a voice cried out, though he saw nobody, “ Thou huntest me, yet I wish thee no ill, but thou shalt die a miserable death.” The lady remembered this when she saw the bear, as well as that her father had been beheaded by Don Pedro without any cause; and she maintains that something unfortunate will happen to her husband; and that what passes now is nothing to what will come to pass. ‘ I have told you the story of Sir Peter de Beam, in compliance with your request,’ said the squire. ‘It is a well-known fact, and what do you think of it ? ’ FLO BENCE OP BISCAY, 181 I do believe everything you have said,’ replied Froissart, who was very pensive at the wonderful things he had heard; ‘ we find in ancient authors how gods and goddesses ormerly changed men into beasts, according to their pleasure, and women also into birds. This bear, therefore might have been a knight hunting in the forest of Biscay’ when he, perchance, angered some god or goddess, who changed him into a bear, as Action was transformed into a stag; . . . and the countess may have had some know¬ ledge or some fears, which, at the moment, she would not discover She ought, therefore, to be excused for what ehe has done. It may perchance be so,’ said the squire. 188 • dfsakl ^htdxQiwd, of g-ebfcrttr. I T was in June 1282, wlien tlie Black Prince was about two years old, that Philippa of Hainault, at the palace of Woodstock, gave birth to her eldest daughter, Isabel; and the princess grew up to womanhood during those years in which her father won so much renown in his wax’s with Scotland and France. At a very early age, Isabel had the prospect of becoming a bride, since there was a project for uniting her to the heir of Castille, who afterwards, when on the throne, made himself so notorious for his murders as Peter the Cruel. However, Isabel’s younger sister was eventually selected for the distinction, and carried to Spain. But on reaching that country she was cut off by the plague, which was then desolating Europe, and laid under melancholy circumstances in an untimely grave. Having escaped the horrible fate of being united to Peter the Cruel, Isabel was next under offer to Louis, son of the Earl of Flanders. But events proved utteidy unfavour¬ able to such a match. The Earl of Flanders refused to acknowledge Edward as King of France, and espoused the cause of Philip of Valois; and Edwai'd, not relishing this proceeding, obtained from Jacob von Arteveld a promise to depose the Earl of Flanders, and to substitute the Pi’ince of Wales in his stead. The project came to nought. Jacob was assassinated by the Flemings in 1345 ; and the Earl of Flanders, persisting in his support of Philip of 183 ISABEL, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. Valois, atoned for his rashness, by falling next year at Cressy. In that famous battle, Louis, the young heir of Flanders, fought by his father’s side; and having been brought up by t e French, and imbued with all their prejudices, he was by no means inclined to a close alliance with the conqueror. The Flemings, however, taking a different view of the case, and having a keen eye to their national independence and commercial prosperity, were in favour of the English al¬ liance ; and they were not very willing to pay attention to the scruples of a young lad, whom they were in the habit of' describing as ‘ too much of a Frenchman.’ An extraordinary romance was the consequence. 4 When the King of England was come to Calais,’ says Froissart, he did not cease sending flattering messages and piomises to the municipalities of Flanders, to preserve their friendship and lessen their opinion of the King of France, who was taking great pains to acquire their affec¬ tions. The King of England would have gladly seen the Earl Louis of Flanders, who was at that time but fifteen years old, married to his daughter Isabella, and set so many engines to work among the 1 lemings, that they acceded to it, which mightily rejoiced the king, for he imagined that by this marriage he would easily govern that country. The Flemings also thought that this alliance would enable them more effectually to resist the French, and that it would be more profitable to be connected with the King of England than with the King of France. The young earl, however, who had been educated with the royal family of France, and who at the time was in that kingdom, would not agree to it, and declared frankly, that he would never take to wife the daughter of him who had slain his father. On the other hand, John, Duke of Bra¬ bant, was very eagerly trying to make a match between the earl and his daughter, and promised to obtain for him the full enjoyment of Flanders, by fair or foul means. The 184 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. duke also gave the King of France to understand, that if the marriage took place, he would so manage the Flemings that they should attach themselves to him in preference to the King of England. Upon the strength of these promises the King of France consented to the marriage of the Earl of Flanders with the Duke of Brabant’s daughter. ‘ After the duke had obtained this consent, he sent mes¬ sengers to all the principal citizens of the great towns in Flanders, who coloured the union with so many specious reasons, that the councils of the principal towns sent to the earl, and informed him that if he would come to Flanders and follow their advice, they would be his true friends, and would give him up all royalties, rights, and jurisdictions in a greater degree than any earl had hitherto been possessed of. The earl was advised to go to Flanders, where he was joyfully received; and the chief towns made him rich and handsome presents. * As soon as the King of England was informed of this, he sent the Earl of Northampton and Arundel, and Lord Reginald Cobham, into Flanders; who managed matters so well with the leading men in the place, and with the cor¬ porations, that they were more desirous their lord should marry a daughter of the King of England than the daughter of the Duke of Brabant. They very affectionately entreated their lord so to do, and supported it by many strong and good arguments, which would be too tedious to detail here, insomuch that those of the Duke of Brabant’s party could say nothing to the contrary. The earl, however, would not consent to it, notwithstanding their fair speeches and arguments, but repeated his former declaration, that he would never marry the daughter of him who had killed his father, were he to have a moiety of the kingdom of England for her dower. ‘ When the Flemings heard this, they said their lord was too much of a Frenchman, and very ill-advised, and that he must not expect any good from them, since he would ISABEL, COUNTESS OF BEDFOED. 1S5 not listen to their counsels. They arrested him, and con¬ fined him, though not a close prisoner, and told him that he should never have his liberty until he would pay atten¬ tion to their advice. ‘ While all this was passing, the King of England still held on the siege of Calais. . . . The Earl of Elanders was for a long time in danger from the Flemings, and being a prisoner was perfectly weary of it. He, therefore, made them understand that he was willing to follow their advice, for he could receive more advantages from them than from those of any other country. These words pleased the. Flemings much. They gave him his liberty, and allowed him to partake of one of his favourite amusements, hawking, of which he was very fond. ‘ However, when he went to follow this sport, they set a good watch over him that he did not escape, nor was stolen from those who had undertaken to guard him on pain ol death. These guards were of the King of England’s party, and watched him closely. This conduct lasted so long, and was so offensive to the earl, that he agreed to marry the King of England’s daughter. The Flemings immediately informed the king of it, and desired that the king and queen would come to the monastery at Bergues, accom¬ panied by their daughter; and they would bring their earl there and conclude the marriage. ‘ You may easily imagine how pleased the king and queen were with this news. They said the Flemings were very good sort of people. A day was fixed for all parties to be at Bergues St. Yinox, between Newport and Gravelines. The most powerful and leading men of the principal towns oJ Flanders came hither in great pomp, bringing their lord with them. He respectfully saluted the king and queen, who were there in great state. The king took the earl gently by the hand, led him forth, and said, to excuse himself as being the cause of the death of his father, that, as God should help him, he had never heard on the day 1S6 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. of the battle of Cressy, nor on the morrow, that the earl had been there. ‘ The young earl appeared to be satisfied with this excuse. The subject of the marriage was next discussed ; and certain articles and treaties were agreed on between the king, the earl, and the States of Flanders, which were promised and sworn to be adhered to. The earl was then betrothed to the Lady Isabella, daughter of the King and Queen of England. But the day of marriage was put off until the king should have more leisure. The Flemings returned home, taking with them their lord; and they quitted the king, queen, and the council in very good humour. The king went back to the siege of Calais. ‘Things remained in this state. Whilst .the king was making preparations of rich presents of cloth and jewels to distribute on the wedding-day, the queen was employed in the same manner, as she was anxious to acquit herself on the occasion with honour and generosity. The Earl of Flanders, who was returned to his own country and among his own people, was continually hunting, and pretended that the English alliance was perfectly agreeable to him. The Flemings believed all he said, and did not keep so strict a guard on him as before. But they were not then acquainted with the disposition of their lord; for, however much he might dissemble in his outward behaviour, he was in his heart devoted to the French. ‘ It happened one day, in the same week that he was to espouse the English princess, he went out a-hawking. The falconer flew his hawk at a heron, and the earl did the same with his; the two hawks pursued their game, and the earl galloped off as if following them, crying, “ Iloye, hoye!” When he was at some distance from his keepers and in the open field, he struck spurs to his horse, and made such speed that he was soon out of sight. He did not stop until he had got into Artois, where he was safe. He then went to King Philip in France, and related to him and his nobles 187 ISABEL, COUNTESS OE BEDFORD. all his adventures, who told him he had acted wisely. But the English on the contrary, accused him of betraying and deceiving them.’ J L ° ui8 of Glanders espoused the daughter of le Duke of Brabant. But Isabel does not appear to have been much grieved at the preference thus given to a rival princess.. Perhaps she was wise enough not to have wished to be united to a man who had so little inclination to be united to her. At all events she bore her disappointment bravely; and when, after the capture of Calais, she re¬ turned to England, she made a conspicuous figure at those tournaments which were the delight of the English in that age of chivalry. In 1349, when Isabel was about seventeen, she again had a chance of entering upon matrimony. This time the proposed bridegroom was Charles of Bohemia, who had obtained the crown of Germany at the time when King Edward ‘ did not think fit to accept the imperial dignity* But the negotiations did not succeed; and two years later there was some prospect of Isabel, instead of becoming Empress of Germany, giving her hand to the heir of Lord d’Albret, a baron of Gascony. It was about the middle of the century when Bernard eldest son of the Lord d’Albret, visited the English court’ and captivated the eye of the king’s daughter. An attach¬ ment was the consequence; and Bernard, who was perfectly sincere and earnest in the affair, regaled his fancy with the idea of leading the fair princess to the altar. Indeed, a match was made, and a day fixed for the wedding. At the last moment, however, it was broken off; and while Isabel was digesting her grief, or rejoicing in the liberty she had acquired to make some new conquest, Bernard returned to the continent, resigned all his territorial pretensions to his younger brother, assumed the habit of a Cordelier, and \ owed to pass his life in the cloister. At the time of this occurrence Isabel was about twenty; 188 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. and for the next dozen years it seemed that she was destined to a life of ‘ single blessedness.’ She had now passed the age of thirty, and there was no appearance of anybody ‘ coming to woo,’ when accident sent to this country a young French nobleman, of that family whose chiefs rejoiced in the eccentric motto— * Je ne suis roi, ne due, prince, ne comte aussie, Je suis le Sire de Coucy.’ Enguerrand de Coucy was one of the bravest and most accomplished cavaliers who ever bore the ancient name of which he was the chief. Belonging to a family which had strongly supported the house of Yalois against King Edward, he was selected as one of the hostages to be given to the English king for the fulfilment of the treaty of Bretigny, and first reached England in that character. His name, however, was not strange in the country. The Lords de Coucy, from their connection with the Baliols, had long possessed lands in England ; and Edward, anxious to attach the young nobleman to his interest, put him in full possession of his hereditary estates in the north. It appears that Enguerrand de Coucy accompanied King John, in January 13G4, when that monarch unexpectedly returned to England, and travelled to Eltham. 1 It was on a Sunday, in the afternoon, that he arrived,’ says Froissart. 4 There were therefore between this time and supper many grand dances and carols. The young Lord de Coucy was there, who took great pains to shine in his dancing and singing whenever it was his turn. He was in great favour with both the French and English; for whatever he chose to do he did well and with grace.’ Soon after coming to England, De Coucy, then twenty- seven, became much enamoured of Isabel, who was six years his senior; and, accomplished, handsome, and grace¬ ful, he was not quite the person on whom even a Plantagenet princess could at the age of thirty-three afford to look with ISABEL, COUNTESS OF BEDFOED. 1S9 contempt. Indeed, a strong attachment seems to have sprung up on both sides; and the king, on being formally asked, gave his consent to their union. • It was at Windsor, in the summer of 1365, that Isabel became De Coucy’s bride; and the king, after giving the young lord his liberty, made him a Knight of the Garter and created him Earl of Bedford. Immediately after their marriage they left England for the ancient castle of De Coucy on the continent. But as time passed on, the posi¬ tion of De Coucy became awkward; and when w r ar was renewed he, declining to take any part in the struggle, went to offer his services to the Pope. ‘ At this time,’ says Froissart, ‘ there were knights in France greatly hurt at seeing this war between the two kings carried on with increasing vigour, and in particular the Lord de Coucy, who was much interested in it, as indeed he ought to be, for he held a very large estate in England, as well in his own right as in that of his wife; which estate it would be necessary for him to renounce if he wished to serve the King of France, whose kinsman and countryman he was. He therefore thought it most profitable to dissemble between the two kings, and to travel to foreign parts. ‘ He very wisely took all his measures, and, having obtained leave of the King of France, he set out with few attendants and went to Savoy, where he was honourably received by the earl, barons, and knights of that country. When he had remained there as long as he judged proper, he departed, and, continuing his road, entered Lombardy, visited the lords of Milan, the Lord Galeas and Lord Baruabo Visconti, where at first he was made heartily welcome by them.’ When her husband went to Italy, Isabel returned to England with her two daughters Mary and Philippa de Coucy, and was present at the funeral of her mother. After the death of Queen Philippa, she lived in retirement with her daughters, the younger of whom she in 1371 betrothed to Robert De 190 NOBLE DAMES 01 ANCIENT STORY. Vere, the young Earl of Oxford. At length, when a truce permitted De Coucy to return to France, she joined him; but he soon after led an army into Austria, and she again came to England with Philippa, her younger daughter; while Mary, the elder of the two, being the heiress to the estates of De Coucy on the continent, remained in France, and became wife of the Duke of Bar. The expedition of De Coucy to Austria was not successful in its object; and when he returned to France he visited the French court, and listened to the persuasions of King Charles. The result was fatal to Isabel’s peace as a wife. She hastened to join her husband, but he received her coldly, and ultimately sent her back to England with her daughter Philippa, who was to inherit the baronies of the Baliols. The death of King Edward, in 1377, broke the last link that bound Isabel to her husband. But even then she did not altogether despair of regaining her influence over him. At all events, she embarked to make a last effort. But her voyage proved fruitless. Quite alienated from the English interest, De Coucy turned a deaf ear to her entreaties, in¬ timated that they were separated by a wide gulf, renounced all he possessed in England, and even returned to King Richard the garter which he had received from King Edward. Isabel’s hereditary courage enabled her to survive even this bloAv. On returning to England she found that in consequence of De Coucy having gone over to the French, all his possessions were confiscated, and that she was in danger of poverty and want. However, her case was laid before Parliament, and she had the comfort of finding her¬ self relieved from embarrassment. About two years later she breathed her last; and De Coucy, having married a daughter of the Duke of Lorraine, eventually perished in the expedition undertaken by the French nobles against the Sultan Bajazet. The fate of Isabel’s daughter, Philippa, was even more ISABEL, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 101 Melancholy than that of her mother. In 1371, as has been stated, she was given in marriage to the Earl of Oxford who subsequently, as her husband and Duke of Ireland’ was so great a favourite with King Richard. Unfortunately J /e Vere > amon g those multitudinous eccentricities which rendered him so unpopular, deserted his wife to ally him¬ self with an alluring Bohemian, whom Sandford describes as one Lancerona, a joiner’s daughter, who came with Richard II. s wife out of Bohemia; ’ but whom the great chronicler of the period represents as of higher rank. ‘He was,’ says Froissart, ‘so greatly enamoured with one of the queen’s damsels, called the Langravine, that he could never quit her. She was a tolerably handsome pleasant lady, whom the queen had brought with her from Bohemia. The Duke of Ireland loved her with such ai dour that he was desirous, if possible, of making her his duchess by marriage. He took great pains to obtain a fl ?“ hlS P resent duchess, the daughter of the Earl of Bedford, from Urban, whom the English and Germans acknowledged as Pope. ‘ AH the good people of England were much astonished and shocked at this; for the duchess was granddaughter of tie gallant King Edward and the excellent Queen Philippa being the daughter of the Princess Isabella. Her uncles’ the Dukes of York and Gloucester, were very wroth at is insult; but, notwithstanding their hatred, which he blinded h P, V ? DU !" e ° f Ireland WaS S ° Sm[tten and blinded by his love, he was using every means to obtain a divorce and had promised the lady he would make her wi e, if he had the king and queen’s consent and a dis¬ pensation from Rome, which the Pope would not dare to refuse him, for his present lady was a Clementist, and t ie Lord de Coucy, her father, had made war in Italy for enient against Urban, which inclined the latter not to be overfond of him, and induced him to listen too readily to the proposals for a divorce. NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. It 2 ‘ Thus was he urging on matters, according to his promise to the Langravine of Bohemia, and would not have any communication with his wife by legal marriage. But this Duke of Ireland had a mother living, the Countess Dowager of Oxford, who, so far from approving her son’s conduct, greatly blamed him for his follies, saying he would by them anger Heaven, who would one day punish him severely, when it would be too late to repent. She had the duchess home with her, and gave her as handsome an establishment as she could; so that all who loved the young lady were pleased with this conduct.’ Nevertheless the duke persevered in his insane project, and having obtained a dispensation from Rome, married the alluring Bohemian. But by this step he so much increased his unpopularity, that he was under the necessity of escaping to the continent. For a time he resided at the Court of France, and appeared in high favour with the king. But the Lord of Coucy complained of honour being paid to a man who had behaved so infamously to his daughter, and he was fain to remove to Louvaine, where he resided till his death, going 4 at times to a castle near Louvaine, which he had borrowed from a knight of Brabant.’ Isabel, however, did not survive to participate in the mortification of her daughter. For years she had been where the weaiy are at rest. In 1379 she departed this life, and she was buried in the Grey Friars’ Church in London, near her grandmother, Isabel the Fair, and Mar¬ garet of France, the second wife of her great grandfather, the first Edward. fwttora gl'lnmlw, (®xtwn of ItetucpI. A T the time when Peter the Cruel reigned in Castille, and when another Peter, surnamed the Eigorous, held sway in Portugal, there lived in the latter country a noble of some consideration, named Martin Alphonso Tellez. This personage had two daughters, Maria and Leonora. Maria was married to John, Duke of "V alencia, one of the sons of King Peter; Leonora, about 1366, became the wife of Lorenzo D’Acunha, celebrated as ‘valiant in arms and prudent in council.’ In 1368 Peter the Eigorous went to his account, and Ferdinand, his only legitimate son, ascended the throne of Castille. His reign was not without its troubles. In fact, Ferdinand laid claim to the crown of Castille, which had been torn by Henry of Trastamare from Peter the Cruel, and a war of succession broke out. Henry, however, proved much too strong for Ferdinand ; and Ferdinand was fain to conclude peace, and promise to espouse one of Henry’s daughters. This promise he failed to keep. Led captive by an eccentric imagination, he not only broke his engage¬ ment with the Castillian princess, but insisted, reason or none, on marrying a woman who was already married to another man, and who, to do her justice, does not appear to have wished for a position which, as time passed on, she was fated to find the reverse of pleasant. This was Leonora, daughter of Martin Alphonso Tellez, and wife of Lorenzo D’Acunha. It is stated that Lorenzo was one of Ferdinand’s knights; 194 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. and circumstances naturally enough cast Leonora in tho king’s way. The result was extraordinary. Ferdinand not only became enamoured of the lady, but madly enamoured, and ready to set all laws at defiance to call her his own. In vain Leonora struggled against the fate that awaited her. The vehemence of his passion overcame all resistance. In vain she threw herself on her knees and appealed to him with tears. He was not to be moved from his purpose. At length, yielding to despair, she listened to his suit. * I will make you Queen of Portugal,’ said Ferdinand; ‘for, if I am smitten with your charms, it is not to lower you, but, on the contrary, to exalt and marry you.’ ‘ Ah, my lord ! ’ replied Leonora, with tears and on her knees, ‘ I beg your grace’s pardon: I can never have the honour of being Queen of Portugal; for you know, as well as all the world, that I have a husband to whom I have been married these five years.’ ‘ Leonora,’ said the king, ‘ that shall not prevent it, for I will never have any other woman to wife ; but I will have you divorced from your husband before I make you my bride.’ In great distress and in some perplexity, Leonora left Ferdinand’s presence. Perhaps her ambition did struggle a little with her sense of duty, as she thought of the prospect of wearing a crown. However, she relieved her mind by relating all that had passed to her husband; and ‘the knight on hearing it was very melancholy, and bethought himself what was to be done.’ At first he resolved not to quit his wife’s side; but considering everything, and not forgetting ‘ the violence of the king’s haughty temper,’ he perceived the peril of his position, determined to be gone, left Portugal, made his way to the Court of Castille, met with a kind reception from Henry of Trastamare, and found himself appointed to an office in that king’s house¬ hold. ‘ Meanwhile Ferdinand’s ‘foolish passion’ continued to ‘ Ah, my^ord !’ replied Leonora, with tears in her eyes, and on her knees, ‘ I can never be Queen of Portugal.’—P. 194. LEONORA DACUNHA, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL. I 95 prevail over all prudential considerations, and the infatuated king swore to gratify his heart’s desire at all hazards. With this view he sent for Lorenzo and Leonora, and on being informed that the knight had fled, he decided on espousing the lady without further preliminaries. Accordingly he summoned the Bishop of Coimbra, and John Ferdinand Audere, ‘ who was the king’s bosom friend and counsellor,’ and without any unnecessary delicacy revealed his inten¬ tion of taking Leonora D’Acunha to wife. The bishop, in great alarm, listened to the project in silence; but Audere, ‘ in order to please the king,’ repressed all scruples. ‘ Blsll0 P’’ said Audere, turning to the astonished prelate, you may very well do it, and my lord will make atonement once for all.’ Urged in this way, the Bishop of Coimbra yielded; and Ferdinand, and Leonora, united by him in holy matri¬ mony, while her husband was known to be alive at the Court of Castille, lived together as if no impediment had existed to their union. Moreover, Leonora was ‘ crowned Queen of Portugal with as much pomji and magnificence as ever Queen of Portugal was.’ But the wise and prudent shook their heads, and the lady lived long enough to dis¬ cover that the crown placed with so much ceremony on her head was, in reality, a crown of thorns. It was. the year 1371 when Ferdinand took possession of the wife of Lorenzo D’Acunha, and placed her by his side on the throne of Portugal; and, in due time, Leonora gave birth to a daughter, who was named Beatrice. Fer¬ dinand was naturally anxious to establish the legitimacy of this girl; and not only obtained dispensations from Pope r an or that purpose, but, when she was five years old, summoned all the nobles, prelates, and principal citizens of the realm to Lisbon, and made them pledge themselves to acknowledge her as heiress to the kingdom after his decease.. But they took the oath, for the most part, under compulsion; and, as the results proved, the ceremony was N 196 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. of no avail in legitimating the offspring of his lawless marriage. Indeed, events rushed rapidly on to a crisis which tested the value of the ceremony. John, son of Henry of Trasta- mare, having in 1379 succeeded his father on the throne of Castille, some disturbance took place in Spain, and some persons charged with high treason took refuge in Portugal. Ferdinand extended his protection to the exiles; and, when a demand was made for their extradition, he declined to comply. Enraged, the King of Castille took up arms, and entered Portugal in hostile array. Ferdinand, not quite confident in his power to cope with his neigh¬ bour, invoked the aid of England 5 and Edmund, Eail of Cambridge, one of the sons of King Edward, accompanied by his son John, conducted an army of auxiliaries to Portugal. A match between young John of Cambridge and Beatrice, the daughter of Ferdinand and Leonora, was then agreed to; and in conjunction with the English the King of Portugal advanced to meet the invader. But on coming in sight of the Castillians, Ferdinand s energy seemed to desert him; and for fifteen days he remained in presence of the enemy without giving battle. The patience of the Earl of Cambridge gave way; and he mani¬ fested his displeasure by words not to be mistaken. ‘ Sir king,’ said the earl, pointedly, ‘ I have only with me one hundred lances and a thousand archers, but I would have you and your barons know, that we have unanimously resolved to risk a battle, and abide whatever event God may send us.’ ‘Neither I nor my council think it advisable to offer battle,’ replied Ferdinand, conclusively; and upon this the Earl of Cambridge left the country, carrying his son John with him to England. It was October, 1382, when the earl left Portugal: and, no sooner was his back turned, than Ferdinand, under the influence of Audere, concluded a peace with the invaders, 197 LEONOPiA D t ACUNHA, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL. on condition of giving his daughter Beatrice, as heiress of Portugal, to the King of Castille, who was then a widower with two sons. John of Castille made few objections to a match which certainly had its advantages; but the young lady was by no means so well satisfied; and when Fer¬ dinand consulted her on the subject, she gave him to understand that she had an opinion of her own. ‘ Whom should you prefer for a husband, the Kino- 0 f Castille or John of Cambridge?’ said Ferdinand to his daughter. * The last,’ answered Beatrice. * Why ? demanded the king. * Because,’ replied Beatrice, ‘ he is a handsome youth, of my own age; and,’ she added frankly, ‘ because I wish to avoid being united to the King of Castille, who is not to my liking.’ . Ferdmand Ioved Leonora and her daughter much; and it is probable that he was not uninfluenced by Beatrice’s objections to the proposed match. Nevertheless, to secure peace, he went on with the business. The council of Castille, on being consulted, expressed grave doubts as to the legitimacy of Leonora’s daughter; but when Ferdinand again assembled his principal barons, and made them swear, at his death, to acknowledge Beatrice as their queen and unite the kingdom to Castille, the council consented to the marriage; and Beatrice became the wife of King John and Queen of Castille. The Earl of Cambridge was not inattentive to what was a ang p ace m Portugal, nor did he fail to perceive how aflairs actually stood. In a conversation with John of Gaunt, he stated that he felt no regret that his son was not to receive the hand of Ferdinand’s daughter. My fair brother,’ said he, ‘ I am much dissatisfied with on Ferdinand Audere, who has taken great pains to con¬ clude a peace on the ground of this match. But I much suspect the Portuguese will rebel against the Lady Beatrice IDS NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STONY. after her father’s death, for the majority of the people, although the king has espoused the Lady Leonora D’Acunha, consider her daughter a bastard; and, when I was there, great were the murmurs about.’ * By this time, perhaps, Leonora D’Acunha had forgotten the dangers of her position. The earl’s prediction, however, was destined to be realised to the letter. On the 22nd of October, 1383, Ferdinand died at Lisbon; and Leonora was nominated regent during the minority of his daughter, while Audere, who was recognised as her chief counsellor, resided with her at the Mint, and busied himself with measures for securing Portugal to the King of Castille, as the husband of Beatrice. But Audere soon discovered to his cost that this was a much more difficult business than he had anticipated, and raised a storm of popular indigna¬ tion which cost him his life. In fact, the treaty which Audere had negotiated with the King of Castille had been most distasteful to the nation. When the Castillians saw the King of Portugal patch up a peace by giving his daughter in marriage to their sovereign, they ascribed it to fear, and, in the pride of their hearts, uttered many vain boasts. ‘ Oh, now, ye Portuguese, who are as savage as beasts,’ said they, ‘ the time is coming when we will treat you like Jews, who only exist because we have granted them a truce ; and ye shall, like them, be subject to us. This ye cannot deny, since our king will become yours also.’ * Lawrence Fongasse, a squire of Portugal, when dining with John of Gaunt at the Savoy some years later, gave this explanation: « The greater part,’ said Lawrence, ‘ knew well this daughter was a bastard and born in adultery; for the husband of her mother, Don Lorenzo D’Acunha, resided in Castille, and has outlived the King of Portugal. I believe, my lord,’ added Lawrence, ‘ that had this child been a boy, the commonalty would have been more inclined towards him; but they declare they would rather die than live under sub¬ jection to Castille.’—Froissart 199 LEONORA D ACUNHA, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL. ‘It were better to suffer anything than be subject to Cdstille, exclaimed the exasperated Portuguese, when Fer¬ dinand lay at the point of death. ‘ The Portuguese,’ said ie King of Pastille, after learning that his father-in-law was dead, the Portuguese are an obstinate race: I shall never gain them but by conquest.’ And, in truth, the citizens and people, in default of legitimate heirs to the throne of Portugal, turned their eyes to an illegitimate scion of the royal house, who had a high reputation for courage and wisdom. John, son of Peter the Eigorous, by Theresa Lau- rezza, was at. that time about twenty-five, and Grand Master of Avis, an .order of military monks, who wore white mantles and red crosses. No charge of intermeddling with affairs of state had ever been made against the grand master, and Ferdinand entertained no suspicion of his illegitimate brother. Audere, however, dreaded his popu¬ larity and was eager for his destruction. ‘It were well to have him put to death,’ said Audere, for the people have too great an affection for him.’ ‘No,’ replied Ferdinand; ‘the people have no power over the nobles; and my son-in-law, the King of Castille is powerful enough to punish any rebellion that may break out. . Besides,’ added the king, ‘I have no just cause to imprison or put him to death; sfor my brother is of a religious order, and possessed of great wealth, without thinking of the crown of Portugal.’ These reasons prevailed, and the grand master remained ahve and at liberty. In truth, he does not seem to have aspired to regal dignity. No sooner, however, was Fer¬ dinand dead, and ere the preparations of the Franciscans to buiy him m their church- were completed, than the Lisboners sent for the grand master, and insisted on making him king. Several times he declined the distinction, but at length the importunity and enthusiasm of the multitude removed his scruples. 200 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. ‘ The obsequies of the late king were performed in tho church of the Franciscans at Lisbon, where he lies,’ says Froissart, 1 and the ceremony was attended by great numbers of the nobility, according to the invitations they had received from the queen and Don Fernando Audere, who governed her. The Grand Master of Avis was present, and many from the towns of Coimbra, Oporto, and Ourique. 1 When the ceremony was over, Don Fernando Audere entreated the nobility who had assisted in behalf of the queen not to leave Lisbon for a day or two, that he might have a conference with them on the means he should use to send to King John of Castille, as his queen was now become the legal heiress of Portugal. Many of the nobles paid no attention to what he said, for they were afraid of the people then present, as they had heard them declare that they would only have the Master of Avis for their monarch ; and this likewise was heard by Don Fernando. He begged the nobles to support him steadily in his attempts to bring the people to his way of thinking, but they all left him. As soon as the funeral was ended, and the queen returned to her residence, they called for their horses, which the majority mounted, and set out for Lisbon. Some few attached to the grand master might remain, but they retired to their houses, and kept within, expecting the event to happen which I am about to relate. ‘ The citizens of Lisbon, Coimbra, Ourique, and Oporto, after the funeral, went to the cathedral, which is dedicated to St. Dominic, instead of going to their homes, and the grand master with them, where they held a short conference. “ My good people,” said Don John, “ if you wish to have me for king, which I think my just right, you must now bestir yourselves. . . . You have seen how Fernando Audere is working on the nobles to send for the King of Castille, to whom he says the crown of Portugal now belongs in right of my niece.I have a much better LEONORA D'ACUNHA, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL. 201 claim to it in every way. I am a man, and the son of the good Don Pedro, who so gallantly reigned over you.” The Lisboners replied—What you say is true. . . We will have you for our king; no one else. . . . Now swear to us that you will be good and merciful, and maintain strict justice, without flattering the strong more than the weak, and that you will defend, with heart and hand, the rights and privileges of Portugal.” The grand master re¬ plied—“My good people, I now heartily swear to follow what you have said. But let us hasten to the Mint, where Don Fernando Audere resides with Leonora D’Acunha, for I must have him put to death, as he has acted contrary to our interests in supporting the claims of others than those to whom you wish well.” “ We will do so,” they answered; “ for, in truth, he has behaved like a rebel, that , those who are your enemies may take example.” On saying this, the Lisboners left the Church of St. Dominic, in the whole about fifteen hundred, headed by their new king, and marched through the town towards the Mint.’ To the Mint Leonora and Audere had returned after the funeral of Ferdinand ; and little aware of the danger of the crisis, the lady was indulging in the idea of her daughter being Queen of Castille and of Portugal, when a confused sound announced the approach of a multitude bent on mischief. Resistance, of course, was out of the question. Against fifteen hundred determined men the attendants were powerless. The doors were broken open; the crowd rushed in; and Leonora ‘ almost died through fear ’ when men, with fierce faces, entered her chamber by force. In her alarm, however, she rushed towards the grand master, and, throwing herself on her knees, lifted up her hands and besought his protection. ‘ I,’ she exclaimed, ‘ am not guilty of any misdeeds; and as for the crown and inheritance of Portugal, I have never made any claim to them, as many present know, if they will be pleased to remember. Besides,’ added she,’ ‘ I 202 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIEAT STORY. entreat you and all the company to recollect that it was contrary to my will and wish that King Ferdinand exalted me to be his wife and Queen of Portugal.’ ‘ Lady,’ replied the grand master, ‘ fear nothing, for not the least harm shall be done you. We are not come hither with such intent, but to seek that traitor, Don Fernando Audere, and put him to death; and then the King of Castille may avenge him if he can : he has been too long the advocate of Castille in this country.’ The result soon proved that the grand master spoke the simple truth. A party had gone in search of the un¬ patriotic minister, and their search was not in vain. Without delay, Audere was slain. After this deed of vengeance, the multitude appeared quite satisfied. No person was exposed to the slightest injury. Every man retired quietly to his home, and the grand master took possession of the palace. Nevertheless,-the terror of Leonora D’Acunha was ex¬ treme. Nothing could allay her apprehensions : and fearful of sharing Audere’s fate, she became most desirous of leaving Lisbon and joining her daughter, the Queen of Castille. In her anxiety to get away from the capital, where she had so recently figured as a queen, Leonora applied to the grand master, and she learned, much to her relief, that no obstacles would be thrown in her way. ‘ She would not, therefore,’ says Froissart, ‘ remain longer in Lisbon, where she had neither peace nor respect, but sent to ask leave of the king to depart, who readily granted her request, adding, she was in the right to go away. The lady set out with her attendants, and continued her journey until she came to Seville, where the King and Queen of Spain resided. She found almost all the nobility of Spain assembled there in parliament on the subject of Portugal; for King John declared that kingdom had fallen to him by the death of Ferdinand, who had so settled it when he married the Lady Beatrice. . . 203 LEONORA D’ACUNHA, QlftlEN OF PORTUGAL. ‘ The Lad y Leonora was received with joy by the king and her daughter, and many enquiries were made relative to what was passing in Portugal. She told them truly everything she knew, and added, that the people would assuredly crown the Master of Avis king, if not prevented ; for that Don Fernando Aud&e having been always a zealous friend to the rights of Castille, they had murdered him. They readily believed what she said, as every ap¬ pearance testified its truth. . . . The King of Spain issued a special summons throughout his realm for all persons capable of bearing arms, from the ages of sixteen to sixty, to hasten to Seville; for it was his determination to enter Portugal with a force sufficient to conquer it, and make it his own. His commands were obeyed; and there were assembled before Seville upwards of sixty thousand men of every description.’ All this time, Lorenzo D’Acunha was alive. In the post which had been bestowed on him by Henry of Trastamare, he had been continued by King John; and he was probably learning to think without regret of the wife he had lost and the country he had left, when Leonora’s arrival in Castille placed him in a position hardly less awkward than that from which he had escaped when he fled from Portugal. He was not, however, without influential friends. Indeed, he stood high in the esteem of many of the king’s council; and he waited on them and frankly asked their advice. 1 My lords and assured friends,’ he said, ‘have I any means to obtain possession of my wife, who has left Por¬ tugal, and is now in Seville ? I know that Ferdinand took hei by force and against her inclinations. He is, as you know, dead; and in justice, therefore, I ought to have back my wife. Tell me, then, how I should act.’ ‘Lorenzo,’ replied they, ‘there is not any chance of your having her again; for you would risk too much, and debase the honour of the lady as well as that of the Queen oi Castille, and establish her bastardy. You see that our 204 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. king is determined to conquer Portugal, and add it to his crown, as appertaining to him in right of his queen. Take care not to muddle more by your claims what is troubled enough already ; for you will be put to death if you per¬ severe.’ ‘ God forfend ! ’ exclaimed the knight. ‘ You may judge yourself what may be expected,’ con¬ tinued they, * if you prove the queen a bastard, which we, in this country, maintain to be false, and while we main¬ tain that she was born in legal marriage by a dispensation in due form from the Pope.’ ‘ What had I best do, then ? ’ asked Lorenzo, somewhat aghast. ‘ The best way for you to act,’ was the reply, ‘ is to set out instantly for your estate in Portugal, and leave the Lady Leonora with her daughter; we see no other means of safety for you.’ ‘ On my troth,’ exclaimed Lorenzo, * I believe you advise me like real friends.’ Subsequent reflection did not belie the knight’s im¬ pression as to the advice he had received. Indeed, it was much too prudent to be rejected under the circumstances. Within three days, he had made all preparations; and, having secretly packed up all his valuables, he left the city, rode towards Portugal, and reaching Lisbon in safety, presented himself to the grand master. ‘ Sir,’ said Lorenzo, ‘ I acknowledge you as king, and I come to serve you.’ ‘ I rejoice to hear it,’ replied the grand master, who speedily restored Lorenzo’s estates, and appointed him governor of Lisbon, which the King of Castille was marching to attack. ‘ During the siege of Lisbon, which lasted upwards of a year,’ says Froissart, ‘ there were, every week, two or more skirmishes, in which many were killed and wounded on both sides. The town was besieged as well by sea as by LEONORA D’ACUNHA, QUEEN OF PORTUGAL. 205 land; and the besiegers had plenty of all things; for pro¬ visions came to them from different parts of Spain. The Spaniards made one course up to the very gates of Lisbon, when Lorenzo D’Acunha sallied forth out of the barriers with his pennant, having the arms of Acunha borne before him, accompanied by many gallant friends, and excellent deeds of arms were then done with lance and dart. ‘ Lorenzo D’Acunha was struck with a dart that passed through his plates, his coat of mail and jacket, though stuffed with silk, and his whole body, so that he was felled to the ground. The skirmish ceased on account of the dead knight; and thus was the Lady Leonora made a widow in one year of both her husbands.’ The siege of Lisbon was long; and the inhabitants beginning to despair, the grand master was advised to embark for England to crave assistance. Suddenly, how¬ ever, a pestilence appeared in the camp of the besiegers, and the King of Castille, after losing twenty thousand of his men, was persuaded by his nobles to raise the siege and repair to Santarem. This retreat raised the courage of the Portuguese, and the grand master going to Coimbra, was there, on the 8th of April, 1385, crowned with much ceremony. This done, he returned to Lisbon as John, King of Portugal. Leonora’s prediction was verified ; but doubtless she still cherished the hope of seeing her daughter Queen of Por¬ tugal. Indeed, the King of Castille, on hearing of the coronation of Coimbra, mustered an army of thirty thousand men (two thousand of whom were French knights), and marched for Lisbon with the idea of conquering. But the King of Portugal had also taken the field ; and Leonora’s delusions were dissipated by that great battle which was fought at the close of an autumn day near Ajubarota, and which, for centuries afterwards, the Portuguese annually celebrated as the proudest of their victories. It was Saturday, the 14th of August, 1385; and the 206 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. King of Portugal, having heard of the approach of the Castillians, and drawn together his men, and marched out of Guimaraeus, entered the plains of Ajubarota with the resolution of leaving the field either as a conqueror or a corpse. His army was quite inferior in number to that of his adversary. Indeed, he had only six thousand men under his standard. But he had the sagacity to consult two English squires, Northbury and Hartsel, whose ex¬ perience in war made their advice of value. 1 Since we must have a battle,’ said the Englishmen, * and they are so superior in number, it is an unequal chance, and we can only conquer by taking advantage of the hedges and ditches.’ ‘ You speak wisely,’ replied the king, ‘ and it shall be as you recommend; ’ and at the suggestion of the English squires, the Portuguese fortified themselves near the monastery of Ajubarota, which was situated on a little eminence, surrounded by large trees, hedges, and bushes. The King of Castille intended to march straight to Lisbon. But, after holding counsel with his captains, he perceived the danger of leaving an enemy, however in¬ ferior, in his rear, and resolved to give battle, with the idea of crushing the handful of men opposed to his host. About sunset, accordingly, the Portuguese and Castillians met in the shock of war. At first, the Portuguese rather had the worst of the encounter, and their vanguard began to give way. But the King of Portugal coming up, cheered them on by his voice and example; and in less than an hour, the Castillians were scattered in all directions. The banner of Castille was taken, and the King of Castille fied to Santarem; but when he learned the worst, he entered a barge and made for Seville, where the queen and her mother were waiting for the news of some victory likely to restore Portugal to them and them to Portugal. Fortune, however, was decidedly adverse. It was no longer the King of Portugal, but the King of Castille who 207 LEONORA d’aCUNITA, OUEEN OF PORTUGAL. was in danger; for the conqueror of Ajubarota had returned to Lisbon in triumph, and sent ambassadors to invite over the English. With the memoiy of a recent and terrible defeat behind, and the prospect of having to contend with such an army as had made themselves so formidable at Cressy, at Poictiers, and at Navarretta, the King of Castille might well lose heart, and declare, as he did, with an oath, that ‘ he should never again taste joy.’ Matters did not turn out so disastrously as might have been anticipated. But the descendants of Leonora D’Acunha were not destined to sit either on the throne of Castille or that of Portugal. Beatrice, indeed, had two children, Michael and Mary, but both died in youth ; and when, in 1390, John, King of Castille, was killed by a fall from his horse, it was Henry, his eldest son by Eleanor of Arragon, who ascended the throne from which Henry of Trastamare had dragged Peter the Cruel. But by that time, in all possibility, Leonora D’Acunha’s interest in earthly affairs had ceased, and in the silence of the tomb she slept the sleep that knows no breaking. 208 Cmrstana of titudilh, gutfjess of Jfwif aster. T the time when Peter the Cruel escaped from Seville, .xA_ left his kingdom, and sought refuge at the court of the Black Prince at Bordeaux, his flight was shared by Constance and Isabel, two daughters whom he had by Maria de Padilla, so celebrated in the ancient ballads of Spain. Both of them were very young, one being twelve years of age and the other eleven; but they were suffi¬ ciently near the throne of Castille to make them, even at that age, objects of interest and curiosity to princes of ambition. It is true that the position of their mother had been equivocal, and that their legitimacy was not estab¬ lished to the satisfaction of the world. Nevertheless, their claims as Peter’s daughters were sufficiently strong, under the circumstances, to tempt men of adventurous spirit to dream of a matrimonial speculation. It was 1350, when Peter, then in his eighteenth year, succeeded his father, Alphonso, as King of Castille. At that time there was living in the house of his minister, Albu¬ querque, where she had been brought up, a damsel of re¬ markable beauty named Maria de Padilla. She was daughter of John, Lord of Villagera, one of those Spanish nobles of whom it was said, that ‘ if their power had been equal to their pride, all the world could not have withstood them.’ The young king, then promising to be something better than the monster of cruelty he afterwards proved, was fascinated with the damsel’s beauty, and she became his queen in all but the name. It does not, however, appear CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 209 to have been understood that the Church had consecrated their union ; and as years passed on, and Maria de Padilla became mother of four children—of whom Constance, born in 1354, and Isabel, born in 1355, survived, and were destined to be the ancestresses of the sovereigns of Spain and England— events occurred which might have been supposed to settle the question as to Maria de Padilla’s real position. Indeed, Peter himself seemed to answer that question in the most conclusive way. In 1353 he wedded Blanche, daughter of the Duke of Bourbon, and kinswoman of the King of France ; and, having after a few days deserted his French bride, caused a bishop who was one of his iavour- ites to pronounce a divorce, sent her to the castle of Medina Sidonia, and assigned the surrounding territory for her maintenance, he married, in 1354, Joan, daughter of Ferdinand de Castro, Lord of Lemos. Unfortunately for Blanche of Bourbon, the Castilian nobles felt for her wrongs; and, resolved on forcing the king to do her justice, they made a formal remonstrance in a formidable manner. Enraged at what he deemed an un¬ justifiable interference with his domestic affairs, Peter vowed to teach them how little he valued then* menacing protest; and, in 1361, caused Blanche to be put to death in the castle of Medina Sidonia. Mystery hangs over the transaction. Some say she was poisoned ; others that she was smothered between two cushions.* But it is certain that * In the old French memoirs of Du Guesclin another story is told. It is said that one of Blanche’s vassals, who was a Jew, having come to Medina Sidonia to do homage, and performed it in the usual manner by kissing her cheek, ere she was aware of his race, found himself, on being discovered to be of Hebrew blood, driven from her presence with every mark of contempt; that, determining to have his revenge, this Jew told his story to Maria de Padilla, who persuaded Peter to allow the Jew to take his own measures; and that, at the head of a band of his own countrymen, he surprised the castle of Medina by night, and slew the ill-starred princess. 210 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. Peter was accessory to her violent death; and the fate of one so young not only increased the indignation of the nobles of Castille, but excited the vengeance of the fair victim’s kinsman, the King of France, and led to Peter’s downfall. Maria de Padilla, however, did not live to witness that day. She expired in the year 1362 ; and, on her death, Peter not only swore to having married her, but produced vouchers of the marriage, and recognised her daughters as legitimate. In 1366, while Constance of Castille was in her twelfth year, Peter’s cruelties roused his subjects to revolt, and brought Henry of Trastamare and Du Guesclin into Spain, with a force which he had not the means of resisting. ‘ All the barons and knights of Spain,’ says Froissart, ‘ fell off from him in favour of his bastard brother. This event forced bim to fly, or he would have been taken; and so much was he hated by his subjects and enemies, that not one remained with him, save one loyal knight, Ferdinand de Castro. The King of Castille went to Seville, the hand¬ somest city in Spain; but not thinking himself in security there, he ordered all his treasures and other things to be packed up in large coffers, which he embarked on board ships, with his wife, his children, and Ferdinand de Castro. Don Pedro arrived that same evening—like a knight that had been beaten and discomfited—at a town called Corunna, in Galicia, where there was a strong castle. He immediately flung himself into it with his wife and children; that is to say, two young damsels, called Constance and Isabel. ... In the meantime his brother, the bastard, through the assistance of the men-at-arms whom he had drawn from France, was conquering Castille, to whom the whole country had surrendered. All this had much alarmed him; and he did not think himself in perfect safety in the castle of Corunna: for he had a great dread of his brother, the bastard, and well knew that if he were informed where he was, he would come and seek him with CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 211 his forces to besiege him in the castle. He would not wait this danger, but embarked on board a vessel, with his wife, his daughters, Don Fernando de Castro, and whatever he had amassed of money and jewels.’ It is unnecessary to narrate the subsequent events of Peter’s career. Suffice it to say that, having been restored to his throne by the Black Prince, he manifested such gross ingratitude, that the English hero, leaving him to his fate, retraced his steps to Bordeaux; and that Henry of Trastamare and Du Guesclin, again invading Spain, totally defeated him in a battle near Montiel. Being taken prisoner, Peter was carried into the tent of a French knight; and Henry, learning where he was, hastened thither. The brothers immediately sprang on each other with all the energy of mortal hatred, and a violent struggle ensued. At first Peter had the advantage, and drawing his dagger was about to kill his antagonist; but, at that critical moment, one of Henry’s squires interfered, seized Peter by the legs, turned him over, and enabled his master to get uppermost. Without hesitation Henry stabbed his brother to the heart, and after remaining three days nnburied, the corpse of Peter was committed to the dust at Montiel. When Henry, left without a rival, ascended the throne of Castille, the position of the daughters of Don Pedro was not enviable. ‘As soon,’ says Froissart, ‘as they were informed of the death of Don Pedro these ladies were almost distracted with grief. Everyone compassionated them, for they were the true heiresses of Castille.’ In good time, however, they found powerful protectors. It happened that, in 1369, Blanche of Lancaster, * the wife of John of Gaunt, went the way of all flesh; and, three * Froissart, speaking of ‘Blanche, first Duchess of Lancaster,* cays, ‘ I never saw two such noble dames,—so good, so liberal and courteous, as this lady and the late Queen of England, nor ever ehaU, were I to live a thousand years, which is impossible.* o 212 noble dames of ancient story. years later, when Constance of Castille was eighteen, tho nobles of Gascony intimated their opinion that the Duke of Lancaster could not do better than repair his loss by espousing a lady whose claims to the crown of Castille were so clear; and John' of Gaunt, far from expressing any insuperable objection to the match, proceeded forth¬ with to bring it about. ‘ The Duke of Lancaster,’ says Froissart, ‘ was a widower since the death of the Lady Blanche, Duchess of Lancaster and Derby, upon which the barons of Gascony, in concert with Sir Guiscard d’Angle, considered that Don Pedro, King of Spain, had left two daughters, who were then in the city of Bayonne, whither they had been conducted under the safeguard of some knights by sea, from the neighbour¬ hood of Seville, for fear of King Henry. . . . The matter was thus opened to the duke : “ My lord, it is time you should think of re-marrying. We know of a very noble match for you; one from which you or your heirs will be King of Castille. It will be a charitable deed to comfort and advise damsels, who are daughters of a king, especially when in such a pitiable state as these ladies are. Take, therefore, the eldest for your bride. We advise you to do so: for, at this moment, we know not where you may more nobly ally yourself, nor from whence greater profit can accrue to you.” ‘ These and such like words made an impression on the duke, and were so agreeable to him, that he consented to do what they proposed with much good will. He immediately ordered four knights to seek these ladies without delay. The duke himself set out from Bordeaux, when he knew they were coming, to meet them in grand array. He married the eldest, the lady Constance, at a village on the road, called Rochefort, on the other side of the city of Bordeaux, and gave there on the day of his marriage a splendid feast, to which were invited a great number of lords and ladies to add to its magnificence. CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 213 Soon after the wedding, the duke conducted his lady to Bordeaux, where there were again grand entertainments. The duchess and her sister were much feasted by the ladies and damsels of Bordeaux, who presented them with magnificent gifts and presents for the love they bore the duke. ‘ When all was ready, they embarked on board of vessels in the harbour of Bordeaux, which is large and spacious. The duke was attended by a large body of men-at-arms and archers, having sixty vessels in the fleet, including those with provision. He carried with him his lady and her sister. They sailed with favourable winds, which brought them safe to Southampton, where they disembarked and entered the town. They reposed themselves there for two days, when they set out, taking the road to Windsor, where the king resided. He received his son the duke, the ladies, damsels, and the foreign knights with great joy and feasts.’ The marriage of an English prince with the heiress of Peter the Cruel greatly alarmed Henry of Trastamare, and he felt the throne of Castille tottering beneath him. Nor was his apprehension diminished on learning that Con¬ stance’s sister Isabel had been espoused by Edward, Earl of Cambridge, another son of King Edward. For years, however, after wedding Constance, John of Gaunt was in no position to pursue his projects on the Castilian crown; and it was not till 1385, when Henry of Trastamare had been succeeded by his son John as King of Castille, and Edward by Richard II. as King of England, that he found himself in a position to press his wife’s hereditary claims. Meanwhile Constance, who became mother of a daughter, named Katherine, destined by her marriage to reconcile the conflicting claims of the heirs of Peter the Cruel and Henry of Trastamare, was exposed to some inconvenience on account of her husband’s unpopularity. It was in 214 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. 1381, during the commotions raised by Jack Ball and Wat Tyler, that this was most felt. At that time John of Gaunt, who happened to be iu Scotland, was suspected by one party and hated by the other. The king, sus¬ pecting him of being in league with the insurgents, gave orders that he should not be admitted into the kingdom; and the rioters no sooner entered London than they evinced their hatred of him by sacking his palace of the Savoy. Much mortified, the duke remained north of the Tweed, where, while magnificently entertained at the castles of the Earl of Dunbar and Earl Douglas, he reflected on his sins, of which he believed his misfortunes the punishment, and vowed reformation.* Meanwhile the duchess was in ex¬ treme alarm. At first she repaired for safety to the castle of Pontefract. But such was the state of public feeling, and so unpopular was the duke, that her own servants were afraid to admit her. Greatly frightened, she hastened on by torchlight to Knaresborough, and there took refuge till the storm blew over. A few years later, when the war of succession between John, King of Castille, and John, the Grand Master of Avis, was raging in Portugal, circumstances tempted the Duke of Lancaster to make a great effort to seize the crown to which his wife was considered the rightful heiress. It was the autumn of 1385, and the Portuguese had just defeated the King of Castille on the plains of Aju- barota, when the Grand Master of the order of St. James, and an able and prudent squire, named Laurence Fongasse, dis¬ embarked at Southampton, rode to London, and having taken up their quarters about nine one morning in Grace- church, at the hotel of the Falcon, kept by Thomelin de * ‘ John of Gaunt,’ says Dugdale, ‘reflecting seriously, resolved and made a vow that he would rid his house of Katherine Swynford, whom ho had long kept as a concubine.’ CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE, 215 Winchester, dined, and as ambassadors from Portugal, waited on the Duke and Duchess of Lancaster with letters! If, said these epistles, ‘ you ever wish to claim the kingdom of Castille, and not surrender your right, which has been some time in suspense and nearly lost, now is the time to hasten to Portugal, well-accompanied with men-at-arms and archers.’ ‘Having read them,’ says Froissart, ‘the duke said, “ You are welcome, gentlemen, to this country. We will to-morrow attend the king, and you shall have assistance, as it is but reasonable you should.” The duchess, taking Laurence apart, asked the news of Castille and Portugal, and what was going on in those parts. Laurence, having made exact answers to all the lady’s questions, the duke ordered wine and spices, of which the envoys partook and then returned to their hotel. On the morrow, by six, they again waited on the duke, who had heard mass, and, enter¬ ing a large barge, were rowed up the Thames to Westmin¬ ster, where the king and the greater part of the council resided. . . . The king replied very graciously to the ambassadors, saying, “ You are welcome to this country, and your coming has given us much pleasure. Make my fair uncles acquainted with your business, who will attend to it.” ’ ‘ A parliament,’ continues Froissart, ‘ was held at West¬ minster on this subject, when it was determined that the Duke of Lancaster should have, at the public expense, a thousand or twelve hundred lances, all chosen men, two thousand archers, and one thousand lusty varlets, and that they should receive half a year’s pay in advance. . . . When the duke had arranged his affairs in England, and taken leave of the king and his brothers, he came to Bristol, where he tarried fifteen days, until his horses, to the number of more than two thousand, and his stores were safely embarked with ample provision of hay, straw, oats, and fresh water. The duke then entered a handsome 216 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. galley, having beside it a large vessel for his household and the duchess, who had consented with great courage to accompany him in this expedition: for she expected on her arrival in her native country, or at least before her return, to be Queen of Castille. She had with her her own daughter Katherine, and two other daughters of the duke by his former marriage, called Isabel and Philippa. Isabel was married to Sir John Holand, consta¬ ble of the army.’ Landing at Corunna, the Duke of Lancaster, with his wife and daughters, proceeded to St. Iago, and took up their residence in the abbey. Soon after John of Gaunt, who had taken the title of King of Castille, proceeded to the bridge, called Pont de More, and there had an interview with the King of Portugal. Having formed their plans in regard to carrying on the war against Jolm of Castille, they were about to part, when the duke, who was anxious to convert his ally into a son-in-law, introduced the subject of a matrimonial alliance. ‘ Sir king,’ said he, ‘ I have at St. Iago two girls; and I will give you the choice to take which of them shall please you best. Send thither your council, and I will return her with them.’ ‘ Many thanks,’ replied the king, ‘ you offer me more than I ask. I will leave my cousin, Katherine of Castille ; but I demand your daughter Philippa in marriage, whom I will espouse and make my queen.’ With these words the conference broke up; and soon after the king returned to Oporto, the duke to St. Iago. The duchess was very impatient for his arrival at the abbey and eagerly asked the news. ‘ And what,’ said she, ‘ do you think of the King of Portugal ? ’ ‘ On my faith,’ replied the duke, * he is an agreeable man, and has the appearanee of being a valiant one; and I think he will reign powerfully. He is but twenty-six CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 217 years old; and, like the Portuguese, well formed in his limbs and body.’ * W^ell, and what was done in regard to the marriage ? ’ asked the duchess. 1 1 have given him one of my daughters,’ answered the duke. 1 Which ? ’ inquired the duchess. ‘ I offered him the choice of Katherine or Philippa,’ said John of Gaunt, 1 for which he thanked me much ; and he has fixed on Philippa.’ ‘ He is in the right,’ observed the duchess; ‘ for my daughter Katherine is too young for him.’ Not, however, till the spring of 1387 did the King of Portugal show any eagerness to receive the hand of his bride. About the opening of February ambassadors came to conduct Philippa of Lancaster to her husband; and, having bidden adieu to the duke and duchess, she mounted her palfrey, and, under the escort of Sir John Holand, reached Oporto in safety, and was solemnly united to the King of Portugal in the church of St. Mary. In a short time the Duchess of Lancaster, with her daughter Katherine, set out to visit the King and Queen of Portugal. ‘ Constance,’ said the duke, as they parted, 1 you will salute, from me, the lung, my son, my daughter, and the barons of Portugal, and give them all the intelligence you can. Desire him to be well prepared to come to our assistance, in the defence of our right, as he has solemnly sworn to do. You will return to me; but leave our daughter Katherine with her sister, the Queen of Portugal, for she cannot be better placed, nor more in safety.’ ‘ My lord,’ replied the duchess, 1 all this I will cheerfully perform.’ The Duchess of Lancaster and her daughter then pro¬ ceeded on their way; and while they were at Oporto news arrived that Sir John Holand had been challenged to tilt 213 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. by Sir Reginald de Roye, a knight of France, and that the combat was to take place at Eteuca, a town which had surrendered to John of Gaunt. 1 News of this tournament,’ says Froissart, 1 was carried to Oporto, where the King of Portugal kept his court. “ In the name of God,” said the king, “ I will be present at it, and so shall my queen and the ladies.” “ Many thanks,” replied the duchess, “ for I shall be accompanied by the king and queen when I return.” It was not long after this conversation that the King of Portugal, the queen, the duchess and her daughter, and the ladies of the court, set out for Eteuca in grand array. The Duke of Lancaster, when they were near at hand, mounted his horse, and, attended by a numerous company, went to meet them. When the king and duke met they embraced each other most kindly, and entered the town together, where their lodgings were as well prepared as they could be in such a place, though they were not so magnificent as if they had been at Paris.’ 1 Three days after the arrival of the King of Portugal came Sir Reginald de Roye, handsomely accompanied by knights and squires, to the amount of six score horse. They were all properly lodged, for the duke had given his officers strict orders that they should be well taken care of. On the morrow Sir John Holand and Sir Reginald Roye armed themselves, and rode into the spacious close in Eteuca, well sanded, where the tilts were to be performed. Galleries were erected for the ladies, the king, the duke, and the many English lords who had come to witness the combat. ‘ After the course of the lance, they fought three rounds with swords, battle axes, and daggers, without either of them being wounded. The French carried off Sir Reginald to his lodgings, and the English did the same to Sir John Holand. The Duke of Lancaster entertained this day at dinner all the French knights and squires. The duchess was seated beside him, and Sir Reginald de Roye next to CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 219 ber. After dinner they entered the presence chamber; and the duchess, taking Sir Reginald by the hand, led him thither. They were followed by the other knights, who conversed on arms and on other subjects a long time, almost until wine was brought. The duchess then drew nearer to the French knights and thus spoke : 11 1 wonder greatly how you knights of France can think of supporting the claims of a bastard, for it is well known to the whole world that Henry, who called himself King of Castille, was a bastard ; and how can you thus, with your arms and counsel, disinherit the right heirs of Castille, and deprive them of the crown: for this I know, that myself and sister are the legal heirs of the late king, Don Pedro, and God, who is truth itself, knows that our claim on Castille is just.” The lady, when speaking of her father, Don Pedro, could not refrain from tears, as she doated on him. Sir Reginald de Roye bowed to her, and then replied: il Madam, we know that what you have said is true. But our lord, the King of France, holds a different opinion from yours; and, as we are his subjects, we must make war for him, and go whithersoever he may send us.” ‘these words Sir John Holand and Sir Thomas Percy handed the lady to her chamber, and the wine and spices were brought. The duke and the company drank to them, and the French knights took their leave; the horses being ready at their lodgings they mounted and left Eteuca.’ The Duchess of Lancaster, leaving her daughter Ka¬ therine with the Queen of Portugal, returned to St. Iago, while John of Gaunt remained with his army to carry on the war.. The duke, however, was not destined to achieve any decisive results. Little was accomplished and little gained; and the English warriors began to express their discontent at operations by which nothing was got. 1 Our expedition,’ said some, ‘ seems to be drawing to a poor end, for we remain too long in one place.’ ‘ That is true,’ replied others, 1 and we have another 220 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. thing much against us. We have brought women, who only wish to remain quiet; and for one day that they are inclined to travel they will repose fifteen. It is this which has checked us, and will be our destruction.’ « What the deuce ! ’ cried all; ‘ what business had the duke to bring his wife and daughters with him, since he came hither for conquest ? With regard to the conquest of towns, ladies can do but little.’ Ere long sickness appeared in the camp. Many of the knights died; and at St. Iago the duke was prostrated with illness of so serious a nature that it was reported through¬ out Castille and France that he was dead. He escaped, however; but his escape was narrow; and, somewhat crestfallen, he disbanded his army and began to think of negotiating. The idea of making the best of matters by giving the hand of his daughter, Katherine, now fourteen, and beautiful as young, to a continental prince presented itself; and he appears to have hesitated be¬ tween the Duke of Berry, a prince of France, who had reached the age of sixty, and Henry, eldest son of the King of Castille, a boy of eight. Ambassadors from both courts soon appeared at Bayonne; and, after full con¬ sideration, the duke gave the preference to Castille; and when the Bishop of Segovia and a friar, who was the king’s confessor, arrived from Burgos, they were well entertained, and in the presence of the duchess proposed a peace. ‘ They were very kindly received,’ says Froissart, ‘ on their introduction at the castle, by the duke and duchess, to whom they delivered their credential letters, and ex¬ plained the object of their mission. They proposed first a treaty of peace with Castille, which the father-confessor discoursed much on in the apartment of the duke, where > only the duchess was present, who interpreted to the duke what he did not understand, as she had in her youth been educated in Castille, and understood the language per¬ fectly well. CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 221 ‘ Hie Duke of Lancaster at this first interview did not discover hiis real sentiments, although he entertained them well, but said it would be difficult to exchange such hatred for peace, and to establish it with one whom they wanted to disinherit; and that it was not his intention to relinquish his claim to the crown of Castille. The friar and the bishop replied that “ there was one means of reconciling his right and the right of their lord and king.” “ What is it ? ” said the duke. “ Sir, you have, by your lady, a beautiful daughter of an age to marry, and our lord of Castille has a handsome and young son. If a union between these two could be brought about, the kingdom of Castille would have peace for ever, for what you claim would fall, where it ought, to your own heir, who is the lineal descendant from our Kings of Castille; and all the fatigues you have undergone in this war must have been for the ultimate succession of this young lady.” “ That is true,” replied the duke; “ but I must have my expenses reimbursed, for I would have you know that my expedi¬ tion to Castille has cost England and me upwards of five hundred thousand francs. I should like, therefore, to hear what you say of repayment.” “ My lord,” said the con¬ fessor, “ if what we have proposed shall be agreeable to you, we will manage all other things to your perfect satis¬ faction.” ’ The ambassador, it turned out, did not in this speech exceed his authority. Arrangements for the settlement of disputes were made by the King of Castille with an alacrity which evinced on his part aught rather than re¬ luctance to the alliance. He not only consented to recognise his son Henry, and Katherine of Lancaster, as joint heirs to the Castilian crown—to give them the titles of Prince and Princess of Asturias, and to assign the city of Soria, and several towns in Spain for the support of their household during his life—but he made no difficulty in agreeing to hand over to John of Gaunt six hundred thousand francs as 222 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. the price of denouncing his wife’s claims to the crown, and annually to pay Constance forty thousand crowns. Mean¬ while the duchess was put in possession of Guadalajara, Medina del Campo, and Olmedo, she engaging that at her death they should revert to Castille. These arrangements made, and hostages for the fulfilment of the conditions given, Katherine of Lancaster was conducted to her new home.* * The Duchess of Lancaster,’ says Froissart, * made pre¬ parations for her journey into Castille, whither she was to carry her daughter, to solemnise her marriage with the son of the King of Castille. . . . When, in the month of March 1389, the sun began to have some force and the days to lengthen, the duchess, having her array ready, set out from Bordeaux and went to Bayonne, where she parted from the duke. . . . She and her ladies continued their journey to the city of Dax, where they were joyfully received, as that court belonged to England. They then reposed themselves for two days, and then pursued their road through the country of the Basques, the pass of Koncesvalles, and entered Navarre. At Pampeluna they found the King and Queen of Navarre, who received them kindly. ‘ The Duchess of Lancaster and her daughter were upwards of a month traversing Navarre, for they resided * ‘I believe,’ says Froissart, ‘tie king (of France), with his uncles and brother, kept the feast of All Saints at Eheims, and that there they first heard of peace being made between the King of Castille and Duke of Lancaster, and of the marriage of the Lady Katherine with the Infant. The King of France laughed and joked much with his uncle, the Duke of Berry, saying, “Fair uncle, you have failed in your intended marriage, for another has seized the lady you meant for your bride. What do you say to this?” The duke good- humouredly replied, “ My lord, if I have been disappointed in this, I will address myself elsewhere.” * Froissart afterwards relates that the Duke of Berry consoled him¬ self for his disappointment by espousing the daughter of the Count of Boulogne, a girl of twelve. CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 223 different parts with the king and queen, and wherever they went all their expenses were defrayed. On their entrance into Castille they were most respectfully treated by those of the king’s household who had been sent to meet them. There were also deputies from different parts of the realm. All the kingdoms of Spain, Castille, and Galicia, Seville, and Toledo, and Cordova, were rejoiced at the arrival of these ladies, since the younger was about to marry the son of King John, their lord, and it seemed to them all that profound peace would ensue, for they should be freed from all fear of the English; and, as to the Portuguese, they should, as they said, make head against them very easily. Thus the ladies proceeded to meet John, King of Castille, at Burgos, who gave them a splendid and affectionate reception. * The marriage having been solemnised, and all contracts signed, the duchess left her daughter with the king and her young husband, who was then but eight years old. She took leave of the king, to go to Montiel, as she had pro¬ posed, who had her attended by the greatest personages of his court. On her arrival at Montiel, such researches w r ere made that she discovered where her father had been buried, and had his bones taken up, washed, and embalmed, and carried in a coffin to Seville, where the cavalcade was met by large processions from that town. The bones were conveyed to the cathedral, and there most reverently buried with very solemn obsequies, which were attended by King John of Castille, his son, the young prince, and the greater part of the prelates and barons of the realm. After the obsequies each person returned home. The King of Castille, accompanied by his son and daughter-in-law, went to Val di Soria; but the Duchess of Lancaster went to Medina del Campo, a handsome and large town, which now belonged to her by the late treaties cf peace, and remained there for some time.’ After having removed the bones of her father from 224 NOBLE TAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Montiel, and laid them with regal honours in the cathedral cf Seville, Constance of Castille returned with her hus¬ band to England, and for several years survived the marriage of her daughter and the Prince of Asturias. Meantime John of Gaunt was, in some measure, consoled for his disappointment as regarded the crown to which he aspired by a grant which the King of England made to him of the Duchy of Acpuitaine and all its dependencies. About the same time he was sent to France to treat for peace with the uncle of the French king. During his absence from England, in the year 1394, the duchess breathed her last.* It appears that Constance of Castille, while figuring for twenty-two years as Duchess of Lancaster, enjoyed in England high reputation as a woman and a wife; but it cannot, unfortunately, be asserted that John of Gaunt was ‘ a model husband.’ It has been said of him that he was learned, elegant, and brilliant, and with something of the genius which enabled the first Edward to tower above all contemporaries; but it is certain that he could not boast of the conjugal fidelity which gave his illustrious ancestor so much homely dignity in the eyes of the English people. In fact, he had, during the life of Constance and her pre¬ decessor, Blanche of Lancaster, entertained as his mistress a woman named Katherine Swynford, under circumstances which made the connection peculiarly scandalous; and no sooner did he return from the Continent, on finding himself * 4 This year,’ says Walsingham, 4 was notable for splendid fune¬ rals. Constance, Duchess of Lancaster, a lady of great innocency of life, died then; and her daughter-in-law, the Countess of Here¬ ford wife of Henry of Bolingbroke, and mother of his children, died in the bloom of life. She was followed to the tomb by Isabel, Duchess of York, a lady noted for her over-fineness and delicacy, yet at her death showing much penitence for her pestilent vanities. But the grief for all these deaths by no means equalled that of the king for his own queen, Anne, whom he loved even to madness.’ CONSTANCE OF CASTILLE. 225 a second time a widower than he hurried to Lincoln, where Katherine was residing, and formally espoused her. . , e daughter of a knight of Hainault who had figured in the household of Queen Philippa, Katherine Ruet, having been brought up at court, became the wife of Sir Hugh Swynford, an English knight, and found her way mtoJohn of Gaunt’s family as governess to his daughter. ,,, of Lancaster,’ says Froissart, ‘had three children by her previous to his marriage, two sons and a daughter. From affection for these children, the duke married their mother, to the great astonishment of France and England; for Katherine Swynford was of base ex¬ traction in comparison to his two former duchesses, Blanche and Constance. When this marriage was an¬ nounced to the ladies of high rank in England, such as the Duchess of Gloucester, the Countess of Derby, the Countess of Arundel, and others connected with the royal family they were greatly shocked, and thought the duke much to blame. They said, “ he had sadly disgraced himself by thus marrying his concubine ; ” and added that, “ since it was so, she would be the second lady in the kingdom and the queen would be dishonourably accompanied by her; but that, for their parts, they would leave her to do the honour alone, for they would never enter any place where she was.” J ‘ Those who were the most outrageous on the subject were the Duke and Duchess of Gloucester. They con¬ sidered the Duke of Lancaster a doting fool for thus marrying his concubine, and declared they would never honour his lady by calling her sister. The Duke of York made light of the matter, for he lived chiefly with the king and his brother of Lancaster. . . . Katherine Ruet, however, remained Duchess of Lancaster and the second lady in England as long as she lived. She was a lady accustomed to honours, for she had been brought up at court during her youth, and the duke fondly loved the 226 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. children he had by her, as he showed during his life and at his death.’ While the wives of the Plantagenet princes were ex¬ pressing their contempt for John of Gaunt’s new duchess, Constance of Castille reposed in peace. It was not in St. Paul’s, however, as sometimes stated, that her mortal remains were laid, but in the church of our Lady at Leicester. In the year 1394, ‘ on the Sunday next before the Feast of the Apostles Peter and Paul,’ she was com¬ mitted to the tomb; and English chroniclers, while record¬ ing her death, paid their leave to her memory by de¬ scribing her as 1 a lady of great innocency of life.’ O N the 17th of July, 1385, a royal wedding was celebrated at Amiens. The bridegroom was Charles the Sixth, King of France, a promising stripling of sixteen. The bride was Isabel of Bavaria, the young and beautiful daughter of Duke Stephen and his Italian spouse, Thaddee of Milan. It was the autumn of 1380, when Charles the Fifth, after having, with the aid of Du Guesclin and Oliver de Clisson, constable of France, recovered most of the French pro¬ vinces from the English, expired at Beaute-sur-Marne. Before yielding up his soul, the wary monarch, not without apprehensions of another Cressy or Poictiers, expressed much anxiety that his son should strengthen his position by wedding one of the princesses of Germany; and when young Charles became king, the Dukes of Anjou, Berry, and Burgundy, who seized on the government of the king¬ dom, recognised the propriety of finding a suitable bride for their royal nephew. Of course, as Charles was only twelve at the time of his accession, his uncles were in no particular haste to nego¬ tiate a matrimonial treaty on his behalf, and some years elapsed before any steps were taken. At length an oppor¬ tunity presented itself. While engaged in suppressing a revolt of the Flemings, and happening to be before Bour- bourg with Duke Frederick of Bavaria, who had come to their assistance, they bethought them of the matter, and over their wine opened the business. 228 NOBLE DAMES 01 ANCIENT STORY. 1 We want a wife for the King of France, said they; ‘ and we should prefer marrying him to Bavaria, rather than elsewhere. Have you no daughters ? ’ ‘ I have none myself,’ answered Frederick; ‘ but my brother, Duke Stephen of Bavaria, has a very handsome one.’ ‘ And how old is she ? ’ demanded the king’s uncles. ‘ Between thirteen and fourteen,’ replied the duke. < Then,’ said the princes, ‘ that is what we want. Do you, on your return to Bavaria, talk with your brother, and conduct your niece, as if in pilgrimage, to St. John, at Amiens, and the king shall be placed beside her. Should he find her handsome, we hope he will be desirous of her, for he loves beauty; and if he appear eager for her, she shall be Queen of France.’ On returning to Bavaria, Frederick repeated to his brother, Duke Stephen, the conversation which he had held with the French princes. Stephen, however, spoke with great caution, and gave little encouragement. ‘ Fair brother,’ said he to Frederick, ‘ I believe such speeches have been made to you, and that my daughter would be very fortunate if such a high honour as to become Queen of France should fall to her lot. But the distance is great from hence; and it is a matter of great considera¬ tion to attempt the making of a queen. I should be ex¬ ceedingly vexed if, after having carried my daughter to France, she should be returned to me; and I should rather marry her at my leisure, nearer home.’ The uncles of Charles, when this answer was reported to them, thought Duke Stephen too indifferent about the alliance, and looked in other directions for a princess worthy of figuring as Queen of France. They talked of a match with a daughter of the Duke of Lorraine, and after¬ wards of one with Katherine, daughter of John of Gaunt. But nothing was done; and when, in 1385, the Duke of Burgundy was at Cambray, uniting his son, the Count of ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 229 Ne vers, with Margaret, daughter of Duke Albert of Bavaria, the subject was renewed by the Duchess of Brabant, a lady of active mind, and not disinclined to match-making. I'he Duchess of Brabant, when at these marriages at Cambray, says Froissart, 1 and the king and his court pre¬ sent, brought this subject on the carpet, saying that a union with Bavaria was the most desirable for the king, on account of the alliance that might be formed with the Germans. u It is so, indeed,” replied the king’s uncles, but we hear nothing of it.” “ Be you silent,” answered the duchess, “ and I will make such advances that you shall, without fail, have certain intelligence of it in the course of the summer.” ‘ The promises of the duchess were verified. . . . About Whitsuntide, the young lady was brought to the duchess in Brabant, who received her very cordially, and accus¬ tomed her to the usages in France; for she managed so well that Duke Stephen allowed his brother, Duke Frederick, to conduct his niece—and it was given out that they were going on a pilgrimage—to St. John, at Amiens. . . . After Duke Frederick and his niece, the Lady Isabella of Bavaria, had been three days at Brussels, they took leave of the duchess. It was, however, her intention to be at Amiens as soon, if not sooner, than they were. ‘ They went through Hainault to Quesney, where they found the duke and duchess, and William, Count of Ostre- vant, and his wife, by all of whom they were most graciously received 5 for Duke Albert was her uncle. They were much surprised at her coming. . . . They remained at Quesney for three weeks, during which time the duchess, who was very able, tutored the young lady of Bavaria as to her manners and appearance, and did not allow her to keep the clothes she then wore, as being too plain and simple for the French fashions ; but had her dressed up and adorned, as if she had been her own child. * When all had been properly prepared, the duchess and 230 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. her daughter, the future Duchess of Burgundy, set out, in great magnificence, for Amiens, with the young lady, where the Duchess of Brabant was already arrived, as were the King, the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy, and the Council. The Lord de la Riviere, Sir Guy de la Tremouille, with many barons and knights, went out of the city to meet the company from Hainault, whom they escorted into town with many honours; and they visited each other out of love and affection. ‘ But the king could hardly close his eyes that night, from the desire of seeing her who was afterwards his spouse. He asked the Lord de la Riviere when he should see her. This question much amused the ladies. And on the Friday, when the young lady was dressed for the oc¬ casion, the three duchesses presented her to the king. She instantly kneeled very low, but the king directly raised her up by the hand, and continually kept his eyes upon her, so that, from that time, love and pleasure pierced his heart. ‘ The constable, observing what passed, said to the Lord de Coucy, “ By my faith, this lady will remain with us ; the king cannot take his eyes off her.” When the ladies had remained some little time with the king, they took leave of him, and carried back the damsel. But as the in¬ tentions of the king were not known, the Duke of Burgundy charged the Lord de la Riviere to sound him when he retired to his closet, which he diligently did by saying, « Sire, how do you like this young lady ? Shall she remain with us ? ” “ Yes, by my troth, will she,” replied the king, “ for she pleases us, and you will tell my good uncle of Burgundy to hasten the business.” ‘When the Lord de la Riviere heard these words, he repeated them to the Duke of Burgundy, who announced them to the ladies, and they were so well pleased thereat, they began carolling. The whole court was joyous on this occasion, and it was intended by the king’s uncles to ISABEL OP BAVARIA. 231 celebrate the feast at Arras. But it did not please the king to go further. He entreated his uncle to make every haste, for he assured him that he wished no delay, but was anxious to have the business completed in the good city of Amiens. “ Very well, my lord,” replied the duke; “ it shall be done as you order.” . 1 Tlie Duke of Burgundy, in company with the constable, Sir Guy de la Tremouille and several others, waited on Madame de Hainault, and found her niece seated beside her. The duke related all that had passed, adding that the king had made him alter his intention as to the place where the marriage ceremony was to be performed; for he was so deeply smitten, that he had owned he could neither sleep nor take any repose on account of her whom he wished for his wife, but on the morrow they would cure all his ailings. The duchess went out in a fit of laughter, and they separated from each other with much joy and satisfaction.’ ‘ The Duchess Margaret of Hainault, who had the young queen under her care, on the morning of the wedding dressed her out handsomely, as she knew well how to do, when the Duchesses of Brabant and Burgundy came thither grandly attended by ladies and damsels. These three ladies conducted the Lady Isabella of Bavaria in the richest covered cars ever seen, with a crown on her head that was worth all the wealth of the country, and which the king had sent her a little before. The Bishop of Amiens per¬ formed the marriage ceremony, in the presence of the lords and ladies before mentioned. After the mass and other ceremonies thereto appertaining, the king, with the lords, ladies, and damsels, went to dinner, which was very sump¬ tuous and magnificent; and that day the counts and barons served at it in grand array. After dinner, they amused themselves in different manners.’ At the time of her marriage at Amiens, Isabel of Bavaria was a girl in her teens, with a graceful figure, an oval face 232 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. of remarkable beauty, a bright and clear complexion, yellow blonde hair, dark eyebrows, and dark splendid eyes; and the young king was charmed with the perfection of the princess who had fallen to his lot. At that period, however, Charles was animated with the ambition of engaging in a great war and making a great conquest. He was eager, in fact, to take advantage of the divisions and distractions of England under Richard II., to avenge himself on the nation by which France had so recently been humbled to the dust; and mighty preparations were made with that object. One French army was sent to Scotland, under the Admiral de Vienne ; another to Castille to oppose John of Gaunt; and a formidable armament for the invasion of England, under the king and his uncle, was fitted out at Sluys. But all these fine projects of triumph and revenge came to nothing. The Scottish expedition ended in failure ; that to Castille was not more fortunate; and the great armament assembled at Sluys never left the port. At length, the king’s eyes were sufficiently opened to see that he was merely an instrument of mis- government in the hands of his uncles; and, shaking off their yoke, he signified his intention of governing himself. It was about this time that Isabel of Bavaria made her celebrated entry into Paris. ‘ On Sunday, the 20th of June,’ says Froissart, 1 there were such crowds of people in Paris, it was marvellous to see them; and on that Sunday the noble ladies of France, who were to accompany the queen, assembled in the afternoon at St. Denis, with such of the nobility as were appointed to lead the litters of the queen and her attendants. The citizens of Paris, to the number cf twelve hundred, were mounted on horseback, dressed in uniforms of green and crimson, and lined each side of the road. The Queen of France, attended by the Duchesses of Berry and Burgundy, the Duchess of Touraine, the Duchess of Lorraine, the Countess of Nevers, the Lady of Coucy, with ISxYBEL OF BAVARIA. 2.13 a crowd of other ladies, began the procession in open litters most richly ornamented. The Duchess of Touraine was not on a litter, but to display herself the more, was mounted on a palfrey magnificently caparisoned. The litter of the queen was led by the Dukes of Touraine and Bourbon at the head ; the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy were at the centre ; and the Lord Peter de Navarre and the Count of Ostrevant behind the litter, which was open and beautifully ornamented. 1 On the morrow, which was Monday, the king gave a grand dinner to a numerous company of ladies, and at the hour of high mass the young Queen of France was led to the holy chapel, where she was anointed and sanctified, as Queens of France usually are. Sir William de Kaie, archbishop of Paris, said mass. After mass, which was well and solemnly sung, the king and queen returned to their apartments, as did the other ladies who lodged in the palace. Shortly after the mass, the king, queen, and all the ladies entered the hall. ‘ The king, prelates, and ladies having washed and seated themselves at table, their places were as follows: the Bishop of Noyen was seated at the head of the king’s table, then the Bishop of Langres, and then the Arch¬ bishop of Rouen, by the side of the King of France, who was, that day, clothed in a crimson surcoat lined with ermine, and the royal crown on his head. A little above the king was the queen, crowned also very richly; next the queen was placed the King of Armenia, then the Duchess of Berry, the Duchess of Burgundy, the Duchess of Touraine, Madame de Nevers, Mademoiselle Bonne de Bar, Madame de Coucy, and Mademoiselle Marie de Harcourt. . . There were two other tables in the hall, at which were seated upwards of five hundred ladies and damsels; but the crowd was so great, it was with difficulty they could be served with their dinner, which was plentiful and sumptuous. 234 NOBLE DAMES OP ANCIENT STORY. There were so many people on all sides, several were stifled by the heat; and one table, near the door of the chamber of Parliament, at which a numerous company of ladies and damsels were seated, was thrown down, and the company forced to make off as well as they could. The Queen of France was near tainting from the excessive heat, and one of the doors was thrown open to admit air. The Lady of Coucy was in the same situation. The king, noticing this, ordered an end to be put to the feast When the tables were removed, for the ladies to have more room, wine and spices were served round, and everyone retired, when the king and queen went to their apartments. Those ladies who did not lodge in the palace returned to their hotels, to recover themselves of their sufferings fiom the heat and crowd. The Lady of Coucy remained in her hotel till it was late ; but the queen, about five o’clock, left the palace, attended by the duchesses before named, and mounting an open litter, proceeded through the streets of Paris, followed by the ladies in litters or on horseback, to the residence of the king, at the Hotel de St. Pol. She was attended by upwards of one thousand horse.’ The king took boat at the palace, and was rowed to his hotel, which,. though it was sufficiently large, there had been erected in the court, at the entrance leading to the Seme, an immense hall covered with undressed cloths of Normandy, that had been sent from divers places. The sides were hung with tapestry, that represented strange histones, and gave delight to all who saw them. In this hall the king entertained the ladies at a banquet; but the queen remained in her chamber, where she supped, and did not again appear that night. The king, lords, and ladies danced and amused themselves till daybreak, when the amusements ceased, and every one retired to his home.’ It is probable that Charles, having now reached years of discretion, might in ruling France have been able ‘ to execute ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 235 justice and maintain truth,’ and that Isabel might, as wife and mother, have avoided those errors which gave her so unenviable a reputation, had nothing occurred to dis¬ qualify the young king for the duties of governing, or ex¬ posed the young queen to temptations against which she Avas by no means proof. But it was ordered that it should be otherwise. No sooner had Charles assumed the reins of authority and begun to govern through a council presided over by Oliver de Clisson, the constable, than the aspect of affairs changed tor the better. But the king’s uncles, bent on recovering their power, allied themselves with that Duke ofyBrittany Avhose claims his mother, the Countess of Montfort, had so heroically maintained against Charles of Blois, and aimed at the overthrow of Clisson, whom Brittany disliked, be¬ cause he had wedded the granddaughter of his old anta¬ gonist. This led to serious consequences. Sir Peter de Craon lay in wait for the constable, attacked him, wounded him severely, and then, escaping to Brittany, placed him¬ self under the duke’s protection. Clisson’s wounds did not prove fatal. But Charles, indignant at the outrage, demanded that the assassin should be surrendered to jus¬ tice. Brittany refused; and the king, determined on seizing him by force, summoned an army to assemble at Mans, and prepared to enter the duke’s territory in hostile array. At this time Charles was at the Hotel de St. Pol, re¬ covering from the effects of a fever; and his physicians declared that he was not in a condition to undertake an expedition. Impatient, however, to commence the war, the king exclaimed that his health was as good as that of his physicians. In vain the Dukes of Berry and Burgundy evinced their aversion to the enterprise. Charles armed himself at the Hotel de St. Pol, took leave of the queen, who, having already given birth to an heir to the French throne, was again on the point of becoming a mother; and 236 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. Laving received from Isabel a chaplet of pearls as a parting gift, he rode oil with his uncles and his brother, the Duke of Orleans, and joined his army at Mans. It was the 5th of August, 1392, when Charles marched fiom Mans, and dressed in a jacket of black velvet, and a hood of crimson ornamented with Isabel’s chaplet of pearls, rode at the head of his army through the forest. The king was still in a weak state; and his nerves were much • shaken, when, as he traversed the forest, a man clothed in a jacket of white russet, but barefoot and bareheaded, . rushed from among the trees, seized his bridle, and ex¬ claimed, ‘ King, ride no further, but return; for you are betrayed.’ The man was instantly removed and driven away; but the incident made a strong impression on the king s mind, and he continued his journey, brooding over the mysterious warning he had received. Having cleared the forest of Mans, the army entered a sandy plain; and the August sun, shining with more than its wonted force, increased the feverish excitement from which Charles was suffering. Followed closely by two pages, one of whom carried his lance, while the other wore a helmet of polished steel, the king was reflecting ner¬ vously on the startling apparition in the forest, when one of the pages, falling asleep, allowed the lance to strike against his comrade’s helmet with such force that it rang loudly.. On hearing the sound, Charles started, shuddered, drew his sword, and turning his horse’s head, cried, ‘ I am betrayed—advance on the traitors ! ’ and spurring back, menaced his brother, the Duke of Orleans, so furiously, that he galloped off to avoid being killed on the spot. After much confusion, the king was seized, disarmed, and carried to Mans. Some attributed this sudden illness to poison, others to witchcraft. Ere long, however, all doubts vanished as to the actual state of the case. Charles VI. was insane j and, under the care of knights and physicians, he was re- < King ! ride no farther, but return, for you are betrayed.’—P. 236. ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 237 moved to the castle of Creil, in a healthy situation, and in a rich country on the river Oise. Isabel was not informed of the misfortune that had befallen her husband. Everybody connected with her household was strictly forbidden to mention the fact; and it was not till she had given birth to a daughter, and ‘ re¬ covered from her lying-in,’ that she learned what had occurred. What her reflections may have been, it is im¬ possible to say ; but if all stories are true, Isabel was not wholly innocent in the matter. Indeed, it is asserted, that the original illness of Charles was caused by the discovery, that a much closer intimacy than propriety warranted existed between his wife and the Duke of Orleans. But however that may have been, Charles, ere long, began to recover under the treatment of a physician who compre¬ hended the cause of his malady, and perceived how it might be cured. ‘ At that time,’ says Froissart, ‘ there was a most learned physician in France, who had not his equal anywhere—a friend of the Lord de Coucy, and born on his lands. His name was Master William de Harseley; he had fixed his residence in the city of Laon, which he preferred to any other; and, on first hearing of the king’s illness and the cause of it, knowing, as he thought, the king’s constitution, he said: “ This disorder of the king proceeds from the alarm in the forest, and by inheriting too much of his mother’s weak nerves.” These words were carried to the Lord de Coucy, at that time in Paris with the Duke of Orleans and the king’s uncles. ‘ He spoke of him to the king’s uncles, and mentioned his learning and success; and it would be proper he should try his skill to recover the king. The Dukes of Berry and Burgundy listened to it, and sent for him. On his arrival at Paris, he first waited on the Lord de Coucy, with whom he was very intimate; and he introduced him to the king’s uncles, saying, ‘Here is Master William de Harseley, of 238 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. whom I spoke.’ The two dukes received him very kindly, and made him welcome. They then ordered him to visit the king at Creil, and remain until he should have restored him to health. Master William, in consequence of these orders from the dukes, set out from Paris in good array, as was becoming him, and arrived at Creil, where he estab¬ lished himself near the king’s person, and took the lead over the other physicians, undertaking to make a cure .... and he was very anxious to restore the king to health.’ 1 By little and little, he recovered for him his health. He first got rid of the fever and great heat he complained of, and then restored him his appetite, sleep, and his re¬ collection of things about him. Until he was strong enougli to bear removal for change of air, he allowed him to ride, hunt, and amuse himself with hawking. On the news cf the king’s recovery being spread abroad, the whole king¬ dom of France was rejoiced; and most heartily and sin¬ cerely were thanksgivings offered up to God for having restored the king to his senses and memory. During his residence at Creil, he demanded to see the queen and his son. She came thither, and brought the dauphin. The king received them very kindly, and thus, by degrees, through the mercy of God, was he restored to health. ‘ Master William de Harseley, seeing him in so fair a way, was in high spirits, and not without reason, for he had performed an astonishing cure. He now gave him up to the care of his brother, the Duke of Orleans, and his uncles, the Dukes of Berry, Burgundy, and Bourbon, saying to them, “ Thanks to God, the king is now w;ell. I deliver him up to you. But henceforward you must carefully avoid angering or vexing him, for as yet his nerves have not quite recovered their strength.” ’ An unlucky accident, the result of an absurd and some¬ what indecent frolic, ere long disturbed the king’s mind. In the winter, Charles, accompanied by Isabel, removed from Creil to Paris in very good health, and took up his ISABEL OF BAYAEIA. 239 residence at tlie Hotel de St. Pol. Unfortunately the queen became every day more addicted to pleasure and excitement, and night after night throughout the winter she indulged, without stint, her appetite for carolling, dancing, and dissipation. In the spring of 1393 a young squire of Vermandois happened to wed a damsel of the queen’s household ; the king resolved to keep the wedding feast at his expense, and the court seized the occasion to celebrate an orgie. The day passed in dancing and merriment; and after supper a Norman squire, a kinsman of the bridegroom, suggested that the king and five of the courtiers should perform a masked dance in the guise of savages. 1 He had in the evening,’ says Froissart, ‘ provided six coats of linen, covered with fine flax, the colour of hair. . . When they were all thus dressed, by having the coats sewed around them they appeared like savages; for they were covered with hair from head to foot. This mas¬ querade pleased the king greatly, and he expressed his pleasure to his squire. It was so secretly contrived, that no one knew anything of the matter but the servants who had attended on them. . . . ‘ But one person in the company knew them; and they were all fastened together, while the king led them danc- ing. . . The king, who was the leader, fortunately for him, quitted them to show himself to the ladies, as was natural to his youth, and passing by the queen, placed himself near the Duchess of Berry, who, though his aunt, was the youngest of the company. The duchess amused herself in talking with him, and endeavouring to find out who he was ; but the king rising up from his seat would not dis¬ cover himself. The duchess said, “You shall not escape thus, for I will know your name.” 1 this moment a most unfortunate accident befel the others, through the youthful gaiety of the Duke of Orleans, who, if he had foreseen the mischief he was about to cause, it is to be presumed would not. for any consideration, so 240 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. have acted. He was very inquisitive in examining them to find out who they were ; and as the five were dancing, he took one of the torches from his servants, and holding it too near their dresses set them on fire. Flax is instantly in a blaze, and the pitch with which the cloth had been covered to fasten the flax, added to the impossibility of ex¬ tinguishing it. They were likewise chained together, and their cries were dreadful; for the fire was so strong scarcely any dared to approach. . . . ‘ When the queen heard the cause of the cries she was alarmed lest the king should be hurt, for he had told her that he should be of the six, and in her fright fainted and fell down. Her ladies and knights hastened to her as¬ sistance, and the confusion was so great, no one knew what to do. The Duchess of Berry saved the king by throwing the train of her robe over him, and detaining him, for he wanted to quit her. “ Where are you going ? ” said she; “ do you not see your companions are in a blaze ? Who are you ? ” _ He then named himself, saying, “ I am the king.” “ Oh ! my lord,” replied the duchess, “ put on another dress, and show yourself to the queen; for she is much distressed about yon.” 1 The king, on this, left the room, and having thrown aside his mummery, dressed himself as fast as he could, and returned to the queen, who had been much comforted by the Duchess of Berry. When the king had quitted her, she went to the queen, and said, “Madam, do not be alarmed for the king. You will shortly see him, for I have been talking with him.” As she said this, the king ap¬ peared, and the queen trembled with joy. She was carried by her knights to her chamber, where the king attended and comforted her. . . . -r^; ‘ This terrible accident happened about twelve o’clock at night in the ball-room at the Hotel de St. Pol, and it was a most melancholy spectacle. Of the five that were on fire, two died on the spot; other two, the Bastard de Foix ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 241 and the Count de Joigny, were carried to their hotels, and died two days afterwards in great agonies. ... ‘ When on tlie morrow it became public in Paris, the people wondered greatly, and said that God had a second time shown his kind Providence to the king, and that he ought now to put aside those childish things, and occupy himself more seriously, for that he had too long played the boy, which was unbecoming a King of France. ‘ P°i nt of nine o’clock the king and his attendants mounted their horses and rode through Paris from the Hotel de St. Pol to the church of Notre Dame, to appease the people, who were in great commotion, where he heard mass and made his offerings. He then returned to the Hotel de St. Pol with his lords, who dined there. This accident was by degrees forgotten, and obsequies, prayers, and alms were made for the dead.’ Soon after this tragic scene, which shook the king’s nerves, commissioners from England and France met°to tieat of a permanent peace. The king, to advance the business, went to Abbeville. While Charles was there, and while the negotiations were at a critical stage, he re¬ lapsed into the condition from which, under William de Ilarseley’s care, he had so recently recovered. * He had remained at Abbeville until near midsummer,’ says Froissart, ‘ at the abbey of St. Peter, passing his time in a variety of amusements. . . . The Dukes of Berry and Burgundy were at this time at Boulogne, bring¬ ing the conference to a close. . . . The moment the Duke of Orleans perceived the state of the king’s health, he sent information to his uncles. . . . The Dukes of Berry and Burgundy did not wait for the conclusion of the articles, but hastened to Abbeville, where, to their sorrow, they found the king in a very poor state of health. The king’s disorder was kept secret as long as possible. The court at Abbeville was shortly dispersed. The castle of Creil was again fixed on as his residence, whither ho 242 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. ■was carried in a litter. ... It was much regretted by those who wished his recovery that Master William de Harseley was no more; for his relatives knew not where to seek a prudent physician that was acquainted with hi3 disorder. It was, however, a matter of necessity to make the best use of such as they had.’ In fact, people perceived that anything like a complete recovery was most improbable ; and France was doomed to years of misgovernment. Charles did now and then regain the use of his faculties; but his flashes of reason were almost as fatal to the kingdom as hi3 fits of delirium. In his lucid intervals, the rival pretenders to power did all they could to influence him in favour of their selfish projects; and incapable of apprehending the current of events or exer¬ cising any will of his own, he gave his sanction to the most despotic acts and the grossest abuses. In the unhappy transactions of the evil days which rendered the condition of France so miserable, the princes of the blood rivalled each other in tyranny and rapacity; but of all persons con¬ nected with the king, Isabel of Bavaria appears to have been the most unpardonably criminal in the course she pursued. Charles was still considered as reigning, and at first the king’s uncles administered affairs with the cruelty and rapacity for which they were already notorious. But as time passed on, the king’s brother, the Duke of Orleans, contrived to seize the reins of power, and proved himself the rival of his uncles in tyranny and avarice. With this prince the queen allied herself, and after the death of the Duke of Burgundy, in 1404, they exercised absolute power, imposed enormous taxes, divided the proceeds between them, and, while the unhappy king was at the Hotel de St. Pol, a prey to vermin and almost to hunger, indulged in a degree of familiarity which gave grave scandal to all who cherished any respect for propriety. Indeed, if the statements of their adversaries may be cre¬ dited, Orleans did all that lay in his power to persuade the ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 213 queen to leave the kingdom with her children, and fly to Luxembourg. ‘ It is a fact, that, about four years after the king was attacked by his unfortunate disorder, the profligate Duke of Orleans never ceased imagining how he could succeed in his wicked and damnable designs, and thought that if he could prevail on the queen to quit the kingdom with her children, he would then have readily obtained his object. With this intent, he falsely informed her that the king was very indignant against her, and advised her, as she regarded her own life and the lives of her children, to quit the presence of the king and to leave the country.- lie offered to conduct her and them to the duchy of Luxembourg (thinking that, when there, he could do with them as he pleased), and promised the queen that ho would, there, safely guard her and her children. ‘ He added, that should the king recover from his frenzy, and should he perceive that he was no longer angry with her, and that she might safely return—which he engaged to urge to the king with all his power—he would reconduct her and her children to his majesty; and in case the king should not have changed his opinion concerning her, he would maintain her according to her rank in the duchy of Luxembourg, were any of the nobles, or even the king and others, to visit her. The better to colour his wicked design, he gave the queen to understand that this project must be kept secret and executed with much caution, lest she and her family should be stopt on the road to Luxembourg. ‘ lie advised her to undertake a pilgrimage with her children to St. Fiacre, and thence to our Lady at Licsse, whence he would escort her to Luxembourg, and give her such an establishment as should be suitable to her and her children’s rank, until the present dispositions of the king should be changed, tie frequently pressed the queen on this subject, using nearly the words related, all tending to put the queen and her children in his power. . . They a 244 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOEY. certainly were in great clanger; and it would hare been increased if some worthy persons, real friends to the queen, had not informed her that all she heard was false.’* Whatever the truth of this statement, it appears that, in 1405, Orleans and the queen were setting decency and public opinion utterly at defiance, when a formidable rival appeared in the person of that Duke of Burgundy known in history as John the Fearless. John the Fearless, at this time about thirty-five, was son of Philip, Duke of Burgundy, and Margaret, heiress of Flanders. When Count of Nevers, he took the lead of the French army which went to aid the King of Hungary against the Sultan Bajazet, and was made prisoner on that day when the chivalry of France sustained so terrible a defeat before the walls of Nicopolis. Ransomed for two hundred thousand crowns, the Count of Nevers returned to France; and he soon after, on the death of his father and mother, succeeded to the Duchy of Burgundy and to the immense territories which his mother enjoyed as Countess of Flanders. At the age of fourteen, John the Fearless married Margaret, daughter of Duke Albert of Bavaria; and the lady was, doubtless, gifted with the beauty of her race. It would seem that Orleans, who Was notorious for profligacy even in France, conceived a liking for this lady, and that, on one occasion, he hinted that Margaret of Bavaria had smiled on him. Over his wine, when his tongue outran his discretion, he boasted, in Burgundy’s presence, that he had, in a certain chamber, portraits of the fairest women in France, and that each of them had at one time or other looked on him with a favouring smile. Curi¬ osity soon after led Burgundy into that chamber ; and, to his surprise and horror, the first picture on which his eye rested was a likeness of his duchess. Enraged beyond * See Monstrelet’s Chronicles for the speech of John Fctit. ISABEL OF BAYAKIA. 245 measure, he suppressed his wrath; but vowed revenge, and bided his time. Bui gundy s power was great, and his ambition was even greater than his power; and his ambition had been gratified in so far that his eldest daughter was contracted in mar- liage to Louis, the dauphin. At that time he was on the point of besieging Calais, and sent ambassadors to Paris to demand men and money. An unfavourable answer was returned by Orleans; and Burgundy, going to Arras, set out for Paris with eight hundred armed men. On reaching Louvres, he received letters which stated that the king v as in better health, and that Orleans and the queen were on the point of leaving Paris for Melun, and carrying the dauphin with them. Eegarding Orleans with antipathy, and the queen with no friendly eye, Burgundy was much enraged at the intelligence. Having reflected, the Duke went to bed and slept over the business. Early next morning, however, he sounded his trumpets, mustered his men, mounted his horse, and rode off to Paris, with the intention of taking strong measures. Ilis first object was to prevent the dauphin leaving the capital. On arriving there, he was informed by the Parisians that the young prince, attended by Louis of Bavaria, his maternal uncle, had already followed his mother in a litter. Burgundy, on hearing this, without delay or hesitation, trotted out of Paris, and, attended by his men-at-arms, rode off in pursuit. It was a summer .day; and Orleans and the queen had in the meantime reached Corbeil, a little town on the Seine, sixteen miles south of Paris. At that place they were awaiting the dauphin’s coming, and preparing for dinner. What their real plans were does not very clearly appear; but they were not destined to be realized. Sud¬ denly they were startled by the trampling of horses, and by the entrance of the Marquis du Pont and other persons ol Orleans’ household, who had' galloped forward with 246 NOBLE DAMES OF-ANCIENT STORY. tidings that made the duke’s brow grow stern, and Isabel’s cheek grow pale. The news, indeed, was little to their taste. While the dauphin’s litter, guarded by Louis of Bavaria, was on the road between Ville-Juive and Corbeil, it was overtaken by Burgundy evidently in an angry mood. On approaching the dauphin, however, the duke bowed with great respect, and asked him to return to Paris. ‘ You will be better there,’ said the duke, 1 than in any other part of France; and, besides, I am desirous of con¬ versing with you on many points which touch you per¬ sonally.’ ‘ My lord duke,’ interrupted Louis of Bavaria, seeing that the boy was inclined to comply, 1 suffer my nephew, the dauphin, to follow his mother and the Duke of Orleans. He has had the consent of liis father for so doing.’ A long conversation ensued, and the Bavarian was urgent. But his entreaties were of no effect. Burgundy caused the litter to be turned about, and carried the dauphin back to Paris. Having been met, as he ap¬ proached the capital, by the Dukes of Berry and Bourbon, with many lords and citizens, Burgundy conducted the dauphin to the Louvre, and there took up his residence in the apartments of St. Louis. On the Sunday following, however, he removed to his own house, the Hotel of Artois, and raised palisades and barriers in the adjoining streets to guard against attack. Having secured himself, and played some demagogic tricks to win popularity among the Parisians, the duke awaited the course of events. Meanwhile, Orleans and the queen were not idle. On learning at Corbeil that Burgundy had carried off the dauphin, they were greatly astonished and alarmed. Im¬ mediate measures for defence, however, were necessary; and Orleans, leaving Corbeil without even dining, hastened to Melun, whither the queen followed more leisurely. ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 247 Not knowing what turn affairs might take, but resolved to be prepared, Orleans summoned fighting men from all quarters to Melun. Civil war now appeared inevitable; and the country around Paris was, ere long, infested by the soldiers of the rival dukes. Burgundy’s badge was the white hood; and he took for his motto—‘ I have possession.’ The badge of Orleans was a white scarf; and he took for his motto — ‘ Je I’envie.’ At length, Orleans and the queen, leaving Melun, advanced towards Paris, and a battle seemed imminent. But on learning how strongly the Parisians ■were prejudiced against him, Orleans hesitated, listened to proposals of reconciliation, and led his army back to Coibeil. In fact, after some show of reluctance, the two dukes agreed to submit their dispute to arbitration, and dismiss their forces, and even went the length of embracing and. taking the sacrament together, to convince people of their amity. All, however, was delusion, as the events proved. When Orleans retreated with his army to Corbeil, Isabel went to the castle of Vincennes. Some time after she removed to the town of Compiegne, and at that place she received Orleans and Burgundy. Everything went as smoothly as coidd have been desired; and when the two dukes had ‘ mutually promised love and friendship during their lives,’ Orleans departed for Chateau-Thierry; Bur¬ gundy went to Handers, and the queen and council 1 etui ned to Paris to the king, ‘ who had lately recovered fiom his illness. For a time, there was something like peace among the French princes; but, late in the autumn of 1407, a horrible assassination plunged the country into confusion. At that period, Isabel, then a woman of thirty-five or thereabouts, had purchased a hotel near the Porte Bar¬ bette, and there she gave birth to a daughter, who died in infancy. On the evening of Wednesday, the 23rd of 243 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. November, the queen was visited by Orleans; and they were engaged in earnest conversation, when one of tbe king’s valets presented bimself. * My lord,’ said he, ‘ the king sends for you, and you must instantly hasten to him, for he has business of great importance to you and him, which he must communicate to you.’ The visit of Orleans had been made in the most private manner ; and he was, doubtless, somewhat startled with the message. However, he immediately prepared to obey the summons, left the queen, mounted his mule, and, attended by two squires riding on one horse, and five valets, bearing torches, rode away towards the Hotel de St. Pol. But lie was not to arrive at his destination. As soon as he reached the Porte Barbette, eighteen men, with desperate intent, suddenly sallied from under shelter of a pent-house, and made a murderous attack. ‘Put him to death,’ cried one, as with a battle-axe he dealt a blow which severed the duke’s hand from the arm. ‘ I am the Duke of Orleans! ’ shouted the unfortunate prince, imagining there was some mistake. ‘ Yes,’ was the reply; ‘and you are just the person we were looking for.’ Every hope of escape now vanished. Blow was heaped on blow; and the assailants of Orleans, as if determined to do their work thoroughly, dragged him from his mule, split his skull, turned him over and over, and hacked him with ferocity. In vain a German squire threw himself between the murderers and their victim. He was killed on the spot. His comrade, however, galloped to the hotel of the queen, shouting ‘ Murder 1 ’ and the assassins, at the same time shouting ‘ Fire 1 ’ decamped, some of them making for the Hotel of Artois, where Burgundy was then residing. When the news that Orleans had been murdered spread through Paris, the utmost horror prevailed; and many 2l9 ISABEL OF BA VALIA. nobles fearing for the king’s safety, armed and assembled for his protection at the Hotel de St. Pol. At the same aWd* No? IT 11 " 3 Lad ° CCUrred ’ Was ex ^remely tZ . fe f Wg SGCUre at the Porte Barbette, she Bent for her brother, Louis of Bavaria, and albeit in a v eak state of health, removed to the Hotel de St. Pol and took possession of apartments adjoining those of her hus- ?. Consternation sat on every face, and people ‘ not knowing how far these matters might be carried, manifested tne utmost apprehension.’ At first suspicion fell on Sir Aubert de Canny, a knight whose wife, Marietta d’Enguien, Orleans had carried off and whose, antipathy to the duke was well known. It soon transpired, however, that not Sir Aubert, but a more important personage, was the criminal. In fact, Burgundv after hesitating for a few days, confessed that the murder had been committed by his orders, and consulted his safety by escaping to Flanders. J This confession caused profound sensation; and the Duchess of Orleans came to Paris to demand justice Bur¬ gundy also reappeared in the capital, defended himself by his advocate, John Petit, professor of theology in the university, on the ground that Orleans was a tyrant, and that it was lawful to put tyrants to death, and played the part of demagogue so well that the Parisians lauded him to the skies. When lie entered the town, the joy of the populace was great, and the queen heard, with no slight displeasure, not only men and women, but even children singing carols in Ins praise in the public squares. Such! indeed, was the excitement, that apprehensive of conse¬ quences to themselves and their children, Charles, who had at that time one of his ‘lucid intervals,’ deemed it prudent to grant Burgundy a formal pardon, and Isabel deemed it prudent to withdraw from Paris and repair to Melun. At Melun, the queen, in the company of the dauphin 9 ud Louis of Bavaria, brooded over the murder of Orleans, 253 NOLLE DAJIES OF ANCIENT STOET. digested her grief, and determined on revenge. Nor did circumstances seem unfavourable to her projects. The Liegeois were in revolt; and Burgundy had his hands too full at home to meddle actively in the affairs of France; and when, in the autumn of 1408, the Duchess of Orleans appeared again in Paris to insist on justice, Isabel, with the dauphin, left Melun, and entered the capital. Ap¬ parently, some change had come over the Parisians, for they celebrated her return, expressed much satisfaction at seeing her, and sang carols in honour of her entry. Isabel promptly availed herself of the altered state of public feelings, and, having caused Charles to cancel the pardon granted to Burgundy, took possession of the . government in the dauphin’s name. But her triumph was brief. Burgundy, having put down the Liegeois, so alarmed the queen by advancing with an army towards Paris, that she carried off the king to Tours; while the duke, late in November, 1408, entered the capital in triumph, rallied the citizens around him, held a great council of princes to reform the finances, got possession of the king, and showed his authority by executing Montaigu, grand master of the royal household, who had been intimate with the Duke of Orleans. About this time, the Duchess of Orleans died of a broken heart; and the queen, having despaired of contending with such an adversary as John the Fearless, consented to a treaty of peace. It was shortly after Burgundy held the grand council, that Isabel was induced to treat him as a friend ; and the chronicle gives us glimpses of the queen’s doings in that disturbed period, when Burgundy exercised absolute control. m 1 The King of Navarre, the Dukes of Berry, Burgundy, and Holland, with the Counts de Vendome and de la Marche, and several great lords, waited on the Queen of France and the dauphin, to make them acquainted with the reasons for executing Montaigu, and what progress they ISABEL OF BAVAEIA. 251 Lad made in tlie reformation of abuses. The queen testified her satisfaction, and was contented that they should pro¬ ceed as they had begun. She was, however, far from being pleased with the Duke of Burgundy, whom she dreaded, from the great power he was now possessed of, more than any of the other princes, although he treated her respectfully in his speech. The marriage of the Lord Louis of Bavaria, brother to the queen, with the daughter of the King of JMavarre was again talked of; and he was presented with the castle of Marcoussi, with all its furniture and appurtenances, which had lately been confiscated to the king by the death of Montaigu, which was very agreeable to the queen. After these lords had, for some days, transacted business at Melun, they all returned to Paris.’ Shortly after this council, Duke William, Count ot Hainault, went to Melun, the residence of the Queen of Fiance, who was his near relation, and so managed that she, who could not bear the Duke of Burgundy, and had strongly supported the party adverse to him, namely that of the Duke of Orleans, was reconciled to him.’ ‘ On St. Thomas’s-day, after the king had feasted his nobles in royal state, the queen, by orders of the king, came from the castle of Vincennes to Paris. All the princes, prelates, and great crowds of people went out to meet her and her son, the dauphin, and conducted her to the palace, where they presented her to the king. . . . After the dinner, the queen set out with her attendants for the castle of Vincennes, as it was the eve of the feast of the Circumcision, but left her son with the king.’ 1 Before the Duke of Burgundy left Paris, the dauphin, with the consent of the king and queen, was entrusted to his care and guardianship, that he might bo properly in¬ structed in the arts of war and government. . . Soon after this, the king relapsed into his usual disorder. At this period, the princes and council of state went oltcn to Q 2 252 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOTiY. the castle of Vincennes, where the queen resided; for without her knowledge, no business of importance was carried on.’ ‘ The Dukes of Berry and Bourbon, however, were much discontented that they were not so often summoned to the council as before, and that their authority was greatly lessened. Seeing themselves as it were banished from the government, they took leave of the king, queen, and princes, and each retired to his own domains.’ ‘ The Duke of Burgundy resided in Paris, and ruled there more despotically than any other of the princes. Affairs were solely carried on by him and his partisans, which, no doubt, made very many jealous of him.’ * It soon appeared that such was indeed the case. Charles, Duke of Orleans, still eager to avenge his father’s murder, espoused a daughter of the Count of Armagnac ; and the count became the soul and right arm of a formidable con¬ federacy, which was joined by the Dukes of Berry and Brittany and the Count' of Alemjon. Both parties took up arms, and Burgundy had to withdraw from Paris; but he soon returned, drove Armagnac from the capital, and re-entered in triumph. The Armagnacs, however, drew to a head in the provinces beyond the Loire, and the queen having in vain attempted mediation, Burgundy, taking the king with him, went to put them down with the strong hand. When the king and Burgundy left Paris, the queen and duchess accompanied them; and at Sens their presence was deemed rather fortunate, for Charles was confined there for six days, owing to the accidental kick of a horse. When the army left Sens, however, the queen and the duchess were sent back to Vincennes, from which place Isabel removed to hold her court at Melun. There from time to time she heard of the skirmishes and sieges that made up the war, and at length that, about the feast cf * See Aloustrckt's Chronicles. ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 2*i3 tlie Assumption, peace had been concluded at Auxerre between the rival factions, and that Orleans and Burgundy had solemnly sworn to live at peace with one another. ‘ When this solemnity was over, all the great lords went to dine with the dauphin, at his lodgings. At this enter¬ tainment, which was most splendid and abundant, the Duke of Burgundy served; and the Counts de Nevers and de St. Pol, assisted by other noble knights, carried the dishes. After they had dined, the company amused themselves by playing at divers games. These being ended, towards dusk all retired to their lodgings. ‘ On the morrow, and for several days following, they continued feasting together, and according to all outward appearance were in great harmony together. Even the Dukes of Orleans and Burgundy rode out together, both on the same horse, in company with other lords, and showed such mutual affection as is becoming brothers. With regard to the people, they were in such crowds that it need not be asked if they were pleased, for they con¬ tinually shouted out “ Gloria in excelsis Deo.” ‘When everything was concluded, and because the epidemic disorder raged at Auxerre, the king and princes departed, and went by Sens to Melun, where great feasts and entertainments, with joustings and dancings, were held by the queen and her court for joy of the happy reconcilia¬ tion that had taken place between the princes of the blood royal.’ Phe peace did not last three months. Indeed, the Count of Armagnac never laid down his arms; and Burgundy, not exactly relishing this state of affairs, continued, in Paris, to play the part of demagogue, and pander to the passions of the populace. Headed by John Caboche, a butcher, and John Troyes, a surgeon, the democracy of the capital rose, besieged the hotel of the dauphin, com¬ pelled him to live with his father at the Hotel de St. Pol, murdered many persons attached to the Orleans party, and 254 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOBY. made tlie king and princes don the white hood in acknow¬ ledgement of the sovereignty of the mob. While such was the attitude of affairs, Isabel came to Paris, where her brother, Louis of Bavaria, was about to marry a noble widow, who was sister of the Count of Alenin. On the day before that fixed for the wedding— it was May 1413—there was a great assembly of lords and ladies at the Hotel de St. Pol. Suddenly Caboche and his adherents surrounded the hotel, and presenting a list of names, at the head of which was that of the Bavarian bridegroom, declared that these persons, among whom were thirteen noble dames and damsels, must forthwith be delivered up. Burgundy, who was among the guests, pre¬ tended to reason with the ringleaders, but his words produced no effect; and he carried the list to the queen. She was much troubled thereat,’ says the chronicler, ‘and calling her son, the dauphin, bade him return with the Duke of Burgundy, and entreat them most affection¬ ately in her name, to desist for only eight days from their present demands, and that on the eighth day she would without fail deliver up her brother, or suffer them to arrest him, and carry him a prisoner to the Louvre, to the Palace, or whithersoever they pleased. . . . ‘They descended to the Parisians, and the Duke of Burgundy explained in a few words the request of the queen; but they positively refused to grant it, and declared that they would go up to the queen’s apartment, and should those contained in the list be refused to be given up, they would take them by force, even in the king’s presence. The Duke ot Bavaria, seeing he could not escape, full of bitterness and distress, descended down to them, and desired that he alone might be taken into custody. . . The others also, with the ladies and damsels, were forced to surrender themselves; but it was not without great lamen¬ tations and effusion of tears. They were directly put two and two on horseback, each horse escorted by four men-at- ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 255 arms, and carried, some prisoners to the Louvre and others to the Palace, followed by a large body of the Parisians under arms. When this was done, the king went to his dinner, and the queen and her son retired in great grief to their apartments.’ * Executions now began in the market-place, and blood was shed without regard to law or justice. In fact, the Cabochiens did much as they liked. But this did not last long. The Duke of Orleans was known to be in arms to attack Burgundy; and, at the same time, the carpenters of the capital became jealous of the butchers. ‘ We shall see,’ said William Cirasse, ‘ whether there be not in Paris as many carpenters as butchers, and as good men.’ The tables were soon turned. Caboche and Troyes fled to Flanders. Burgundy having accompanied the king to a hunting match, seized the opportunity to get out of danger’s way; Orleans, Armagnac, and the lords of their party oame to Paris; the white hood immediately disap¬ peared, and everybody donned the white scarf; and Louis of Bavaria had an opportunity of completing his inter¬ rupted marriage. But Burgundy was in no humour to give up the game. Assembling a council of his friends at Lille, the Duke soon marched a large army to Paris. Encamping at St. Denis, he for awhile threatened Paris; but finding matters not quite as he expected, he retreated to Arras. Early in 1414, the king and the dauphin left Paris to reduce Burgundy to obedience; and the queen, with Burgundy’s daughter, the daupliiness, went to reside at Meaux-en-Brie. About midsummer peace was concluded at Arras, and the king returned to Paris and the queen to Melun. It seems that, after the Peace of Arras, Isabel and the dauphin began to disagree, and that in April 1415, when Burgundy was in his duchy, and the king very ill at the * Monstrelct’s Chronicles. 256 NOLLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STONY. Hotel of St. Pol, the dauphin, by a dexterous movement, contrived to get the reins of government in his hands. ‘ The princes of the blood, then at Paris, went to Melun by command of the queen and the dauphin, who were there resident. When they were occupied on business with the queen, the dauphin set out for Paris with few attendants, and thence he sent the princes word that they were not to return to Paris until ordered by the king or himself, and commanded them to retire to their estates, and attend to their own affairs. After this, the dauphin, knowing that the queen his mother had deposited large sums in the hands of three persons in Paris, who were her confidants, suddenly entered their houses with his people, seized all the money found therein, and carried it to his hotel. ‘ H e then summoned the provosts of Paris, the uni¬ versity, and the principal inhabitants to come to him at the Louvre, where he caused to be laid before them, by the Bishop of Chartres, his chancellor, article by article, the whole history of the government of the kingdom from the coronation of his father until that moment. ... He then declared that, as dauphin and heir to the crown, ho could no longer suffer such waste, and for the security and welfare of the king and the realm, he had thus assembled them to make known to them and all the world his re¬ solution of taking on himself the government of tho kingdom. . . . ‘ The princes of the blood, on receiving the orders from the dauphin, took their leave of the queen, and separated from each other. . . . The next step of the dauphin was to take away his duchess from the company of the queen, which he did in person, accompanied by the Count of Richemont, and had her placed at St. Gcrmain-en- Laye.’ * While Burgundy was in his duchy, Berry, Orleans, and * Monstrelet’s Chronicles. ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 257 Bom-b° n at their castles; while the queen was at Melun the king illat the Hotel St. Pol, and the dauphin at the uvie, entertaining a mistress and developing rapidly the worst vices of the race of Valois-Franceiaf staled by intelligence that an English army had landed, and tluU Harfeur had fallen. Nor was this new misfortune un- “ - E f mC9 the bme of Edwa rf HI. and the Elack Prince, the French had been vapouring about ami’s reate “ n s 1 “ va3I011s ) sending forces to aid the Welsh and Scots, and fitting out armaments for the conquest of England. During that period the English people had not been very patient. But England’s rulers had set their faces against hostilities. Kichard II. was desirous of friends,! with Fiance, and Henry IV. was anxious for peace; but Henry V. was eager for war, and the English people were quite as eager for war as their king. 1 tw ;nty-eight. Born at Monmouth in f’ Whll ° hls grandfather, John of Gaunt, was fightimr or he crown of Castille, and reared in the midst of those troubles which resulted in his father, Henry of Boling- broke, being King of England, he had passed youth in a manner that could hardly make the retrospect satisfactory. In boyhood, indeed, he had fought bravely against the ercies and Douglas at Shrewsbury, and carried on, with hk C Wel f ° WCn Hlendower, in Wales. But, * ranipaign over, Henry found his position sorne- what irksome, and dashed into those reckless pranks which made him known as ‘ the Madcap Prince ’ i„ uiqT’ h r ever ’ did the grave dc ® hi3 father, in 1413, than Henry seemed to become a new man, and, when the crown of England was placed on his head, he bore himself with a dignity which commanded the respect of those who had predicted the worst. The idea of achieving something great took pgssession of his mind- and he resolved on renewing the claim of Edward III. to the crown of France. Men of wisdom and piety assured 258 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. him that his project was justifiable; and in the summer of 1414 he claimed the French crown. No answer was returned to his demand; and a little later, he intimated that if he received in marriage Katherine, one of the daughters of Charles and Isabel, with a portion of two millions of crowns, he would be satisfied with the fulfilment of the treaty of Bretigny, and the addition of Normandy and Anjou. The answer was unfavourable; and Henry, having mustered an army, sailed from Southampton on the 13th of August, 1415, and, anchoring at the mouth of the Seine, laid siege to Harfleur, which, after a siege of thirty- six days, yielded. By this time sickness and the siege had reduced Henry’s army to nine thousand men. With this force, how¬ ever, he prepared to march through the hostile provinces of Normandy, Picardy, and Artois, to Calais, which, since its memorable siege by Edward, had continued in possession of the English, who were in the habit of boasting that, so long as they kept Calais, they had the keys of France and Flanders at their girdle. After in vain attempting to pass the Somme at Blanclie-Taque, where King Edward had passed before Cressy, he discovered a ford near St. Quentin; and the English, as they dashed across, forgot the hardships they had encountered during their march, and shouted with joy at their good luck. Their danger, however, was great; for the chivalry of France was in motion to intercept the (.invaders, and the king was at Kouen. In fact, the dauphin, startled by the fall of Harfleur, had induced Charles to nominate him captain-general, and to hold a council of war. It was there proposed that the king should head the army destined to encounter the English. But the Duke of Berry, who had fought at Poictiers, and remembered the captivity of King John, said : ‘ No ; it is bad enough to lose a battle, but it is better to lose a battle, than to lose a battle and the king.’ Accordingly, orders were given to the con- ISABEL OP BAVARIA, 259 stable D’Albret to concentrate his forces and crush the invaders. It turned out that this was more easily said than done. The constable, indeed, was at the head of a mighty host* in comparison with which Henry’s force was a mere handful. But the victories of the English, against fearful odds, at Cressy and Poictiers, were not forgotten; and when Henry suddenly crossed the Somme at St. Quentin, the constable was quite disconcerted. Nevertheless, falling back from the river, he marched along the Calais road, and° planting his standard between two woods, so posted his army that it was impossible for the English to pass without a battle. At this time, Burgundy was in his duchy, and Isabel was at Melun, in low health; and to both the news was carried, that on the 25th of October, the constable had met the King of England near Agincourt; that the French had been totally defeated by a force utterly inferior; that the slaughter was immense; and that among the numerous prisoners who had been conveyed to Calais, on their way to England, was the Duke of Orleans. Burgundy, on learn¬ ing this, prepared to march upon Paris without delay; and Isabel found it necessary to repair to the capita/, whither the king, the dauphin, and the princes were already hurrying to guard against mischief. ‘ The Parisians suspecting the object of the duke in this expedition,’ says the chronicler, * sent a solemn embassy to the queen at Melun, where she lay dangerously ill. But in consequence of the information she received, she caused herself to be carried in a litter to Paris, where she "was lodged in the Hotel d’Orleans, with the dauphiness, daughter to the Duke of Burgundy.’* Misfortunes are said never to come singly; and death afier death followed the defeat at' Agincourt. At that * Monsstrelet’s Chronicle. B 260 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. time, Charles and Isabel had three sons still living. The eldest was Louis, the dauphin; the second was John, Duke of Touraine ; and the third was Charles, a boy of thirteen. On the 18th of December, 1415, Louis expired at the Hotel Bourbon; and on Palm Sunday, next year, John, who had become dauphin, breathed his last at Compiegne. Louis was supposed to have died of fever; and John of an imposthume in the ear. But their deaths were both ascribed to poison; and the worst suspicions were enter¬ tained. Grave doubts existed as to the paternity of Charles. However, he was acknowledged as heir to the crown, and entered upon that strange and chequered career which led him, through adversity and bloodshed, to a high position among European princes. From the date of Agincourt, the Count of Armagnac, appointed constable in the place of D’Albret, was supreme in Paris; and Isabel, living quite apart from her unfortu¬ nate husband, kept her court at Vincennes; and at that castle she had a guard for her protection, commanded by a young and handsome chevalier, named Bourdon. At this time Isabel was approaching the age of fifty, and she was the mother of eleven children. Nevertheless scandal began to whisper light tales of her conduct, and her con¬ temporaries, rightly or wrongly, did not scruple to represent Bourdon as her paramour. Indeed, the scandal grew so loud that it reached the ears of the king; and Charles, weak and miserable as he was, had not fallen so low as to submit patiently to the disgrace. One day the king happened to go to Vincennes to visit Isabel, and was returning to Paris in the evening when he met Bourdon riding towards Vincennes. The chevalier made a slight inclination of his head as he passed, and then pursued his way with provoking gaiety. ‘Follow that man, arrest him, and take especial care to give a good account of him,’ said Charles to the Provost of Paris. The king s command was obeyed. The graceful chevalier was ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 26] h„ p S.“ ^ ‘ he g ° Vemmeat - ^^nce nopeiess and the queen, accompanied by her sister in hl’S^r ° f ™ «“"** *> Tours, where sue lived with a very private establishment.’ In order to re- her Pitting, three warders were appointed to watch her movements ; and ‘ without their consent she co7d not occasiom ,ln ^ ** ^ ^ * letter > however Posing the Naturally Isabel found her life at Tours the reverse of pleasant and expecting daily to receive worse treatment,’ - 0l H °? an eff ° rt t0 emanci P ate herself. Up to this date she had favoured the party of Armagnac against that of Burgundy, whom she detested as the murderer of Orleans. But after the death of Bourdon, and her own exde, her feelings underwent a change, and she not only hated Armagnac for the death of her favourite, but con¬ ceived a mortal antipathy to her son, the dauphin, for >eing an instrument in Armagnac’s hands. In her desire for revenge, she determined on a reconciliation with Bur- gun y, and secretly sent a messenger with her signet rin~ to the duke, requesting him to come and release her. * :r d V aS at tha ? time besie S in S Corbel; but on receiving the signet ring he immediately broke up the fuege, proceeded to Chartres, and prepared to set the queen ‘ On the eve of the feast of All Saints, attended by the greater part of his nobles, and those of the men-at-arms best mounted and equipped, he suddenly set off, taking the road through Bonneval and Vendome to Tours. When he was within two leagues of that place, he sent forward the 202 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY, lords De Fosseux and Du Vergy with eight hundred com¬ batants, who posted themselves in ambuscade half a league distant from Tours; at the same time despatching a trusty messenger to inform the queen of the duke’s arrival. ‘ On hearing this she called to her Master John Torel, Master John Petit, and Laurens du Puy, her principal warders, and told them she wished to hear mass at a church without the town, called Marmoutier, and that they must prepare themselves to accompany her. They exhorted her to lay such thoughts aside ; but in vain, for she shortly after issued out of Tours, and carried them with her to the church. The lords in ambuscade almost instantly advanced in front of the church, and sent Hector de Sauveses forward to the queen with about sixty combatants. Her warders ap¬ proached her as she was hearing mass, and said, with Ae King of France the Duke of Burgundy, celebrated the feast of Easter at Troyes, m Champagne, and there also was Isabel’s youngest daughter, Katherine, then a girl of seventeen, and remarkable for her beauty, when the Earl of Warwick arrived as ambassador from the King of England to ne-o- * Honstrelet’s Chronicle . ISABEL OP BAVARIA. 265 ciate a treaty of peace and a treaty of marriage. Negocia- tions accordingly commenced, and Charles being again under the influence of his malady, it was arranged that the queen and Burgundy should conduct Katherine to the right bank of the Seine, near to Melun, and hold a conference with the invader. Accordingly, they removed to Poin- toise, and made arrangements for the important meeting. Close to the margin of the Seine a space of ground was en¬ closed, and on one side was pitched a tent for the Queen of France, on the other another tent for the King of England; between them was a third tent, in which the conference was to be held. 1 When the day appointed for the conference was come, notwithstanding the King of France was much indisposed as to his health, the queen, the Princess Katherine, the Duke of Burgundy, and the Count St. Pol, with the members of the council, escorted by a thousand combatants, went to the place of conference near to Melun, and entered the tents that were without the enclosure. Soon after, the King of England arrived, attended by his brothers, the Dukes of Clarence and Gloucester, and a thousand men-at- arms, and entered the tents that had been pitched for him, as the others had done. When they were about to com¬ mence the conference, the queen, on the right hand, fol¬ lowed by the Lady Katherine, the Count de St. Pol, and the Duke of Burgundy, entered the enclosure. In like manner did the King of England, with his brothers and council, by another opening, and, with a most respectful obeisance, saluted the queen, and then kissed her and the Lady Katherine. . . . They then entered the tent ap¬ pointed for the conference, the king leading the queen, ivliere they staid a very considerable time. . . . After they had remained in conference a long time they separated, taking most respectful leaves of each other ; and one parly returned to Pointoise and the other to Mantes. ' ‘ On the morrow three weeks they again met there, and 266 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. remained together for several days in the same state, and with the same number of persons as before, with the ex¬ ception of the Lady Katherine, who had been brought the first time that the King of England might see her, and who was not now present. King Henry was very desirous to marry her, and not without cause, for she was very handsome, of high birth, and of the most engaging manners. During their meetings several matters were brought forward in the hope of concluding a solid peace. . . . This conference, however, ended in nothing, from the demands of the Kin°- of England in regard to the portion of the Lady Katherine being as exorbitant as before. ... ‘ Wlien the conference was broken off the enclosure was destroyed, the tents and pavilions pulled down, and the two parties returned to Pointoise and Mantes. The Kimr of England Avas much displeased at the breaking off the conference, and was very indignant against the Duke of Burgundy. The last day they Avere together he said to the duke, “ Fair cousin, we wish you to knoAv that we will have the daughter of your king, and all that we have asked, or we Avill drive him and you out of the kingdom ” The duke replied, “ Sire, you are pleased to say so; but before you can drive my lord and me out of the kingdom, I make no doubt you will be heartily tired.” 1 * Henry did not long remain in doubt as to the motives of the French court. In fact, his camp was soon dismayed y intelligence that by means of Tanneguy du Chutel and the Lady of Giac, Burgundy’s favourite mistress, the duke and the dauphin had formed an alliance ‘ to resist the damnable enterprise of the English, the ancient enemies of the king and of all Frenchmen.’ Henry, however, was not cast down; but, adopting the bold course of crossing the Seme, he took the toAvn of Pointoise, and threatened to march toAvards Paris. * Monstrelet’s Chronicle. ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 267 to a ", d Bur *5 und y meanwhile escaped Burgundy ?? ^ ? **» tie duke * Montereau; b ut in , S L a T 6 a7 t deferred »"“« an 7 answer, say¬ ing that the dauphin ought to come to his father, the kirn- dined to q T at T rf •; ™ s > h —> *• ***** «£ • , . ’ and at l en g& the duke consented to an rom !r W + Wlt t bim 0n tIie brid £ e Montereau. The ^ dnCUtTT 1 ' 1 T ! 1CJ SCarcc} y met ’ when Tanne- g y du Chatel struck down Burgundy with his battle-axe and others rushed forward and completed the murder before the dauphin’s eyes. aer Philip r G ti ? e ^ eQ l Bur & und J was assassinated his son nf f l, P, i C ° l i ° f CbaroIais > wll ° Imd married Michelle, one to L't > S o erS arl6S and Isabe1 ’ was at Gheat i and to that city the news was carried to him ala ™ 7 ^ Wha ‘ ^ y ° U? ’ aSted the 7 °™g ^fe in ‘Jlichdlc,’ replied he, turning to the princess, ‘my lather has been murdered by your brother,’ and he resolved on allying himself with the English. Isabel and the king, with their daughter Katherine, were at Troyes when they heard of the catastrophe, and they tTeEnTl 7 dlSpIea l 6d ; In faCt ’ GVei 7 of resisting the English now vanished; and both parties having applied to enry, he consented to an alliance with the young Duke o Burgundy on condition of receiving the hand of Ka¬ therine the regency of France for the present, and the crown after the death of Charles. The court of France being m no condition to trifle longer with the invader, agreed to all he asked; and, a treaty having been signed at Troyes in the April of 1420, Henry and Katherine were soon after united in the church of St. Peter. Isabel s importance was now gone. It is true that while her husband lived, and her son in-law ruled France, 268 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. she was still, on great occasions, a pretty conspicuous figure in Paris. But Charles and his spouse were king and queen but in name; and when the chronicler describes their state on the occasion of their daughter's return from England, he describes a king whose sceptre has passed away, and a court from which the glory had departed. ‘ 0n the 21st of May in this year, 1422, Katherine, Queen of England, who had been some time recovered of her lying-in of her first-born child, Henry, arrived at Harfleur in grand state, attended by ladies without number, and escorted by a large fleet filled with men-at-arms and archers under the command of the Duke of Bedford, brother to the king. On landing she went to Rouen, and ' thence to the castle of Vincennes to meet the king. ‘ Kin g Henry departed from Meaux with the princes to meet her; and-she was received by them as if she had been an angel from heaven. Great rejoicings were made by the King and Queen of France for the happy arrival of their son^ in-law and their daughter; and on the 30th of May, Whit¬ sun eve, the kings of France and of England, accompanied by their queens, left Vincennes and entered Paris with much pomp. The King and Queen of France were lodged at the Hotel of St. Pol, and the King of England and his company at the Louvre. 1 hu each of these places the two kings solemnly cele¬ brated the feast of Pentecost, which fell on the day after their arrival. ‘ On this day the King and Queen of England were seated at the table gorgeously apparelled, having crowns on their heads. The English princes, dukes, knights, and prelates were partakers of the feast; and the tables were covered with the rarest viands and choicest wines. The king and queen this day held a grand court, which was attended by all the English at Paris; and the Parisians went to the Louvre to see the king and queen at table crowned with their most precious diadems; but as no ISABEL OF BAVARIA. 2G9 Il°L d ted nk ^ ° ffered ‘° P ° pl ' la0e > ** went "V ‘For, in former times, wlien the Kings of France kept open court, meat and drink were distributed abundantly by the king s servants. King Charles, indeed, had been as liberal and courteous as his predecessors. But he was now seated in is Hotel of St. Pol, at table with his queen, deserted by his grandees and others of his subjects, as if he had been quite forgotten The government and power of the kingdom were now transferred from his hands into those of his son-in-law King Henry and he had so little share, that he was managed as the King of England pleased, and no attention was paid him.’ * . ^ he days i oft i he h ero-king and of his unfortunate father- in-law were both numbered. On the 3rd of August, 1422 enry breathed his last at 'Vincennes; on the 22nd of October Charles expired at the Hotel of St. Pol. The Ouke of Bedford, who was named Pegent of France during the minority of his nephew, Henry VI., had even fewe? motives than his departed brother to treat Isabel with par¬ ticular distinction ; and the widowed queen had to atone or the errors of her youth and womanhood by an old ami of misery and neglect. ° When, in 1431, Henry, then a boy of ten, was taken to Ians to be crowned, Isabel was not allowed to have an interview with her grandson. Her mortification must have been extreme. However she did see him from a window as he rode past the Hotel de St. Pol, after his coronation. The young king saluted her; and she, having returned it, retired from the window in tears. Isabel might well weep, for her humiliation was great: and the influence of the once powerful queen fell so low tha-t people even ventured, to her face, to remind her of her frailties, and to assert that the dauphin was not the son of * JVIonstrelet’s Chronicle. 270 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. King Charles. It is supposed that such raillery wounded her so deeply as ultimately to cause her death. It was at the Hotel St. Pol, where she had resided since her husband’s death, that Isabel, on the 30th of September, 1435, drew her last breath. Her body was conveyed for interment to St. Denis, and laid by the side of her husband in the ancient sepulchre of the Kings of France; but her heart was deposited in the church of the Celestins, hard by the spot where, thirty years earlier, the mangled corpse of the murdered Orleans had found a resting place. Neither pomp nor ceremony was observed at her funeral. Indeed, it is stated that, to save expense, the coffin was conveyed in a small boat to St. Denis, attended only by five persons, and chroniclers record that the widowed queen closed her life in poverty and obscurity, hated by the French and despised by the English. 271 Bdmixm Wxmntx, of Orleans. F ROISSART relates that when Isabel of Bavaria, in 1389, made her celebrated entry into Paris, and when the queen and a crowd of ladies began the procession ‘ in open litters, most richly ornamented,’ there was one ex¬ ception : ‘ the Duchess of Touraine was not in a litter; but, to display herself the more, was mounted on a palfrey mag¬ nificently caparisoned, led by the Count de la Marche and the Count de Nevers.’ A little vanity, however, was not un¬ pardonable under the circumstances; and the duchess, then about twenty-three, and of remarkable beauty, could hardly have taken a better way of making a favourable im¬ pression on the theatrical people among whom she had just come as a stranger. The duchess was a daughter of the house of Visconti, who had risen to high rank by taking the winning side in the struggle of Louis of Bavaria and Charles of Bohemia for the imperial crown. On the way from Aix-la-Chapelle, the Emperor Charles was so magnificently entertained by the Visconti, that he bestowed on them the title of Duke of Milan and the territory of the Milanese. One of them, Galeas de Visconti, advanced his fortune by espousing, in 1350, Blanche, daughter of the Count of Savoy; and had a son, John Galeas, for whom he was ambitious of forming a still higher alliance. Events favoured the Duke of Milan’s aspirations. At that time John, King of France, taken at Poictiers, was a 272 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. prisoner in England, and hard pressed for money to pay his ransom. Galeas of Milan seized the opportunity, and made a handsome olfer. If you will bestow one of your daughters on my son,’ he intimated to the French king, 1 1 will give you six hun¬ dred thousand francs.’ Certainly,’ replied King John, ‘I will on such con¬ ditions bestow my daughter on your son, and moreover give her the county of Vertus, in Champagne, as her dower.’ A marriage accordingly took place; and John Galeas, the son of Galeas of Milan, had by the Princess of France two sons, John and Philip, and a daughter Valentine, born in 1366. John and Philip as time passed on became suc¬ cessively Dukes of Milan ; Valentine, who was worthy of a better husband, became the bride in 1389, of Louis, King Charles’s younger brother, then known as Duke of Tou- rame, but afterwards notorious for his profligacy as Duke of Orleans. It would seem that Valentine Visconti nearly escaped her hard fate. In fact, her father, John Galeas of Milan, v as negociating a marriage between his daughter and the Duke of Gueldres, and ambassadors from the duke were on their way to Milan to conclude the match, when an ambassador, sent by the dukes of Berry and Burgundy, arrived to ask Valentine’s hand for their nephew Louis. The prospect of a second alliance with the House of Valois appeared to John Galeas too tempting to be resisted; and the Duke of Gueldres was thrown overboard. The French court, however, drove a hard bargain ; and the Italian had to pay a million of francs for the gratification of uniting his daughter to a king’s brother. According to the rumours subsequently propagated, indeed, John Galeas was in¬ fluenced more by ambition than vanity, and highly delighted his soul with the vision of Valentine one day sitting on the French throne. ‘ Adieu, my child,’ he was reported to VALENTINE, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 273 have said, on her taking leave of him, 1 I never wish to see thee again but as Queen of France.’ On reaching her new home, Valentine thought life ve, 7 g a y; and the feeling of novelty gave a charm to every¬ thing around her. Indeed, her reception appears to have been very complimentary; and, on the day after entering the capital on her palfrey, she was welcomed with presents by the Parisians, who were afterwards to prove her perse¬ cutors. ‘ I w hl now,’ says Froissart, who was in Paris at the time, ‘ speak of the presents the Parisians made to the king, queen, and Duchess of Touraine, who was but lately arrived in France from Lombardy. She was called Valen¬ tine, and was daughter to the Duke of Milan, and had never been in Paris before the public entry of the queen. The citizens, therefore, were bound to bid her welcome. 1 About twelve, o’clock, forty of the principal citizens of Paris, all uniformly dressed, waited on the king at the Hotel of St. Pol. . . . Another party of citizens, very handsomely equipped in uniforms of cloth, waited on the queen. . . . The third present was carried in like manner to the chamber of the Duchess of Touraine by two men representing Moors, having their faces blackened, and richly dressed with white turbans, as if they had been Saracens or Tartars. This litter was ornamented and covered, like the others, with gauze, and accompanied by twelve citizens in uniforms, who presented the duchess with a ship in gold, a large flagon of gold, two comfit-boxes, two large dishes, and two salts, all of gold, six jugs of silver, and two dozen cups and saucers of the same, the whole weighing two hundred marcs. The Duchess of Touraine was exceedingly pleased with this present, as she had reason to be, for it was very magnificent, and she returned handsomely her thanks to those who had brought it, and to the good city of Paris, that had given it to her.’ It appears that, all unworthy as Louis was of such a wife, 274 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STOUT. Valentine entertained for her husband a most tender affec¬ tion. It was not long, however, ere she discovered how ill her devotion was repaid. In fact, Sir Peter de Craon, who was then high in the duke’s confidence, endeavoured to insinuate himself into the favour of his patron’s wife, by revealing to her his patron’s secrets. ‘ The duke,’ says Froissart, 1 was so fond of Sir Peter de Craon, that he made him his companion, dressed him in the same clothes as himself, and carried him wherever he went, intrusting him with all his most secret thoughts. ‘ The duke, at the time young and amorous, much amused himself with the company of ladies and damsels, and, as I heard, was particularly attached to a young frisky damsel of Paris. His intrigue was known, and his secrets betrayed, to the great vexation of the duke, who could not accuse anyone of having done it but Sir Peter de Craon, for to him alone the duke had discovered it, and had led him with him, when he visited secretly this noble young lady. The duke was much smitten with her, and had proffered her, if she would consent to his wishes, one thousand golden crowns. But she had refused them, saying, “ that her love for him Avas not on account of his riches ; but that his affection had won hers, and that she scorned to sell her honour for gold.” * The whole of this business was told the duchess, who sent for the young lady to her chamber. On her entering, she called her by her name, and with much anger said, “ How is this ? Do you seek to wrong me with my lord ? ” The lady was thunderstruck, and, with tears, replied, “ Oh, no, madam, please God, I never will even think of it.” “ It is not so,” said the duchess, “ for I am well informed my lord and you love each other mutually, and this time I forgive you ; but I caution you, if you value your life, not to have any further conversation with my lord; but, through your regard to me, send him a dismissal.” The young lady, finding herself very justly accused, and in VALENTINE, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 2r5 some danger, replied, “ Madam, I will free myself from him as soon as possible, and henceforth so act that you shall never again hear anything disagreeable of me.” On this home dUCheSS Permitted her t0 de P art > and she returned ‘ The duke, much in love, and ignorant of what had passed, went to the place where the lady resided. But on seeing him she fled, and acted contrary to her usual manner, showing dislike rather than love. . . . The duke noticing such a difference in his reception, was very melan¬ choly, and would know the cause of it. The you™ lady with tears said, “My lord, you have revealed to the duchess the offer you once made me, or, if not yourself, some one has done it for you. Eeeollect yourself, for you are discovered. Madame de Touraine told me of it herself, and frightened me exceedingly. But she has forgiven me, on condition that I promised, on my oath, never again to give her cause for jealousy.” The duke was much vexed on hearing this speech, and said, “ Fair lady, I swear on my faith, that I would rather have lost one hundred thou¬ sand francs than have betrayed you to the duchess. Since you have given her a promise on oath, keep it: but, cost what it may, I will find out who has discovered our secret. He then came away, and, though he dissembled is agitation, he did not think the less concerning the cause. In the evening he came to the duchess’s apartments and supped, showing her more affection than he had hitherto done, inasmuch that, by fair speeches and attentions, the duchess discovered the author of her information concern¬ ing the intrigue to be Sir Peter de Craon.’ The duke was greatly enraged against Craon, and exerted his influence over the king with such effect, that next day Sir Peter was ordered to leave the palace, and, for awhile, the life of Valentine went on as before. As time passed over, she became mother of three sons and a daughter, and had just begun to figure as Duchess of Orleans, 276 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. when the insanity of King Charles led to the events which saddened her existence and consigned her to an early grave. Froissart tells ns, that ‘ the Duchess of Orleans inherited more of the dispositions of her father than of her mother, who was a princess of France, for she was envious and covetous of the pomp of this world,' and it is probable that she was of a somewhat ‘ aspiring vein,’ and expressed herself strongly when her pride was hurt. When, therefore, the king was under the influence of his first attack, and in charge of William de Harseley, and the council of the realm ‘thought it advisable, from the youth of the Duke of Orleans, that the two uncles of the king should govern the kingdom ; but that the Duke of Burgundy should be the principal; and that the Duchess of Burgundy should remain with the queen, and be respected as second to her in rank,’ Valentine expressed her displeasure in strong language. 1 -^ ie Duchess of Burgundy,’ she exclaimed to those in her confidence, ‘ has no right to take precedence of me. I am nearer the crown than she is, for my lord is brother to the king. It may so happen that he shall be king of Fiance ; and, as I then must be queen, I know no reason why she is thus eager of honours that do not belong to her, and place me behind her.’ Valentine was destined to experience worse misfortunes. When, after an interval of sanity, Charles again lay under the influence of his malady at the Hotel St. Pol, he was peculiarly unreasonable and almost violent. He would not even see the queen ; and the only person who could soothe him, the only person from whose hand he would take food, Avas the Duchess of Orleans. He was in the habit of calling her his dear sister, and never appeared easy when she was absent. But the ascendancy of Valentine over the king was in no degree relished by the king’s uncles. It filled them with envy and rage, and the duchess was exposed to the utmost obloquy. She was accused of being a witch and a poisoner, VALENTINE, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 277 of influencing the king by spells, and of forming projects for cutting off those members of the royal family who stood between her husband and the crown, and of having learned m Italy the ‘black arts,’ which she was now exercising With the object of placing her husband on the throne. At length absurd stories, invented to give colour to the calumnies of her enemies, arrayed so formidable a host of popular prejudices against her, that she was fain to leave Paris.* l-T^\ k * ng ’ S border,’ says Froissart, ‘never ceased until it had run its course, in spite of prayers and rnedi- cines. Some of the physicians and sorcerers, on finding their labour lost, declared that the king must have been poisoned or enchanted by pernicious herbs. This greatly agitated the minds of the nobility and people, for these sorcerers affirmed, the better to gain their end, that the kin- was under the power of sorcery, and that they knew it from the devil, who had revealed it to them. ‘ Several of the sorcerers had been burnt at Paris and Avignon for having gone so far as to say that the Duchess of Orleans, daughter to the Duke of-Milan, was the cause of the mischief, that she might succeed to the crown of France. This was so much believed that common report said she had frequently practised such arts, and that as ong as she was near the person of the king he neither would nor could regain his health. It was, therefore, necessary, to put an end to this slander, that the Duchess of Orleans should quit Paris.’ It was not, of course, difficult, when popular prejudice had reached this stage in Paris, to raise a mighty clamour, * * La Duehesse d’Orleans, Valentine Visconti, avoit acquis un pro- digieux ascendant sur Charles VI par sa douceur, sa gr&ce, et sa gait6. feeule, elle savoit le calmer, dans le paroxysms de ses acc&s. Cette influence excita hi defiance des oncles du-roi; ils pr6tendiront qu’ello 1 avoit ensorceM, ils la menac&rent de l’inquisition, et la forc&rent a e'eloigner.’— Sismondi, vol. i. 534. 278 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. and the death of one of the Orleans children was promptly turned to account. 1 J ‘ Valentine, Duchess of Orleans,’ says Froissart, ‘ had a handsome son of the age of the Dauphin of France, and while these two children were playing together in the chamber of the duchess, a poisoned apple was thrown on the floor near the dauphin, in hopes he would take it up: but, through God’s Providence, he did not. The son of the duchess, thinking no harm, ran and ate it; but he had no sooner put it into his mouth than death followed, in spite of every care to prevent it. Those who had the government of the dauphin carried him away, and never allowed him afterwards to enter the apartments of the duchess. This story caused great mur- murings in Paris and elsewhere, and the people were so enraged against her as to occasion the duke to hear of it. They publicly said in Paris, that, if she was not prevented from being near the king, they would come and take her away by force and put her to death, for that she intended to poison the king and all his family, having already made him suffer by her enchantments. What gave additional weight to this was the king’s refusal, during his illness, to see the queen, whom he would not recollect, nor any other person than the Duchess of Orleans. ‘ The Duke of Orleans, to put an end to these scandalous reports, took her away from the Hotel St. Pol himself. She went first to reside at Asnieres, a very handsome castle near Pomtoise, that belonged to the duke, her lord, and thence to Neaufchateau, on the Loire, which also belonged to him. The Duke of Orleans was very melancholy on hearing such injurious reports against his duchess; but he dissembled as well as he could, and never, on this account, quitted the king cr court, for he took pleasure in attending public businesS and the different councils on the affairs of the realm.’ On hearing that his daughter was secured in the castle of Asnieres, ‘ where she remained some time without ever valentine, duchess of oeleans. 279 passing the gates, the Duke of Milan did not exhibit so much patience as her husband. Indeed, John Galeas ex¬ pressed much indignation at the treatment which she had leceived, and resolved on immediate measures to vindicate her reputation. With this view, he despatched Sir James de la Berme, and other ambassadors, to proclaim to the court of France, that ‘ if any knight would openly accuse the duchess of treason, a champion should be forthcoming to do battle on her behalf.’ Little attention was paid to the am¬ bassadors, and they returned to Milan with an answer that made the Italian blood of John Galeas boil. He deter¬ mined on war with France, and sent a defiance; but, at that time circumstances enabled him to execute his ven¬ geance without striking a blow. It was then that Sigismund, King of Hungary, being at war with Bajazet, the redoubted sultan, demanded the aid of the chivalry of France ; and John the Fearless, then Count of Nevers, conducted a noble army of French warriors eastward. Hearing of the preparations for this expedition, of which Bajazet was intended to remain in ignorance, the Duke of Milan sent the sultan presents of hawks and gerfalcons, with a warning to be on his guard, and in¬ telligence as to the forces preparing in France for his destruction. Alive to his danger, and fully informed as to its extent, Bajazet met the crisis with calm courage ; and at Nicopolis the French sustained one of the most humiliating defeats ever sustained by the warriors of the Cross. During the period when Orleans and Isabel of Bavaria were linked in such close friendship, and when they did so much to bring France to the verge of ruin, Valentine still re¬ mained in obscurity; and it was not till the assassination of her husband, in November 1407, at the Porte Barbette, that she again appeared in public. Years of infidelity and neglect on his part had not destroyed her affection for her unworthy lord; and, rousing all her energy, she set out for Paris to demand justice on his murderer. 280 NOBLE DAMES OF ANCIENT STORY. ‘On the 10tli day of December,’ says the chronicler, ‘ the Duchess of Orleans, widow to the late duke, with her youngest son, John, set out for Paris. The King of Sicily, the Dukes of Berry and Bourbon, . . . and many other great lords, went out of the town to meet her, attended by a number of people and horses, and thus escorted her to the Hotel de St. Pol, where the King of France resided. Being instantly admitted to an audience, she fell on her knees to the king, and made a pitiful complaint to him of the very inhuman murder of her lord and husband. The king, who at that time was in his sound senses, having lately recovered from his illness, raised her up with tears, and assured her he would comply with all her requests.’ It soon appeared that Charles had promised more than he could perform. Having laid her case formally before the Parliament, Valentine returned to Blois, not doubting that justice would be done. But in March, 1408, Bur¬ gundy, by the mouth of John Petit, justified the murder ; and the Parisians displayed so much enthusiasm in the duke’s cause, that the king was fain to sign a pardon. Not daunted, however, Valentine returned to the charge; and, availing herself of Burgundy’s absence during the revolt of the Liegeois, she appeared in Paris to urge her complaint and demand reparation. Circumstances seemed to favour the duchess’s efforts; and, in the absence of Burgundy, the Parisians were rather inclined to wish her success. The king was too unwell to attend to the business ; but the dauphin acted as his father’s representative, and the Abbot of St. Fiacre was heard on behnlf of the duchess. So far all was well; and the chan¬ cellor stated in reply, that the dauphin and the princes of the blood ‘ were well satisfied with her conduct respecting her late lord, the Duke of Orleans; that they held him perfectly exculpated from all the charges that had been brought against him ; and that, in regard to her requests, speedy and good justice should be done her.’ VALENTINE, DUCHESS OF ORLEANS. 2S1 Accordingly, the duchess remained in Paris with the hope of bringing the business to a conclusion. But she was doomed to disappointment. Victorious over the Liegeois, Burgundy marched his army towards the capital, and struck terror into the hearts of his adversaries. In consternation, the court removed to Tours; and, bitter]v mortified, the Duchess of Orleans returned to Blois. In fact, Valentine now began to despair of bringing Bur¬ gundy to justice; and on reaching Blois she lay down, at the age of forty-two, to die of that hope deferred which maketh the heart sick. On her death-bed, however, she called her children around her, and exhorted them never to abandon the pursuit of their father’s murderer. It happened that, while the mistress of the Duke of Orleans, Marietta d’Enguien, wife of Sir Aubert de Canny, gave birth to a son, afterwards the famous Count of Dunois* and the princes of Orleans were, on this melancholy occa¬ sion, accompanied by their illegitimate brother. When the dying woman urged them to persevere in their efforts against Burgundy, the bastard responded to her appeal with more warmth and sympathy than the others. Valen¬ tine looked up with admiration and regret. ‘ Alas 1 ’ she exclaimed, with a sigh, ‘ they robbed me; he ought to have been my son.’ This scene having been enacted, the Duchess of Orleans breathed her last. Her death took place on the 4th of December, 1408. Her body was buried in the Church of the Canons at Blois ; and her heart was carried to Paris and laid in the church of the Celestins by that of the husband whom, in spite of his profligacy and neglect, she had loved so faithfully and so well. THE END. date due