Old Court Life in Spain; vol. 2

“Of course not,” answers the prince. “Have I not said so? My powers, as yours, are limited to our provinces of Guienne and Aquitaine. A descent into Spain altogether exceeds my instructions; but I shall much marvel if the king, my honoured father, and his ministers do not share my feelings in the matter of our ancient ally, driven to such straits as personally to present himself with his daughters, a suppliant at our court.”

Chandos bowed but made no further observation. It was clear his mind was against Don Pedro, of whose wanton acts of cruelty and bad faith he had heard so much. As far as his counsels were concerned, he would have the King of Castile bound down so strictly that he could not escape from his engagements. He knew that the loyal nature of the prince was too ready to take every man at his own value, especially at a time when he and his young brothers were longing to take the field.

At this moment the King of Navarre appeared, coming from the interior of the pavilion, a ready smile on his lip little indicative of the treachery within.

“Will your Grace join us,” asks the Black Prince, receiving him with the gracious courtesy so natural to him that it was felt alike by all, “in a descent into Spain, which undoubtedly will be the purport of the king’s visit to us here?”

Now, as the King of Navarre has secretly sworn upon the Sacrament an alliance with Enrique de Trastamare, giving him and the Grandes Compagnies of Du Guesclin passage over the Pyrenees at the same moment that he is joining with the Black Prince in the friendly reception of Don Pedro – this question, so frankly put, is difficult to parry. Before the open gaze of Edward his keen eyes drop, and with some hesitation he is understood to say that where the hero of England leads he will gladly follow, but that the smallness of his kingdom, placed between two great powers, will prevent his personal interference in the war.

Turning from him with a frown, the prince again anxiously directs his eyes to the path along the banks of the river by which Don Pedro is to approach. This time he does not look in vain.

In the track of a vivid sun ray, which bursts from a mass of clouds on the western horizon, the brilliant colours of flags and banners break among the green branches of a low avenue of willows, to be caught up and reflected in the broad current of the Garonne; the dark forms of mounted horsemen on caracoling steeds are followed by lords and attendants standing out on the grey landscape, in all the bravery of those romantic times where embroidered devices, crests, arms, and mottoes form a necessary part of dress, along with richly inlaid arms and costly robes edged with fur.

First rides Don Pedro, mounted on a Spanish barb, caparisoned with velvet housings; but as a fugitive and a suppliant he has rejected all the pompous display prepared for him, and appears in a dark cap and sombre mantle which covers his high black boots worn to the thigh.

Close beside him appear Emanuel and Mem Rodrigues, whose watchful eyes never leave him, among friends or foes. Whatever he may be to others, he is dear to them, and they well know in what continual danger he lives.

Behind him come his three daughters, the youngest but a lovely child, each mounted on easy-going jennets, his chancellor, and the few of his court who have not forsaken him on the road.

The mournful appearance of Don Pedro and the consciousness that he has been wanting to his royal guest in the attention due to an ally, so move the warm heart of the Black Prince that, bowing to the ground, he advances rapidly to embrace him, while Don Pedro, who has at once dismounted, would only have kissed his hand.

“Welcome, sire, to the territory of England,” cries the prince, addressing him in the French tongue, which both speak fluently. “I esteem myself happy to offer my personal homage to your Grace in my own name and in that of my royal father.”

“I thank you,” is Don Pedro’s laconic answer, turning upon him a curious gaze in which something of the bitterness of the disregarded suppliant appears. That he, an anointed sovereign, had been forced by the prince’s coldness to journey here, raises in his breast a wave of bitter pride which, in his revengeful nature, may in part explain the perfidy of his subsequent conduct.

“And you, fair flowers of Spain,” continues the Black Prince, turning to the Infantas, who had also dismounted and who gather timidly round the prince to make obeisance, “I would welcome you also, and express my deep regret that my consort, the Princess of Wales, to whose tender care I would have consigned you, has by reason of her condition not been able to leave Angoulême to meet you. Meanwhile, my brothers of Lancaster and York, nearer of your age and therefore more apt than myself in judging of your needs, will take her place in all necessary courtesies.”

John of Gaunt bashfully advances to take his place among the young princesses with his brother, both much encouraged by the glimpse of the lovely eyes of Doña Costanza, glowing like stars under the folds of a black mantilla which descends almost to her feet, while Don Pedro gravely acknowledges the salutations of the warriors and the court, and expresses his thanks for the magnificence of the courtesy with which he has been received.

“Can the stricken heart of a sovereign know comfort,” he says, in his high and trillant voice, singularly unpleasant after the agreeable intonation of the Black Prince, “against whom his people and those of his own blood have turned traitors, it is alone at the hands of your Grace. This moment of meeting with you, most illustrious Prince, is the only instant of consolation I have enjoyed since I left my rebellious country, given up to the horrors of civil war. I come in the guise of a beggar, but it is to one who can replace me on the throne.”

Whether Don Pedro, from long habits of hypocrisy, really believed what he said is doubtful, but he had at least the art of convincing those whom he addressed. This faculty of deceit, his specious flattery, his royal air, even under the modest garb he wore, at once fascinated the frank and open-hearted prince, overjoyed at the prospect of a speedy campaign to reinstate him.

As they pass into the pavilion where a sumptuous collation has been prepared, Edward himself, spite of the protest of his guest, not only offers to the king the golden embossed salver of scented water to wash his hands, but during the first course stands to serve him, behind his chair, before taking his own seat at the board.

“I know my place as a subject,” are his words, “and I pray your Grace not to impede me in the fulfilment of my duty.”

Not so Chandos, who observes Don Pedro at his ease, and marks with suspicion the sinister expression of his young face, and the falseness of the smile he calls up in answer to the hearty greetings of the prince.

Adversity and dissipation had already scored with hard lines that yet boy-like countenance. The faultless mould of feature is still there, as we see it perpetuated in the bust at Seville, but a perfidious glance mars its beauty.

Small and thin in stature, Don Pedro is entirely overtopped by the English prince, who sits erect and strong as a young oak beside the willow-like suppleness of his Spanish guest.

Much discussion of ways and means takes place between them after the collation, the Black Prince lending a willing ear to the representations of Don Pedro and his reiterated promises to reinstate the English king in such subsidies as should be advanced to him in order to raise a fighting army to take the field.

From Bordeaux Don Pedro passes to Angoulême with his daughters – in the same state, accompanied by the Black Prince, his young brother, the King of Navarre, and the Duke of Lancaster, in whose young heart the girlish beauty of Doña Costanza has made a serious impression – to salute the princess, who is daily expecting her confinement.

The reticence of the Black Prince alarmed Don Pedro. No decision of any kind as to the support he had come to seek could be extracted from him; open-hearted and honest almost to a fault, he had been so earnestly implored by Chandos to enter into no semblance of an engagement before he had obtained the assent of his father, Edward III., that he absolutely put a bridle on his lips whenever Don Pedro sought speciously to approach the subject so near his heart, until he had received the royal sanction. That such sanction would come he felt convinced, the very idea of an open attack upon royalty (in those feudal times held so sacred and inviolable) would probably have sufficed to ensure the consent of King Edward, but more amply so when united to the political advantages ensured by a close alliance with Castile.

Not only is a formal permission demanded by the Black Prince himself to march into Spain, but it is backed by the official protest of Don Pedro against the manifold wrongs and injuries inflicted on him.

Of gifts the Black Prince will have none. To him jewels and treasures come as ignoble bribes; but in the meantime at least it is open to Don Pedro to lavish presents on the Princess of Wales as an indirect mode of gaining her goodwill. A table of curious workmanship, set with priceless gems, is presented and long preserved in England, and, though last not least, the precious Balax, destined so strangely to find a central place in the English crown.

Nothing could exceed the lavish promises of Don Pedro. The lordship of Biscay, which, as close to Guienne, is important, is conferred on the Black Prince and his heirs for ever, signed with the seal of Castile, a curious state document which remains in England to this day – Pedro binding himself also, by the most solemn oaths, to pay large subsidies to the English troops, and equal parts of the general cost of the war to the Prince himself; a rich dower to the Infanta Costanza, forthwith affianced to the young Duke of Lancaster, already languishing in a not hopeless passion which is, he thinks, to insure to him the crown of Spain – she, in the meantime, as well as her two sisters, to remain at Bayonne as hostages for her father’s word.

All this was concluded in the presence of Charles of Navarre, surnamed “the Bad,” who, having secretly largely facilitated the passage of the Grandes Compagnies into Spain against Don Pedro, now receives from him the grant of the provinces of Guipuzcoa and Alava, the town of Vittoria, and any other he may choose to claim, upon condition that he will serve in person in the coming expedition against Don Enrique.

As to the Black Prince, the martial ardour within him is already at fever heat. There is something inexpressibly attractive to him in the prospect of meeting his ancient rival, Du Guesclin, in the field. The constable had good reason for extolling the magnanimity of the prince in the matter of his brother Oliver, taken prisoner in the battle of Poitiers by Thomas of Canterbury – and though ready to engage against each other in battle, their feeling is of friends.

In these days of mercenary warfare no shame was felt in passing from one side to the other if the pay was good. “To live by the sword” was a noble profession, and the needy knight or commoner must go where battle leads.

From the Black Prince downwards, every English trooper and archer was enthusiastic in the cause of Don Pedro. Even the calm Chandos was infected, if not convinced, in the face of such constant denials, and specious explanations on his part. Like his master Plantagenet he grudged every day that detained him inactive in Guienne until the authority of Edward III. was received.

As a preliminary, heralds were at once sent into Castile to summon the English and Gascon knights who had taken service with Don Henry the Bastard (so was the brilliant Caballero designated in these state papers) “to repair to the prince’s standard with all speed,” an order instantly obeyed by Sir Hugh Calverley, Sir Eustace d’Ambrecourt, Walter Hewitt, and the Lords of Devereux and Neville, to the considerable weakening of Don Enrique’s army.

At length the long-desired decision came from the council, assembled at the Court of Windsor, 1366, which set forth that it was “noble and honourable, as well as just and advantageous, to assist Don Pedro, King of Castile and Leon, in his legal rights,” and that his Highness Edward Prince of Wales, was authorised to march with the forces he might think fit to effect the same, under the command of Lord John Chandos, High Constable of Aquitaine, Sir Guiscard d’Angoulême, Sir Stephen Coffington the great standard-bearer of St. George, Lord Beauchamp of Abergavenny, Neville, Clayton, Tyrrell, Hastings, Cheney, Boteler, Willoughby, Felton, Loring, the prince’s grand chamberlain and bannister, besides his foreign followers, De Buch, D’Armagnac, D’Albert, and others.

CHAPTER XIX

The Black Prince Defeats Don Enrique and Reinstates Don Pedro. – Don Enrique Murders Don Pedro. – Death of Don Enrique

WE are in a romantic age of youth and fanfaronnade. Our dramatis personæ are overflowing with the sap of life. Of the three Plantagenets, the Black Prince is in the prime of life and fame, his two young brothers in the heyday of valour and love. Don Pedro, little past thirty, a professed lady killer and seducer, and Enrique de Trastamare, the ideal Caballero, a few years older. Add to these those who have vanished from the scene, Blanche of Castile, but fifteen when she was married, and Maria de Padilla, dying in the flower of her days, there results a circle of youth, beauty, and romance unparalleled in history.

As for a tournament these ardent spirits prepare for battle. Only Du Guesclin is wise and old, also Chandos, who endeavours to allay the universal ferment in men’s blood. But what is their influence against the spirit of the age?

When Don Enrique finds himself on the 3d of

April, 1367, face to face with the Black Prince, he has but one idea, to rush on him at once and make an end! Strategy and prudence are cast to the winds. “Let us fight like true knights and carry the crown upon a lance!” is his idea.

Envoys arrive from France and entreat him to avoid a general engagement with the English chivalry, the finest in the world, led by the Prince of Wales, but he will have none of their advice. He will fight at once, and even shifts his advantageous position, against the counsel of Du Guesclin, on the other side of a small river which divides the camps – to deal his blows nearer.

“Your Grace will be beat,” says Du Guesclin, scanning with well-practised eye the battle-field.

“I tell you that this very night I shall be either dead or a prisoner.”

“I shall win!” cries the enthusiastic Caballero. “Santiago and Spain are with me. But as the Prince of Wales is a valiant knight, and my brother a lying traitor, that he may know the realm is mine, and that I am fighting in support of my right, I will send him a cartel to tell him what is my intent.”

“I well perceive,” said the Black Prince, more prudent in his councils, but as enthusiastic as the rest, when informed of this intention, “that the bastard Enrique is a valiant prince and shows good courage; so, not to be behind him in courtesy, I will also address to him a letter in which I will call on him, according to the laws of honour, to relinquish the crown which he has unjustly seized.”

Upon which – always following out the idea of a knightly encounter in which each side sets forth their right by the voice of a herald or trumpeter – Enrique replies: “To the most puissant Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Aquitaine and Guienne: that King Don Pedro has not, as he pretends, and as the prince imagines, governed his kingdom well, but as a tyrant and a traitor, verily giving orders to murder the Lady Blanche, his lawful wife, and Doña Leonora d’Aragon, his aunt – also his cousins of the royal blood – and Doña Bianca de Villena for her goods; that also he killed his three brothers, Don Fadique, Juan, and Pedro, as well as Martin Gil d’Albuquerque his minister, Don Juan d’Aragon and others; and that neither did he respect the wives and daughters of divers nobles, or the rights of the Pope and the Church, —for which cause and others too long to be detailed, and having no allegiance or followers in the kingdom, his subjects, to deliver themselves from so dangerous a ruler, have been pleased to name us his successor with universal acclamation.”

But this royal exchange of courtesies did not deter the Black Prince from fighting desperately. A complete victory was gained at Navarrete. Enrique lost all his train and equipage, the great Constable Du Guesclin being the victim as he had foretold, and taken prisoner.

Prostrate on his knees, Don Pedro thanks the Black Prince, who modestly replies as he raises and embraces him:

“Not to me, but to God, who has given us the victory, give praise.”

This happened on a Saturday. Next day Don Pedro formally requested the Black Prince to allow him “to put to death all his rebellious soldiers, so that they might raise no more disturbance in the kingdom against him.”