The blockade had not been breached by land, but the wall of wooden ships proved to be a porous palisade. Suspicious that the town might be receiving supplies from the sea, the king increased the numbers of galleys and cogs that lay across the harbor. Now barely a minnow could pass through the water without a cry of alarm and a hoisting of the sail.
The king’s suspicions were well founded. The French for some time now had been smuggling in food at night in flat-bottomed barges. The increased vigilance on our part made their midnight runs impossible now. After the barge captains made several abortive attempts that nearly cost them their lives, they forsook the enterprise. No amount of gold was tempting enough to lure them back through the teeth of our English sharks. And so Calais was shut up as she should be, with a cordon drawn around her as tight as a tourniquet; the flow of life was cut off at last.
Shortly after the cessation of the food-smuggling, the gates of Calais opened once more. This time a crowd nothing short of two thousand persons crawled out of the ramparts. It was the same sort of feeble folk as before—women, children, and old ones, all too weak to wield a sword or wind a crossbow. The siege had begun to pinch unbearably, and Calais had expelled two thousand more bodies with useless hands and hungry mouths.
But the careless clemency with which the king had greeted the last group was spent. Calais had cost him too much money and too many months. Whatever debt the city owed him, these poor folk would now pay.
“
Shall we open the palisade?” asked Sir Walter Manny, hoping to let the town folk pass through unmolested.
“
In God’s name, no!” said the king. “They’ll gain no grain from this maneuver. Drive them back from the lines. They must re-enter the town and share the food and fortune of their friends.”
The palisade bristled with archers, and they fired a few warning shots at the émigrés. That halted them. I saw them debating amongst themselves, though none in this ragged band seemed to hold any leadership. We fired again, and the volley sent them scurrying away. In a moment’s time they were back at the base of the wall, looking up for succor like a hurt child clinging to his mother’s knees. But the gate which had opened to release them was no longer open to receive them. The cries or entreaties of the turned-out two thousand had no power to turn the winch that raised the portcullis. A man’s head appeared on the height of the gatehouse tower. He had come to address the refugees. The words he spoke were lost in the distance which separated us from the town, but the people below heard him well enough. A dreadful keening arose from the motley crowd and they held up their hands in supplication.
“
Their governor has refused to readmit them,” I heard Manny report to the king. “Shall I give the order for the palisade to be opened?”
“
God forbid that I should prove kinder than their natural lord,” replied Edward stonily. “There shall be no passage through our lines. They shall re-enter Calais or sink to shades in its shadow. Calais has tried my patience for too long—let her surrender when she will, there will be no quarter given to man, woman, or child. They shall all perish like these brutes.”
As nightfall approached and the town folk saw that their governor would not relent, they turned about again and pressed toward our line. But the king’s word held firm, and warning shots from the archers repelled them like stones thrown at a stray dog. There was no choice for them but to keep their distance. Hungry, homeless, and hopeless, they lay themselves down to sleep in the limbo between the lines of battle.
It was a wretched week that followed. Already weakened by the scanty rations in Calais, the trapped refugees now rooted in the mud like pigs, searching for any trace of vegetation that could be crammed into an empty maw. Their famished frames moved haltingly, and their eyes gaped dully like the sinkholes of the surrounding marsh. Most of the company lay down in a huddle till the weakness of hunger shut their eyes forever. But ever and anon a few frantic members of the company, those who refused to acquiesce to their inevitable fate, ventured toward the city or the palisade. From the city there was only silence, but from the palisade there was always a sharp-tipped volley of arrows, no longer just a warning, but actual measures of defense to keep the forlorn French from rushing upon our lines.
The sight of this cadaverous company corralled by our lines sickened me to my stomach. I had seen death at Caen and death at Crecy, but this was something worse than death. One twilight, while the prince and I paced the lines, I heard the bloodcurdling, guttural groan of a refugee who had chosen the pain of the arrow over the pain of the belly. Nauseated by the sound, I turned to His Highness in appeal. “Think you that His Majesty will finally relent and allow them to pass?”
“
Nay,” replied the prince. “The only feast they’ll ever attend is a feast for the ravens.”
“
But why, in God’s name?” I demanded.
“
He is teaching these burghers a lesson, and the French remain stupid to all but the harshest of schoolmasters.”
“
But there is no honor in this!” said I. “
You
would not do such a thing.”
“
You think I would not?” asked the prince, and he cocked his head to the side a little, as if pondering the idea. “Perhaps you are right; perhaps I would not have given this order. But then, I have not spent a hundred thousand guineas to achieve this place. A man’s conception of what is honorable may shift a little when his purse is in danger of depletion.”
“
Then you admit it,” I cried out, “that to starve this wretched band is something short of chivalrous!”
“
Have a care, Potenhale,” said the prince. He drew into himself suddenly and the frostiness of his tone reminded me of my place. “My father is considered an honorable man by all, and peer to the greatest monarchs of Christendom; it is not for an obscure knight barely belted to question the judgment of a Plantagenet. Have a care, Potenhale.”
*****
It was not until the summer that Philip finally came, with a mighty force to relieve the suffering citizens of Calais. By this time, the French burghers had tightened their belts to the last notch. We had apprehended one courier from the town who (in a letter to Philip) lamented that the town folk had eaten every cat, dog, and horse within the walls; if succor did not arrive soon, they would be forced to partake of human flesh or else give up the city.
Some of Calais’s couriers must have slipped through the English blockade bearing this same message, for Philip gave up his indolence and arrived at the end of July. Encamping his army on the marsh, he left nothing but a hill between his lines and ours. His first action was to request a parley, and—since the Holy See was always wont to intervene on his behalf— sent two cardinals to sound the current of English intentions. Edward bristled a little, as any Englishman would at emissaries from the Francophile pontiff. But he acknowledged himself favorable to a parley, and two tents were pitched on the wasteland between our two armies.
Diplomats from both countries convened in the common ground. On our side were Sir Walter Manny and Henry, the grey-bearded Earl of Lancaster who had just quitted his post in Gascony to join us at Calais. On Philip’s side were the dukes of Bourbon and Athènes, as well as Geoffroi de Charny. You will note, milady, that this was the first time that I caught sight of your husband. At the time I did not mark it much—it was merely the faint outline of a man at a quarter league’s distance. But my later history with him caused me to recall this instance and inscribe it with a chisel on the walls of memory.
Neither my master nor I was present at the parley, but the English emissaries were buzzing like hornets when they returned. I stood behind the prince’s chair in His Majesty’s tent while Manny and Lancaster told their tale.
“
We told them we could only conclude general terms of peace,” began Manny, “as Your Majesty authorized us—“
“
But God’s life!” broke in Lancaster. “They would have none of it. The Bourbon fool insisted that we must lift the siege entirely before they would even lisp the littlest offer of a truce.”
“
We remonstrated with them,” continued Manny, “and Sir Geoffroi de Charny hinted that Philip’s offer of peace would be an even trade of Gascony and Ponthieu in return for Calais and the surrounding country.”
“—
And this Charny said everything as solemn as an abbot,” seethed Lancaster, “as if Your Majesty does not already hold Gascony by right of inheritance and arms. Give us Gascony? Why, then, we’ll give him Paris as a present, since we’re to be making presents of land to those that already own it.”
“
And what said you to this offer?” demanded the king.
“
I made bold to say that it liked us not,” answered Manny. “I insisted that our most wise and puissant sovereign would never trade the sweet kernel of Calais for husks and chaff like Ponthieu.”
“
And France’s reply?” asked the king.
“
Since we would make no guarantees to lift the siege, their graces the dukes of Bourbon and Athènes would have given up the parley, but Charny begged leave to tender another offer for your consideration. To prevent the great loss of life which would inevitably occur should our two armies engage in battle, Charny suggests a trial by combat. Each lord would select four champions to defend the honor of his army. The winners would take Calais; the losers would withdraw.”
“
And what answer made you to that?” said the king.
“
No answer,” replied Manny. “I would know your good pleasure.”
The king turned to his assembled council. “Lords, good sirs, what think you of this offer?”
“
Folly!” croaked Audley, and Chandos nodded his concurrence. It was rare to find the minds of these two out of concert with each other.
“
We have the advantage,” reminded Chandos. “Philip knows he cannot raise the siege, or why would he throw out such a fantastical offer?”
“
And yet,” interjected Bradwardine, “trial by combat has its merits.” Bradwardine was a cleric and the royal chaplain, but the king often used him for matters of diplomacy. Besides his abilities in church and court, he was renowned in all the Paris schools for his sharpness of intellect. He was a prominent astronomer and a preeminent mathematician. The “Profound Doctor” was one of his nicknames and the sobriquet suited him entirely for he was as deep as he was learned.
“
What merits does trial by combat have?” demanded the king.
“
Four that I can foresee,” replied Bradwardine, and he began to itemize them on his fingers. “First, immediate termination of the siege; second, proof to the world which side divine justice has taken in this quarrel; third, reduction of the loss of life that a battle would entail; and fourth, relief for the miserable citizens of Calais.”
“
Three worthy reasons,” replied the king, “though your fourth deserves no consideration.”
Bradwardine shrugged and folded his hands. “Then consider only the first three, but also consider Charny’s offer, for it is a sound one both for us and for the French. We cannot remain another winter in the field, and here is a way to end the siege swiftly.”
“
But Majesty,” expostulated Lancaster. “You are ignoring the drawbacks of such a proposal! Four of their knights against four of ours? The French peasantry may be of poor mettle, but their chevaliers are considered the best in Europe. Choose our champions as carefully as you may, they could still be outclassed. Nearly a year’s work would be lost and all in an hour’s time.”
“
Better to fight Philip in the field,” agreed Audley. “We’ll have our archers then and you know the work they did at Crecy.”
One by one, the nobles voiced the same opinions as Lancaster and Audley. The prince alone remained silent, resting his chin on his gloved hand and listening intently to both Bradwardine and his opponents. Perhaps he disagreed with the prevailing current of opinion, or perhaps he merely wanted to learn in silence.
The king listened to his nobles’ clamorous objections for a time, then silenced them with a wave of his hand. “Soft, soft,” he said. “I have heard you all and heard you well. But I would also know the opinion of another. Come now, what says the Prince of Wales? Shall we send out our champions or shall we wait in the field?”
His highness paused a little space then answered slowly. “In truth, Your Majesty, I do not know the better course. Master Bradwardine has spoken well and worthily, but the concerns of your nobles are also weighty. I must beg leave to refuse judgment, for I do not know the course you ought to take.”
“
Well enough,” said the king quietly, but he seemed a little disappointed at his offspring’s reticence in this matter. “You have not been long in the field, and perhaps it is best to defer your judgment.”
The king then gave his opinion of the matter. Little to my surprise, the king was of the same mind as his men. Turning to Sir Walter Manny and Henry of Lancaster, he said, “Go back to Geoffroi de Charny and bear this answer:
The fingers of England are around the throat of Calais, and we will not let go
to swat at gnats.
If Philip would raise the siege, le
t him use all his strength. W
e are prepared to stand against him in the field
. That is the only trial by combat which we will endure, and may God defend the right when our two armies meet
.”
As the emissaries departed, the council also dispersed; the king and all the nobles left the pavilion. But the prince caught Bradwardine’s eye, and the two lingered behind to have speech once the folds of the tent fell shut.