Two of his companions were also killed, and others of his party were stripped, beaten, and left naked under the walls. “Then the people rushed off to find others to treat the same way.” More of the Provost’s partisans were murdered and dumped naked in the streets. While Charles of Navarre escaped to St. Denis, the royalist faction took control and two days later, on August 2, 1358, opened the city to the Regent.
He at once proclaimed a pardon for the citizens of Paris except for close associates of Marcel and Navarre, who were executed or banished, and their confiscated property turned over to the Regent’s party. But the spirit of the blue-and-red hoods remained strong enough to cause angry demonstrations when more of Marcel’s adherents were arrested. The situation was sullen and dangerous. On August 10 the Regent issued a general amnesty and ordered nobles and peasantry to pardon each other so that the fields might be cultivated and the harvest brought in. The extermination of the Jacques was making itself felt.
With Marcel’s death the reform movement was aborted; the glimpse of “Good Government” was to remain only a glimpse. After Artevelde and Rienzi, Marcel was the third leader of a bourgeois rising within a dozen years to be killed by his own followers. The people of France on the whole were not ready for an effort to limit the monarchy. They blamed all their troubles—heavy taxes, dishonest government, debased coinage, military defeats, banditry of the companies, the fallen condition of the realm—on the crown’s evil councillors and the caitiff nobles, not on the King, who had fought bravely at Poitiers, or even on the Dauphin. No political movement sprang from Marcel’s bones. The right of the Estates General to convene at will was lost, the provisions of the Grand Ordinance largely, though not entirely, discarded. The crown was left free for the period of royal absolutism that history held in waiting.
Though the Regent held Paris, he was ringed by enemies. From St. Denis, Charles of Navarre announced open defiance and renewed his alliance with King Edward. “Very grievous and cruel,” the undeclared warfare of Navarrese and English companies intensified, individual groups were fighting back, the land was prey to local battles and raids, the besieging of castles and burning of villages. Caught up in the havoc, “the young Sire de Coucy carefully guarded his castle and territory,” with the aid of two redoubtable warriors. One was his former guardian Matthieu de Roye, who on one occasion forced the surrender of and took prisoner an entire English company of 300. The other was the governor of Coucy’s domain, a “hard and valiant knight” called the Chanoine de Robersart, who “made himself more feared by the English and Navarrese than anyone else, for he chased them many times.”
Enguerrand’s own feat was to destroy the castle of Bishop Robert le Coq, who was attempting to carry Laon over to the camp of Charles of Navarre. The particulars are unrecorded except for the fact that the Sire de Coucy “did not like the said Bishop.” Otherwise, by paying wages to his men-at-arms and allowing no one to remain outside the walls, he kept the brigands at bay, although they succeeded in capturing the neighboring castle of the Comte de Roussi, “causing great scarcity” in the district. Through untilled fields and charred villages, scarcity was stalking France.
1. Concy-le-Château as it would have appeared in the 14th century.
From a 16th century engraving.(illustration credit 7.1)
2. The abandoned castle in later years.
From Du Sommerard’s Les Arts au Moyen Age, 1838–46.(illustration credit 7.2)
3. Fortune’s wheel.
From a mid-14th century manuscript of Roman de la Rose.(illustration credit 7.3)
4. COUCY’S SEALS (illustration credit 7.4)
5. Chaucer’s squire.
From the Ellesmere manuscript, c. 1410.(illustration credit 7.5)
6. A 14th century carriage (followed by three horsemen wearing Jews’ hats). From an illustrated Bible showing Jacob’s journey to Egypt. The three horsemen are Jacob’s sons.(illustration credit 7.6)
7. View of Paris. From Froissart’s Chronicles, Louis de Bruges copy, c. 1460.(illustration credit 7.7)
8. A country village among the trees. From Bartholomew of England’s Book on the Nature of Things, a manuscript of c. 1410.(illustration credit 7.8)
9. Charles of Navarre. From a window in the Cathedral of Evreux.(illustration credit 7.9)
10. Jean II. Portrait attributed to his court painter, Girard d’Orléans.(illustration credit 7.10)
11. The Black Prince. Effigy in Canterbury Cathedral.(illustration credit 7.11)
12. English archers training with the longbow (the unpulled bows are the height of a man). From the Luttrell Psalter, late 13th century.(illustration credit 7.12)
13. View of London.
From Poems of Charles d’Orléans, early 15th century.(illustration credit 7.13)
14. The Last Judgment, the Elect and the Damned.
From the Cathedral of Bourges, west portal.(illustration credit 7.14)
15. The world as a globe. From L’Image du Monde by Gautier de Metz, a 14th century manuscript.(illustration credit 7.15)
16. The child’s education. From Avis aus Roys, a manual of instruction for French kings and princes, mid-14th century.(illustration credit 7.16)
17. The pillage and burning of a town. From Froissart’s Chronicles, Louis de Bruges copy, c. 1460.(illustration credit 7.17)
18. A charivari. From Roman de Fauvel, an early 14th century manuscript.(illustration credit 7.18)
19. The fourth horseman of the apocalypse. “And Behold a pale horse, and he that sat upon him his name was Death …” (Revelation 6 : 8). Illustration for the Office of the Dead by Jean Colombe for the Très Riches Heures of the Duc de Berry, c. 1470.(illustration credit 7.19)
20. The Triumph of Death. A detail from a fresco by Francesco Traini in the Camposanto, Pisa, c. 1350.(illustration credit 7.20)
21. Burial of the plague victims. From Annales de Gilles li Muisis.(illustration credit 7.21)
22. Penitential procession led by the Pope during the plague (pictured in 14th century Rome although it purports to illustrate the 6th century plague under Gregory the Great). By Pol de Limbourg for the Très Riches Heures of the Duc de Berry, c. 1410.(illustration credit 7.22)
23. A Cardinal. Detail from the Nine Hours Tapestries, French, late 14th century.(illustration credit 7.23)
24. Knights. Seals of Amadeo V of Savoy (right) and Louis I, Duc d’Anjou.(illustration credit 7.24)
25. Peasants. Labors of the Twelve Months. Manuscript of Crescenzi li Rustican, c. 1460.(illustration credit 7.25)
26. The slaughter of the Jacques on the bridge at Meaux. From Froissart’s Chronicles, Louis de Bruges copy, c. 1460.(illustration credit 7.26)
27. Murder of the marshals. From the Grandes Chroniques, copy executed for Charles V, c. 1375.(illustration credit 7.27)
28. The alaunt as war-dog, used against the horses of mounted brigands or men-at-war. From the 14th century manuscript Tractatus de Pauli Sanctini Ducensis de re militari et machinis bellicis.(illustration credit 7.28)
29. The Battle of Slays. From Froissart’s Chronicles, Louis de Bruges copy, c. 1460.(illustration credit 7.29)
30. Widowed Rome.(illustration credit 7.30)
31. Florence, 15th century.(illustration credit 7.31)
Chapter 8
Hostage in England
All this time efforts in London to conclude a permanent peace treaty had not succeeded. When the French balked at the terms of a settlement reached in 1358, Edward responded by raising his demands. In March 1359 when the truce was about to expire, King Jean yielded, trading half his kingdom for his own release. By the Treaty of London he surrendered virtually all of western France from Calais to the Pyrenees, and agreed to an augmented and catastrophic ransom of 4 million gold écus, payable at fixed installments, to be guaranteed by the delivery of forty royal and noble hostages, of whom Enguerrand de Coucy was designated as one. In case of obstruction to the transfer of ceded territories, Edward retained the right to send armed forces back to France,
whose cost was to be borne by the French King.
Desperate for peace though France was, shame and anger rose when the terms became known. Dragged to maturity in the grim years since Poitiers, the Dauphin had learned greater stewardship than his father. Neither he nor his Council was prepared to yield what the King of France had agreed to. Facing a fearful choice between accepting the treaty and renewal of the war, they summoned the Estates General with a request for “the most substantial notable and wise men” bearing full powers to represent the communes.
In this somber hour, one of the darkest in French history, the few delegates who braved the bandit-infested roads to come to Paris were in earnest. When the text of the Treaty of London was read to them on May 19, they deliberated briefly and made their response to the Dauphin without dispute. It was for once laconic. “They said the Treaty was displeasing to all the people of France and intolerable, and for this they ordered war to be made on England.”
Edward prepared to launch a supreme effort to consummate victory. He laid the cause to French “perfidy” in rejecting the treaty, thus establishing grounds for a “just war” and allowing bishops to offer indulgences in aid of recruitment. Determined to assemble an expeditionary force that should lack nothing to make it invincible, he spent all summer gathering the components. An immense convoy of 1,100 ships carrying 11,000 to 12,000 men and more than 3,000 horses (to be joined by as many more at Calais) was assembled, with 1,000 carts and some four-horse wagons for the baggage train, plus tents, forges, hand mills, horseshoes and nails, bows and arrows, arms and armor, cooking utensils, initial stocks of wine and food, leather boats for fishing in the rivers, not forgetting, for the hunt, thirty falconers with hawks, sixty couple of hounds, and sixty of harriers.
By the time the King embarked, taking with him his four eldest sons, it was the end of October, ensuring a winter campaign. All military experience, including his own, knew this to be ruinous to a force away from its home base, but the impetus of great preparations is hard to halt, and possession of many garrisons in France gave Edward confidence in a quick victory.
England’s fortunes were at the crest. A dynamic King had attracted the aid of an extraordinary group of able soldiers—Chandos, Knollys, Sir Walter Manny, Sir Hugh Calveley, the Captal de Buch, and not least the Prince of Wales—such a group “as the Starres have an influence to produce at one time more than another.” Success was tangible. “A woman who did not possess spoil from France,” wrote the chronicler Walsingham, “garments, furs, bed covers, silver vessels and cloth of linen, was of no account.” Ebullience had reached a perfect moment in 1350 when King Edward sailed forth to meet a Spanish challenge. On board the cog Thomas in August, as described by Froissart, the King, in a black velvet doublet and round beaver hat “which became him well,” sat in the forecastle enjoying talk and song with the Prince and a group of nobles. “The King was that day, as I was told by those present, as joyous as ever he was in his life and ordered the minstrels to play before him an Almaine dance which Sir John Chandos had lately introduced.” He commanded Sir John to dance and sing with the minstrels, “which delighted him greatly,” while from time to time he glanced up at the lookout on the mast who was watching for sight of the Spaniards. Needless to say, when sighted, they were met and conquered, confirming Edward’s boast to be “Lord of the Sea.”
From Calais in 1359 the English set our for Reims, where Edward intended to be crowned King of France. Trailing an enormous baggage train said to cover two leagues, they crossed Picardy in three separate lines of march in order to spread their foraging, and even so found scant provisions in a country already devastated by the companies Horses starved, pace slowed, rain fell daily, progress contracted to three leagues a day. Worst of all, Edward’s goal of decisive battle eluded him. The English marched through a deliberately created vacuum. No glittering armed force came out to meet them. The French concentrated their defense in fortified towns and castles that could withstand attack.
Avoidance of pitched battle—the strategy that was to save France—evolved, like most military innovations, from defeat, ignominy, and paucity of means. The person who perceived what the situation demanded was the Regent, a ruler who harkened to necessity, not glory.
In respect of his hostile brother-in-law of Navarre, the Regent’s position had improved, because in August Charles of Navarre had deserted his alliance with Edward and, in yet one more elaborate ceremony of reconciliation, promised to be “a good friend to the King of France, to the Regent and the kingdom.” Though his promise was widely thought to be inspired by God, the King of Navarre could not live without plotting, and within months was engaged in a new plan to dispose of the Dauphin.
Edward reached Reims in the first week of December, presumably expecting the city to admit him after what was to have been his victorious advance. Forewarned of his intention, Reims had been strengthening its walls during the long preparation and remained stubbornly closed, forcing the English into a siege. The French had emptied the countryside of everything that could serve the enemy and had destroyed buildings that could shelter him. At the gates of Reims, Edward saw the monastery of St. Thierry, which he had intended to use as his headquarters, burning before his eyes. Foiled of provisions as they had been of battle, and reduced by cold and hunger, the English were forced to lift the siege after forty days. They headed south for the rich land of Burgundy, looting and destroying for two months until Edward allowed himself to be bought off for 200,000 moutons d’or by the then Duke of Burgundy, Philip de Rouvre.
As he turned toward Paris in March, Edward learned with fury and vows of vengeance of a savage French raid carried out in that month on Winchelsea, on the south coast of England. Its ultimate object was the rescue of King Jean, which would have spared France his ruinous ransom. As originally planned, the raid was also intended, by “making a show of remaining there,” to frighten the English into withdrawing forces from France in self-defense. Costs were raised by the major towns. A bold ship captain named Enguerrand Ringois of Abbeville, renowned for his courage and indomitable character at the siege of Calais, was chosen as naval commander. The land forces, numbering 2,000 knights, archers, and foot soldiers from Picardy and Normandy, suffered from the usual absence of single command. They were led by a triumvirate of nobles who were at odds with each other. Pierre des Essars, the man who had disposed of Etienne Marcel, led a body of Parisian volunteers.
Rumor preceding the attack had caused Jean to be moved on March 1 from Lincolnshire to a castle nearer London and subsequently to the Tower of London itself. Despite reconnoitering of the coasts, the French, misled by false information, landed on the south coast on March 15. Seizing Winchelsea without difficulty, they made no effort to establish a foothold, but plunged into the usual frenzy of pillage, murder, and rape, including massacre of a group of citizens attending mass in the church. While alarm flew over the countryside, the French sacked the neighboring town of Rye, then met and repelled a hastily assembled force of 1,200 English who came against them. Fearing greater reinforcements, they decided against the “show of remaining there” and, returning to the beachhead after a 48 hours’ invasion, re-embarked in the light of the burning town.
England was thrown into a panic by news that the enemy were “riding over the country, slaying, burning, destroying and doing other mischief,” and that worse might be expected “unless they be speedily and manfully opposed.” While that proved unnecessary, the panic left a persistent fear of invasion that was to exert some restraint on future activities against France. Otherwise the raid, bravely planned and badly led, accomplished nothing except to provoke Edward’s wrath and reprisals on discovering that the French could act as viciously in his realm as the English did in France.
Surrounding Paris early in April, the English sent heralds to challenge the defenders to battle, but the Dauphin, relying on Marcel’s improved fortifications, forbade any response. After a week of burning and killing outside the walls failed to provoke a fig
ht, Edward turned away, baffled as he had been at Reims, though not yet ready to give up. He took the road for Chartres, not for the coast. For the past two months papal legates had been shuttling between the Dauphin and the English, attempting to reopen negotiations, always blocked by Edward’s refusal to reduce his terms. The Dauphin himself had sent envoys with peace proposals. Seeing “how the realm could not long endure the great tribulation and poverty” the English were inflicting, “for the rents of the lords and churches were nigh lost in every part,” he and his Council offered to settle on the basis agreed to in 1358 before Edward had raised his demands. The Duke of Lancaster advised Edward to accept, for if he persisted he might have to make war “all the days of your life” and might “lose in one day what it has taken us twenty years to win.”
The anger of the heavens supported the Duke. On Monday, April 13, a “foul dark day” of mist and bitter cold, as the army camped on the approach to Chartres, a violent hailstorm struck with the force of a cyclone, followed by cloudbursts of freezing rain. Horses and men were killed by the prodigious hailstones, tents were torn up by the wind, the baggage train was dragged through mud and floods, and scores died of the fearful cold, “wherefor unto thys day manye men callen it Black Monday.” In half an hour Edward’s army took a beating that human hands could not have inflicted and that could hardly be taken as other than a celestial warning. Black Monday brought to a head all the faults of the six months’ campaign—the vulnerability of the English army, the foiling of decisive battle, the incapacity to take a major walled town or capital city, the vaguely perceived knowledge, of which Lancaster had a glimmer, that France could not be conquered by pillage, nor by siege, town by town, fortress by fortress. In the long run, this was what would condemn the war to drag on for a hundred years—the fact that, short of a fluke like the capture of a king at Poitiers, medieval armies had no means of achieving a decisive result, much less unconditional surrender.