Edward was going to beat these Spaniards; he was going to drive them off the sea. He knew it. His son knew it too. They were of a kind.
The Spaniards were heaving lumps of iron on the English ships in an endeavour to sink them—and sometimes succeeding. But Edward was always to the fore shouting encouragement, teaching his men how to fight, reminding them that he was invincible.
Cog Thomas went down, but only after Edward had capured the ship which was attacking him, boarded it and taken command of it. The same thing had happened to the Black Prince who had made sure that his young brother was safe beside him.
It was a great day—a great battle. Edward was exultant. To win a battle was always exciting but when it was done against desperate odds then it was the most exhilarating adventure in the world.
Fourteen Spanish ships had been sunk while very few English had suffered the same fate and what was left of the Spanish fleet limped back to the French coast while Edward sailed triumphantly to that of England.
It was a moment of great joy for Philippa when they had all returned to her residence.
‘Praise be to God!’ she cried.
‘It was a great victory,’ Edward told her.
‘See,’ mocked the Black Prince, ‘I have brought your little John safely home to you.’
John ran to her and began telling her how the wicked Spaniards had sunk their ship and even Cog Thomas. ‘But we sank more of theirs,’ he cried excitedly.
‘And I can tell you, Madam,’ said the Black Prince, ‘your son acquitted himself well.’
Philippa could only rejoice that they had come safely back to her.
The battle was called Lespagnols sur Mer and because of the great victory Edward began to be called the King of the Seas.
He was pleased with the way things had gone. It was a great defeat for the French and they would realize it.
He said there should be feasting to celebrate it and Philippa agreed with him. She could not help wondering though what would have happened if the fight had gone against them; and the stories of how the King’s ship and that of the Black Prince had been sunk almost under them made her shiver with apprehension.
None could have been more aware than Edward of the need for peace. With a depleted population and the terrible loss which the pestilence had inflicted on his country, he must have time to build up its strength. This could not be done in a few years; but it did seem as though God repented of his vengeance—for it was generally agreed that the plague had been visited on them through Divine wrath--because in the years following children were born at a great rate and many women had twins and there were far more cases of triplets than had been noticed ever before.
The people wanted peace; so, fervently, did Edward. He admitted this to his Parliament and it was agreed to send the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Duke of Lancaster to France to negotiate.
Jean of France also realized the need for peace, but he had made up his mind that he was going to quash the English claim to the French crown once and for all. So he prevaricated and declared that the matter must be laid before the Pope. During this time Edward was obliged to maintain an army for he could not be sure whether or not the French would decide to strike; and so the months passed.
Philippa had become pregnant once more and on a cold January day gave birth to a son at Woodstock. She called him Thomas and there were lavish celebrations in spite of the need to equip an army.
The rejoicing was short lived for spies came from France to tell Edward that the French King was swearing to drive the English out of France and that he was mustering a large army for this purpose.
Edward lost no time in planning his campaign. The Black Prince was to take his own army to Bordeaux and attack from there; he, Edward, accompanied by his sons, Lionel and John, would set out for Calais.
Once again Philippa must watch her loved ones go into danger. Beyond anything she wanted peace and she often wondered what her life would have been like if Robert d’Artois had not goaded Edward into claiming the French crown. That that claim should have come through the Dowager Queen Isabella whose coming to England had changed the country’s history, fitted neatly into the pattern of events. Had a different bride been chosen for Edward II the whole face of English history might have been different. But how could one say ‘If’ in this way? Was not that how life was made up?
All the same, as a woman, a wife and a mother she knew in her heart that whatever conquests were made in France they would not be worth the anguish and the suffering which would be the price paid for them.
No sooner had Edward reached Calais than the Scots decided to strike on the Border, clearly believing that with Edward and the Black Prince out of the country they had a good chance of victory.
Messengers were sent at full speed to Edward to tell him that the Scots had laid siege to Berwick.
His fury was great.
‘I swear by God,’ he said, ‘that I shall sleep in no town more than one night before I have reached the border between England and perfidious Scotland.’
He sent word to his son.
‘I leave you to conduct this campaign in France. I know that I can rely on you to succeed.’
True to his word he rested nowhere longer than was necessary.
In a short time he had relieved Berwick.
The King of France chuckled with delight when he heard that Edward had been forced to go to Scotland. He talked of his good allies the Scots for it was not the first time they had been of use to him, and any who were enemies of England were friends of his.
‘This time,’ he declared, ‘I shall crush them once and for all time.’
For the King of England Jean had always had a mingled awe, admiration and hatred. His father had spoken of him with the utmost respect. He had once said that if Edward the Third had been like his father this mad matter of the English claim to the succession would have been settled long ago and England beaten to her knees, a province of France. But fate had given England this other Edward. He was like his grandfather. There was a certain mystique about such leaders. Men followed them and gave of their best without reward, having nothing in their minds but to serve. Such men were invincible unless faced with others of their kind. Jean hoped that he was such a one; but in his secret heart he had his doubts.
So it was good news that the Scottish action had taken Edward back to England and it was only his son they had to face. It was true that the Black Prince was earning a reputation to match that of his father. It had been attached to him after Crécy, though he might so easily have been killed or taken prisoner there. What a triumph that would have been. But fate had been kind to him and he had lived to win a great victory and the English had beaten the French, and what made it so much more galling was the fact that they had done so with fewer men. It must not happen again.
Jean was always eager to know what Edward was doing. When Edward had instituted the Order of the Garter he had imitated him by forming a brotherhood called Our Lady of the Noble Star. To this he admitted five hundred knights who must take the oath never to yield to the enemy more than four acres of ground and to die in battle rather than retreat.
He believed that now was his great chance. The Black Prince was marching through the country, ravaging it as he went and finding it an easy conquest. He took up his position outside Poitiers and there awaited the arrival of the English army. There the decisive battle should take place.
Jean was certain of success. He had to face the Prince—not the legend which was Edward the Third. He had forty thousand men—a far greater number than the English could possibly put into the field. Almost the whole of the nobility of France was with him and there were twenty-six dukes and counts. His four sons marched with him; his youngest Philip was only twelve years old and he had commanded the boy not to stray from his side, for this boy was his favourite among all his children and he loved him dearly.