The Perfect King

by Ian Mortimer

  Here we see the fundamental principle of Edward's strategy clearly spelled out: taking the fight into France protected England. When twentieth-century historians came to assess the 'profit and loss' account of the English during the Hundred Years War, they completely ignored this element of his strategy, only counting Edward's territorial conquests and losses. But Edward could win and lose in France, and have nothing material to show for his troubles at the end of the day, and still would have achieved something because he had protected England from French attack. In this same letter Edward stressed that the more he thought about Philip paying for an army out of money originally gathered to fight the crusade, the more it pained him. Benedict had granted a clerical subsidy for the crusade, and another for the defence against Ludvig, and permitted Philip to use both to fight the English, which rankled with Edward. But no matter how interesting and revealing the letter was, Benedict was having none of it. In keeping with his new policy of favouring the French, he did not even reply.

  Edward marched into France on 20 September 1339. Some of his allies followed him; Ludvig did not. The duke of Brabant was still in negotiations with Philip. Promises for payments were made, promises to leave hostages to ensure final payment were added, and Edward himself was forced to promise that he would remain in the Low Countries as security for the debts he had incurred. The cardinals who had tried hard to bring Edward to accept Philip's absolute rule in France and his right to intervene in Scotland remained with him. On the first night Sir Geoffrey le Scrope led one of them, Bertrand de Montfavez, cardinal deacon of St Mary in Aquiro, up a tall tower, showing him the result of the first day's work. It was a dark, moonless night, and as he looked out it was clear that every village for fifteen miles in every direction was on fire. The cardinal was reminded of something he had once declared to Edward in his negotiations: 'the kingdom of France is surrounded by a silken thread which all the power of England will not suffice to break'. Scrope said calmly to the cardinal: 'does it not seem to you that the silken thread encompassing France has broken?' Seeing the terrible outcome of the invasion, the cardinal grew faint, staggered and collapsed.

  Edward's strategy was simple. If he could bring Philip to battle and defeat him, then he would gain glory, win his arguments over Scotland and Aquitaine and limit his liabilities to his German allies. Hence the utmost destruction of France was undertaken. He besieged the town of Cambrai and destroyed as much land and as many villages as he could. But Philip did not give battle. Reactions were mixed. The duke of Brabant joined Edward at the end of September, but the young count of Hainault deserted him, and joined Philip. Further delays would mean further expense, further doubt in his resolution and inevitably more defections. Edward had no option but to go forward, and to take the fight to the French army, which was more than double the size of his own, even including his allies' troops. With caution he advanced directly towards Peronne, where the massive French army had gathered.

  On 14 October Edward brought his army within a mile of the French. Everything he stood for and believed in - chivalry, glory and royalty, divine support and the prophesies that he would be a great conqueror - was about to be put to the test. But in order to implement the military strategies he had learnt in Scotland, he needed to force the French to attack him. And in order to withstand an attack by superior numbers, he needed to draw his men up in a particularly well-defended situation, so he could catch the French in die cross-fire. Although he had found the French, and they were ready to do battle, Edward was not in a well-defended position. His smaller army was in fact exposed. He had no option but to withdraw. In the ensuing discussions about future strategy, the German allies declared they were running short of supplies. They wanted to go home.

  Edward had not waited a whole year on the Continent simply to withdraw at the first onset of his allies' fear and hunger. He had held back from encountering the French in a weakly defended position, but his resolution to do battle went far beyond this one encounter. He reinforced his original strategy, sending out the earls of Salisbury, Derby and Northampton to destroy whatever they could. He also sent Sir John of Hainault, whose men stormed into the town of Origny, looting, burning and destroying. A Benedictine nunnery was looted, and the nuns themselves raped. Sir John then proceeded to Guise, which he burnt. In the castle at Guise was his daughter, Jeanne, married to the heir of the count of Blois, a Frenchman. Jeanne pleaded with her father to save the lands and heritage of the Blois family; but Sir John had his orders, and he carried them out mercilessly. Those who fled were hunted down in the woods by the lord of Fauquemont. More than a dozen villages and towns were utterly wasted by the English troops in die next two or three days. The destruction would have made Cardinal Bertrand faint again, but die result was precisely what Edward wanted. A messenger from Philip came to him at La Flamengrie, offering to do battle on a certain day, either 21 or 22 October, in a place unencumbered by rivers, walls or earthworks. It was now down to Edward to choose the site of the battle.

  He chose carefully, a place between La Flamengrie and La Capelle, on the evening of 22 October. The huge French army was just four miles away. He and his advisers had one major strategy in their minds: the tactics which had proved so effective at Dupplin Moor and Halidon Hill. They would invite the traditional charge of mounted men at them, and they would situate their archers on either side to destroy die charge. Edward's position had a dense wood on one flank, and a slope in front of him, which would naturally reduce the speed of the French attack. On the morning of the 23rd, the king and his men attended mass, and then set about the final preparations for the battle. All knights were ordered to dismount, regardless of the fighting practices of their respective leaders. Their horses and baggage were placed in a small wood behind the three battalions of men. Trenches were dug to protect the archers from a direct charge. Then the English and their allies formed up in three battalions. The first and largest, including the English household knights, was commanded by Edward himself. The second, composed mainly of men from the Low Countries, was commanded by the duke of Guelderland and Sir John of Hainault. The third was commanded by the duke of Brabant. On the wing was another force, commanded by Sir Lawrence Hastings (whom Edward now created earl of Pembroke), the earl of Warwick, Lord Berkeley and Sir John Molyns. The express purpose of this small battalion was to hold the rear, and to rally the Germans if they tried to desert. When all was ready, Edward mounted a humble palfrey and rode along the lines, with Robert d'Artois, Sir Reginald Cobham and Sir Walter Manny, making knights of valiant men and shouting out exhortations to all the troops not to dishonour themselves or him in the forthcoming battle. Then Edward and his companions took their position at the front of the English household knights, with banners held aloft, and pennons flying above each battalion.

  Nothing happened. Morning passed, noon came. The French army, restless, sent up such a great shout at the sight of a hare running across the ground in front of them that the count of Hainault at the rear of the army, thinking the attack was about to begin, knighted fourteen men in preparation for the battle. Froissart took great delight in noting that they were thereafter called 'Knights of the Hare'. Such was his embarrassment at this faux pas that the count withdrew his forces. A little later, a letter arrived from the king of Jerusalem and Sicily, supposedly telling Philip that he had consulted the stars to tell Philip's fortune and the prognostication was that Philip should never risk doing battle with Edward directly, for he would always lose. More serious were the discussions raging among the advisers gathered around Philip. The trenches dug in front of the English ranks were so deep, said some, that they would not be able to sustain their charge. Others argued that Philip was obliged to give battle, for it would be dishonourable to withdraw now. Dishonour or not, it was those who advocated withdrawal who prevailed. The danger to France was too great. Philip agreed, and ordered the building of his own defences to protect his army in their current position. There would be no battle.

  Edward was let d
own by both his enemy and by his allies. The latter assured him that they thought that he had won the moral victory, as Philip had gone back on his promise to fight. But Edward knew that that was not true. The victory was as much Philip's, for, seeing that no battle was to take place, the allies now began to withdraw. Edward had no option but to follow them. The only loser of the battle - the battle that never was — was Edward.

  Edward's lack of success was not obvious to those who were with him on the campaign, but his failure to make significant inroads into France was soon magnified by a string of other calamities. The Scots had recovered practically all of Edward's hard-won Scottish lands, including Cupar Castle, the county of Fife, and the strategically important castle at Perth, which Sir Thomas Ughtred was forced to surrender on 16 August after a hard siege. Worse, while Edward had been facing the French army in October 1339, his regency council in England had been facing the anger of parliament. High prices, high taxation and widespread suffering at the hands of Edward's purveyors had bubbled over into angry parliamentary representations. Warned of this, Edward had directed the head of the regency council, Archbishop Stratford, to grant concessions if necessary. The order that all debts were to be paid in full was to be relaxed, as was the confiscation of the property of felons. But such concessions did not go far enough. Although Stratford made no secret of the king's indebtedness, and at three hundred thousand pounds may even have exaggerated it, both houses of parliament refused to rush to Edward's financial rescue. The lords called for the abolition of higher wool duties. The commons supported them, and added a trenchant demand that, unless purveyors paid for what they took, they should be arrested as thieves. The king's purveyor-in-chief, William Wallingford, was arrested. Commissions of enquiry were set up into purveyance in various counties. Although the lords were still prepared to see further taxation imposed, the commons refused, preferring further consultation in the counties before any decision was made. Edward now had to face the opposition of his own parliament in addition to that of his enemies and the half-heartedness of his allies.

  Edward returned to the Low Countries, still bound by the agreements of the previous autumn not to leave until all his debts were paid. That now looked a very far-off time indeed, especially since the commons' refusal to pay a new subsidy towards the war. But Edward now proved adaptable to his changed and challenging circumstances, and entered into new negotiations with the new leaders of Flanders, in particular a wealthy merchant called Jacob van Artevelde.

  Van Artevelde's name remains famous to this day principally on account of his revolution. When Count Louis of Flanders professed his loyalty to his overlord, Philip of France, his people were starving, penniless and riotous. The reason was Edward's strategy of disposing of his wool at staples (designated places of trade). Flanders depended on English wool to make cloth. Starved of their raw material, and seeing more and more of their fellow cloth-workers drawn to England to ply their craft there, the great trading cities of Bruges, Ypres and Ghent had rapidly become places of violent dissent. First to tumble into revolution was Ghent, which saw an emergency committee of governors appointed in early January 1338. Five captains of the people, led by Jacob van Artevelde, took control of the city. Utterly ruthless, and unscrupulous in his use of violence to attain his ambitions, he soon destroyed any authority Count Louis had left. Bishop Burghersh immediately saw the opportunity to gain a diplomatic advantage, and quickly negotiated an agreement whereby Flanders would remain neutral during the forthcoming hostilities. Pleased with Burghersh's coup, Edward maintained good relations with the Flemings thereafter, hoping in due course to draw them also into his grand alliance, and closer than some of the more reluctant princes who had already contracted to serve him.

  Edward's favour persuaded the Flemings that their interests were best served by supporting England. Van Artevelde had the idea of going further than this, using English military support to gain control of parts of Flanders lost to the French after the battle of Cassel. He hatched a plot with Edward that he would attack Lille, Douai and Bethune while Edward's invasion was in progress. However, by the time van Artevelde made his move, Edward's army was already returning from La Flamengrie. The withdrawal of die allies from the battlefield relieved the pressure on Philip, and the Flemish, having declared war on the French, realised that they had jeopardised their position. Had van Artevelde at this stage sought reconciliation with France, he would have seen his own position swept away and his life forfeit for treason against his lord, the count of Flanders. His only option was to join the alliance completely, and become an ally of England.

  For Edward, this had one huge implication. If the Flemings broke their allegiance to the king of France, then automatically the whole country would fall under an interdict. They would also be obliged to pay to the pope a huge sum - two million florins (£333,333) - if they were to renounce allegiance. Such sums and such risks were beyond the townsmen who had seized power from the count. But there was a solution. If Edward were publicly to claim the tide King of France, then, in maintaining loyalty to him, they would not be breaking their oaths, nor would they be obliged to pay the fine.

  At Brussels in the first week of November a great tournament was proclaimed to celebrate the end of the campaign. Once more Edward indulged in costly gift-giving, as keen as ever to play the propaganda card of international largesse. But behind the scenes, serious negotiations were taking place about the Flemish situation and the claim to the throne of France. On 3 November Brabant and Flanders signed a treaty of mutual protection and trade. Edward was still hampered by debt, facing the opprobrium of the English commons in parliament, and worried about the situation in Scotland. He was probably compromised by the pope, though not in the same way as the Flemings.75 He also had to face the fact that a public claim to the throne of France would be practically impossible to put into effect, and this carried with it the danger of ridicule for claiming something which was inappropriate and embarrassing. Nevertheless, he wanted the Flemings on his side, and he agreed a treaty. It would leave him no option but to claim France as his own inheritance.

  The decision was not an easy one. Just how difficult it was can be seen by reflecting on Edward's previous claims. His mother had first claimed the throne on his behalf in 1328. Edward had never renounced this, but had been forced to do homage to Philip in 1329. As he is supposed to have said in the Vow of the Heron, he was a young man then, and the homage was not of his own will. But he had done homage again in 1331. Not until 1337 had the question been raised again, and though debated by the king's council and parliament from January that year it was only in the documents of 6 and 7 October that he actually styled himself 'King of France'. By the 19th, after an intervention by the papal emissaries, he had stepped back from claiming the throne and changed his strategy to objecting to Philip claiming it. This remained the position for more than twenty months, until his letter of 16 July 1339, in which he demonstrated to the cardinals why his claim was superior to Philip's. But still he did not actually claim the tide. There was a real reluctance, much more than a mere hesitancy. Contemporary writers stressed how much discussion and thought had gone into it. It was only when the Flemish councils insisted that they would not support Edward unless he claimed the throne that the decision was made.

  On 26 January 1340, Edward finally claimed the tide King of France. Although he had probably weighed up every consideration which had occurred to him, his advisers, his allies and his councils, he could have had no idea how significant this decision would be in English history. He radically altered the focus of the war from being a mere dispute about feudal rights in Aquitaine to an argument about the sovereignty of the whole of France and its dependencies. That argument — to which French historians gave the name 'the Hundred Years War' in the early nineteenth century - did indeed continue for more than a hundred years. In fact it may be argued it lasted for a hundred and fifty years, for although the final battle was fought in 1453, peace was not agreed until 1492. It has b
een described as 'perhaps the most important war in European history'. It was not until 1802 that George III finally dropped the formal ride 'King of France', after the French Revolution had destroyed the Bourbon monarchy. It is difficult to think of any other single initiative of an English king before Henry VIII's break with Rome which had such long-lasting, widespread and dramatic consequences.

  SEVEN

  Sluys and Tournai

  Before his birth it had been predicted that Edward would wear 'three crowns'. The prophecy probably meant the iron, silver and gold crowns of die Holy Roman Emperor, the title currently borne by Ludvig of Bavaria. Ludvig declined to give up his tide, but Edward was not to be outdone. He already had a good claim to wear the sovereign crown of England, and a claim on the overlordship of Scotland. To these he had added the vicarial crown. But even these three were not enough. Now, in the market square of Ghent, in Flanders, he went one better, exceeding the prophecy with a claim on a fourth crown: that of France.

  In reality only his English title imparted genuine sovereignty. Scotland was almost lost. The Holy Roman Empire had proved an expensive and weak ally, and its counts, margraves and dukes had shown themselves to be undutiful subjects. And Edward had not conquered so much as an inch of French soil. Those who witnessed his proclamation as king of France on 26 January, sitting on a makeshift throne in a marketplace, might have wondered if this was another gesture, as devoid of power as the last. But Edward's French claim was a deeply serious move, for by it he was able to accept overlordship of the Flemish people, and thereby 'conquer' a part of Philip's realm (in a manner of speaking) without having to pay or fight. In shifting his friendships away from the half-hearted German leaders towards Flanders, while keeping Brabant in die alliance, he had forged a much more powerful confederacy, for Flanders and Brabant had a definite interest in English affairs through their dependence on the English wool trade. An alliance with them had the potential to last.