Persons and pictures from the histories of France and England from the Norman conquest to the fall of the Stuarts |
The Countess of Montfort;
OR,
THE RELIEF OF HENNEBON.
1346. |
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 | Persons and pictures from the histories of France and England |  |
The Countess of Montfort;
OR,
THE RELIEF OF HENNEBON.
1346.
I wish now to return to the Countess of Montfort, who possessed the courage of a man,
and the heart of a lion.
Froissart—Chronicles, VOL. I. c. 72.
The age of knight-errantry, as we read of it, and in some
degree believe, as recited in the Morte d'Arthur, and the other
British or Breton romances, had never any real existence more
than its heroes, Lancelot du Lac, Tristran le Blanc, or Pellinant
or Pellinore, or any of the heroes of “the table round;”
the very date of whose alleged existence, centuries before chivaldry
or feudalism was heard of, precludes the possibility of
their identity.
The age of chivalry, however, had a real being; it was in
very truth “the body of a time, its form and pressure;” and
that was the age of Edward the Third and the Black Prince of
England, of the Captal de Buch and Sire Eustache de Ribeaumont,
of Bertrand du Guesclin and Charles of Luxemburg, the
valiant blind king of Bohemia, and those who won or died at
Crecy or Poictiers.
That was the age when knights shaped their conduct to the
legends which they read in the old romances, which were to
them the code of honor, bravery, and virtue.
That was the age when “Dieu, son honneur et sa dame,” was
the war-cry and the creed of every noble knight, when noblesse
of that age I have a legend, reproduced from the old chronicles
of old Froissart, so redolent of the truth, the vigor, and the
fresh raciness of those old days, when manhood was still held
in more esteem than money, and the person of a man something
more valuable than his purse, that I think it may be held
worthy to arrest attention, even in these days of sordid deference
to the sovereign dollar, of stolid indifference to everything
in humanity that is of a truth good, or great, or noble.
“I wish now to return,” says Froissart, in a fine passage, a
portion of which I have chosen as my motto, “to the Countess
of Montfort, who possessed the courage of a man, and the
heart of a lion.”
Previous to this, the veracious chronicler of the antique wars
of France and England has related, how by the death of the
Duke of Brittany, who left no issue, the ducal coronet of that
province, which, together with Normandy and Anjou, had
always since the Norman conquest maintained relations with
the crown of England, was left in dispute between John Count
de Montfort, the half-brother of the late duke, who had married
the sister of Lewis Earl of Flanders, and a daughter of the
late duke's brother-german, who was wedded to Charles, younger
son of Guy Count de Blois, by the sister of Philip of Valois,
the reigning king of France.
With which of these the absolute right rested, is not a matter
of much moment; as it is with the romance of feudalism,
not the accuracy of heraldie genealogies, that I am now dealing.
Nor, were it important, have I at hand the means of deciding
certainly; since the solution of the question depends on facts
not clearly presented, as regarding the seniority of the brothers,
the precise degrees of consanguinity, and the local laws of the
French provinces.
Both parties appear to have relied on alleged declarations,
each in his own favor, by the late duke, John of Brittany.
The Bretons it would seem, almost to a man, sided with
the Count de Montfort; and this would in these days go very
far towards settling the question.
King Philip of France naturally took part with his niece, the
wife of a great feudatory of his crown; Edward the Third of
England, as naturally, favored the opposite claimant; expecting
doubtless that he should receive the count's homage as his
vassal for Brittany, in case of his recovering his duchy by the
aid of British arms.
The Count de Montfort was summoned before the king and
peers of France to answer to the charge of having already done
homage to the English king, as suzerain of a French province—
a charge, by the way, which he absolutely denied—and to
prove his title to the duchy before Parliament. To their decision
he expressed his willingness to defer, and offered to abide
by their judgment; but the same night, suspecting ill faith on
the part of his rival and the French king, and fearing treachery,
he withdrew secretly into his own duchy, of which he
had already gained absolute possession, holding all its strong
places with the free consent of the lords, the burgesses, the
clergy, and the commonalty of the chief towns, and being
everywhere addressed as Duke of Brittany.
After the departure of the count from Paris, the Parliament,
almost as a matter of course, decided against him—firstly par
contumace, or as we should now say, by default—secondly, for
treason, as having done homage to a foreign liege lord—and
thirdly, because the Countess of Blois was the daughter of the
next brother of the late duke, while the Count John de Montfort
was the youngest of the family.
I may observe here, that it is more than doubtful whether the
fact was positively denied by Montfort himself, and by his other
historians; and furthermore, that the descent to the female line
is very questionable in any French province or principality, the
Salique law, adverse to the succession of females, prevailing in
that country.
Be this, however, as it may, the princes and peers of France,
considering that the dispute between the rival claimants had
resolved itself into a question between the rival crowns of
France and England, which it virtually had, espoused to a man
the party of Charles of Blois.
Thereupon, the Dukes of Normandy, of Alençon, of Burgundy,
of Bourbon, the Lord Lewis of Spain, the Constable of
France, the Count de Blois, and the Viscount de Rohan, with
all the princes and barons present, undertook to maintain the
rights of Charles; entered Brittany with powerful forces; and,
after some sharp fighting, shut the Count of Montfort up in
Nantes, where he was shortly afterwards delivered to the enemy,
not without suspicion of treachery on the part of Sir Hervè de
Léon, his late chief adviser, whom he had blamed severely for
retreating too readily into the city, before the troops of Charles
de Blois.
John de Montfort hereupon nearly disappears from history;
Froissart supposing that he died a prisoner in the tower of the
Louvre. But it appears that, after three years' confinement, he
made good his escape to England, and then, not before, did homage
to Edward; who aided him with a force under William
de Bohun, Earl of Northampton, to recover his duchy, which
his sudden death, after an unsuccessful attempt on Quimperlè,
finally prevented. This is, however, in anticipation of the current
of history, and more especially of those events which it is
my purpose to illustrate in this sketch; for, from the very
of the duchy were administered with the most distinguished
energy, ability, and success by his wife, sister of Lewis Count
of Flanders, a race noble and brave by descent and nature,
“the Countess of Montfort, who possessed the courage of a
man and the heart of a lion.”
“She was in the city of Rennes,” says her historian, “when
she heard of the seizure of her lord; and, notwithstanding the
great grief she had at heart, she did all she could to reanimate
her friends and soldiers. Showing them a young child, called
John, after his father, she said, `Oh, gentlemen, do not be cast-down
for what we have suffered by the loss of my lord; he
was but one man. Look at my little child here; if it please
God, he shall be his restorer, and shall do you much service. I
have plenty of wealth, which I will distribute among you, and
will seek out for such a leader as may give you a proper confidence.'
When the Countess had, by these means, encouraged
her friends and soldiers at Rennes, she visited all the other
towns and fortresses, taking her young son John with her. She
addressed and encouraged them in the same manner as she had
done at Rennes. She strengthened her garrisons both with
men and provisions, paid handsomely for everything, and gave
largely wherever she thought it would have a good effect. She
then went to Hennebon, near the sea, where she and her son
remained all that winter, frequently visiting her garrisons, whom
she encouraged and paid liberally.”
Truly a noble woman—a true wife, a true mother, a true
princess of her principality—she sought no woman's rights, but
did a woman's duty—her duty as her absent husband's representative—her
duty as her orphaned son's protectress—her
duty as her unsovereigned people's sovereign lady. Nobility
obligation.
Much as I contemn women whom a morbid craving after
notoriety and excitement urges to grasp the attire, the arms,
the attributes of the other sex; in the same degree do I honor,
in the same degree admire and laud, the true-hearted woman,
the true heroine, who not forcing or assailing, but obeying the
claims of her nature, compels her temper to put on strength
instead of softness, steels herself to do what she shrinks from
doing, not because she arrogates the power of doing it better
than the man could do it, but because she has no man to whom
she might confide the doing of it.
The hen fighting the sparrow-hawk careless of self for her
defenceless brood, is a spectacle beautiful to behold, filling
every heart with genuine sympathy, because her act itself is
genuine; is part and parcel of her sex, her circumstances, her
maternity; in a word, is the act of the God of nature. The
hen gaffed and cropped and fighting mains against the males of
her own family in the beastly and bloody cock-pit, is a spectacle
that would make the lowest frequenter of such vile arenas shudder
with disgust, would wring from his lips an honest cry of
shame.
Margaret of Anjou, in Hexham forest awing the bandit into
submission by the undaunted royalty of her maternal eye—
the Countess of Montfort, reanimating her faint-hearted garrisons,
even by donning steel harness for “her young child John”
—Elizabeth of England, a-horse at Tilbury, for her Protestantism
and her people—Maria Theresa, waving her sabre from the
guarded mount to the four quarters of heaven in the maintenance
of her kingdom and her cause—Marie Antoinette of
France, defying her accusers at the misnamed judgment seat,
fearless of her butchers at the guillotine—these are the true
mastering the weakness of their sexual nature, through the
might of their maternal nature—these are the hens championing
their broods against the falcon.
But of this day of cant and fustian, the man-women, not
heroines, called by no duty to the attire or the attributes of
men, but panting indelicately for the notoriety, the fierce, passionate
excitement of the political, nay! for aught that appears,
of the martial arena—these are the hens, if they could but see
themselves as they see effeminate, unsexed men, gaffed and
cropped and fed to do voluntary battle in the sinks and
slaughterhouses of humanity, against the gamecocks of their
species.
The Lady Macbeths of a falser period, who fancy that, by
proving themselves so much less the woman, they can shine out
so much more the man.
“But I wish now to return,” with my old friend Froissart,
“to the Countess de Montfort, who possessed the courage of a
man, and the heart of a lion,” and I will add—the soul, the
instincts, and the excellence of a true woman.
During the winter succeeding the seizure of her lord, and
the treason of Sir Hervè de Léon, who had attached himself to
the Count de Blois, she remained peacefully occupied in Hennebon,
in the education of her young child John; and how she
educated him was seen his after career, as a knight valorous
and gentle, a prince beloved and popular.
But with the summer there came strife and peril, and protection
became paramount to everything beside.
During the winter, while the Countess de Montfort lay tranquil
in Hennebon, the Count Charles de Blois lay as tranquilly
in Nantes, which—as I have before related—had been treasonably
surrendered to him by Sir Hervè de Léon and the citizens
that the swallows were disporting themselves in the summer
air, the cuckoos calling by the river-sides, now that armies
could hold themselves in the fields with plenty of all sorts
around them, he summoned to him all those great princes of
the royal blood, and all the noble barons and valiant knights
who had fought with him in the last campaign. And, mindful
of their promises, they drew all their forces to a head, and
came with a great array of spears of France, and Genoese
cross-bowmen, and Spanish men-at-arms, under the leading of
the Lord Lewis d'Espagne, to re-conquer for him all that remained
unconquered of the fair land of Brittany.
During the last year the strong Castle of Chateauceux had
been won by them by sheer dint of arms, and Nantes, the capital
of the province, by the vileness of the traitor Hervè de
Léon; the next strongest place to these was the city of Rennes,
which had been put into complete readiness for war by its late
lord, and further fortified by the countess, who had intrusted it
to Sir William de Cadoudal, a brave Breton knight, and in all
probability an ancestor of the no less valiant George, of the
same patronymic, the great Vendean chief and victim of Napoleon,
co-murdered with the princely Duc d'Enghien.
This town the French lords surrounded on all sides, and assailed
it with fierce and continual skirmishes at the barricades,
and wrought it much damage by the persistency of their onslaughts;
but still the defenders defended themselves so
valiantly, resolute not to lose their liege-lady's city, that the
besiegers lost more than they gained—for many lives were lost
on both sides, but far most on the French part; and yet more
wounded—nor could they amend it anything; nor win a
tower, nor force a gate, though they made assaults daily, and
plied the walls from mighty engines, with great store of artillery.
Now, when the Countess of Montfort heard how the French
lords had returned into Brittany, and were laying waste the
country and besieging her strong city, she sent one of the best
of all her knights, Sir Amauri de Clisson, who should repair
straightway to King Edward, in England, to entreat his assistance,
upon condition that her young son should take for
his wife one of the daughters of the king, and give her the title
of Duchess of Brittany.
And the king, well pleased to strengthen his claim on that
fair province, readily assented, and ordered Sir Walter Manny,
one of the prowest and most skilled in war of all his knights,
to gather together so many men-at-arms as he should with Sir
Amauri's advice judge proper; and to take with him three or
four thousand of the best archers in England, and to take ship
immediately to the succor of the Countess of Montfort.
And Sir Walter embarked with Sir Amauri de Clisson, and
the two brothers Sir Lewis and Sir John de Land-Halle, the
Haze of Brabant, Sir Herbert de Fresnoi, Sir Alain de Sirefonde,
and many others, leaders of note; and men-at-arms not
a few; and archers of England six thousand, the best men in
the realm, whose backs no man had seen. And they took
their ships, earnest to aid the countess with all speed; but they
were overtaken by a mighty storm and tempest, and forced to
remain at sea forty days, so that much ill fell out, and more
would have befallen, but that it was not to be otherwise in the
end, but that the countess should hold the duchy as her own,
and her son's for ever.
In the meantime, the Count Charles of Blois pressed closer
and closer to the town, and harassed the people sorely, so that
the gentlemen and soldiers being but a few, and the rogue
townsmen many, when they saw that no succors came nor
seemed like to come, they grew impatient; and when Sir William
rose on him by night, and cast him into prison; and so basely
and treacherously yielded up the place to the Count Charles,
on condition only that the men of the Montfort party should
have no let or hindrance to go whither they would, with their
effects and followings, under assurance.
Then Sir William de Cadoudal joined the Countess de Montfort
where she abode in Hennebon, but where she had yet no
tidings from the King Edward of England, or from Sir Amauri
de Clisson, or any whom she had sent in his company.
And she had with her in Hennebon the Bishop of Léon, the
uncle of that traitor Sir Hervè de Léon, Sir Yves de Tresiquidi,
the Lord of Landreman, Sir William de Cadoudal, the Governor
of Guincamp, the two brothers of Quirich, Sir Oliver, and
Sir Henry de Spinefort, and many others.
Now the Count de Blois well foresaw that the countess once
delivered into his hands with the child John de Montfort, the
war was at an end for ever; and, without tarrying at Rennes
when he had taken it, he marched direct upon Hennebon, to
take it if he might by assault, and if not, to sit down before it;
and the number of his host without was, as by thousands to
hundreds of those within; and there were among them many
great names for valor and for prowess—but there was that
within which without was lacking, the indomitable heart, the
immortal love of a true woman.
It was a little before noon on the 20th day of May, 1342,
when the vanguard of that great host might be seen from the
walls of Hennebon; and a beautiful sight it was to see them
come; to behold the pennons and pennoncells, the helmets
and habergeons, the plumes and surcoats, flashing and shimmering
in the sunshine, and waving in the light airs; and such
numbers of men-at-arms that the eye might not compass them;
and princely leaders, so that they seemed like a moving forest,
so upright did they hold their lances. Then came the dense
array, on foot, of the Genoese cross-bows, in their plate coats of
Italian steel, with terrible arbalasts; and the unrivalled infantry
of Spain, a solid column, bristling like the Greek phalanx of
old, with serried lines of spears.
The earth shook under the thick thunder of their horse-hoofs;
the air was alive with the clash and clang of their steel
harness; and all the echoes rang with the shrill flourishes of
their trumpets, and the stormy roar of their kettle-drums.
But no terror did such sights or sounds strike to the hearts
of that undaunted garrison—the deafening clang of the alarm-bells,
the tremendous toesin answered the kettle-drums and
clarions; and all within the city armed themselves in hot haste.
The flower of the French and Spanish chivalry galloped up to
skirmish at the barriers, and the iron bolts and quarrels of the
Genoese cross-bows fell like a hail-storm, even within the ramparts.
But ere that fierce storm had endured many minutes, up
grated the portcullises, down rattled the drawbridges, and as
the barriers were withdrawn—banners and spears, and barbed
destriers and knightly burgonets poured out from all the city
gates at once, and burst in full career upon the skirmishers of
the besiegers; then many a knight was borne to earth, and the
chivalry of France and Spain fared ill before the lances of the
Bretons; for they could not bide the brunt, but scattered back,
dismantled and discomfited, to their main body; while the
maces and two-handed glaives and battle-axes of the men-at-arms
did bloody execution on the Genoese, who were not armed
to encounter the charge of steel-clad horse, and to whom no
quarter was given, not only that they were foreigners and
looked for nor received mercy.
At vesper time, on both sides they retired; the French in
great fury at their repulse, the garrison of Hennebon well content
with themselves and with that they had done.
On the next day again, with the first rays of the sun, “the
French made so very vigorous an attack on the barriers, that
those within made a sally. Among them were some of their
bravest, who continued the engagement till noon with great
courage, so that the assailants retired a little to the rear, carrying
with them numbers of their wounded, and leaving behind
them a great many dead.”
But not for that had they any respite or relaxation; for the
lords of the French were so enraged at the dishonor which
had thus twice befallen their arms, that they ordered them up
a third time to the attack, in greater numbers than before,
swearing that they would win the walls ere the sun should set;
but for all their swearing they did not win that day, nor for all
their fighting; for those of the town were earnest to make a
handsome defence, combating under the eyes of their heroic
chatelaine; and so stoutly held they out, that the assailants
sent still to the host for succors till their last men were in the
field, and none were left, with the baggage and the tents, but a
sort of horseboys, scullions, and such rascals.
And still from the hot noontide, till the evening breeze began
to blow in cool from the sea, the din of arms, and shouts and
war-cries, and the clamor of the wounded, rose from the barricades;
and many gallant deeds of arms were done on that day
on both sides, and many doughty blows given and received;
but still the Lord Charles and his men made no way, but lost
more than they gained.
And in the end the los and glory of the day, for the most
daring deed, rested with a woman.
For the countess on that day had clothed herself cap-a-pie in
armor, and mounted on a war-horse; though ever till that day
she had been tender and delicate among women, of slender
symmetry and rare soft beauty, with large blue eyes and a
complexion of snow and golden tresses; and she galloped up
and down the streets encouraging the inhabitants to defend
themselves honorably—for she had no thought yet but to comfort
them and kindle their spirit by her show of example; nor
as yet did she know her own courage, or the strength that
resides in the heart of a true woman.
“She had already,” to quote old Froissart, whose account is
here so spirited and graphic in his own words, that I prefer giving
the narration in that old quaint language, to adding anything,
or expanding the striking relation of facts too strong to
bear expansion, “she had already ordered the ladies and other
women to cut short their kirtles, carry the stones to the ramparts,
and throw them on their enemies. She had pots of quick-lime
brought to her for the same purpose. That same day the
countess performed a very gallant deed: she ascended a high
tower, to see how her people behaved; and, having observed
that all the lords and others of the army had quitted their
tents, and were come to the assault, she immediately descended,
mounted her horse, armed as she was, collected three hundred
horsemen, sallied out at their head by another gate that was
not attacked, and galloping up to the tents of her enemies, cut
them down, and set them on fire, without any loss, for there
were only servants and boys, who fled upon her approach. As
soon as the French saw their camp on fire, and heard the cries,
they immediately hastened thither, bawling out, `Treason!
Treason!' so that none remained at the assault. The countess
not reënter Hennebon without great risk, took another road,
leading to the castle of Brest, which is situated near. The
Lord Lewis of Spain, who was marshal of the army, had gone
to his tents, which were on fire; and, seeing the countess and
her company galloping off as fast as they could, he immediately
pursued them with a large body of men-at-arms. He
gained so fast upon them, that he came up with them, and
wounded or slew all that were not well mounted; but the
countess, and part of her company, made such speed that they
arrived at the castle of Brest, where they were received with
great joy.
“On the morrow, the lords of France who had lost their
tents and provisions took counsel, if they should not make huts
of the branches and leaves of trees near to the town, and were
thunderstruck when they heard that the countess herself had
planned and executed this enterprise; while those of the town,
not knowing what was become of her, were very uneasy; for
they were full five days without gaining any intelligence of her.
The countess, in the meanwhile, was so active that she assembled
from five to six hundred men, well armed and mounted,
and with them set out about midnight from Brest, and came
straight to Hennebon about sunrise, riding along one side of
the enemy's host, until she came to the gates of the castle,
which were opened to her: she entered with great triumph and
sounds of trumpets and other warlike instruments, to the astonishment
of the French, who began arming themselves to make
another assault upon the town, while those within mounted the
walls to defend it. This attack was very severe, and lasted till
past noon. The French lost more than their opponents; and
then the lords of France put a stop to it, for their men were
killed and wounded to no purpose. They next retreated, and
the castle of Aurai, which King Arthur had built and
inclosed. It was determined that he should march thither, accompanied
by the Duke of Bourbon, the Earl of Blois, Sir
Robert Bertrand, Marshal of France; and that Sir Hervè de
Léon was to remain before Hennebon, with a part of the
Genoese under his command, and the Lord Lewis of Spain, the
Viscount of Rohan, with the rest of the Genoese and Spaniards.
They sent for twelve large machines which they had left at
Rennes, to cast stones and annoy the castle of Hennebon; for
they perceived that they did not gain any ground by their
assaults. The French divided their army into two parts: one
remained before Hennebon, and the other marched to besiege
the castle of Aurai. The Lord Charles of Blois went to this
last place, and quartered all his division in the neighborhood.”
With the Count Charles de Blois we have naught to do,
save in so much as his doings or sufferings have to do absolutely
with the Countess de Montfort; I shall leave him, therefore, to
win or lose the castle of Aurai, under the fortune of war, while
I shall follow the chances of that noble chatelaine, the countess,
who remained, as we shall see, not only beset by enemies without,
but by traitors within, the walls of Hennebon.
It may be as well to state here, however, that the Count
Charles of Blois did not take Aurai, whether it was built by
King Arthur or no—which, despite Dom Froissart, is rather
more than doubtful—any more than the Lord Lewis d'Espagne
took Hennebon, which he came perilous nigh to doing, yet had
to depart frustrate.
So soon as the French host had divided itself into two parts,
after the taste it had received of the quality of the Breton garrison
within the walls of Hennebon, and of the noble character
of its heroic chatelaine, they made no attempt any more to
sooth they dared not, but day and night they plied those
dreadful engines hurling in mighty beams of wood, steel-headed
and ponderous iron bars, and vast blocks of stone, shaking the
walls and ramparts, wheresoever they struck them, so that the
defenders knew not at what moment they would be breached,
and the city laid open to the pitiless foe.
And now the hearts of all, save of that delicate and youthful
lady, failed them; and if she had set them before a fair
example of chivalric daring, she set them now a fairer of constancy,
more heroical than any action; of feminine endurance,
and fortitude, and faith, grander than any daring.
The false bishop, Guy de Léon, contrived to leave the town
on some false pretext, and hold a parley with his traitor kinsman
Hervè de Léon—but for whose villany that bright young
dame never had cased her gentle form in steel, nor wielded the
mortal sword in warfare. Where traitors are on both sides,
treason is wont to win; and so it well nigh proved in this instance;
for the bishop returned with offers of free pardon to
the garrison, and passports to go whither they would, with their
effects unhurt, so they would yield the town to Sir Hervè.
And, though the countess perceived what was on the wind,
and besought the lords of Brittany with tears and sighs, that
made her but more lovely, “for the love of herself, and of her
son; friendless but for them; for the love of God himself, to
have pity on her, and faith in heaven, that they should receive
succor within three days,” it seemed that she could not prevail.
Nor was there not cause for apprehension; since it was clear
to all that the ramparts could not stand one more day's breaching;
and, those once battered down, Hennebon and all within
it were at the mercy of the merciless.
The bishop was eloquent, and fear and hope more eloquent
but those of three, Sir Yves de Tresiquidi, Sir Waleran de
Landreman, and the governor of Guincamp, were won over to
yield up the city to Sir Hervè; and even those three doubted.
None so hopeful but to trust that to-morrow's conference would
be final; none so strong in courage as to dare support one
other day's assault.
All passed the night in doubt and fear; the countess alone
in brave hope, and earnest prayer.
The day dawned, and—as men crowded to the ramparts,
gazing towards the camp and the plain where Sir Hervè might
be seen approaching with his Genoese, closing up to the town
to receive possession—the countess arose from her knees, and
she alone of all in Hennebon, turned her eyes towards the sea;
for she alone, of all in Hennebon, had faith in her God.
The sea! the sea! it was white with sails, from the mouth
almost of the haven, to the dark line of the horizon, flashing
to the new-risen sun with lance-heads and clear armor, fluttering
with pennoncelles and banners, blazing with embroidered
surcoats and emblazoned shields.
And the lady flung her casement wide, and gazed out on her
people, in the market-place, along the ramparts, in the tumultuous
streets, with dishevelled hair, and disordered raiment, and
clasped hands and flushed cheeks, and eyes streaming with
tears of joy—“God and St. George!” she cried, in tones that
rang to every heart like the notes of a silver trumpet—“God
and St. George! an English fleet! an English fleet! It is the
aid of God!”
And, as the people crowded to the seaward bastions, and saw
the great ships rushing in before a leading wind, with their
sails all emblazoned with Edward's triple leopards; and the
banners and shields of the English Manny, and of their own
red cross blazing, above all, on its argent field, they, too,
took up the cry.
“God and St. George! God and St. George! It is the aid
of England! it is the aid of God!”
“Thereafter,” adds my author, whom I quote once more, for
the last time, “when the Governor of Guincamp, Sir Yves de
Tresiquidi, Sir Waleran de Landreman, and the other knights,
perceived this succor coming to them, they told the bishop that
he might break up his conference, for they were not now inclined
to follow his advice. The bishop, Sir Guy de Léon, replied,
`My lords, then our company shall separate; for I will go to
him who seems to me to have the clearest right.' Upon which
he sent his defiance to the lady, and to all her party, and left
the town to inform Sir Hervè de Leon how matters stood. Sir
Hervè was much vexed at it, and immediately ordered the
largest machine that was with the army to be placed as near
the castle as possible, strictly commanding that it should never
cease working day or night. He then presented his uncle to
the Lord Lewis of Spain, and to the Lord-Charles of Blois, who
both received him most courteously. The countess, in the
meantime, prepared, and hung with tapestry, halls and chambers,
to lodge handsomely the lords and barons of England
whom she saw coming, and sent out a noble company to meet
them. When they were landed, she went herself to give them
welcome, respectfully thanking each knight and squire, and led
them into the town and castle, that they might have convenient
lodging; on the morrow she gave them a magnificent entertainment.
All that night, and the following day, the large
machine never ceased from casting stones into the town.
“After the entertainment, Sir Walter Manny, who was captain
of the English, inquired of the countess the state of the
window, he said, he had a great inclination to destroy the large
machine which was placed so near, and much annoyed them,
if any would second him. Sir Yves de Tresiquidi replied, that
he would not fail him in this his first expedition; as did also
the Lord of Landreman. They went to arm themselves, and
sallied quietly out of one of the gates, taking with them three
hundred archers; who shot so well, that those who guarded
the machine fled; and the men-at-arms who followed the
archers, falling upon them, slew the greater part, and broke
down and cut in pieces this large machine. They then dashed
in among the tents and huts, set fire to them, and killed and
wounded many of their enemies before the army was in motion.
After this, they made a handsome retreat. When the enemy
were mounted and armed, they galloped after them like madmen.
Sir Walter Manny, seeing this, exclaimed, `May I never
be embraced by my mistress and dear friend, if I enter castle or
fortress before I have unhorsed one of these gallopers.' He
then turned round, and pointed his spear towards the enemy, as
did the two brothers of Lande-Halle, le Haze de Brabant, Sir
Yves de Tresiquidi, Sir Waleran de Landreman, and many
others, and spitted the first coursers. Many legs were made to
kick the air. Some of their own party were also unhorsed.
The conflict became very serious, for reinforcements were perpetually
coming from the camp; and the English were obliged
to retreat towards the castle, which they did in good order until
they came to the castle ditch: there the knights made a stand,
until all their men were safely returned. Many brilliant actions,
captures, and rescues might have been seen. Those of the
town who had not been of the party to destroy the large
machine now issued forth, and ranging themselves upon the
banks of the ditch, made such good use of their bows, that they
The chiefs of the army, perceiving they had the worst of it, and
that they were losing men to no purpose, sounded a retreat, and
made their men retire to the camp. As soon as they were gone,
the townsmen reëntered, and went each to his quarters. The
Countess of Montfort came down from the castle to meet them,
and with a most cheerful countenance, kissed Sir Walter Manny,
and all his companions, one after the other, like a noble and
valiant dame.”
Such was the heroism of that true lady. And so was her
heroism and her faith rewarded. Hennebon was relieved; and
the Count Charles de Blois soon died, but died not Duke of
Brittany.
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