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together, plying the business of arms in such knightly fashion that it was great marvel to behold. There they gained the passage of the hedge by force by their assault, whereat many a Frenchman is dismayed at heart, and they began to turn their backs and mount their horses. In many a place men cried with loud voice ‘Guyenne! St. George!’ What would you that I should tell you? The division of Normandy was discomfited that morning, and the Dauphin departed thence. There was many a man taken and slain, and the noble Prince fought right bravely.
Then the King of France approached, bringing up a great power, for to him went every man who wanted to acquit himself well. When the Prince saw him come he looked up to Heaven, cried mercy of Jesus Christ, and spoke thus: ‘Mighty Father, right so as I believe that Thou art King of Kings and didst willingly endure the death on the cross for all of us, to redeem us out of hell, Father, who art true God, true man, be pleased, by Thy most holy name, to guard me and my people from harm, even as Thou knowest, true God of heaven, that I have good right.’ Then the Prince straightway, when he had made his prayer, said: ‘Forward, forward, banner! Let each one take heed to his honour.’ There was a right sore battle, there you might see many men killed. This struggle lasted a long time until none so bold but was abashed at heart; but the Prince cried out aloud many times; ‘Forward, sirs, for God! Let us win this field if we set store by life and honour’. So much did the valiant Prince, that the victory turned to him, and his enemies fled. King John fought valiantly, and with him many good knights. But his strength helped him little, for the Prince made such onslaught that he was taken by force, and Philip also, his son, my Lord Jacques de Bourbon, and a good number of others, the Count of Eu, the courteous Count Charles of Artois, and Charles the good Count of Dammartin, and the good Count of Joigny; he of Tancarville also, the Count of Sarrebruck and Ventadour, the good Count of Sancerre. All these were taken that day, and many whose names I cannot give; but, by what I heard, there were fully sixty taken, counts and bold bannerets, and more than a thousand others, whose titles I cannot give. And, by what I heard, there died there full three thousand dead. May God receive their souls! Then did one see the English joyful, and they shouted in many a place: ‘Guyenne! St. George!’ There might you see the French scattered! For plunder you might see many an archer, many a knight, many a squire, running in every direction, to take prisoners on all sides. Thus were the French taken and slain that day.
Sirs, that time was one thousand three hundred and fifty and six years after the birth of Christ, and also, as I think, it was nineteen days on in September, the month before October, that this great battle happened so terribly. Pardon me if I relate it briefly, because I would narrate to you of this noble Prince, so valiant and bold, gallant in words and deeds. Then was King John brought before him; the Prince gave him hearty greeting, and gave thanks to Almighty God, and to do more honour to the King would help him to disarm. Then said the Prince: ‘Sweet sir, it is God’s doing and not ours: and we are bound to give thanks to Him therefore, and beseech that He would grant us His glory and pardon us the victory.’ Thus did they both speak kindly together. The English made merry. The Prince lodged that night in a little pavilion among the dead on the plain, and his men all around him. That night he slept but little. In the morning he broke camp, set out towards Bordeaux, and took with (him) their prisoner. At Bordeaux was such joy made that it was marvellous to behold. There the Prince stayed the whole winter. Then he dispatched his messenger to the noble King, his father, and to the Queen his mother, with the tidings how in what wise God had wrought for him, and asked that they should send him vessels wherein he might bring the King of France to England to do more honour to the land.

 
     

About the Author
     
    Bernard Cornwell was born in London, raised in Essex and worked for the BBC for eleven years before meeting Judy, his American wife. Denied an American work permit he wrote a novel instead and has been writing ever since. He and Judy divide their time between Cape Cod and Charleston, South Carolina.
     
    www.bernardcornwell.net
     

Also by Bernard Cornwell
     
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