Lord Montacute, who was one of the barons of Edward’s suite, developed a great admiration for his young sovereign’s precocious wisdom and no less precocious firmness. Montacute himself was twenty-eight.
‘I think we shall have a good king,’ he said. ‘It is a pleasure to serve him.’
From then on he was always by Edward’s side, lending him counsel and support.
In the end, the young King had his way. Philippe of Valois’ advisers also wanted peace and, above all, to bring the negotiations to a conclusion. The important thing was that the King of England had come. They had not assembled the whole kingdom and half Europe merely to afford them the spectacle of the negotiations ending in failure.
‘Very well, let him render merely simple homage,’ said Philippe VI to his chancellor, as if it were of no greater significance than a decision about some dance figure, or tournament entry. ‘I think he’s quite right; in his place, I should no doubt do the same.’
And so it was that Edward III advanced up the cathedral, which was packed with lords right into the side chapels, wearing his sword, his royal mantle, embroidered with leopards, which fell in long folds from his shoulders, and his crown. His fair eyelashes were lowered and excitement had enhanced the usual pallor of his face. The heavy adornments made his extreme youth all the more striking. He looked like an archangel; and all the women felt their hearts go out to him, indeed fell in love with him on the spot.
Two English bishops and ten barons walked behind him.
The King of France, his mantle embroidered with lilies, sat enthroned in the choir, a little higher than the kings, queens and sovereign princes about him, whose crowns formed a sort of pyramid. He rose with majestic courtesy to receive his vassal, who came to a halt three paces from him.
A great ray of sunlight was shining through a window and touching them as if it were a sword from Heaven.
Messire Mille de Noyers, the Chamberlain, a master of Parliament and a master of the Exchequer, stepped forward from the crowd of peers and great officers and took up his position between the two sovereigns. He was a grave-looking man of about sixty, who seemed not the least impressed either by his state robes or by the part assigned him. In a loud, clear voice he said: ‘Sire Edward, the King, our Master and most puissant Lord, does not receive you here in testimony of all the rights he holds by law in Gascony and Agenais, as King Charles IV held them by law, and which are not included in the homage.’
Then Henry de Burghersh, Edward’s chancellor, stepped forward to stand beside Mille de Noyers and replied: ‘Sire Philippe, our Lord and Master, the King of England, or any other for him or by him, renounces none of the rights he holds in the Duchy of Guyenne and its appurtenances, and declares that the King of France acquires no new rights whatsoever by this homage.’
These were the highly ambiguous formulas that had been agreed upon; they defined nothing, they settled nothing. Each word had a double meaning.
The French wanted it understood that the borderlands, which had been seized in the previous reign during the campaign commanded by Charles of Valois, were to remain directly attached to the Crown of France. This was a confirmation of the de facto position.
On the English side, the phrase ‘any other for him or by him’ was an allusion to the King’s minority and to the existence of the Council of Regency; but the ‘by him’ might in the future equally well apply to the Seneschal of Guyenne or any other royal lieutenant. As for the expression ‘no new rights’, it could be taken to signify the ratification of the rights already acquired, including those granted by the treaty of 1327. But it was not said explicitly.
These declarations, like every treaty of peace or alliance between nations throughout history, depended for their application entirely on the good or bad will of the Governments concerned. For the moment, the fact that the two princes had come face to face was evidence of a mutual desire to live in amity.
Chancellor Burghersh unrolled a parchment to which was attached the seal of England and read out in the vassal’s name:
‘“Sire, I become your man of the Duchy of Guyenne and its appurtenances, which I claim to hold from you as Duke of Guyenne and Peer of France in accordance with the Treaties of Peace made between your predecessors and ours, and because of what we and our ancestors, Kings of England and Dukes of Guyenne, have done in the name of the said duchy for your predecessors, the Kings of France.”’
Then the Bishop handed Mille de Noyers the parchment he had just read. It had been much shortened in the drafting when the liegeman’s homage was cut out.
Mille de Noyers said in reply: ‘Sire, you become the man of my Lord the King of France for the Duchy of Guyenne and its appurtenances which you recognize that you as Duke of Guyenne and Peer of France hold from him, and in accordance with the Treaties of Peace made between his predecessors, Kings of France, and yours, and because of what you and your ancestors, Kings of England and Dukes of Guyenne, have done for his predecessors, Kings of France, in the name of the said duchy.’
All this would furnish splendid matter for dispute on the day the two countries fell out.
Then Edward III said: ‘In truth.’
And Mille de Noyers replied with these words: ‘The King, our Sire, receives you, subject to the protestations and reservations above stated.’
Edward stepped forward three paces to his suzerain. He took off his gloves and handed them to Lord Montacute. He reached out his slender white hands and put them in the large palms of the King of France. Then the two kings kissed.
It was remarked that Philippe VI did not need to bend down far to reach his young cousin’s face. The chief difference between them lay in Philippe’s robustness which made him seem so imposing. But there could be no doubt that the King of England, who was still growing, would develop into a fine figure of a man.
The bells in the higher tower began pealing again. Everyone was pleased. Peers and dignitaries nodded to each other in satisfaction. King John of Bohemia, behind his handsome auburn beard that spread down across his chest, looked noble and thoughtful. Count Guillaume the Good and his brother Jean of Hainaut exchanged smiles with the English lords. Truly it was a good deed that had just been done.
What was the use of quarrelling, growing angry, threatening, bearing plaints to Parliament, confiscating fiefs, besieging towns, fighting to the death with great waste of gold, toil and the blood of knights, when with a little goodwill on all sides such admirable agreement could be reached?
The King of England took his place on the throne prepared for him a little below that of the King of France. It remained now only to hear mass.
Yet Philippe VI seemed still to be waiting for something. He turned to the peers who were sitting in the stalls and looked for Robert of Artois, whose coronet stood out higher than all the rest.
Robert’s eyes were half shut. Though it was pleasantly cool in the cathedral, he was wiping the sweat from his brow with his red-gloved hand. His heart was beating very fast at this moment. He had not realized that the dye was running from his glove and there was a bloody streak across his face.
Suddenly he left his stall; he had made up his mind.
‘Sire,’ he cried, coming to a halt in front of Philippe’s throne, ‘since all your vassals are here assembled …’
A few moments before, Mille de Noyers and Bishop Burghersh had spoken in clear firm voices, audible throughout the great building. But when Robert spoke he made them sound like birds twittering.
‘… and since everyone has a right to your justice,’ he went on, ‘it is justice I come to ask of you.’
‘Monseigneur of Beaumont, my cousin, who has done you wrong?’ Philippe VI asked gravely.
‘I have been wronged, Sire, by your vassal Dame Mahaut of Burgundy who by guile