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“This whole land of France is the king’s by right. We shall prove this with our bodies before heaven and all of Christendom, and the just Judge will look on no matter where the battle is waged. Why should Bradwardine split straws as to location?”
    “ In truth,” said Chandos, “the whole of France does belong to our sovereign by right of inheritance through his mother. God keep the English from having such sickly sons as the French! Their old king, Philip the Fair, had three sons; and all of them died without begetting so much as a halfwit manchild to wear the crown after them. But their sister Isabella, she was more valiant than them all—albeit with the malice of Satan in her breast! She mingled her blood with the Plantagenets, and bore a son the like of which France has never seen. A second David, a second Alexander, a second Julius Caesar! This son, our King Edward, is the only true grandson to the Fair Philip, while this Philip of Valois who claims to own the throne is nothing more than a third cousin of bastard stock. So aye, the whole of France does belong to our Edward.
    “ But there are many in France who would deny this,” continued Chandos. “They say that Isabella’s child cannot inherit, and that Philip of Valois has better claim since it lies through the paternal line. They claim that the crown of France cannot pass through the line of a woman—a brazen falsehood as their own annals will bear warrant. But once we cross the river Somme there can be no contest. That county, the county of Ponthieu, belongs to Edward in more ways than one. It was his grandmother’s possession. It was his mother’s land, and she passed it to him by direct inheritance. Let the lawyers argue away every other county in France, but Ponthieu at least is Edward’s. There we will turn to face our adversary, and there may God defend the right!”
    It pleased me to know the reason behind our flight, and I wondered how much of this explanation other squires would get from their masters. “We may reach the Somme tomorrow,” I remarked, as I finished cleaning Chandos’s cuirass. “Think you the prince will follow your advice and make new knights after the battle?”
    “ Mayhap,” said Chandos with a sleepy grunt as he removed his tunic. “But winning the battle is more to the point. There’ll be no knighting if the day goes against us. Go to bed now, boy. Sleep sound, fight hard, speak true, and you may yet be a knight if you stay alive.”
     

THE PRINCE’S SERVICE
    AUGUST , 1346
     
     
     
     
     
    3
     
    I will pass over our crossing of the Somme in a far shorter time than it took us to pass over. The river which we sought so eagerly almost became our place of battle. Philip’s army caught up with us at the ford; for a time Ponthieu seemed unattainable. Arrows filled the air as thick as gnats before the army and the baggage train could reach the other side. Though unwished for, the skirmish at the ford was a valuable experience for our men. The colossal size of Philip’s army had intimidated us at first, but now that we had tasted the flavor of Philip’s army we found it raw and unseasoned. The archers shot short, the horses ran shy, and the foot soldiers fought little better than the farmhands we had butchered at Caen. Philip’s army may have been superior to ours in size, but it was inferior in all else.
    “ No more running,” said Chandos as we entered the undulating hills of Ponthieu. “Now we turn and fight.” As usual, Chandos knew the mind of the king. Edward led the army as far as the forest of Crecy and cried halt on a ridge overlooking the valley. It was a well defended spot. The forest and a little brook protected our right flank. The village below the ridge protected our left. From our vantage point we had both a view of Philip’s approaching army and the ease of downhill momentum if it came to a charge.
    Night approached and the king ordered every man to look to his armor and to his soul. The