at thirteen he was, in parliament, invested by the king with the dignity of Prince of Wales.
About the same period, another honour, and one to which he had no hereditary claim, seemed likely to fall to his lot. I have already mentioned that the Count of Flanders had, by his tyranny, driven his subjects to revolt, and that Jacob von Arteveldt, a famous brewer, exercised enormous influence among his countrymen, and that, especially in Ghent, his word was almost law.
Now it entered into the heart of Arteveldt to conceive the expediency of wholly depriving the Count of Flanders of his inheritance, of making it a duchy, and bestowing it on the Prince of Wales. Full of his scheme, and perhaps rather elated with the power he enjoyed in Flanders, Arteveldt entered into communication with the King of England, and had the gratification of finding that his proposal was quite the reverse of unwelcome. Indeed, King Edward promised, without delay, to take his son to Flanders, that Arteveldt might have an opportunity of putting his project into execution; and, accordingly, about St. John the Baptist's Day, he embarked with the prince, in his ship, the Katherine, for Flanders, and sailed into the harbour of Sluys, where, some years earlier, he had destroyed the French fleet.
At Sluys, King Edward kept his court on board his ship, the Katherine, and there received Arteveldt and his other allies among the Flemings. Many conferences were held. But it soon appeared that Arteveldt's enthusiasm was not shared by his countrymen. The idea of disinheriting their count and his son was one which they seemed most averse to entertain; and they could not be prevailed on to do more in the matter than promise to consult the cities which they represented. Every attempt to bring the business to a conclusion proved abortive; and meanwhile a storm was gathering which was to destroy the whole scheme at a blow.
In fact, French influences, and perhaps French gold, were at work in every city of Flanders, and rapidly undermining the power which Arteveldt had for years been building up. All regard for freedom and commerce gave way before the prejudices of the hour; and the people of Ghent not only set their faces decidedly against Arteveldt's project of deposing their count in favour of the Prince of Wales, but manifested the utmost indignation against its author. In Arteveldt's absence from Ghent the murmurs were loud; and no sooner did he return to the town than the malcontents expressed their sentiments in a most menacing tone.
It was about the noon of a summer's day when Arteveldt, having left the King of England and the Prince of Wales at Sluys, entered Ghent. Immediately he became aware that his popularity was gone. People who, in other days, had been wont to salute him with profound respect, now bent their brows and turned their backs; and the multitude, at all times easily deluded, intimated that they were prepared to restore the count whom they had banished, and to throw down the great citizen whom they, till recently, had worshipped.
"Here," cried they, as they recognised his figure on horseback, "comes one who is too much the master, and wants to order in Flanders according to his will and pleasure. This must not be longer borne."
Arteveldt was not blind nor deaf to what was passing. As he rode up the street he became certain that some mischief was in agitation, and probably suspected that his life was aimed at. In any case, he hastened to take precautions against any attempt at violence. As soon as he dismounted and entered his mansion, he ordered the doors and windows to be secured, and warned his servants to be on their guard.
It soon appeared that Arteveldt's instincts had not deceived him. In fact, a multitude, chiefly composed of the mechanical class, almost instantaneously filled the street, surrounded the mansion, and evinced a determination to go all lengths and force an entrance. Resistance appearing vain, Arteveldt despaired of saving himself by force; and, coming to a window with his head uncovered, he attempted to bring them to reason.
"My good people," said he, in the most soothing tone, "what aileth you? Why are you so enraged against me? How have I incurred your displeasure? Tell me, and I will conform myself entirely to your wills."
"We want," answered they with one voice, "an account of the treasures you have made away with."
"Gentlemen," said Arteveldt, "be assured that I have never taken anything from the treasures of Flanders; and if you will, for the present, return quietly to your homes, and come here to-morrow morning, I will be ready to give so good an account of them that you shall have every reason to be satisfied."
"No, no!" cried they; "we must have it directly. You shall not escape us thus. We know that you have emptied the treasury, and, without our knowledge, sent the money to England; and you must, therefore, suffer death."
When Arteveldt heard this, he clasped his hands together, and wept in mortification of spirit as he thought of the services he had rendered his country, and perceived how they were likely to be requited.
"Gentlemen," he said, "such as I am, you yourselves have made me. Formerly you swore you would protect me against all the world, and now, without any reason, you want to murder me."
"Come down," bawled the mob, "and do not preach to us from such a height. We want to know what you have done with the treasures of Flanders?"
Seeing clearly that the populace were in that state of excitement which makes them mistake friends for foes, and that his destruction was certainly intended, Arteveldt left the window and attempted to get out of his house by the rear, with the object of taking refuge in a neighbouring church. But he was too late to save himself from butchery. Already four hundred men had entered the mansion by the back, and the toils were upon him. Shouting for his head, and clamouring like wild beasts, they rushed upon him, seized him forcibly, trampled him under foot, and slew him without mercy.
When this tragical event occurred at Ghent, the King of England and the Prince of Wales were still at Sluys, awaiting the result of their negotiations. On hearing of Arteveldt's violent death, the king was enraged beyond measure; and, after vowing to avenge his ally and friend, he put to sea with his son and returned to England.
Extreme was the alarm of the more prudent among the Flemings when they learned what had been done by the mob at Ghent, and what had been said by the King of England on receiving intelligence of the murder of Arteveldt. Without delay they sent ambassadors from the various cities to explain and apologise; and at Westminster the Flemings were admitted to the royal presence. At first, Edward was haughty and disdainful; but, after much conversation with the ambassadors, who disowned all participation in the bloody deed, he consented to forego thoughts of vengeance.
By this time, indeed, the king had foes enough on the Continent without adding the Flemings to the number; and he perceived the impolicy of attempting to force his son on them as a ruler. It was not as Duke of Flanders, but as Prince of Wales, that the heir of England was to perform the martial prodigies which made him so famous among the men of the age he adorned with his valour and chivalry.
Events had already reached a crisis which rendered the continuation of peace impossible, when I so far realised the aspirations I had cherished in obscurity as to make my way into the service of the young hero around whose name so much fame was soon to gather.
CHAPTER IX
KING EDWARD'S DEFIANCE
As King Edward had promised, I speedily found myself installed as one of the pages to the Prince of Wales, and hastened to provide myself with garments suitable to my new position in life, and to fall into the ways of the court over which the good Queen Philippa presided with so much grace and amiability.
In spite of the humble sphere from which I had emerged, I was treated with almost familiar kindness by the prince, and with perfect courtesy by the gentlemen who formed his household, with the single exception of the Lord De Ov, whose haughty words at Smithfield had so deeply galled me. Between the young baron and myself there existed an instinctive antipathy, as if we had been born to be mortal foes; and, as he never looked at me
