Delighted Edward summoned his son and explained to him what he hoped for. Young Edward, eager to fight beside his father, was excited at the prospect. Indeed he was chafing against the delay in getting to France and wresting the crown from Philip and placing it where he believed it belonged, on his father’s head, and he knew that in time that should mean on his, too.
‘We must prepare to leave at once for Flanders,’ said the King, ‘but without too much noise. It should not be known what is in our minds until the Flemings send to us to welcome us into Flanders. We want no trouble from our enemies. I trust van Arteveldt with all my heart and he will let us know as soon as his countrymen are ready to receive us. My plan is to take very few men with us. We will ride quietly to Sandwich and there take ship. The Swallow will be waiting for us. But remember, my son, quiet is the word. I have told your mother and a few others, no more. Now prepare.’
Philippa had listened to the project with a certain apprehension. It meant that the peaceful months were at an end. Heartily as she wished that Edward would abandon his project for the conquest of France she said nothing; but a little sadly said good-bye to her husband and son, and on the last day of June the two Edwards set out on the journey for Sandwich.
The following day they embarked on the Swallow.
Jacob van Arteveldt, however, was finding it was not as easy as he had thought. When he had first arisen the citizens of the main Flanders towns—Bruges, Ghent and Ypres—had welcomed him as their saviour. He was one of them; he was a good honest workman, a man of ideals and the courage to present them; an honest man; a leader of stature. Perhaps he had been a little too hopeful. Perhaps he had set his dreams of prosperity too high. The fact remains that a great deal of what he had promised had not come to pass.
He talked to the people in market squares. They were dissatisfied with their Count who worked against them with the French but, they wanted to know, why should they exchange him for a foreigner, an English boy of whom they knew nothing? No, they would keep what they had. Who could say which might be the lesser of two evils?
Meanwhile Edward and his son remained on board the Swallow in Slays awaiting the call from van Arteveldt. It was long in coming but Edward was certain of Jacob’s influence with the people and he believed it would come in time. He had forgotten that it was a long time since he had been in Flanders and reputations such as that of Jacob van Arteveldt, acquired so hastily can evaporate with equal speed.
Jacob’s success in Ghent had aroused a great deal of envy among his fellow citizens. Who is this man who sets himself up to be our leader? they were asking. He is only one of us. What has he that we haven’t?
He was an excellent business man. He had acquired a small fortune. But who was he to dictate what Flanders should do?
Then the whispers came. He was working with the English. He wanted to depose the Count and set up the son of the King of England in his place. He wanted to choose their rulers. He was a traitor, wasn’t he?
When Jacob returned to Ghent they were waiting for him. He sensed their hostility immediately. He saw murderous looks directed in his direction so he made haste to his house and once there barricaded himself in.
It seemed that no sooner had he done this than the mob was at his door. He heard them shouting for him to come out and he knew that if they were determined they would, in time, break down his doors. It was an ugly mob.
It was his eloquence which had won them in the first place so he would try it again. He went to the topmost window of his house and looked down on the crowd.
Some of them carried clubs and others had picked up whatever article they could find to act as a weapon. He realized that they hated him now as fiercely as they had once loved him. Such was the emotion of the mob.
He opened a window and called to them to let him speak. ‘My friends and countrymen,’ he cried, ‘will you listen to me ...’
But they could not hear him to great was the noise they made
‘Come down and face us, Jacob,’ they chanted. ‘We will show you what we will do with you.’
‘Have you not prospered of late?’ he shouted. ‘Have I not made it easier for you to sell your goods? Did I not arrange ...’
But he could see it was useless. They had not come to listen. They had come to destroy him.
Several of them were climbing up the side of the house. ‘I can bring you prosperity,’ he cried.
But they could not hear. They did not want prosperity at this moment. They only wanted to satisfy their lust for revenge on one of their own kind who had risen far above them, who had set out to be a leader and who made contracts with kings.
A hand reached out and grabbed his arm. He was half way out of the window. Other hands seized him and pulled him down to the ground.
They were trampling on him; they were kicking him. They were raining blows on him.
It has all been in vain, he thought.
And so he died.
Eagerly awaiting a message from Jacob van Arteveldt, making his preparations for his and his son’s entry into Ghent, Edward received the messenger.
He could not believe what he heard.
Van Arteveldt dead! Murdered by the people of Ghent. But he was a man who had done so much for Flanders. Murdered. It was impossible.
‘‘Tis so, my lord,’ replied the messenger and told the King how the people of Ghent had turned against Jacob because he wanted to set a foreign Prince over them and how they had clubbed him to death.
Edward was subdued.
‘He was a good man,’ he said. ‘He was a man who served his country well and would have gone on doing so. An honest man, rare in these days.’
He saw it was the end of a dream.
He rewarded the messenger and dismissing him, summoned his son.
‘You see, Edward, how in this life that which we thought to be within our grasp will often elude us. We should never count on anything until we hold it in our hands.’
‘Should we not go and avenge the death of this good friend, Father?’ asked the Prince.
The King shook his head.
‘Jacob is dead. Nothing can bring him back. We are engaged on a war to win the crown of France. We cannot involve ourselves in minor wars which would divert us from our purpose. I had hoped to attack with the Flemings beside me. Now we will forget that and start from another point.’
‘What shall we do now?’
‘My son, we shall return to England. There we shall prepare ourselves for a mighty campaign against the French.’
There should be no more delay.
He would depend on none but himself. The next months should be spent in preparation and this time next year he would be in France with the finest army he could muster.
Thank God for the truce! Preparation time. It should be well spent.
Philippa was delighted to see them back. She mourned the death of Jacob van Arteveldt, a man whom she had greatly admired; she wondered about his son Philip who had been her godson. ‘Poor fatherless boy,’ she said. ‘And Jacob was such a good man. Why cannot people understand that such as he did not seek honours for themselves but only the good of their country?’
She was glad though that she had her husband and son back if it was to be only a short respite. She had not wanted young Edward to take the title of Duke in Flanders. Men like her husband could never see how dearly such honours were bought and that the world would be happier without them.
Now throughout England workshops were busy. Bows and arrows were being made in their thousands. The blacksmiths shops throughout the country rang with activity; they were making horse-trappings for the horses which would go to war. Carpenters and tentmakers were working full speed, and this brought prosperity to the country.