Though crowned with success, the Spanish expedition was most fatal in its consequences to the Black Prince. His victory in Spain had caused him to be esteemed as the greatest among the princes and generals of Europe. The news of it had been received in England with enthusiastic joy; bonfires, rejoicings, and thanksgivings in the churches had celebrated it all over the country. But what was the result? The Prince had restored for a moment a bloodthirsty tyrant to the throne, and in return for that had impoverished his exchequer and shattered his health. He returned to Bordeaux a disappointed man. Don Pedro had failed in all his promises, and the only results of this expedition to the Prince were broken health and crippled resources. A change seems to have come over the Prince's character after this. He lost his bright confidence and cheerful fearlessness, and became morose and discontented. He was pressed by the want of the necessary money to keep up the expenses of his extravagant court, and this and his illness weighed down his spirits. To his enemies, who had so long trembled before him, it seemed that the hour had come when they might safely attack him.

By the treaty of Bretigny, Edward III. had promised to renounce for ever his claim to the French crown; and in return, the French king had promised to renounce his sovereignty over the English provinces in France, which were henceforth to be held as independent possessions owing no right of allegiance to the French crown. Time had passed on, and for one reason or another the formal renunciation of these claims had never been made. It was perhaps only natural that both sides should put off as long as possible the moment when they must definitely give up what they had so long clung to.

Charles V., King of France, had probably never really intended to conform to the peace of Bretigny. It had been concluded in his father's lifetime, and had been wrung from him only by the miserable condition of France, after the battle of Poitiers. For the moment he was ready to agree to anything, and wait for the time when he might be able to win back what he had lost. Part of the ransom of King John was still unpaid. With characteristic generosity, Edward had allowed many of the hostages to go to France, on giving their word that they would come back. But most of them never returned, and his demands to Charles for payment of the rest of the money passed unheeded.

Charles, who was quietly gathering strength whilst he waited a favourable moment for attacking the Black Prince, must have seen with delight the false step which his enemy took in aiding Pedro the Cruel. It soon became clear how fruitless the Spanish expedition had been. The Prince had hardly reached Bordeaux, when Henry of Trastamare, who had been attacking the frontiers of Aquitaine, withdrew his army thence, and crossed the Pyrenees into Arragon, to prepare for a second invasion of Castile. He was anxious to have again the aid of Du Guesclin; but Du Guesclin unfortunately was still a prisoner in the Black Prince's hands, and knew not how to raise the money wanted for his ransom.

One day, when the Prince was in good humour, he called Du Guesclin to him, and asked him how he was.

"I was never better, my lord," was the answer; "I cannot be otherwise than well, for I am, though in prison, the most honoured knight in the world."

"How so?" asked the Prince.

"They say in France, as well as in other countries," answered Du Guesclin, "that you are so much afraid of me, and have such a dread of my gaining my liberty, that you dare not set me free; and this is my reason for thinking myself so much valued and honoured."

The Prince did not like this, for he knew that it was partly the truth. He at once offered Du Guesclin his liberty, for a much smaller sum than had been asked before. His council tried to dissuade him from keeping this agreement; but the Prince, speaking like a good and loyal knight, said, "Since we have granted it, we will keep it, and not act in any way contrary."

It was not long before Du Guesclin was able to pay the money, and hastened to join Henry, who was already successfully invading Castile. Most of the towns opened their gates to him, and he defeated Pedro in battle, and pursued him to the fortress of Montiel. Here, by some means or other, Pedro and Henry met face to face. So great was their hatred for one another, that Pedro immediately threw himself upon his brother, and being the stronger, threw him down upon the ground under himself; but Henry managed to draw his long Spanish knife, and plunging it into Pedro, killed him on the spot. After this he was secure in his possession of the throne of Castile, and had no longer to fear any rival.

This event of course entirely destroyed any hopes the Black Prince might still have of getting the money due from Pedro. He had not enough money himself to pay more than half of what was due to the Companies which had fought under his banner. They, on being disbanded, went off to ravage the French territory, which did not tend to make the French feel more friendly to the Black Prince's rule. In truth it is impossible to deny that he showed little talent as an administrator in his position as ruler of Aquitaine.

His subjects were rapidly growing more and more discontented, and many of the chief nobles, who had at first crowded to swear allegiance to him through mere terror of his name, now began secretly to draw near to France. By a fatal mistake of policy he managed to estrange his subjects still further. He was deeply in debt, and had no money either to defray the expenses of his court, or to prepare for a new struggle with France, which he felt must soon be inevitable. He felt, therefore, that it was necessary to impose a tax upon his subjects; and he hit upon the most burdensome tax he could have discovered. He proposed to the Assembly of the States of his Duchy that a hearth tax should be levied for five years; that is, that for every fire upon the hearth an annual duty should be paid. This kind of tax was particularly oppressive, as it fell unequally; the poor pay more in proportion to their small means than do the rich. Hence the tax caused great discontent, especially amongst the Gascon barons, the lords of Armagnac, d'Albret, Cominges, and many others.

The whole duchy seemed to weary of the English rule. The people resented, naturally enough, the ravages and extortions of the Free Companies, and complained that the English nobles were arrogant and overbearing. The King of France watched eagerly this growing discontent; but He remained quiet until he had concluded an offensive and defensive alliance with Henry of Trastamare. The Gascon lords, in their discontent at the new tax, claimed to have a right of appeal to the King of France, as if he had still been the feudal superior of the duchy, to whom the vassals might carry their complaints against their lord. This claim of appeal greatly angered the Black Prince; for in the treaty of Bretigny the King of France had agreed to renounce all rights over Aquitaine, and therefore could receive no appeals. But the Gascons said that it was not in the power of the King of France to renounce these rights without the consent of the barons and cities of Aquitaine; and this consent had never been given, and would never be given. The dispute, as was natural, only increased the ill-will between the Prince and his subjects.

From all sides the King of France was advised to seize this favourable moment for attacking the Prince. He was told that, as soon as he declared war, all the barons and cities of Aquitaine would turn to his side; for all were discontented with the English rule. At last, on the 25th January, 1369, he summoned the Black Prince to appear before the court of his peers at Paris, and answer the complaints brought against him by his vassals. This proceeding was, of course, entirely contrary to the treaty of Bretigny. It was treating the Prince as if he were a vassal of France; whereas, according to the treaty, the King of France had entirely renounced his claim to the allegiance of Aquitaine. By treating the Black Prince as a vassal, he therefore distinctly threw down the gauntlet of war.

Great was the anger of the Prince when this summons reached him. When the commissioners who had brought the letter had read it to him, he looked at them for a moment in silence, and then burst forth in rage.

"We will willingly come to Paris on the day appointed," he said; "but it will be with our helmet on our head, and sixty thousand men at our back."

He would give no other answer to the commissioners; and after they had gone, his anger burnt so hot against them that he sent some of his knights after them, to seize them and bring them back to prison.

"Let them not," he said, "go and tell their prattle to the Duke of Anjou, who loves us little, and say how they have summoned us personally in our own palace."

The King of France was indignant when he heard of the answer of the Black Prince, and of the treatment which his commissioners had met with. He made immediate preparations for war. He sent a challenge to the King of England by a common valet, a kitchen-boy, that he might make it as insulting as possible.

Both England and its King were sunk in the enjoyments of peace. The King was growing old, and loved ease and luxury. The country was weary of war, and absorbed in trade and manufacture. Still the challenge of the King of France stung their pride, and threw Edward III. into a mighty passion. He determined to reassert his claim to the crown of France, and opened the war with vigour. He sent the Duke of Lancaster with an army to Calais to invade the north of France, and his son Edmund, Duke of Cambridge, with troops to assist the Black Prince in Aquitaine. The Black Prince established his camp at AngoulÊme. The services of the various Free Companies were eagerly bid for by both the combatants, and many were engaged on either side.

The French soon began their inroads upon the Prince's territory. He lay at AngoulÊme helpless from illness, and almost wild with vexation at hearing of the advances of his enemies. A desultory warfare began, in which neither side gained any considerable advantage; but the French seemed to be pressing on further, whilst the disaffection of the chief nobles and the illness of the Prince tended more and more to break up the unity of the English provinces.

In the north the Duke of Lancaster did nothing but burn and ravage the enemy's country. The French army, which had been sent against him, had been expressly ordered not to engage battle; the remembrance of the English victories was still too vivid in the minds of the French.

The death, in a chance skirmish, of his valued friend and wise counsellor, Sir John Chandos, was a serious blow to the Prince. He was seneschal of Poitou, and was very anxious to drive back the French, who had taken some strong places there. He attacked a body of the enemy much superior in number to his own force, and fell upon them with scoffs and jeers. But as he was advancing on foot, he slipped on the ground, made slippery by the frost. He was entangled in the long robe of white samite, which he wore under his armour according to the fashion of those days, and stumbled. A French squire seized this opportunity to make a thrust at him; Sir John had lost an eye five years before, and the thrust being made on his blind side, he could not see to ward it off. To the dismay of his followers, he fell back rolling in death-agony on the ground. They fought desperately, eager to revenge his fall, but owing to their small number were obliged to surrender to the French. Soon after they were released by the arrival of a large body of English troops, to whom the French in their turn had to yield. Chandos was discovered lying so severely wounded that he was unable to speak. Great were the lamentations of the English; for all loved and revered him. There was no knight more valiant or courteous than he. His servants gently disarmed him, and he was laid on a litter made of shields and targets, and so was slowly carried at a foot-pace to Mortemer, the nearest fort. He only lived one day and night, and was buried by his friends at Mortemer. On his tomb was written this epitaph in French:

Froissart says of Chandos, that never since a hundred years did there exist one more courteous, nor fuller of every virtue and good quality. What the English cause lost by his death can hardly be estimated. His valour and wisdom might have prevented the loss of Aquitaine.

It was early in 1370 that Chandos was slain. That year Charles V. determined to strike a decisive blow. Two armies, under his brothers the Dukes of Anjou and Berry, the former assisted by the great General Du Guesclin, were to invade Aquitaine at the same time. They advanced with great success, taking one city after another. Limoges, the capital of Limousin, was surrendered into their hands by its bishop, who turned traitor. News of the loss of this important city was brought to the Black Prince as he lay upon his bed of sickness. In a frenzy of rage he sat up in his bed, and exclaimed, "The French hold me dead; but if God give me relief, and I can once leave this bed, I will again make them feel."

Now that it was too late to gain the affections of his people, he had at the advice of Edward III. remitted the hearth tax; but this seemed to the people only a sign of weakness. He also offered in the name of his father the royal pardon to all those who had revolted, if they would return to their allegiance. The Duke of Lancaster had arrived in Aquitaine to aid him in the conduct of affairs, on account of his broken health. The Black Prince's authority in Aquitaine seemed to be gone; but the French successes, the loss of Limoges, and the treachery of its bishop, roused him to make a last effort. He swore by the soul of his father that he would have Limoges back again, and would make the inhabitants pay dearly for their treachery. He mustered his forces at Cognac, and prepared to march towards Limoges. When he took the field, and all his men-at-arms were drawn out in battle array, the whole country was filled with fear: his name had not yet lost its terror. He could not mount on horseback, but was obliged to be carried in a litter. He found Limoges well defended, but he made his army encamp all round it, and swore he would never leave the place till he had taken it.

Limoges was too well garrisoned to be taken by assault, and the English therefore prepared to lay siege to it. They had with them a large body of miners, and the Prince gave orders that the walls should be mined. After a month all was ready. The garrison of the town tried by countermining to destroy the work of the Prince's miners, but failed; and the miners having filled their mines with combustibles, set fire to them. The explosion threw down a large piece of the wall. The English, who were all ready and waiting for the right moment, rushed in through the breach, whilst others attacked the gates. So quickly was it done that the French had no time to resist. Then the Prince, borne on his litter, and John of Gaunt, and the other nobles, rushed into the town with their men. The soldiers, eager for booty, ran through the town, killing men, women, and children, according to the orders given by the Prince from his litter. "It was a most melancholy business," says Froissart; "for all ranks, ages, and sexes cast themselves on their knees before the Prince, begging for mercy; but he was so inflamed with passion and revenge that he listened to none, but all were put to the sword wherever they could be found."

The garrison meanwhile had drawn themselves up in a body, and stood with their backs to an old wall, determined to fight to the last. The Duke of Lancaster and the Earl of Cambridge advanced to attack them, and in order to be on an equality with them, dismounted from their horses before they began the fight. The English were greatly superior in number; but the French fought so bravely that they were able to hold their own for some little time. The Prince watched the combat with deep interest. The sight of the bravery of the knights at last roused again his nobler and more generous emotions, and he shouted out that the lives of those French knights who would surrender should be spared. Whereupon the French gave up their swords and yielded themselves prisoners. The Bishop was also taken prisoner. The whole town was burnt and pillaged, and utterly destroyed. The Black Prince, worn out with suffering and disease, seemed to wish to revenge himself by one act of relentless cruelty for the loss of all his power and authority in France.

The sack of Limoges shows us the dark side of chivalry. We must not blame the Black Prince too severely for it. In sacrificing the innocent inhabitants of a whole city to his revenge, he was only acting in accordance with the spirit of the age in which he lived. The views of life in which he had been educated had taught him no respect for human life as such. His generous emotions were not called out by the piteous suffering of women and children, but by the brave fighting of men-at-arms. This was what chivalry led to, and all its bright features cannot make us forgive its disregard of human suffering. Doubtless this terrible sack is a blot upon the Black Prince's character; but we could hardly have hoped to find him superior to his age. In this as much as in his nobler deeds he is a true type of chivalry, and shows us how very partial and one-sided was its civilizing effect. We must remember also, in his excuse, that he was at that time suffering from a severe and painful illness, and suffering even more bitterly in mind at the loss of his proud position, and the break up of his dominions. But whilst trying to see what may be said in his excuse, we must not shut our eyes to the enormity of the crime. The massacre of this innocent population could do no good, and could have no beneficial result. What the Black Prince did was to sacrifice all the inhabitants of a prosperous city to his own thirst for revenge.

After the sack he returned to Cognac, where he had left the Princess. There he disbanded his forces, feeling too ill for any further enterprise. This one exertion seems to have had a bad effect upon him; for he became rapidly worse, to the great alarm of all around him. His physicians ordered him to return at once to England, and in sadness of heart he prepared to leave his Duchy.

Just before he left he had the misfortune also to lose his eldest son, the little Prince Edward. He left his authority in Aquitaine to his brother, John of Gaunt, and sailed from Bordeaux with his wife and his son Richard in the beginning of the year 1371.

The voyage was prosperous. He soon reached England, and went to Windsor to meet the King. He had left his country full of hope and confidence; he returned broken down in health and spirits. The tide of English prosperity had turned, and it is melancholy to compare the bright beginning of Edward III.'s power with the last sad years of his reign.