When the messenger had gone Edward’s rage increased.

‘They ask me this,’ he cried. ‘I have waited here for a very long time. I have expended much money on this siege. And now that it is over and they are surrendering as they should have done months ago, they talk of making terms with me! By God, I will show them that it is not for them to make terms. It is for them to obey orders. This is unconditional surrender.’

Philippa who was with him, replied that the men of Calais had defended their town as any citizen would. ‘You would not, my lord, think highly of your own countryman who gave in immediately to the enemy.’

Edward growled: ‘But to talk of terms! They will see.’

He sent for Sir Walter de Manny—one of his most trusted knights, and a native of Hainault who had come to England in the train of Philippa. He had proved himself completely loyal to both the King and the Queen and was a man of charm and courage, known for his chivalry and courtesy. Both the King and Queen were very fond of him.

‘Well, Walter,’ said Edward, ‘at last Calais is ours. And the governor has had the insolence to send to me to make terms! Does that not make you smile? Yes, he would make terms. I am of a mind to put the whole town to the sword.’

De Manny was silent. He could see that he would have to speak with care. It was rarely that Edward allowed his temper to overrule his common sense; and de Manny knew that if he acted brutally now he would regret it later. Calais was the most important town in France strategically. It was in their hands and they must make the utmost use of it. This would not be done by putting its inhabitants to the sword.

‘When I consider what taking this town has cost me ... The months of waiting ... building this town outside its walls ... the constant stream of arms that has been poured into this venture ... and then I am told they will consider terms.’

‘A last defiant gesture, my lord, of men who have bravely defended their city through desperate months.’

‘By God, Walter, you seem on their side.’

‘My lord does not mean that, I know. But I cannot, nor could any man, do aught but respect them for their defence of the city which has cost you so dear. Lesser men would have given in long ago.’

‘And saved me much expense.’

‘And earned your scorn, my lord.’

Edward was silent. Walter de Manny was a wise man. He had often listened to him with profit.

‘So ...’ he began, and waited.

De Manny said: ‘A little mercy never did any leader any harm. They say that a touch of mercy indicates more than a touch of greatness.’

‘By God, Walter, you would have me spare these people who have cost me so dear.’

‘I would say set aside your wrath, my lord, and study what can best serve your cause.’

Edward was silent for a few seconds, then he said, ‘Very well then, I will not put the town to the sword.’

De Manny’s relief was obvious.

‘But,’ went on Edward, ‘I will not allow these citizens to imagine that they can defy me thus. Holding out for months! Costing me dear and when they give in, they expect to be treated as though they have been my good friends. No, I’ll not have that, Walter. Now, you will go into the market place and there you will ask for six of their leading citizens. They shall come to me bare-headed, bare-footed, with ropes about their necks. They shall bring me the city’s keys and then I shall hang them on their city’s walls where they shall remain as a warning to all that it is unwise to stand against me.’

De Manny could see that it was no use trying to remonstrate with the King any further. That he had settled for six of the leading citizens instead of the whole town was a great concession. The King’s temper was so uncertain as he contemplated what Calais had cost him, that it would be unwise to provoke it.

There was great consternation in the market place at Calais when Sir John de Vienne told the gathered crowd of Edward’s demands.

‘These six of our leading citizens,’ he said, ‘must go to the King of England in all humility, bare-footed, bare-headed, with ropes about their necks. They must take to him the keys of the city and after that they will be executed.’

There were groans of anguish in the market square but the richest of all the merchants, Eustache de St Pierre, immediately came forward. His son stood with him.

‘Father,’ he said, ‘if you go, so shall I.’

Eustache tried to dissuade his son but the young man would not be persuaded and by that time four others had stepped forward.

‘Six of us is a small price,’ said the brave Eustache, ‘when it could have been an entire town. If we do not offer ourselves all will be put to the sword. I have hope of grace and pardon from our Lord if I die to save my fellow citizens. I willingly give myself up to the mercy of the English King.’

The six men walked to the gates of the city taking with them the keys.

Sir Walter de Manny was waiting for them there.

Several of the women cried out to Sir Walter: ‘My lord, save our men. Plead with the King for us.’

‘That I will do,’ answered Sir Walter.

Edward had arranged that there should be many witnesses of this scene and that it should be played to extract the utmost drama. He was attired in his splendid royal robes and a throne had been set up over which was a gold-fringed canopy.

Beside him were the Queen, the Black Prince and the ladies who had come in Isabella’s train.

The six burghers, showing signs of their recent ordeal, gaunt with starvation, haggard with their suffering made a sad contrast to the splendour of the royal party.

They knelt before the King, Eustache de St Pierre proferring the keys of the city.

He spoke for the six men.

‘Most gracious King,’ he said, ‘we are at the mercy of your absolute will and pleasure in order that we may save the rest of our people. They have suffered great distress and misery. I beg of you to take pity on us for the sake of your high nobleness.’

There was a deep silence among the spectators. There was hardly anyone there who was not moved by the sight of these men—the evidence of their suffering on their faces; the wretchedness of their appearance somehow lending them a dignity which the great King in all his finery could not match.

Edward frowned at them. He could not stop calculating what the siege of Calais had cost him. He thought of the Scottish insurrection which might so easily have brought disaster to England. And it was Calais which had drained him of his money, taken his time and caused him such anxiety as he had rarely known throughout his reign.

No, he would not forgive Calais and these six richest and most influential of its burghers should die.

‘Take them away,’ he cried, ‘and cut off their heads.’

De Manny murmured: ‘My lord, show your clemency to these men. It will be good for your cause.’

‘Be quiet, Master Walter,’ muttered the King. ‘It cannot be otherwise. Send for the headsman ... now.’

Philippa then rose from her chair and went down on her knees before the King.

‘My lord,’ she said, ‘I have crossed the sea in some peril to come to you and I have asked no favours of you. But now I ask one. For the love of our Lady’s Son and as proof of your love for me, have mercy on these six men.’

Edward looked at her intently; she began to weep silently and there was such unhappiness apparent in her attitude that he said gently: ‘Rise, Philippa. I would that you were not here this day. This town of Calais has cost me dear and I would have it known that there shall be no mercy for those who flout me.

‘My lord, if you love me,’ went on Philippa, ‘you will grant me this. It is all I ask. Give me this and I shall be content having such sign of your love for me.’

‘Do you need this sign, lady?’

She lifted her eyes to his and nodded.

He said: ‘You entreat me in such way that you make it impossible for me to refuse. I say this against my will. Take these men. I give them to you.’

A great silence fell on the crowd as Philippa kissed the King’s hand. Then she rose to her feet and going to the six brave men of Calais she ordered that the ropes be taken from their necks.

She signed to one of the guards and told him to take them to her apartments, where clothes and food should be given to them. She would like to make them a present too for she greatly admired their courage. Let them have six nobles apiece and then they should be allowed to go through the gates of Calais to their homes.

Everyone who had witnessed these scenes outside the walls and those within who were soon to hear of it, would talk of it for as long as they lived. The people of Calais would tell their children of the day the six brave burghers who had left with ropes about their necks going as they believed to certain death, came walking through the gates free men—all due to the goodness of Queen Philippa and her dreaded husband’s love for her.

Edward was not as displeased as he had appeared to be and was glad that the burghers had not been put to death. As soon as his rage had subsided he had begun to consider how he could best use his latest conquest.

It was certainly not going to be through cruelty.

Calais was worth every thing it had cost him and he was determined that it should remain in his hands. The burghers, after his clemency, inclined towards him for Philip had now shown himself to them very unfavourably when he had failed to relieve them.

He immediately ordered that food should be sent into the town and the people fed. In fact so ravenously did they fall upon the provisions he supplied that some of them died through overeating after coming to near to death by starvation. The burghers were ready to serve him now, for a King who showed mercy in conquest was a great King, it seemed to them.