Edward III, those last lonely years of loss!

‘Poor King Edward becomes a doddering old fool!

Such a sad end for one who considered himself born to rule!

His consort dead, King Edward fell weeping into the arms of one, Alice Perrers, a woman eminently skilled in the dark arts of whoredom. Alice was wed at the age of twelve, and widowed at sixteen, before finding her way to Edward’s court. At some point, the young widow caught the king’s attention and he became captivated by her. Edward  derived great comfort from her presence, but her influence upon him was insidious. They presented a somewhat incongruous sight, the old king with his flowing grey beard and locks seated with a young woman of some twenty two years. The king, engulfed in bereavement, began to drink heavily and in this, Alice greatly encouraged him. With Alice at his side, his goblet would never, ever be empty. For Alice was attentive, always on hand to satisfy the old man’s every desire and whim.

‘More wine! More wine! Alice, holding the king’s hand would, to the servants call!

Thus ensuring that the king’s consumption of drink was always large, and never small!’

King Edward III with Alice at his side.

Edward, grinning inanely, would relax and look into her eyes as mistress Alice, smiled back benignly.

France.

This was certainly the beginning of the end of King Edward’s plans for France and the Black Prince’s dominance in Aquitaine. The King of France, Charles V decided to move against him and the Black Prince alerted his father about the threat. However, it appears that his brother John of Gaunt, was scheming against him at the English court which was hardly helpful. The king of France, a highly intelligent man, selected a native of Brittany, Bertrand du Guesclin to be Constable of France and to direct military action in Aquitaine.  This proved to be a most fortuitous appointment.

Charles V appoints du Guesclin as Constable of France.

The wily Breton decided to avoid conducting pitched battles as a general strategy with the Black Prince, but deployed guerrilla tactics which proved to be incredibly effective. The Black Prince was quick to retaliate, and he successfully laid siege to Limoges after it had fallen to French forces. At this point the Black Prince had become ill, and was confined to a litter from which he issued commands. His victory at Limoges was marred by the death of his eldest son, also called Edward, on September 20th.

‘The city of Limoges, I may have won!

But alas, I have lost Edward, my eldest son!’

The year of 1370 ended on a sour note when du Guesclin  defeated the English on the battlefield as at Pontvallain in December. By now, the Black Prince becoming increasingly frail, swollen with dropsy, and greatly grieved by the death of his son, decided to return to England in January 1371. He would not see France again. The French under du Guesclin proceeded to take back Aquitaine, acre by acre.

Bertrand du Guesclin.

‘I am stricken with dropsy, and so have swollen hugely in girth!

In this sad condition, I have no option but to return to England, the land of my birth!’

It could hardly have been a joyful homecoming for the Black Prince as he arrived at his father’s court. The heir to the throne returned bereaved, sick, tired and demoralised. He had the additional burden of consoling his wife, Joan of Kent, who was grieving for their recently departed son.

Joan of Kent.

The scene which greeted him was an unwelcome one. His father, Edward III, clearly losing his faculties, spending his time slobbering over the omnipresent Alice Perrers provided the ailing prince with a most unedifying spectacle. Then there was his brother, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, although pleasant to behold was clearly scheming behind his back. For every word uttered with a smile signalling undying brotherly love, there was a silent, unseen, malicious snarl.

All through this melancholy time, Charles V made further inroads into English held lands in Aquitaine. In 1372, Edward III, weakened in mind and body by age decided to mount a campaign against the French in Aquitaine. That summer he and the Black Prince who was  debilitated by sickness, sailed for France one last time. However, fate was not with them and storms prevented them from landing. In a mood of near despair, the old king and his son disembarked in England, cursing their wretched luck. King Charles V was ecstatic!

‘Oh Aquitaine! Oh my beautiful, bountiful Aquitaine!

All of your wonderful pastures I will soon be able to attain!’

At least Edward III had the comfort of senility to dull the pain of loss, but his son racked with physical agony, was not afforded that mercy.