Rise of a Dynasty: Unveiling the Plantagenets (Part 11) - The Black Prince: Triumph & Tragedy
In northern France, on an August day in 1346, the air grew heavy with dust, blood and the brutal sounds of war.
At only sixteen years old, Edward of Woodstock, heir to the English throne, stood at Crécy on the cusp of manhood. The boy who would later be known as the Black Prince commanded not with hesitation but with striking confidence. By the time the battle cries began to fade, he had carved his name into history, proving that youth was no barrier to greatness on the field of war.
Yet long before he stepped upon his first battlefield, Edward of Woodstock had been marked out for greatness.
Early Life
Born in June 1330 as the eldest son of Edward III and Philippa of Hainault, his path was shaped from the cradle by expectation, privilege, and the weight of a dynasty at war. As heir to a throne that his father had only recently secured, he grew up in a court alive with renewed energy as his parents worked to restore stability after the troubled reign of Edward II. Surrounded by the rituals of kingship, he was also trained in the skills expected of a prince: horsemanship, weaponry, and the ideals of chivalry that would come to define his reputation.
Formally recognised as his father’s successor in 1343, he was created Prince of Wales, a title that carried both privilege and heavy responsibility. Very soon, war with France would call him to prove himself in ways few could have imagined for one so young.
Military Brilliance
The young prince’s first true test came at the Battle of Crécy in August 1346. Commanding one wing of the English army, he fought with discipline and resolve as waves of French cavalry charged the English lines. His longbowmen cut swathes through the enemy, and the sixteen-year-old heir held firm in the chaos. When urged to send reinforcements, Edward III famously refused, declaring that his son must be allowed to win his spurs. By the end of the day, the boy had done far more than that — he had announced himself to Europe as a warrior of rare promise.
Yet Crécy also revealed another side of the young commander. Among the fallen was John of Bohemia, the blind king who had insisted on riding into battle, his horse’s reins tied to those of his knights so he could charge with them. Struck by the king’s determination and the loyalty of the men who followed him to certain death, Edward honoured his foe with deep respect. There is even a romantic tradition that he adopted John’s ostrich feathers and the motto Ich dien — “I serve” — as a tribute, a chivalric gesture that still echoes today in the heraldry of the Prince of Wales.
His reputation, however, was not built on set-piece battles alone. In 1355–56 he led a chevauchée through southern France, a brutal campaign of fire and steel that cut deep into enemy territory. Towns were torched, supplies seized, and fear spread across the countryside. At Carcassonne he took and plundered the lower city, yet even he could not breach the mighty citadel of the Château Comtal.
To the English it was shrewd strategy, a way to weaken the French crown without direct confrontation. To the French it was devastation, evidence of a ruthless streak that may have inspired the dark nickname he would later carry.
Ten years later, at the Battle of Poitiers in 1356, he achieved perhaps his great triumph. Leading a smaller force against King John II of France, the Black Prince used discipline, clever positioning, and the deadly accuracy of his archers to devastating effect. Against the odds, the French king was captured, and the English secured one of the most resounding victories of the Hundred Years’ War.
By the mid-1350s, Edward of Woodstock was no longer simply the heir to the throne. He had become the living embodiment of English military might, a prince whose victories carried both the pride and the shadow of a nation.
Marriage to Joan of Kent
If Edward of Woodstock’s victories on the battlefield made him a legend, his choice of bride ensured he was also the subject of whispers. In 1361 he married Joan of Kent, known as the “Fair Maid of Kent.” Their union was performed per verba de praesenti, or “by words of the present,” a binding form of marriage in the eyes of canon law, but one that bypassed the formalities of Church ceremony. It was an unusual choice for the heir to the English throne, and not without its own set of complications.
Joan herself carried a reputation already brimming with scandal. She had been entangled in earlier disputes over a secret marriage, and now her close blood relationship to Edward meant their union required papal dispensation. His father, Edward III, was quick to use his influence to ensure that approval was secured before any question of succession could be clouded by controversy.
For some, it seemed unthinkable that the Black Prince, pride of England, would risk his reputation by choosing such a bride. Yet Edward’s devotion to Joan was genuine, and their marriage, though shadowed by gossip, endured with a depth of affection that was rare in royal unions. Together they had two sons, though only one, Richard, survived infancy. He would later inherit the throne as Richard II.
In following his heart, Edward showed a defiance as striking as any he had displayed in battle. It was a reminder that even princes could be driven as much by love as by duty.
Battle of Nájera
After his marriage, Edward turned his attention to Spain, not from personal ambition but at the request of his father, Edward III. The king wished to support Pedro of Castile, (nicknamed Peter the Cruel), as an ally against France. While Edward unwillingly obeyed, mainly because of the promised backing of the campaign by the Spanish king, his preference was to focus on his duchy of Aquitaine, and the alliance was uneasy.
In 1367, he achieved a dazzling victory at the Battle of Nájera, restoring Pedro to power. Yet the triumph came at a bitter cost. The promised payment was never made, leaving Edward to shoulder the crippling expense himself. His army endured disease, hunger, and brutal conditions, and the debts he carried away from Spain became a heavy burden on his later years.
One cannot help but wonder how Edward III felt, knowing it was his command that drew his son into Spain, and that the burden of that duty may very well have hastened the Black Prince’s decline.
Decline and Illness
It was in the aftermath of the Spanish campaign that Edward’s decline truly began. The prince who had once seemed invincible now found himself weakened by illness and burdened with debt. He suffered recurring bouts of a debilitating disease, the exact nature of which remains uncertain to historians. Some suggest dysentery contracted in Spain, others chronic nephritis, and still others tuberculosis. Whatever its cause, the effect was devastating. Once the pride of England’s armies, Edward grew weak, unable to lead in the field.
By the late 1360s, his strength was in steady decline. Only a short time before, he had stood victorious at Nájera, yet now the prince who had struck fear into France found himself withdrawing from public life, dependent on others to carry out the responsibilities he had once relished. He returned to England, where he spent his final years at Berkhamsted and Westminster, often bedridden. When he died on the 8th of June 1376, a year before his father, the hopes of a nation died with him.
Legacy and Reflection
Edward of Woodstock’s life ended before he could claim the crown, yet his shadow loomed long over England and France alike. To his contemporaries, he was the ideal of a chivalric prince: brave in battle, courteous in victory, and unwavering in loyalty to his father. To others, he was a figure of ruthless ambition whose campaigns left scars across the French countryside.
This dual image, hero to some, destroyer to others, is part of what keeps him alive in memory. His victories at Crécy and Poitiers became touchstones of English pride, while his chevauchées remain controversial for the destruction they wrought.
Perhaps most haunting of all are the words he asked to be inscribed on his tomb at Canterbury, preserved in Chandos Herald’s Life of the Black Prince.
His epitaph reads:
"Such as thou art, sometime was I.
Such as I am, such shalt thou be.
I thought little on th’ hour of death,
So long as I enjoyed breath.
On earth I had great riches,
Land, houses, and great treasure, horses, money and gold.
But now I am poor and wretched,
Deep in the ground, loathsome and eaten of worms.
All this that I have said is true,
Take heed, for death will come for you."
His words echo still, centuries later, a reminder that beneath the armour and glory lay a man who knew how fragile all things are. Perhaps that is why his memory endures: because Edward, the Black Prince, embodied both the triumph and the tragedy of his age.
Look out for our next chapter, where we will discover the complexity of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. From his marriages and adultery to political power and influence, the terror of the Peasants’ Revolt, and his claim to the Castilian crown, his was a life full of power, controversy, and ambition.
If you would like to walk the same paths where these stories unfolded, join us on tour through England and France, where the echoes of the Plantagenets still linger.
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Julian Russell Story painting - Public Domain, All other images © Plantagenet Discoveries
