the world, now art thou motionless when the fate of the world hangs on the chances of battle!  “The Flemings spared no effort to re-assure the King of England.  Their envoys went to Westminster to deplore the murder of Van Artevelde, and tried to persuade Edward that his policy would be perpetuated throughout their cities, and “to such purpose,” says Froissart, “that in the end the king was fairly content with the Flemings, and they with him, and, between them, the death of James Van Artevelde was little by little forgotten.”  Edward, however, was so much affected by it that he required a whole year before he could resume with any confidence his projects of war; and it was not until the 2d of July, 1346, that he embarked at Southampton, taking with him, besides his son, the Prince of Wales, hardly sixteen years of age, an army which comprised, according to Froissart, seven earls, more than thirty-five barons, a great number of knights, four thousand men-at-arms, ten thousand English archers, six thousand Irish, and twelve thousand Welsh infantry, in all something more than thirty-two thousand men, troops even more formidable for their discipline and experience of war than for their numbers.  When they were out at sea none knew, not even the king himself, for what point of the Continent they were to make, for the south or the north, for Aquitaine or Normandy.  “Sir,” said Godfrey d’Harcourt, who had become one of the king’s most trusted counsellors, “the country of Normandy is one of the fattest in the world, and I promise you, at the risk of my head, that if you put in there you shall take possession of land at your good pleasure, for the folk there never were armed, and all the flower of their chivalry is now at Aiguillon with their duke; for certain, we shall find there gold, silver, victual, and all other good things in great abundance.”  Edward adopted this advice; and on the 12th of July, 1346, his fleet anchored before the peninsula of Cotentin, at Cape La Hogue.  Whilst disembarking, at the very first step he made on shore, the king fell “so roughly,” says Froissart, “that blood spurted from his nose.  ‘Sir,’ said his knights to him, ’go back to your ship, and come not now to land, for here is an ill sign for you.’  ’Nay, verily,’ quoth the king, full roundly, ’it is a right good sign for me, since the land doth desire me.’” Caesar did and said much the same on disembarking in Africa, and William the Conqueror on landing in England.  In spite of contemporary accounts, there is a doubt about the authenticity of these striking expressions, which become favorites, and crop up again on all similar occasions.