By the middle of October, when Edward was near St. Quentin on the Oise, the Duke of Brabant suggested the expediency of seeking out winter quarters.  The slow-moving host was almost in mutiny, when the master crossbowman of the King of France brought a challenge from his lord.  “Let the King of England,” ran the message, “seek out a field favourable for a pitched battle, where there is neither wood, nor marsh, nor river.”  Edward cheerfully accepted a day for the combat, and chose his ground higher up the Oise valley, among the green meadowlands and hedgerows of the Thierache.  The appointed day passed by, and the French came not.  At last, when Edward almost despaired of a meeting, he was told that the French were arrayed at Buironfosse, on the plateau between the Oise and the upper Sambre, and that Philip was ready to fight the next day, Saturday, October 23.  Edward once more chose a suitable field of action in a plain between La Flamangrie and Buironfosse, a league and a half from the French.  “On the Saturday,” wrote Edward to his son in England, “we were in the field, a full quarter of an hour before dawn, and took up our position in a fitting place to fight.  In the early morning some of the enemy’s scouts were taken, and they told us that his advanced guard was in battle array and coming out towards us.  The news having come to our host, our allies, though they had hitherto borne themselves somewhat sluggishly, were in truth of such loyal intent that never were folk of such goodwill to fight.  In the meantime one of our scouts, a knight of Germany, was taken, and he showed all our array to the enemy.  Thereupon the foe withdrew his van, gave orders to encamp, made trenches around him, and cut down large trees in order to prevent us from approaching him.  We tarried all day on foot in order of battle, until towards evening it seemed to our allies that we had waited long enough.  And at vespers we mounted our horses and went near to Avesnes, and made him to know that we would await him there all the Sunday.  On the Monday morning we had news that the lord Philip had withdrawn.  And so would our allies no longer afterwards abide.”

Thus ended the inglorious campaign of the Thierache.  Edward returned to Brussels “like a fox to his hole,” and each side denounced the other for failing to keep the appointed tryst.  The chivalry of the fourteenth century saw something ignoble in the sluggishness of Philip; but no modern soldier would blame him for his inactivity.  Without striking a blow, he obtained the object of his campaign, for the enemy abandoned French territory.  Had Edward been fully confident of victory, he could easily have forced a battle by advancing on Buironfosse; but he preferred to run the risk of a fiasco rather than abandon the defensive tactics on which he relied.  Thus, even from the chivalrous point of view, he was by no means blameless.  From the material standpoint, his first French campaign was a failure.  It left its only mark on the devastated countryside, the beggared peasantry, the desolated churches and monasteries, the farmsteads and villages burnt to ashes.