El labrador y la serpiente

En una ocasión el hijo de un labrador dio un fuerte golpe a una serpiente, la que lo mordió y envenenado muere. El padre, presa del dolor persigue a la serpiente con un hacha y le corta la cola. Más tarde el hombre pretende hacer las paces con la serpiente y ésta le contesta "en vano trabajas, buen hombre, porque entre nosotros no puede haber ya amistad, pues mientras yo me viere sin cola y tú a tu hijo en el sepulcro, no es posible que ninguno de los dos tenga el ánimo tranquilo".

Mientras dura la memoria de las injurias, es casi imposible desvanecer los odios.

Esopo

lunes, 11 de mayo de 2020

THE HUNDRED YEARS WAR: A PEOPLE'S HISTORY BY: DAVID GREEN (XII)


CHAPTER 9
PRISONERS OF WAR
GILDED CAGES
1435
And I, Charles, Duke of Orléans,
Have wished to write these verses in the time of my youth;
I shall admit it before everyone,
For I made them while in prison, I confess,
Praying God, that before I am old
The time of peace may everywhere have come,
As I heartily desire,
And that I may soon see an end to all your woes,
Most Christian, freeborn realm of France![1]
Charles d’Orléans, ‘La complainte de France’

Charles d’Orléans wrote those lines in captivity. He had been taken prisoner in 1415 at the battle of Agincourt and spent the next 25 years in English custody. His experience was both remarkable and yet commonplace. Many were taken prisoner during the Hundred Years War but very few were deprived of their freedom for so long. Because of his political value it was only in the 1430s, when the fortunes of war began to change – and change decisively, that Charles’s hopes for release had a chance of becoming reality.
The decline in the English position had become clear by the time the Congress of Arras met in August 1435.[2] Joan of Arc had rejuvenated the French cause with her victories at Orléans, Jargeau and Patay (1429), and the former dauphin, now King Charles VII, had grown in status and political stature by virtue of military success confirmed by his consecration in Reims Cathedral.[3] Beside him Henry VI, still a minor and only king of France based on a dubious coronation ceremony performed in Paris by an English bishop, was a childish, pale and ineffectual leader. The English position deteriorated further when Philippe the Good and Charles VII sealed a truce in December 1434, leaving the Anglo-Burgundian alliance on the verge of collapse. By this stage many Lancastrian territorial gains had been reversed, and although the duke of Bedford and his lieutenants, notably John Talbot, stabilised the situation, another Valois offensive in the opening months of 1435 led to the loss of Etaples and Le Crotoy (neither far from Calais) and the death of John FitzAlan, earl of Arundel, at Gerberoy. In this political climate it is not surprising that some elements at the English court warmed to the idea of a diplomatic settlement to the war. Negotiations of various sorts had, in any case, been ongoing since 1430 and with greater enthusiasm following Henry VI’s return from France in 1432. The eventual outcome of this series of discussions was a major diplomatic gathering, one of the largest of the Middle Ages, the Congress of Arras. The congress lasted nearly a month, from 12 August to 4 September 1435. Although in principle a peace conference, it proved chiefly an opportunity for both sides to try to seize the political initiative by securing the support of the increasingly influential duchy of Burgundy.
Although his situation had now vastly improved, in order to consider himself truly king, Charles VII needed to retake Paris. However, the financial and military resources of the ‘King of Bourges’ were limited and certainly insufficient to allow him to contemplate a major assault on the capital. His only option, therefore, was a reconciliation with Philippe the Good and Burgundy. Philippe had not found the English alliance greatly advantageous for a number of years and he had left the door open for negotiations with the Valois court. These negotiations took on a greater significance in 1432 following the death of Philippe’s wife Anne. As the duke of Bedford’s sister she had formed an important link in the Anglo-Burgundian alliance. The removal of this link was followed by the fall from power of Charles’s grand chamberlain, Georges de la Trémoïlle, in 1433. One of those taken prisoner at Agincourt, he had risen to high office after his release and became one of the most powerful figures at King Charles’s court. He had also been bitterly opposed to a reconciliation with Burgundy.
Therefore, at the Congress of Arras the French and English were more concerned with maintaining or securing an alliance with Burgundy than with resolving their own quarrel. In the opening discussions one of the few sources of political leverage available to Henry VI’s representatives were those French noblemen held as prisoners of war in England, the most important of whom was Charles d’Orléans. For many years after 1415 his political significance was such that the English refused to countenance his release, but by 1433 it had become necessary to use him and his fellow captive, Charles d’Artois, count of Eu, to secure a favourable settlement.[4]
Despite the efforts of Pope Eugenius IV and his representatives, the congress failed to resolve the Anglo-French war. It did lead ultimately, however, to the English defeat because of the Franco-Burgundian rapprochement. The French participants managed to convince the papal ambassadors that the treaty of Troyes had been fundamentally flawed; that Henry V, as he had never been king of France himself, could not bequeath the title to his son; and that Philippe could in good conscience renounce his alliance with England. He and Charles VII formally ended the (Armagnac-Burgundian) civil war some weeks later, on 21 September 1435. Their reconciliation followed shortly after another blow to the English – the death of John, duke of Bedford, earlier that month. Thereafter, although the English did not capitulate immediately, the political tide clearly ran in favour of the Valois for the remainder of the Hundred Years War. Charles d’Orléans, meanwhile, would not be released until 1440.[5]
The duke of Orléans was, in some ways, extremely fortunate even to be the subject of negotiation. He was discovered alive, but barely recognisable, drenched in blood, under a pile of corpses towards the end of the battle of Agincourt. The changing nature of warfare in the later Middle Ages, with the increasing significance of infantry, archery and artillery, meant that a smaller percentage of captives was taken than had previously been the case. At the same time the proportion of battlefield fatalities grew considerably. Earlier in the Middle Ages, for economic and political reasons it had been common practice to take prisoner those of knightly rank, but as changes took hold in military strategy and technology this became more difficult. As a result battlefields in the late Middle Ages became ever bloodier places for the military aristocracy. Consequently, at Halidon Hill, Northumberland, in July 1333, a battle in which the English rehearsed tactics they would later employ in France, so many nobles were killed that, according to the Liber Pluscardensis (a fifteenth-century chronicle written at Pluscarden Abbey in Scotland), ‘it would be tedious to give all their names’[6]. Similarly, at Crécy in 1346 approximately 1,500 nobles died; while 2,500 fell at Poitiers ten years later; and perhaps as many as 6,000 at Agincourt.[7] And even if captured one might not survive. At Agincourt, fearing a French counter-attack, Henry V felt compelled to order the execution of many of his prisoners: an order from which the duke of Orléans was fortunate to be exempted. However, the impact of such trends should not be exaggerated; many were still taken prisoner in the Hundred Years War, non-combatants as well as soldiers, and men of lesser as well as high rank. Indeed, because of the extent and duration of the conflict, the period of the Hundred Years War has been dubbed the ‘golden age of private ransoms’. And so, in spite of the fatalities, perhaps more than a thousand soldiers were captured at Agincourt.[8]
Because of the political importance of certain prisoners, issues of ransoming were extremely significant throughout the conflict. They influenced the course of the Hundred Years War, they could shape the political and financial fortunes of nations and they often dominated debate in courts of law and chivalry.[9] Throughout the war goodly numbers of politically sensitive individuals were captured. The most valuable of these from France and from among the ranks of France’s allies were King David II of Scotland (captured at Neville’s Cross, 1346); Charles de Blois (claimant to the duchy of Brittany, captured at La Roche Derrien, 1347); Jean II of France (taken at Poitiers, 1356); Bertrand du Guesclin (captured at Auray, 1364, and Nájera, 1367); James I of Scotland (captured 1406); Charles d’Orléans (made prisoner at Agincourt, 1415); and Joan of Arc (taken at Compiègne on 23 May 1430).
Among the English and their allies, although no one as august as a king was taken captive, many with royal connections were made prisoners of war, including Ralph, first earl Stafford (at Vannes, 1342); Thomas Percy, earl of Worcester (at Soubise, 1372); John Beaufort, duke of Somerset, and John Holland, earl of Huntingdon (both captured at Baugé); John Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury (at Patay, 1429); and William Neville, earl of Kent (at Pont de l’Arche, 1449).
There were many potential benefits to be gained from taking a high-ranking prisoner. First, that prisoner could be financially valuable; second, while in captivity the prisoner could play no part in the war and his release might be dependent on his agreement not to take up arms again in the struggle; and, third, a captive might present a political or diplomatic advantage. For the lesser soldiery on both sides the chance to take an important prisoner provided a major incentive to participate in a campaign. Ransoms were potentially the most valuable of the many profits of war, although there were a number of problems associated with taking prisoners. To begin with, as with all booty, soldiers did not keep everything they captured – they were required to pass a percentage of all their ill-gotten gains on to their commander, and he in turn was bound to pass a proportion of this on to the king. This might be as much as a half, more commonly a third, of the value, although the actual sum delivered might not match initial expectations.[10] Furthermore, because of the potential value of a prisoner arguments often broke out over who was the legitimate captor. These could lead to the deaths of prisoners before they had even been taken into captivity. The fact that English military ordinances mention this and attempted to address the problem indicates it was far from uncommon. For example, after the fall of Jargeau to Joan of Arc’s troops in June 1429, many of the English garrison were killed because of a violent argument between those claiming to be their ‘masters’.[11] And, finally, once a prisoner was properly secured, protracted negotiations might follow and, commonly, there were difficulties associated with securing payment. Money often passed through a number of hands and suffered deductions en route. This meant the process of collection could be expensive and, in the interim, the captor might have to pay a considerable sum for the upkeep of his hostage. Consequently, the final sum might be considerably less than that first agreed.
The celebrated case of the count of Denia offers an object lesson in some of the other dangers that could come with taking an important prisoner. The esquires Robert Hawley and John Shakell captured Denia (a prince of the Aragonese Blood Royal) at the battle of Nájera in April 1367. The count subsequently returned home to raise funds for his ransom, leaving his son, Alphonso de Villena, as a hostage. The case became politically charged because of the increasing importance of Iberian affairs in the Hundred Years War, and in 1377 the English Crown demanded Hawley and Shakell hand over Alphonso. When the captors refused they were imprisoned in the Tower of London, from whence they escaped and sought refuge in Westminster Abbey. What followed constituted one of the worst cases of breach of sanctuary in the Middle Ages. Thomas Walsingham described it as ‘a sacrilege unknown in our history … [and a] pollution of the temple of God’. Fifty armed men, despatched by the Crown, entered the abbey church, captured Shakell and dragged him back to the Tower. Hawley, meanwhile, was discovered hearing mass; he tried to escape but was surrounded in the choir. The abbey monks, it seems, sought to prevent the soldiers from dragging the men from the church, but tempers flared and both Hawley and one of the monks were killed. Walsingham described the perpetrators, the ‘agents of sacrilege’, as ‘heralds of Antichrist … [and] raving bacchanals, neither fearing God nor showing reverence to men’.[12] The abbey had to be reconsecrated after the incident. Soon afterwards the count negotiated his son’s freedom, but this did not end the matter. Payment for Denia had not been received by 1390 when Maud Hawley, Robert’s sister and heir, ceded her rights in the ransom to John Hoton, a London fishmonger. He, in turn, sued Shakell for his share, the latter having argued that the whole ransom now belonged to him. A protracted legal case followed. By the time payment was agreed and made, the principal claimants do not appear to have received more than one-eighth of the £32,000 originally due to them.[13]
Despite such potential dangers, especially in the middle years of the fourteenth century, campaigning offered English soldiers highly profitable opportunities. According to Jean le Bel, after the Anglo-Gascon chevauchée of 1355, ‘Chevaliers, escuiers, brigants, garchons’ were overloaded with ‘leurs prisonniers et leurs richesses’.[14] Indeed, it has been suggested that at the height of English military success in the mid-fourteenth century the profits of ransoming paid for the war effort, perhaps several times over. And even greater claims have been made for the financial impact of ransoms – that they revived England’s entire post-plague economy.[15] This, however, is a huge exaggeration. Members of the soldiery (famously John Fastolf) might enrich themselves in the ransom business, but the true value of high-ranking prisoners was political not financial.[16] For this reason the English Crown had and enforced rights over all prisoners taken in battle or on campaign and so controlled the time and manner of their release. The Valois kings had similar powers. It may have been Charles V who established the precedent that the king of France could purchase any prisoner, regardless of his ransom value, for 10,000 francs. However, the Valois tended not to enforce their authority as frequently as the Plantagenets. For instance, in the 1420s, at a time when Charles VII had to rely heavily on Scottish support, he did nothing to seek to exercise his rights to prisoners captured by his allies at Baugé. Nonetheless, although they were often content to allow prisoners to remain in private hands, the Valois kings did purchase prisoners of note from their captors on occasion. And unlike lesser prisoners such men might spend many years in captivity.[17]
Prisoners of note provided their captors with considerable political bargaining power, a diplomatic advantage that is reflected in the number of treaties negotiated in exchange for a prisoner’s release. The capture of Charles de Blois, for example, led to the treaty of Westminster (1356) and that of Jean le Bon to the treaty of Brétigny (1360).[18] Discussions concerning the release of Charles d’Orléans and other prisoners from Agincourt became a major aspect of peace negotiations in the 1420s and 1430s, although these failed. There were also enormous political implications following from the capture of the Scottish kings, David II and James I. In addition to using a prisoner to gain diplomatic leverage over an enemy, princes might also take the opportunity to seek to change his political allegiance. Charles V did this to some effect with various Gascon lords captured in the 1370s.
No such attempts were made to ‘turn’ Joan of Arc, captured at Compiègne on 23 May 1430 by troops under the command of Jean, count of Luxembourg, lieutenant of the duke of Burgundy. Her case, of course, was extremely unusual. Having altered the political dynamic and shifted the balance of power in France, Joan was of enormous political value; she was also worth a great deal financially to her initial captor. According to Georges Chastellain, the man in Luxembourg’s company who captured her was ‘more joyful’ at doing so ‘than if he had had a king in his hands’.[19] Joan spent the initial part of her captivity in the fortress of Beaulieu-en-Vermandois; she was then transferred to the castle of Beaurevoir, where she spent four months. She clearly recognised the danger. She attempted to escape from both places, on one occasion by jumping from a tower, partly because she knew the Burgundians were likely to sell her and she ‘would rather have died than to be in the hands of the English’. Joan asked her ‘voices’ (Saints Michael, Catherine and Margaret) if she could die and be spared ‘the long torment of prison’. Although evidence of her conditions of imprisonment is limited, it was not a comfortable experience. Haimond de Mascy, a Burgundian in Luxembourg’s service, noted during the Rehabilitation trial that he had tried ‘several times, playfully, to touch her breasts’. Famously, Charles VII made no attempt to free her before she was sold to the English on 21 November 1430. The English in turn handed her over to the Inquisition to be tried and finally executed for heresy at Rouen on 30 May 1431.[20]
Prisoners could, therefore, be used to make a political statement, as with Joan, or as leverage in a range of situations. The continued safety of captives might depend on maintaining an agreement. They also offered a means of exchange that might sweeten a deal or prevent one losing too much face when handing over territory or property: a castle, say, might be lost but prisoners were returned in exchange. This last became common practice in the 1370s when the French overturned the territorial settlement agreed at Brétigny, and in the final phases of the war when the Valois reclaimed Normandy and Gascony. Another way in which prisoners might be used for political advantage was to delay an assault on a town or fortress. This occurred in the cases of William Neville and William Bruys. With ten others they were handed over to the French in 1373 as hostages by John, Lord Neville, who had agreed to surrender the fortress of Brest if it was not relieved within one month. Three years later Edward III and the Privy Council received a petition from the captives’ wives. Neville and Bruys were said to be confined ‘in a harsh prison, often on point of death … and their ransom has been [set] so high that it cannot be paid’.[21]
Prisoners might also be exchanged for one another, and because of various vested interests such deals could be very complex. This can be seen in the interlinked cases of Gui, count of Namur, John Randolf, third earl of Moray[22], and William Montague, earl of Salisbury. The series of events that entwined the destinies of these men began before the outbreak of the Hundred Years War. In August 1335, Moray defeated a force under the command of the count of Namur, a cousin of Queen Philippa, who had brought troops to assist Edward III at Edinburgh. At this time the king was involved in his final expedition to subdue the Bruce faction in Scotland. Gui and his men surrendered to Moray, who agreed to free the count on condition that he took no further part in Edward’s campaign. However, while escorting Gui to the border, Moray was himself surprised and captured by an English force. He was held first in York and then transferred between several locations, including Nottingham Castle, Windsor, Winchester and the Tower of London. He remained a prisoner until 1342 when Edward III ransomed him in exchange for William Montague, earl of Salisbury, who had been captured by the French early in 1340.[23]
Montague had served alongside Edward III in the Low Countries in the early exchanges of the Hundred Years War, and he had remained there when the king returned to England to deal with the political and financial fracas that unfolded after the failed siege of Tournai (1340). Montague’s presence and that of Robert Ufford, earl of Suffolk, was required to promote Edward’s ‘provincial strategy’, by which he sought to develop a body of support in France, and they both stood as surety for the king’s debts to his continental allies. During Edward’s absence, however, they launched an attack with Jacques van Artevelde on the French-allied town of Lille. It was a rash assault, one undertaken without infantry support, and as a result they were taken captive and handed over to Philippe VI.[24] The king, it seems, intended to kill Salisbury but was dissuaded by John of Bohemia for reasons of chivalric convention and because of the political leverage he might afford; instead, Salisbury was imprisoned in the Châtelet in Paris, on the right bank of the Seine. Montague was soon released on parole as part of the truce of Esplechin (September 1340), and he negotiated a further settlement with Philippe VI in May 1342 on condition that he never fought in France again. This obligation, however, was overturned in return for the release from English custody of the earl of Moray and other captives.[25]
John Talbot was another who was released only as part of an exchange. He spent four years as a prisoner after his defeat at the battle of Patay (18 June 1429). Faced with an ‘unresonable and importable raunceon’ (perhaps as much as £25,000), which was far in excess of Talbot’s own resources, funds began to be raised in England by public subscription. In addition, the Crown offered £9,000, and a petition was presented in Parliament suggesting an exchange with a French nobleman of high status, the sire de Barbazan.[26] Unfortunately for Talbot, before the exchange could take place, Barbazan was rescued from captivity at Château Gaillard (a castle overlooking the River Seine in Normandy) on 24 January 1430. After the Maid of Orléans’s trial began in March 1431, Charles VII exercised the royal prerogative to acquire Talbot as a prisoner of note and it may be that the French king contemplated offering an exchange for Joan of Arc. Clearly, this did not take place: Joan went to the stake and Talbot only secured his freedom after the earl of Salisbury captured Poton de Xaintrailles – Talbot’s original captor – at Savignies in August 1431. Even then negotiations were protracted and Talbot only returned to England in the spring of 1433.[27]
Some prisoners, those of royal blood in particular, could be of immense political significance. Two Scottish kings found themselves detained in England in the course of the war: David II (captured at Neville’s Cross, 1346 and released in 1357) and James I (held between 1406 and 1424). The extensive periods both spent in captivity had considerable implications for Anglo-Scottish relations and Scottish domestic politics. The consequences of the Scottish defeat in 1346 were especially severe because alongside David II three earls (Duncan of Fife, William of Sutherland, Malcolm of Wigton), William Douglas of Liddesdale and at least 20 major barons were taken prisoner. Another of those taken captive that day, John Graham, earl of Menteith, had earlier sworn allegiance to John Balliol and, consequently, was executed as a traitor. He was hanged, drawn and quartered, and the remains of his body were despatched to four major cities in the north.[28]
David II was taken to York and thence, in the care of Thomas Rokeby, to the Tower of London. The king’s capture radically changed the political relationship between England and Scotland, if for two somewhat contradictory reasons. First, David’s capture effectively neutralised Scotland as a French ally, which was clearly to England’s advantage. However, Edward III had denied the legality and validity of the Bruce claim to the Scottish throne for 15 years, offering support to the rival Balliol family instead. In order to benefit from David’s capture Edward would have to recognise John Balliol as king. Edward would face a similar situation after the capture of Jean II in 1356.
David II spent 11 years in captivity. The authorities in Scotland, led by Robert Stewart, earl of March, were in no hurry to bring the king home. The negotiations foundered over the size of the ransom and a demand that one of Edward III’s sons succeed to the Scottish throne should David die childless.[29] Eventually the parties agreed the treaty of Berwick in October 1357. David’s ransom was set at 100,000 marks (£66,666 13s. 4d.) to be paid over 10 years. Financial gain, however, does not appear to have been Edward’s main priority; rather he aimed to ensure some political control over David and the other prisoners taken at Neville’s Cross. The period of repayment was designed to guarantee a truce, which was of considerable importance given the forthcoming Reims campaign. Edward did not wish, as had happened in 1346, to set sail for France leaving his northern border exposed to Scottish attack.[30]
In fact the treaty of Berwick held for the remainder of David II’s reign because repayment did not follow the agreed schedule. It was only with Edward III’s death in 1377 that Robert II of Scotland stopped paying his predecessor’s ransom. Then, with English dominions under pressure in France and the opportunities afforded by Richard II’s minority, the Scottish border magnates once again began raiding English territory and seeking to extend their power southwards. In these circumstances the Auld Alliance now offered the French a chance to press their advantage home. In the 1380s the French admiral Jean de Vienne coordinated a series of attacks on the English coast, culminating in an attempted invasion of England on two fronts – one force marching south from Scotland. In the event it came to nothing and the treaty of Leulingham, which followed soon after (1389), formally included Scotland in an Anglo-French truce for the first time. That, along with the accession of the feeble Robert III in 1390, ensured the beginning of a period of calm in Anglo-Scottish relations.[31]
However, as the century turned, matters did not remain tranquil in Scotland itself. In 1406, in order to escape growing political instability, Robert III sent his heir, the future James I, to France. En route, however, and in violation of the truce with England, he was captured by pirates and sold to Henry IV. Aged just twelve, he began a period of imprisonment that would last almost 18 years. Although James succeeded to the throne in 1407, he remained a captive until 1424, held at different times at the Tower of London, Nottingham Castle, Windsor, Pevensey, Kenilworth and Westminster, and even accompanying Henry V on campaign to France. King Henry sought to use his prisoner in a variety of ways. For example, James’s presence among the English army in France brought into question the nature of Scottish support for the Valois. Henry hoped to use his prisoner to fracture the Auld Alliance and to force the Scots into paying a heavy ransom, but he also wished to reshape Scottish attitudes towards England. Consequently, James was well treated during his time in England. The young king was educated in knightly skills – jousting and swordplay. He maintained a small household and was visited regularly by his countrymen. Some of these established political and personal ties with him, which influenced royal policies after his release. James’s closest contact before 1424 was with his fellow captive Murdoch Stewart, son and heir of Robert, duke of Albany, Scotland’s governor during James’s absence. While he made token efforts to secure James’s liberation, Albany was much more concerned with obtaining his son’s release. When Murdoch was released in 1415, negotiations ground to a complete halt for a period. Like Robert the Steward during David II’s captivity, Albany saw no reason to hurry the king’s return. Indeed, until 1411 he referred to James in correspondence as ‘the son of the late king’.[32]
During his long captivity James wrote The Kingis Quair (or King’s Book). This poem took the form of a recollection in which the narrator looks back over a period of imprisonment and misfortune. It owes a great deal to Boethius’s De Consolatione Philosophiaeand also shows the influence of Chaucer and Gower. Much of the poem follows a dream sequence, dedicated to an appreciation of a lady and the different forms of love, but the author also recounts the story of his capture by the English and his disbelief that Fortune should be so cruel to him. Beasts, birds and fish of the sea had freedom yet he lived in thraldom, ‘without comfort, abandoned in sorrow’, for nearly 18 years. The Kingis Quair reveals James’s emotional suffering and feelings of impotence during his captivity. By the end, however, matters take a turn for the better and the author is freed from the sufferings of unrequited love and his captivity.[33]
When James’s release eventually took place, it came as a result of English not Scottish action. His amicable relationship with Henry V, who knighted him on St George’s Day 1421, created the impression in England that James had a good deal of sympathy for the country. This was further encouraged by his marriage to Cardinal Henry Beaufort’s niece, Joan, in February 1424. The Beauforts hoped to make James an ally after his release, and it was their influence and their willingness to offer terms that forced Albany to reopen negotiations. Agreements made in 1423 at York and London, and in March 1424 at Durham, secured James’s freedom in return for a ransom of £40,000 (reduced by 10,000 marks, the value of the new Scottish queen’s dowry).[34]
James’s release, however, did not lead to entirely amicable Anglo-Scottish relations, nor did it end the Auld Alliance. Scots continued to be prominent in French armies and political ties with France remained strong: in 1436 James’s daughter, Margaret, married the dauphin, Louis. (She died childless in 1445.) But with the growing political ascendancy of Charles VII the nature of the Auld Alliance did begin to change. As Charles grew in strength he became less reliant on Scottish support. Meanwhile, although the Scots continued to take advantage of England’s preoccupation with France, there were no major assaults south of the border while the Hundred Years War continued.
Although very valuable, neither David II nor James I was the most important prisoner to fall into English hands during the Hundred Years War. This accolade falls to Jean II of France, captured at the battle of Poitiers in 1356. The king, fighting alongside his youngest son, Philippe, had eventually been overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. Denis de Morbeke, a knight from Artois, was first to lay claim to him, although the king refused to surrender until he was assured that de Morbeke was, indeed, a knight. Then Jean gave up one of his gauntlets as a sign of surrender. However, the king was then grabbed by several other soldiers who wished to claim him as their own, including a Gascon squire, Bernard de Troys. The king clearly became concerned for his safety and that of his son at this stage and is said to have called out ‘I am a great enough lord to make you all rich.’ Just as things were getting out of hand the earl of Warwick and Reginald Cobham, two of the Black Prince’s chief lieutenants, forced their way through the crowd on horseback and drove back the crowds before conveying their prisoner to the prince.[35] Edward then treated the French king with all the propriety due to one of his stature:
The same day of the battle at night the prince made a supper in his lodging for the French king and for the most part of the great lords that were prisoners … and always the prince served before the king as humbly as he could, and would not sit at the king’s board for any desire the king could make, but he said he was not sufficient to sit at the table with so great a prince.[36]
As this suggests, Jean was by no means alone when taken in 1356; indeed, approximately two thousand of his comrades were also captured. Most of these had no political value and the great majority were soon released after payment or its promise. Seventeen prisoners were, however, considered to be of the utmost importance, and Edward III purchased these men from their captors at a cost of around £65,000. The most important of these by far was Jean II himself.[37]
After a period in Bordeaux in which frantic diplomatic negotiations took place, the Black Prince and his royal captive took ship for England. They landed at Plymouth and made a leisurely progress towards London. They arrived at the capital on 24 May 1357 and were met in the first of a major series of public events designed to emphasise the huge significance of what had happened at Poitiers. A thousand citizens dressed in the livery of the city guilds, and young maidens scattered gold and silver leaf; wine was freely dispensed. At a royal banquet Edward III was seated flanked by the two kings he held in captivity, David II and Jean II. It was the beginning of ‘one of the most sustained and purposeful demonstrations of royal magnificence witnessed in medieval England’. King Jean was initially placed under house arrest in the Savoy, Henry of Grosmont’s London residence. The Thames was patrolled to ensure he did not escape down the river. While in captivity the king was kept in a suitable style, but his entourage was quickly made aware that this generosity was limited and that many household expenses would have to be paid out of funds sent over from Paris. Edward III made sure that he ‘displayed’ his ‘guest’, alongside David II, in a series of public events. In the autumn of 1357 there was a great tournament at Smithfield, and a Garter feast in April 1358 at Windsor. Heralds were despatched to France, Germany and the Low Countries to proclaim the jousts, and many knights travelled to participate.[38]
Jean II’s capture radically altered the political climate and the balance of power. The ransom negotiations first produced the treaties of London (8 May 1358 and 24 March 1359), but their extortionate terms were not implemented. Consequently, Edward III led a further expeditionary force to France in 1359. It was one the largest armies to assault France in the Middle Ages and its intention was appropriately grand. Edward marched on Reims with the aim of capturing the coronation city and being crowned king of France. He failed: he could not breach the walls and the citizens of Reims would not open the gates to him. Edward then marched on Paris, again to no avail. He did not have the means to implement an effective siege, and because of the experiences of Crécy and Poitiers the French would not be drawn into battle outside the walls. The result was a peace treaty sealed at Brétigny (8 May 1360). In addition to major territorial concessions and the (theoretical) renunciation of various claims and titles, Jean II’s ransom was set at 3,000,000 écus (£500,000) – equivalent to five or six times the Crown’s annual income from ordinary revenues, wool taxes and the lay and clerical subsidies. This was payable in annual instalments of 400,000 écus. As security a large number of hostages were sent to London, including certain princes of the Blood Royal – the dukes of Orléans and Bourbon, Louis d’Anjou and Jean de Berry. These hostages were treated in some style; they were accompanied by their households and found ample time for hunting and gambling. By 1362, however, many had, understandably, become extremely frustrated. Their freedom was conditional on the transfer of certain territories to English control, the payment of the second tranche of the king’s ransom and the implementation of the renunciation clauses of the treaty of Brétigny. When it became clear that these terms would not be met for some time, the princes took matters into their own hands and negotiated a separate agreement with Edward III. Jean II felt duty bound to honour this and the princes were transferred to Calais to await the transfer of various securities. While there, however, Louis d’Anjou escaped, breaking faith with Edward, Jean and his fellow captives. As a consequence early in 1364 Jean felt compelled to return to London. It was an extraordinary step, to place himself, once again, in the hands of the king of England, but the French king feared for his honour and judged the risk worth taking to secure a more favourable settlement. Almost immediately he fell ill, and died in April, aged only forty-five. Edward III gave him a splendid funeral in St Paul’s Cathedral before his body was returned to France for burial in Saint-Denis.[39]
Jean II’s remarkable behaviour in returning voluntarily into potential captivity in England indicates the significance of honour and, by extension, of the chivalric ethic in matters of ransoming and prisoners of war. Its influence over the behaviour of the knightly community is evident throughout the war and especially in the pages of certain chroniclers. Jean Froissart’s account of the siege of Caen in 1346 is a case in point:
the Constable [the Count of Eu and Guines] and the Count of Tancarville … could see the battle was already lost. The English were now among them, killing as they liked without mercy … Looking out from the gate-tower where they had taken refuge and seeing the truly horrible carnage which was taking place in the street, the Constable and the Count began to fear that they might be drawn into it and fall into the hands of archers who did not know who they were. While they were watching the massacre with dismay they caught sight of a gallant English knight called Sir Thomas Holand … They recognised him because they had campaigned together in Granada and Prussia … They were much relieved and called out to him … On hearing his own name the knight stopped asked: ‘Who are you sirs, who seem to know me?’ They gave their names and said … ‘Come to us and make us your prisoners.’ When he heard this Sir Thomas was delighted, not only because he could save their lives but also because their capture meant an excellent day’s work and a fine haul of valuable prisoners.[40]0
Froissart’s account shows the close links that existed between Europe’s military elite, certainly in the early stages of the Hundred Years War. However, it also reveals the growing strains placed on the ransom system as military tactics changed and fewer opportunities remained to capture a defeated opponent. Froissart described those who refused to take prisoners at the sack of Caen as ‘gens sans pité’,[41] but their behaviour was not so unusual and was becoming less so. Nonetheless, there are many examples of ‘proper’ treatment being meted out to prisoners of war. It is evident in an account of a duel that took place during the siege/sack of Limoges (1370). In the course of what was undoubtedly a brutal attack, however exaggerated by Froissart, John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, fought a spirited duel with a French knight, Sir Jean de Villemur. Eventually Villemur and his companions were forced to submit to Gaunt with the words: ‘Sirs we are yours, you have beaten us. Treat us according to the law of arms.’ ‘By God, Sir John,’ said the duke of Lancaster, ‘we would never dream of doing anything else. We accept you as our prisoners.’[42]
Very similar attitudes can be seen at work in an incident which took place in the early 1430s. Then one Louis Bournel had been taken captive by Duke Phillippe the Good of Burgundy. He was well treated, kept in comfortable surroundings, and so he enjoyed accommodation appropriate to his station ‘because he was a knight and a man of public standing.’ Such treatment complied with chivalric convention but was not unconditional – it would continue only so as long as he behaved ‘properly’ and followed the duke’s instructions.[43]
The law of arms to which Sir Jean de Villemur appealed had become bound up with the chivalric ethic and it ensured ransoming became a key feature of chivalry. It mitigated the perils of the battlefield for those to whom it applied, but it only ever applied to the chivalrous – to those worth ransoming, as Anthoine of Burgundy, duke of Brabant, discovered to his cost at Agincourt. The duke was captured and died anonymously in the slaughter of prisoners because he wore the armour of one of his chamberlains and had not disclosed his identity, hoping to secure a low ransom.[44]4 A general valuation of soldiers’ worth can be seen at the surrender of Pont-Audemer of 1449. Jean, count of Dunois, Charles VII’s lieutenant, set the ransom of the English captain of the fortified town at 2,000écus, that of each man-at-arms at 30 écus, and that of each archer at 12 écus.[45] However, the life of a regular soldier was never entirely safe when he fell into enemy hands. It was not at all uncommon for only the officers to be ransomed and the rest of the captured troops put to the sword. Often this depended on military circumstances and it was sometimes impossible or imprudent to take large numbers of regular soldiers captive. Nonetheless, as the war drew on, the ransom values of the lesser soldiery became increasingly standardised. This was an important development in the whole business of ransoming – its extension to the lower echelons of the military hierarchy. A scale of ransom prices for those below the elite became systematised. Alongside this process the costs associated with the maintenance of a prisoner (board and lodging) became fixed. Known as les marz, this was usually calculated as worth about a fifth of the ransom itself.[46]
For the aristocratic or valuable prisoner, convention dictated that their living conditions should not be too onerous, nor should their period of captivity be particularly extended, especially as they might be permitted to substitute a hostage for their own person. Such protocols, however, were often subject to political priorities and military realities. Over the course of the war the social composition of armies changed as the proportion of infantry and missile troops rose. As knights became less numerous on the battlefield, the manner in which the chivalric ethic operated altered: as noted above, when the count of Eu faced an English assault on Caen in 1346, the particular danger he faced was that he might fall into the hands of archers who did not recognise him. In addition, the need to maintain discipline in the ranks during a battle lessened the opportunities to take prisoners. In such circumstances it became more common to take no prisoners at all, at least until the fighting was done. The Flemish took no captives at Courtrai; the Swiss became renowned for offering no quarter to a defeated enemy.[47] The English also valued military cohesion more than chivalric convention. Although the Parisian Bourgeois suggested it was much better to be captured by the English than the French, the ‘chivalrous’ Edward III, founder of the Order of the Garter, had 100 Scottish prisoners beheaded on the morning after Halidon Hill.[48] At Crécy he ordered, on pain of death, that no one was to break ranks without his leave to pillage or take prisoners. This was necessary for tactical reasons but also a response to the deployment of the French war banner, the Oriflamme. The banner was a declaration of guerre mortelle – a fight to the death with no quarter given.[49] This also happened at Poitiers where ‘Sire Geoffrey de Charny bore the scarlet standard, which is the token of Death, for the French king had issued an order that the life of no Englishman was to be spared except that of the prince himself.’[50] Although a ransom spree did take place in the later stages of the battle, the Black Prince had issued orders to try and ensure discipline in the ranks.[51] Charny himself was also well aware of the problems created by those men-at-arms who were ‘too eager for plunder’: they put themselves and their fellows at risk, their greed could cause disunity, and in battle ‘they are more anxious to safeguard their captives and their booty than to help bring the battle to a good conclusion. And it may be that a battle can be lost in this way.’[52]
The changing military climate goes some way to explaining the lack of criticism that followed the slaughter of the French prisoners at Agincourt. Perhaps because it was widely believed that such a notable victory could not have been achieved without God’s blessing, it would have been wrong to criticise the means of divine intervention. Perhaps such criticism as was voiced became submerged beneath the welter of self-recrimination that gripped France in the aftermath of the battle.[53] The English author of the Gesta Henrici Quinti described the event in the following, somewhat perfunctory terms:
But then … because of what wrathfulness on God’s part no one knows, a shout went up that the enemy’s mounted rearguard … were re-establishing their position and line of battle in order to launch an attack on us, few and weary as we were. And immediately, regardless of distinction of person, the prisoners, save for the dukes of Orléans and Bourbon, certain other illustrious men who were in the king’s battle [division], and a few others, were killed by the swords either of their captors or of others following after, lest they should involve us in utter disaster in the fighting that would ensue.[54]
Nonetheless, the chivalric ethic continued to influence behaviour throughout the war and it could override political priorities in certain instances. The capture of Bertrand du Guesclin at the battle of Nájera (1367) is a vivid example of this. At this stage of his career du Guesclin was rising in Charles V’s service and he had already gained a formidable military reputation, despite his defeat and capture at Auray in 1364. In 1367 he was purchased by Edward the Black Prince from his initial captor, Thomas Cheyne, and held for several months in Bordeaux without being offered terms for his release. The story of du Guesclin’s ransom has been much embellished, and the details of the affair differ between the versions given by his biographer, Cuvelier, by Jean Froissart and by a number of other chivalric chroniclers; but it remains instructive nonetheless. Some accounts tell that du Guesclin accused the prince of cowardice, suggesting he was afraid to ransom him. The slight, according to Cuvelier, so affronted the prince that he immediately offered to release the future constable of France without charge – indeed, he offered to pay him 10,000 florins to re-equip himself – if in return he would swear not to take up arms again against the prince, his children or Pedro of Castile in whose name the prince had fought at Nájera. Du Guesclin refused these terms, at which Edward stated he should name his own price. Du Guesclin placed this at a staggering 100,000 francs (about £18,666). The Prince immediately remitted 40,000 francs and sent him back to France to find the remainder. Du Guesclin boasted that if King Charles and Enrique of Trastamara could not find the money, ‘There is not a spinster in all of France/But would earn my ransom by her spinning.’[55] Du Guesclin was soon active again at the head of Charles V’s armies, successfully recapturing the territory the French had ceded to England through the treaty of Brétigny and overrunning much of Aquitaine, which the Black Prince governed.
Such behaviour was by no means universal. During the reconquest of Aquitaine Charles the Wise chose not to bow to chivalric convention. Owen of Wales (Owain Lawgoc/Owain ap Thomas ap Rhodri, d.1378), a Welsh mercenary in Valois service, captured Jean de Grailly, captal de Buch (dép Gironde), a Gascon noble ‘whom the French feared the most’, at Soubise near the mouth of the Charente on 23 August 1372. De Grailly was never released. Charles V offered him numerous valuable incentives in return for his allegiance, but he refused them all. In 1374 Edward III purchased Waleran of Luxemburg, count of St Pol, in order to try and engineer an exchange for de Grailly, but Charles refused the deal and de Grailly died in captivity.[56] Similarly, for political reasons Henry V deliberately blocked all negotiations over the ransom of Charles d’Orléans. Both examples demonstrate the friction between obligations of honour and the pragmatism of national self-interest.
Chivalric convention also suggested that ransom demands should not be financially crippling (perhaps a maximum of three times a prisoner’s annual income), but clearly this was not always the case. In reality, an earl or a count would rarely secure his freedom for less than £5,000, an annual income that only the wealthiest enjoyed. A man’s reputation, his social and political connections, as well as his apparent wealth, were all taken into account when setting a ransom, as were the costs incurred during his captivity. Consequently, there was little uniformity when setting the ransoms of the elite, especially as political and military circumstances might also influence the amount demanded. Guillaume de Châteauvillain, a Burgundian nobleman, faced financial ruin when forced to sell a great deal of land to pay his ransom in 1430. This had been fixed initially at 22,000 crowns (approx. £5,000), but his expenses in prison, the cost of messengers and his responsibility for other captives meant that this soon rose to 31,000 crowns (£7,000).[57]
Because of such excessive ransoms kings and commanders on all sides often received petitions requesting assistance, and they often felt obliged to make some contribution.[58] Robert Langton, warden of Calais castle, in a petition of 1357, that asserted he was forced to sell all his lands, property and other goods to pay a ransom. The case was especially unfortunate because while he had travelled to England to collect the money his wife and son had been murdered.[59] In 1380, Ralph Lord Greystoke, a warden of the Scottish March and Roxburgh Castle, pleaded with John of Gaunt, in his capacity as the king’s lieutenant in the Scottish Marches, for assistance after he had been seized by George Dunbar, the Scottish earl of March, and put to a ‘heavy’ ransom (1,000 marks): one ‘so heavy’, he claimed, ‘that it w[ould] ruin him forever’ and ‘utterly destroy’ him.[60] In 1426 Georges de la Trémoïlle (captured at Agincourt) received the lordship of Melle in Poitou from Charles VII in order to defray his ransom expenses.[61] In the final exchanges of the war, Sir Richard Frogenhale petitioned Henry VI for assistance in paying a ransom, having been captured while in service in France. He had already received contributions from Edmund Beaufort, earl of Somerset, and, interestingly, ‘the gentlemen of Kent’. However, he had not been able to raise the remaining sum, meaning he would be forced to hand himself over to his captors again unless he received help.[62] The responsibility of a commander to assist with ransom expenses might have to be met in difficult circumstances. René d’Anjou, despite searching for the means to pay his own ransom after his defeat at the battle of Bulgnéville (Lorraine) in 1431, felt compelled to assist Jean de Rodemack who had also been taken prisoner.[63]
Soldiers were not the only group at risk of being captured during the Hundred Years War. Whole communities in France were held to ransom and forced to pay patis to mercenaries and troops of all sides. Merchants could also be taken captive. This was a concern not only to the individuals involved but also to governments because of the impact on trade. A petition made in the English Parliament of January 1390 noted the threat to the cloth trade that could result from merchants being taken prisoner.[64]The case of John Spencer, a London mercer, was far from unique. He sought restitution after having taken advantage of a safe conduct that Jean de Montfort offered to all merchants in 1371 to trade in the duchy of Brittany. Despite this Spencer had been captured close to La Roche-Maurice, near Brest; his goods were stolen, he spent nearly a year in prison and he was forced to pay a substantial ransom.[65]
Just as conventions regarding capture and the size of ransoms varied widely, so too did the conditions in which prisoners of war could be held captive. The majority of those taken prisoner were soon given parole in order to collect their ransoms and did not endure long periods of incarceration. The nature of the Hundred Years War, however, could create very difficult circumstances for a captive. Political conditions might mean that he was adjudged a criminal and executed rather than held as a prisoner of war. Also, the spread of undisciplined mercenary activity ensured that those captured by such men might receive treatment which fell far short of accepted ‘chivalric’ standards. Such standards demanded that captives be kept in a style appropriate to their rank. Capture should not be demeaning; as Charny noted in his Livre de chevalerie (Book of Chivalry), ‘Does not God show you great mercy if you are taken prisoner honourably, praised by friends and enemies?’[66] This, however, was not always the case. Following the Castilian victory over the English fleet at the battle of La Rochelle (23 June 1372), the Chronique des quatre premiers Valoisdescribes how the prisoners were kept like dogs on a leash (encoupples comme chiens en lesse en une corde),[67] with the English commander, John Hastings, earl of Pembroke (1347–75), supposedly held in irons. Soon after the battle, the king of Castile, Enrique da Trastamara, sold Hastings to Bertrand du Guesclin, then constable of France, in return for certain Castilian estates. The subsequent negotiations with England were protracted: du Guesclin demanded 120,000 francs, a substantial proportion of which was to be paid before the earl would be released. Despite Hastings’s royal connections little progress was made until early 1375; then, while du Guesclin was taking his prisoner from Paris to Calais, the earl died, on 16 April 1375. Walsingham recounts this happened because the Castilians had ‘treated [him] monstrously’.[68]
Such examples, sadly, do not seem to be unusual. Some of those taken by Henry V at Harfleur were still being held seven years later in Fleet prison and were reduced to begging for food.[69] Captives might even be tortured in order to get them to agree to the most generous terms. Fettering, feeding on bread and water, beatings and even mutilations were not unknown. A case brought before the Châtelet of Paris in 1392 involved a torturer specifically employed to beat prisoners to force them to agree to the largest possible ransom. Perhaps the most horrific example was that of Henry Gencian, who during ten months of captivity in the ‘care’ of François de la Palu, lord of Varambon, had some of his teeth knocked out, his nose pierced like a bull, was beaten regularly and even forced, naked, into a pit full of snakes.[70]
A less extreme case is that of Jean d’Angoulême (Charles d’Orléans’s brother, who, aged eight, had been used to guarantee a treaty made between the Armagnac faction and Thomas, duke of Clarence, at Buzançais on 14 November 1412). He remained in captivity in England until 1445. After Clarence’s death at the battle of Baugé in 1421, Jean was given into the keeping of Margaret Beaufort (née Holland), Clarence’s widow, and his living conditions appear to have deteriorated. Held at Maxey Castle (Northamptonshire), he complained he was not provided with enough to eat, and to support him his brother felt compelled to send him the proceeds of the gabelle (salt tax) in Orléans.[71]
Over the course of the conflict the position of prisoners of war shifted according to political circumstances. The ransom of prisoners in Lancastrian Normandy and the pays de conquête created particular problems for the English administration. Norman captives often paid their ransoms with the help of friends or family within the duchy of Normandy. This was intolerable, as these relatives and connections were now English subjects. Essentially, French prisoners were regaining their freedom with the assistance of subjects of the English Crown. In order to prevent this, Henry V forbade the issue of any safe conducts to Norman prisoners. Instead, they were to be handed over directly to the authorities – their captor would receive a third of the ransom. This situation changed somewhat when the treaty of Troyes was sealed in 1420 after which any French prisoner of war could be considered guilty of lèse-majesté and executed, although in practice this was very rare. Nonetheless, in English Normandy the distinction between a criminal and a prisoner of war became very uncertain.[72]
By comparison Thomas Gray had the leisure and means to begin his Scalacronicawhile held in Edinburgh Castle (1355–56). Gray was one of a number of notable authors who wrote in prison – a tradition Boethius fixed in the medieval mind when he wrote the De Consolatione of Philosophiae circa 524. During Gray’s year in captivity he had access to Scottish sources and records, from Edinburgh castle’s library and perhaps that at Holyrood Abbey.[73] Similarly, although long and psychologically onerous, Charles d’Orléans’s imprisonment was physically comfortable, indeed, often luxurious. Having escaped the massacre of prisoners at Agincourt, Charles spent the next 25 years as a prisoner in England. He was of course not the only captive from Agincourt: a number of important individuals survived the slaughter, including Jean, duke of Bourbon, Charles d’Artois, count of Eu, Louis of Bourbon, count of Vendôme, Artur de Richemont and Jean le Maingre (Boucicaut II).[74] On returning from France Henry V made a genuine effort to ensure his prisoners’ comfort and general well-being: he issued orders for the purchase of fine furnishings and bedding for their accommodation in and around London (at Westminster, Windsor,[75] the Tower of London and Eltham). Safe-conducts were also prepared for members of the captives’ households in order that they might better administer their affairs and so personal possessions could be brought from France. While the duke of Bourbon asked for four falconers, Charles d’Orléans had nearly a hundred books delivered, including medical works and a large number of religious volumes – Bibles, breviaries, psalters, missals, Books of Hours, Lives of the saints, works by Sts Augustine, Gregory and Jerome.[76] Over the course of his captivity the duke acquired and commissioned many more books and built up a large library that included further devotional and theological writings, scientific and medical works, poetry and chronicles in both Latin and French.
During his captivity Charles d’Orléans not only read but wrote extensively. He became a noted poet and author, writing in both French and English. Some of his English works, influenced by Chaucer and other native poets, are now widely considered as among the finest English vernacular poetry of the first half of the fifteenth century. Appropriately, the poems the duke wrote in captivity (123 balladesand 89 chansons) have come to be known as Le livre de prison.[77] Twin themes emerge in his writing – his longing for peace and for France. Ballade LXXV (written about May 1433, after some 18 years in captivity) includes the verse:
Peace is a treasure one cannot praise too much;
I hate war, and should esteem it nothing at all;
It has hindered me a long time, rightly or wrongly,
From seeing France that my heart must love.
The duke endured such an extraordinarily extended captivity because of his political significance. He was a central figure in the Armagnac-Burgundian conflict, and hence became a vital element in the maintenance of England’s alliance with Burgundy. Furthermore, for a while he was second in line to the French throne, while his half-brother, Jean, the Bastard of Orléans, later comte de Dunois (1402–68), became a major figure in the dauphin’s retinue. Charles’s son-in-law, Jean d’Alençon (1409–76), who was captured aged fifteen at the battle of Verneuil in 1424, was also of great political importance.[78] Therefore, during the first decade of his captivity, Charles’s political value was enormous, and although Henry V and his successors ensured his comfort they also exploited that value.[79]
On 1 June 1417, as the king prepared for his second Normandy campaign, Charles was moved from London into the custody of Robert Waterton (d.1425), constable of Pontefract Castle (Yorkshire). Waterton had great experience in such matters although his charges had not all ended well; he had been Richard II’s gaoler after the king’s deposition and in 1399 the king had died in his care. In addition to Charles d’Orléans, Waterton also took charge of Artur de Richemont, the count of Eu, and Marshal Boucicaut. Pontefract was one of the largest castles in Yorkshire and Waterton seems to have been a genial host: Charles was permitted to go hunting and he spent time with Waterton’s family at their home at Methley. In return he was a generous guest. Records show he gave a number of gifts to Waterton’s wife and children. Restrictions, however, began to be placed on Charles’s freedom of action as fears grew of Scottish intervention, especially after the formation of the Anglo-Burgundian alliance. At this stage, although Waterton remained in royal favour he was relieved of his most valuable charge. Charles passed into the care of Nicholas Montgomery at Tutbury (Staffordshire) and then, soon after, to Thomas Burton, warden of Fotheringhay (Northamptonshire), who also took responsibility for Richemont, Eu and Boucicaut. Henry V continued to be concerned about the possibility of his French prisoners contacting and plotting with the steward of Scotland, Murdoch Stewart, duke of Albany (c.1362–1425). This seems unlikely in Charles’s case, as for much of this time he appears to have been thoroughly absorbed with an array of financial problems, mainly concerned with raising the ransom for his brother, Jean of Angoulême.[80]
Circumstances again changed in 1420 with the completion of the treaty of Troyes. At this point some of Henry V’s prisoners were freed (including Richemont)[81], and the duke of Bourbon received permission to travel to Dieppe to negotiate terms for his own freedom. But Henry prohibited the release of Charles d’Orléans while he could still prove politically valuable. This stipulation was repeated in the king’s will of 1421 and it also extended to the count of Eu. Briefly, after the battle of Baugé in March of that year, in which the earls of Somerset (John Beaufort, 1404–44) and Huntingdon (John Holland) were captured, there seemed to be hope for the release of the duke of Orléans as part of an exchange, but this came to nothing. Holland, having been captured by the Scottish knight John Sibbald, spent five years in captivity in Anjou. Like Charles d’Orléans he faced daunting financial obstacles in paying his ransom and it took until 1426 before his stepfather, Sir John Cornwall, negotiated an exchange for the count of Vendôme (another of those captured at Agincourt). Huntingdon later claimed his captivity cost him 20,000 marks[82].
With Henry V’s death in 1422 and the continuing hostilities with the dauphin, the prospects for the release of Charles d’Orléans became ever more remote: by December he had passed into the custody of Sir Thomas Comberworth and was kept mostly at Bolingbroke Castle (Lincolnshire). His financial circumstances also grew increasingly bleak. First, because of the considerable costs involved in keeping the dukes of Bourbon and Orléans in captivity, the Privy Council decided in January 1424 that the captives should pay their own expenses. No information exists regarding how the new financial arrangements worked, although to lessen the pain of this Charles was permitted to have wine sent over from his own lands duty-free, which he immediately did[83]. Then in the second half of the decade the fighting in France spread to Charles’s own lands: the devastation of his property had major financial implications.
Thereafter Charles d’Orléans was placed in the care of a succession of keepers. In 1429 he became the responsibility of Sir John Cornwall at Ampthill (Bedfordshire). In August 1432 he was entrusted to William de la Pole, earl of Suffolk, and his wife, Alice Chaucer, until in 1436 Charles was transferred to Sir Reginald Cobham at Starborough (Surrey). His final keeper, from 1438, was John, first Baron Stourton, who lived at Stourton in Wiltshire.
In this period, however, as the fortunes of war turned against the English, Charles’s chances of freedom improved. He began to act as both a negotiator and as a subject for negotiation. In October 1433 he accompanied the earl of Suffolk to peace talks at Calais; in 1434 he was licensed to enter into negotiations with other French princes. In 1435 he returned to Calais but did not attend the Congress of Arras (where his release was debated), although he did hold discussions with Isabella, duchess of Burgundy, which produced proposals for a truce. In 1439 he was once again in Calais, playing a supporting role in ultimately abortive negotiations. By this time, with the French ever more successful militarily, the duke was being seen as an important agent for peace. However, his release remained strenuously opposed by various factions in England led by Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, who argued for the necessity of upholding Henry V’s will and last wishes. Gloucester, eventually, was overruled by Cardinal Beaufort and by Henry VI himself, who ultimately took the decision to free the duke of Orléans. On 2 July 1440 the price of Charles’s freedom was set at 100,000 nobles (£33,333), of which 40,000 (£13,333) were to be paid at once. The duke was also charged to exert all his influence to secure peace between England and France. The money was raised by contributions levied throughout France, and on 5 November Charles crossed to Calais. He was finally freed at Gravelines on 12 November, having solemnly sworn to observe the terms of his release.[84]
Ransoming, then, was deeply significant during the Hundred Years War; an integral element of the chivalric ethic and crucial to a number of vital political and diplomatic events, it also influenced the lives of ordinary soldiers. The increasing professionalisation of military activity had a major impact on the process of ransoming during this period. Changes in recruitment, strategy, tactics, payment and weaponry brought new pressures and possibilities. Changes in political circumstances also had a great effect on the position of prisoners of war – in certain conditions one might be adjudged a prisoner of war and in others a criminal. Efforts were made to systematise the process and to assert royal rights over those taken captive in the Anglo-French wars. Because of the changing nature of the battlefield, both Plantagenets and Valois established rules by which they could acquire prisoners of note or public standing.
Charles d’Orléans was one of the most significant of these prisoners. The chief legacy of his long incarceration were his writings. His literary career would have been impossible had he not been captured. In several ways his works of prose and poetry run counter to various cultural trends. In particular his remarkable facility with English was becoming uncommon among his countrymen, just as increasing numbers of Englishmen were struggling with French. His love for his homeland was, however, much more representative. Over the course of the Hundred Years War and as a direct result of the Anglo-French conflict a greater sense of national consciousness emerged on both sides of the Channel. As the war drew to a close an individual’s conception of their political, cultural and national identity became increasingly defined.

[1] E. McLeod, Charles of Orléans: Prince and Poet (London, 1969), 172.
[2] See J. G. Dickinson, The Congress of Arras, 1435: A Study in Medieval Diplomacy(Oxford, 1955).
[3] This despite the fact that the dauphin’s coronation service had to be improvised because the royal insignia and crown were in English hands. Charles also lacked a copy of the most recent order of service and a Capetian coronation ordo had to be used instead. R. A. Jackson, Vive le Roi! A History of the French Coronation from Charles V to Charles X (Chapel Hill, NC, 1984), 34–6.
[4] Griffiths, Henry VI, 198–9.
[5] Knecht, Valois, 70–2; Vale, Ancient Enemy, 102–3; Harriss, Shaping the Nation, 566–7. For the proposed English response to the collapse of the Burgundian alliance and the failure of the Congress of Arras, see ‘Sir John Fastolf’s Report’ (1435), in J. Stevenson, ed., Letters and Papers Illustrative of the Wars of the English in France during the Reign of Henry the Sixth, King of England, 3 vols (London, 1861–4), II, 575–85; M. G. A. Vale, ‘Sir John Fastolf’s “Report” of 1435: A New Interpretation Reconsidered’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 17 (1973), 78–84.
[6] Book of Pluscardensis, cited by Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 74.
[7] C. Given-Wilson and F. Bériac-Lainé, ‘Edward III’s Prisoners of War: The Battle of Poitiers and its Context’, EHR, 116 (2001), 803–4.
[8] P. Contamine, ‘The Growth of State Control, Practices of War, 1300–1800: Ransom and Booty’, War and Competition between States, ed. P. Contamine (Oxford, 2000), 166. Despite the order to kill the prisoners, significant numbers were taken at Agincourt. French sources put the figure at about 1,500 knights and esquires including two dukes, three counts and a dozen or more great lords. English figures are lower. Chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 120–1; Chronique du Religieux du Saint-Denys, contenant le règne de Charles VI, de 1380 à 1422, ed. L.-F. Bellaguet, 6 vols (Paris, 1839–52), V, 574; Gesta Henrici Quinti, 95–6; Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 276–9; R. Ambühl, ‘Le sort des prisonniers d’Azincourt (1415)’, Revue du Nord, 89 (2007), 755–88; R. Ambühl, ‘A Fair Share of the Profits? The Ransoms of Agincourt’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 50 (2006), 129–50.
[9] P. C. Timbal, La Guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du parlement (1337–1369) (Paris, 1961), 305–74.
[10] The first general ordinances of war (sometimes called Ordinances of Durham), which stated that a third of spoils were to be paid to one’s captain/commander, who in turn paid a third to the Crown, were issued for the 1385 Scottish campaign: BL Stowe 140, ff. 148–51. Prior to 1385 there is evidence of some differences to this practice. Edward III and the Black Prince, for example, demanded a half of the profits from prisoners in some of their indentures and contracts: BPR, I, 128–9; III, 251–2, 294–5. For further discussion, see D. Hay, ‘The Division of the Spoils of War’, TRHS, 5th ser. 4 (1954), 91–109. For the distribution of booty in Henry V’s reign, see TNA E101/46/4; E101/48/2; 53/7;The Essential Portions of Nicholas Upton’s De Studio Militari, before 1446, ed. F. P. Barnard (Oxford, 1931), 45–6.
[11] R. Ambühl, ‘Prisoners of War in the Hundred Years War: The Golden Age of Private Ransoms’, unpub. PhD thesis (University of St Andrews, 2009), 30.
[12] Walsingham, Chronica Maiora, ed. Preest, 69–71.
[13] E. Perroy, ‘Gras profits et rançons pendant la Guerre de Cent Ans: l’affaire du comte de Denia’, Mélanges d’histoire du Moyen Âge dédiés à la mémoire de Louis Halphen, ed. F. Lot, M. Roques and C. Brunel (Paris, 1951), 573–80; A. Rogers, ‘Hoton versus Shakell’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 6 (1962), 74–108; 7 (1963), 53–78.
[14] Le Bel, Chronique, II, 222. See also Prestwich, ‘Why did Englishmen Fight in the Hundred Years War?’, 63–4.
[15] According to Jonathan Sumption, even before one takes into account the value of Jean II and his son, the ransoms of those captured at Poitiers totalled not less than £300,000, which was almost three times the cost of the English war effort over the past year: Trial by Fire, 248; Perroy, ‘Les profits et rançons pendant la Guerre de Cent Ans’,Mélanges d’histoire du Moyen Âge, 574. He calculated that between 1360 and 1370 Edward III received £268,000 from three major ransoms. See also Hay, ‘Division of the Spoils of War’, 93. However, M. M. Postan argued that little of the ransom money permeated into the national economy: ‘The Costs of the Hundred Years War’, Past and Present, 27 (1964), 34–53. T. F. Tout showed that perhaps as much as a third of King John’s ransom was retained in the king’s chamber for subsequent use in war disbursements abroad: Chapters in the Administrative History of Mediaeval England, 6 vols (Manchester, 1928), III, 243–8. See further: M. Broome, ‘The Ransom of John II King of France, 1360–70’, Camden Miscellany, 14 (1926), xvii–viii.
[16] Given-Wilson and Bériac-Lainé, ‘Battle of Poitiers’, 802–33; K. B. McFarlane, ‘The Investment of Sir John Fastolf’s Profits of War’, TRHS, 5th ser. 7 (1957), 91–116.
[17] Contamine, ‘Ransoms and Booty’, 169; Hay, ‘Division of the Spoils of War’, 100.
[18] TNA E30/74: agreement of Charles of Blois to pay 700,000 florins for his own ransom and for that of his wife; his sons Jean and Gui were to remain as hostages while the sum was paid (9 August 1356): C. J. Rogers, ‘The Anglo-French Peace Negotiations of 1354–1360 Reconsidered’, Age of Edward III, ed. Bothwell, 193–214.
[19] R. Pernoud, Joan of Arc by Herself and her Witnesses, trans. E. Hyams (Harmondsworth, 1964), 182.
[20] Pernoud, Joan of Arc, 185–6; Joan of Arc, ed. and trans. Taylor, 175.
[21] TNA SC8/261/13046; Sumption, Divided Houses, 182; Jones, Ducal Brittany, 74.
[22] Randolf had commanded the first schiltron at Halidon Hill, where very few prisoners were taken, and one hundred of those who surrendered were put to death at Edward III’s order the next morning: Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 72, 74.
[23] Scalacronica, 120; Rotuli Scotiae in Turri Londiniensi et in Domo Capitulari Westmonasteriensi asservati, I: Edward I–Edward III, ed. D. Macpherson (London, 1814), 371; S. I. Boardman, ‘Randolph, John, Third Earl of Moray (d.1346)’, ODNB(online edn, 2004). See TNA E101/21/22 for John, earl of Moray’s expenses in prison; he was ordered to be kept at Windsor and the constable was paid for his maintenance: CCR, 1339–41, 568.
[24] Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 187–8. On Edward’s ‘provincial strategy’, see J. Le Patourel, ‘Edward III and the Kingdom of France’, History, 43 (1958), repr. in Rogers, Wars of Edward III, 247–64, esp. 254, 258, 260–3. Ufford had served in the Low Countries and France in various diplomatic and military capacities since 1338. He was released after the truce of Esplechin (September 1340) and the payment of a heavy ransom to which Edward III contributed £500: W. M. Ormrod, ‘Ufford, Robert, First Earl of Suffolk (1298–1369)’, ODNB (online edn, 2008).
[25] BN Fr.n.a. 9239 f. 269; W. M. Ormrod, ‘Montagu, William, First Earl of Salisbury (1301–1344)’, ODNB (online edn, 2004); Sumption, Trial by Battle, 309–12.
[26] A. Curry, ‘Henry VI, Parliament of 1429: Text and Translation’, PROME, item 18: The petition was made in recognition of ‘the great and notable service given by Lord Talbot both to our present sovereign lord the king and to his father the previous king, whom God absolve, in his realm of France and elsewhere; during which service he was taken prisoner by the king’s adversaries of France who imposed an unreasonable and unbearable ransom on him.’
[27] Pollard, John Talbot and the War in France, 17–18, 113–14.
[28] Lanercost Chronicle, ed. J. Stevenson (Edinburgh, 1839), 351; A. Grant, ‘Disaster at Neville’s Cross: The Scottish Point of View’, Battle of Neville’s Cross, ed. Rollason and Prestwich, 33; M. C. Dixon, ‘John de Coupland – Hero to Villain’, ibid., 36–49.
[29] A. A. M. Duncan, ‘Douglas, Sir William, Lord of Liddesdale (c.1310–1353)’, ODNB(online edn, 2006).
[30] After 20 years only 76,000 marks of David II’s ransom had been paid: TNA E39/36; Rymer, Foedera, III, ii, 151–3. Another consequence of the treaty of Berwick was the establishment of a new system of law centring on ‘days of march’ when judicial tribunals would be held: C. J. Neville, ‘Keeping the Peace on the Northern Marches in the Later Middle Ages’, EHR, 109 (1994), 1–25; A. A. M. Duncan, ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense: David II and Edward III, 1346–52’, Scottish Historical Review, 67 (1988), 131–41.
[31] Rymer, Foedera, III, iv, 39–42; MacDougall, An Antidote to the English, 46–51.
[32] S. I. Boardman, ‘Stewart, Robert, First Duke of Albany (c.1340–1420)’, ODNB(online edn, 2006): Boardman offers a rather more generous interpretation of Albany’s actions and motivations.
[33] J. Boffey, Fifteenth-Century English Dream Visions: An Anthology (Oxford, 2003), 90–157; The Kingis Quair and Other Prison Poems, ed. L. R. Mooney and M.-J. Arn (Kalamazoo, MI, 2005), ll. 170–3, 183–4, 191.
[34] M. H. Brown, ‘James I (1394–1437)’, ODNB (online edn, 2004). For a discussion of the influence of English court culture on James II, see Stevenson, Chivalry and Knighthood, 2, 44–6, 70–2, 170–9.
[35] Sumption, Trial by Fire, 245; Green, Battle of Poitiers, 54.
[36] Froissart: Chronicles, ed. and trans. Brereton, 144.
[37] With regard to the numbers of those made prisoner, sources vary. According to Richard Lescot, 65 barons, 1,500 nobles, townsmen and ecclesiastics were captured at Poitiers, and some 800 famosi pugnatores (famous warriors) were killed. Jean Le Bel noted 2,000 prisoners were taken. Knighton and other English chroniclers give a figure of between 2,000 and 2,500 prisoners. The chief sources of English information were the newsletters the Black Prince and his captains sent home. The prince’s letter named 42 of the more important captives, added 1,933 further captives and noted the deaths of 19 lords and 2,426 others. The precision of the figures suggests they may have been based on a herald’s list. For further discussion, see F. Beriac-Lainé and C. Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers(Paris 2002), esp. 35–7, 75–6, 86–8, 94–9.
[38] Ormrod, Edward III, 387–9, quotation at 387.
[39] Sumption, Trial by Fire, 497–500.
[40] Froissart: Chronicles, ed. and trans. Brereton, 74–5; Sumption, Trial by Battle, 510.
[41] Froissart, Chroniques, ed. Diller, II, 384.
[42] Froissart: Chronicles, ed. and trans. Brereton, 179.
[43] Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 34
[44] Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 33.
[45] Contamine, ‘Ransom and Booty’, 172.
[46] Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 141–5.
[47] Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 289.
[48] Parisian Journal, 107; A. King, ‘“According to the custom used in French and Scottish wars”: Prisoners and Casualties on the Scottish Marches in the Fourteenth Century’, Journal of Medieval History, 28 (2002), 281.
[49] Le Bel, Chroniques, II, 106; Ayton, ‘Crécy Campaign’, Battle of Crécy, ed. Ayton and Preston, 62–72; E. Porter, ‘Chaucer’s Knight, the Alliterative Morte Arthure and the Medieval Laws of War: A Reconsideration’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, xxvii (1983), 67.
[50] Murimuth, Continuatio chronicarum, 247; Knighton’s Chronicle, ed. Martin, 143.
[51] For restrictions regarding the capture of prisoners due to the need for military discipline, see BPR, IV, 338: ‘to avoid some perils which might perchance have arisen, an ordinance was made by the [Black] Prince and publicly proclaimed in his host before the battle of Poitiers … that no man should linger over his prisoner on pain of forfeiting him’.
[52] Charny, Book of Chivalry, 99.
[53] Keen, Chivalry, 221.
[54] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 90–3.
[55] Vernier, Flower of Chivalry, 116–23; quotation at 122. See also Barber, Knight and Chivalry, 242.
[56] Froissart, Chroniques, ed. Luce, VIII, 239; M. G. A. Vale, ‘Grailly, Jean (III) de (d.1377)’, ODNB (online edn, 2008); A. D. Carr, ‘Owen of Wales (d.1378)’, ODNB(online edn, 2004); S. G. Smith, ‘What Does a Mercenary Leave Behind? The Archaeological Evidence for the Estates of Owain Lawgoch’, Mercenaries and Paid Men, ed. France, 317–30. During the same engagement at Soubise in 1372, Sir Thomas Percy, seneschal of Poitou (d.1403), was captured by a Welsh chaplain from Owain’s company, Hywel Flint. The captal de Buch had benefited from the ransom system earlier in his career having captured the count of Ponthieu at the battle of Poitiers. He sold him to the Black Prince for 25,000 crowns: TNA E30/1632; Ambühl, ‘Prisoners of War’ (PhD), 63.
[57] A. Bossuat, ‘Les prisonniers de guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Guillaume, seigneur de Châteauvillain’, Annales de Bourgogne, 23 (1951), 7–35, esp. 23; Lewis, Recovery of France, 418; Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 137.
[58] See, for example, members of John of Gaunt’s retinue captured in his service: TNA DL 28/3/5 f.19; CPR, 1389–92, 309; Simon Walker, The Lancastrian Affinity, 1361–99 (Oxford, 1990), 73.
[59] TNA SC8/289/14407.
[60] TNA SC8/85/4221.
[61] Allmand, Hundred Years War, 46; Lewis, Later Medieval France, 212.
[62] TNA SC 8/85/4217: the money ‘the gentlemen of Kent’ offered the petitioner was a part of a reward given to them for the capture of Jack Cade. Frogenhale mustered a retinue for service in France on 19 August 1453 and must have been captured very soon afterwards: CPR, 1452–61, 124–5.
[63] The battle of Bulgnéville (2 July 1431) was fought between René d’Anjou and his cousin, Antoine de Vaudémont, over the partition of the duchy of Lorraine: A. Bossuat, ‘Les prisonniers de guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Jean, seigneur de Rodemack’, Annales de l’Est, 5th ser. 3 (1951), 145–62.
[64] Given-Wilson, ‘Parliament of Jan. 1390: Text and Translation’, PROME, item 53.
[65] TNA SC8/163/8133.
[66] Charny, Book of Chivalry, 133.
[67] Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, ed. Luce, 235.
[68] St Albans Chronicle, I, 659; R. I. Jack, ‘Hastings, John, Thirteenth Earl of Pembroke (1347–1375)’, ODNB (online edn, 2008).
[69] Ambühl, ‘Prisoners of War’ (PhD), 70.
[70] Keen, Laws of Law, 181; Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 25.
[71] AN, K 57, no. 28; 59, nos 3–4; BL Add. Ch. 1399; G. Dupont-Ferrier, ‘La captivité de Jean d’Orléans, comte d’Angoulême (1412–45)’, Revue Historique, 62 (1896), 42–74.
[72] Ambühl, ‘Prisoners of War’ (PhD), 50–1, 54–5; Ambühl, Prisoners of War, 87–97.
[73] Scalacronica, xix–xx, xlvi, and n. 123.
[74] Such men were far too important to be released to fight against the English once more. Only Artur of Brittany, count of Richemont, was freed before Henry V’s death (1422) and thereafter he fought for a period on the English side. Boucicaut died, still a prisoner, in June 1421. In 1438, Charles d’Artois was exchanged for John Beaufort, earl of Somerset, who had been captured by the French at Baugé. See also Gesta Henrici Quinti, 96–7.
[75] Windsor Castle was used regularly to hold valuable prisoners including the kings of France (Jean II) and Scotland (James I), as well as those whose political status was less certain such as Queen Isabella soon after Edward III claimed his majority through the Nottingham coup in 1330: CCR, 1330–3, 434; Bond, ‘Constables of Windsor’, 223–4; M. Bennett, ‘Isabelle of France, Anglo-French Diplomacy and Cultural Exchange in the Late 1350s’, Age of Edward III, ed. Bothwell, 215–25.
[76] McLeod, Charles of Orleans, 134.
[77] BL MS Harley 682 contains English versions of practically all the poems Charles wrote during his captivity.
[78] After paying a ruinous ransom Alençon’s wife was very reluctant to let him fight again – Joan of Arc reassured her in person in 1429 that he would be returned safely: Lewis, Later Medieval France, 48.
[79] Charles was regularly displayed at public occasions such as during the imperial state visit of 1416, which led to the alliance concluded in Canterbury on 15 August, when he was seated next to Emperor Sigismund at a banquet with other French prisoners also in attendance: McLeod, Charles of Orleans, 139.
[80] BN MS Fr. 12765 f. 3; Les poésies du duc Charles d’Orléans, ed. A. L. Champollion-Figeac (Paris, 1842), 416–19; McLeod, Charles of Orleans, 138, 144–5, 150–1.
[81] Artur had been making arrangements for his own ransom for some time: as early as 30 April 1419 he received permission to travel to France to raise funds: TNA E30/403.
[82] Curry, ‘Parliament of 1423: Text and Translation’, PROME, item 34; ‘Parliament of 1425’, ibid., item 24; R. A. Griffiths, ‘Holland, John, First Duke of Exeter (1395–1447)’, ODNB (online edn, 2008).
[83] McLeod, Charles of Orleans, 161–2.
[84] TNA E30/452: undertaking by Charles d’Orléans, dated 16 October 1440, to pay within six months of his return to France the sum of 6,000 crowns, part of the 120,000 crowns due to Henry VI for his ransom.

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