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 (IX)


CHAPTER 6
SOLDIERS
VIEWS FROM THE FRONT
1415
In the opinion of the French [that] which assured the English of victory [at Agincourt was] the continuous way in which they rained down on [them] – a terrifying hail of arrow shot. As [the archers] were lightly armed and their ranks were not too crowded, they had freedom of movement and could deal mortal blows with ease … They kept themselves with advantage in the middle of the bloody mêlée … fighting with so much passion for they knew that for them it was a matter of life or death.[1]
The Religieux of Saint-Denis, Histoire de Charles VI (c.1415–22)
It was the regular soldiery – infantry and longbowmen – who secured England’s most famous victory in the Hundred Years War. The limitations of knights and cavalry, which had been clear from the opening engagements, were writ large in 1415. Henry V’s first campaign to France began with the siege of Harfleur in August and September and the reckless march towards Calais. It concluded on 25 October with the extraordinary triumph at Agincourt that became legendary almost as soon as it had been won. Later, from Shakespeare’s perspective, this last shining moment presaged the drab then bloody descent into civil war. It established Henry as perhaps the greatest of England’s medieval kings and Agincourt as the pre-eminent example of English martial fortitude until the Second World War.
The shattering victory, not far from the Somme, was, however, not one that came like lightning from a clear sky. It was the product of a military evolution, perhaps even revolution that had begun with Edward I’s campaigns to Wales, Scotland and France. For the French, we are told, the defeat at Azincourt revealed not only the poverty of native skill-at-arms but also the political canker at the heart of France that had grown out of the Armagnac-Burgundian civil war. Agincourt was a disaster that dwarfed Crécy and one greater even than that suffered at Poitiers.
It is, though, far too easy to be swept up in this Shakespearean tide. Agincourt was an important battle certainly but less significant than Henry’s subsequent conquest of the duchy of Normandy and the poisonous divisions in France that the Armagnac-Burgundian civil war had fashioned. This reached a critical point on 10 September 1419 when agents of the dauphin, Charles, murdered Jean the Fearless. His successor, Philippe the Good, was forced into an alliance with England which shifted the political balance in France to such an extent that Henry could, through the treaty of Troyes (1420), demand the throne itself. When King François I (r.1515–47) visited Dijon in 1521 and was shown the broken skull of the murdered duke of Burgundy, a Carthusian monk told him that this was the hole through which the English entered France.
However, even if Agincourt was not quite the crucial battle it has often been considered, and regardless of the fact that the odds were not stacked quite so highly against Henry’s bedraggled army as once was commonly thought, the 1415 expedition provides wonderful examples of the experience of the regular soldiery on campaign. Like a succession of infantry victories before it, Agincourt clearly showed that the balance of military power had changed. Battlefield success in the Hundred Years War depended not on the once supreme power of the mounted aristocracy and the cavalry charge but on the skills of the infantryman, the archer and, over time, the support of gunpowder artillery. Like Agincourt, the English victory over the Scots at Humbleton Hill in September 1402 was achieved by ‘unremarkable poor men and serfs!’[2] Their skills were hard won; success and survival depended on ability and training, and not only military but mental preparation. The ‘poor, bloody infantry’ had to maintain close-order discipline in the face of huge physical and psychological pressures. In addition to the adrenalin-fuelled fear and fury common to all battles, and the enormous determination required to stand fast in the face of a cavalry charge, the soldiers of the Hundred Years War also had to contend with changing tactics and new weapons. As a result of these developments fewer prisoners were taken and the death toll among the defeated army rose accordingly. Military changes such as these did not only take place on the field of battle. The sieges, which litter and in many ways characterise the Hundred Years War, were also transformed during the conflict. The balance of power in such engagements shifted from the defensive to the offensive. Driven by technological advances, particularly the use of gunpowder artillery, such changes revolutionised warfare over the course of the later Middle Ages.
These military developments had profound social implications. Archers and infantrymen drawn from the ranks of the peasantry and yeomanry of England and Wales, rather than mounted knights, came to form the backbone of English armies in the Hundred Years War, numerically and tactically. The yeoman joined the military community and, as Shakespeare suggested, the battles in which he fought did ‘gentle his condition’.[3] This compromised the exclusivity of the military elite, the bellatores (those who fought). The social prestige associated with military prowess was fractured by victories won by the common soldier and achieved by such unchivalric qualities as discipline and collective action.
In France, too, the defeats at Crécy, Poitiers and Agincourt brought the role and status of the military aristocracy into question. Contemporaries scorned their apparent cowardice and their capitulation to gens de nulle value – men of no worth. Indeed, when the flower of French chivalry wilted at Poitiers the revolt of the Jacquerie followed.[4] It was, though, in many ways, unfair criticism. There was no sign of cowardice at Crécy, at least not among the cavalry which charged the English lines fifteen times in the face of a withering arrow storm, or at Poitiers where so many of the French aristocracy paid for their military naiveté with their lives.
The Hundred Years War saw service in arms in both countries become a professional business rather than an act of noblesse oblige. Although the aristocracy continued to command, common career soldiers won battles such as Agincourt. They fought for their country, pay and booty – not necessarily in that order. They also fought in a new way as the strategies, tactics, equipment, funding and means of recruiting soldiers changed fundamentally in England and France over the course of the Hundred Years War. These were the men who suffered the privations that accompanied campaigning: the dysentery that afflicted so many; the regular struggle to find food in enemy territory; the limitations of medical care for the sick and wounded. They were also the men who perpetrated the many horrors of a war waged, for the most part, on those least able to defend themselves. Indeed, it was deliberate policy that they should act in this way: the chevauchée strategy of the first half of the war aimed to deprive the Valois king of troops and taxes by depriving his people of their lives or livelihoods. Tactics changed when Henry V returned to France in the Normandy campaign of 1417–20 – he came to conquer, not merely to despoil. Those, however, who would not pay him homage were fortunate if they were merely thrown out of their homes.
One of the most significant changes in the dynamics of warfare is evident in a series of battles which revealed that while cavalry remained potent, its dominance was no longer assured. Even before the outbreak of the Hundred Years War the battles of Courtrai (1302), Bannockburn (1314), Morgarten (1315), Dupplin Moor (1332) and Halidon Hill (1333) had called into question long-held assumptions about the invincibility of mounted troops. The Anglo-French struggle shattered those beliefs utterly. Battles such as Crécy, Poitiers, Agincourt and Castillon showed that well-trained, cohesive, properly equipped and disciplined infantry were more than a match for cavalry, especially when supported by longbowmen, crossbowmen or gunpowder artillery.[5]
Infantry, of course, had been vital in all armies from earliest times, but for much of the medieval period its role had been secondary to that of cavalry and primarily defensive. In the later Middle Ages and throughout the Hundred Years War foot soldiers began to be used strategically, as an attacking force, although tactically they remained most effective when deployed in a defensive formation. If they established such a position infantry could – and typically did – repel cavalry. Because of this, to attack first was often to lose the tactical advantage, something noted by luminaries such as John Chandos and Jean de Bueil (1406–77), who was known as le Fléau des Anglais (the ‘plague of the English’). Equally important were discipline and order in the ranks because, as Sir Thomas Gray remarked, armies could easily be ‘defeated through their own disarray’.[6] Both sides came to recognise this during the Hundred Years War and it was often political and economic pressures rather than military considerations that forced one side to begin an assault. A king had to show he was not impotent or unmoved should an enemy encroach on his sovereign territory – defending the realm was his most fundamental responsibility. And if an enemy commander, royal or otherwise, was unwilling to make the first move, as at Agincourt, longbowmen or crossbowmen could be used to provoke him.
In England the major impetus to strategic innovation was a result of the crushing defeat at Bannockburn. When Edward III returned to Scotland in the 1330s he sought to lay to rest the spectre of that defeat and employed tactics similar to those which Robert Bruce had used so effectively against his father. The Scottish campaigns of the 1330s proved a fine training ground for the English forces, and once the war with France began the lessons learned in Scotland were quickly put to the test. At Morlaix in 1342, William Bohun, earl of Northampton (c.1312–60), led English troops in support of Jean de Montfort against Charles de Blois, his rival for the duchy of Brittany. Northampton defeated a substantially larger army by deploying infantry, making extensive use of the longbow and choosing a defensive position which he improved by digging a concealed ditch. Northampton’s experience, and that of many of the soldiers under his command, was used to good effect four years later at Crécy.
In response to these defeats the French began to experiment with a range of counter-strategies. In encounters at Lunalonge (1349), Taillebourg (1351), Ardres (1351) and Mauron (1352) they made imaginative use of cavalry and deployed an increasing number of foot soldiers. Such tactics were put into action at Poitiers (1356), although without great success. There, as at Crécy, the relative paucity of missile troops was a major drawback, while poor discipline, a lack of cohesion and tactical inflexibility also limited Jean II’s options. Further initiatives were attempted in the years that followed: in 1364 at the battle of Auray, Bertrand du Guesclin tried to counter the threat the English longbowmen posed by advancing heavily armed infantry behind pavises (large, usually rectangular shields that could be held in the hands or propped up by a wooden or iron brace). He did this successfully although his forces were defeated in the subsequent hand-to-hand combat. Du Guesclin tried similar tactics at Nájera three years later where political imperatives and a divided command structure again undermined the French (Franco-Trastamaran) effort.[7] French commanders continued to show considerable tactical ingenuity in the campaigns of the 1370s and 1380s when the ‘army of the reconquest’ overturned the English advances gained through the treaty of Brétigny. Indeed, the balance of power shifted so far in this period that those living on the south coast of England received a bitter taste of the reality of war, and invasion came close on two occasions in 1385 and 1387.
Stalemate followed, however. The innovations that Charles V and du Guesclin had promoted were forgotten; for a time internal feuds and rivalries superseded those with the Old Enemy. Most significantly, Charles VI’s madness inhibited the governmental developments necessary to build the financial and bureaucratic foundations on which a professional military structure could stand.
Strategic innovation on any meaningful scale could be achieved only with sufficient resources and the right type of troops. It was recognised that, in order to be successful, armies needed to be properly equipped and comprised of experienced soldiers. The sheer length of the war ensured that a greater proportion of the resources of the state on both sides of the Channel came to be devoted to military purposes. The nature of service in arms changed as a result: sophisticated processes of recruitment, the implementation of innovative strategies and tactics and the use of new military technology all contributed to alter radically the experience of conflict for all those who fought – those who were the new bellatores. In England the process developed swiftly in the early years of the war, building on earlier advances. In France the development was slower and punctuated with long periods of stasis, but by the end of the conflict Charles VII had outstripped his English rival Henry VI and constructed a permanent, standing army.
At the outset of the war both sides relied, to varying degrees, on traditional means to recruit soldiers. Because of the defensive nature of the war in France, at least until the 1420s, the Crown regularly used the ban and the arrière-ban. The former was a call to military service of those who were royal fief-holders; the latter, introduced after the defeat at Courtrai in 1302, was a military summons of all those fit to bear arms regardless of their status.[8] This provided the bulk of the army – men either served in person or paid for a replacement. However, it proved to be a far from ideal system – slow, unreliable and lacking in uniformity. In part this was because it tended to be organised on a local level. Troops recruited in this way usually fought close to home, having been raised to combat a specific threat. As a result it was difficult to coordinate an effective defence against the English chevauchées that covered such huge areas. The ban was, essentially, an extension of the system of urban defence. Towns took responsibility for their own protection through the system of guet and garde (watch and ward). However, a proper national system could only be implemented with sufficient funds and these could only be acquired through taxation. Until the Crown developed a robust and regular means of raising money it could not develop a professional army.[9]
In England, the precocious development of institutional financial systems meant that kings gained access to regular taxation from almost the beginning of the war. This, however, was not without its problems as it placed greater power in the hands of Parliament and especially in those of the Commons. This increased the scope of royal authority but could restrict the direction royal policy might take. Nonetheless, as a consequence of this development, recruitment to English armies became increasingly professional in the early years of the Hundred Years War, and the same basic model of recruiting soldiers was retained from c.1350 until the end of the conflict. Hence, by the time of the Agincourt campaign, soldiers were contracted through the tried and tested indenture system. The system was named after the document that formed the military contract. The contract was copied twice onto a piece of parchment with an indented line cut between the two copies. Should a dispute arise, the two copies could be fitted together again showing that the documents (and the conditions of service they specified) matched.
Indentures had a long history prior to the Hundred Years War but they were employed in an ever more standardised way and in far greater numbers after it began. The indenture system offered a much more sophisticated approach to recruitment than the traditional feudal array. Indentures allowed commanders to specify the types of troops they wished to raise for their expeditionary forces, their number, the proportion of infantrymen to archers and cavalry (in the case of Agincourt approximately one man-at-arms to three archers), and conditions of service (including pay, equipment and regulations concerning booty).
The growing professionalism of military activity in England and in France was a direct (perhaps inevitable) consequence of the Hundred Years War, and it offered new avenues of employment for many. Military service with its (theoretically) regular pay offered a career path or, certainly, a means of supplementing their income for the common man. Other incentives might also be important: pardons for various offences, the potential for booty or the chance of promotion. Even during periods of truce there were opportunities to make a living through service in garrisons overseas or on the frontiers of Scotland and Wales. Calais often housed over a thousand men; after 1415 Harfleur was home to 1,200 men-at-arms and archers, and after about 1420 Normandy was garrisoned by between 2,000 and 6,000 troops.[10] However, English chancery records and private communications to commanders are littered with demands and sometimes desperate pleas for back pay. Often the best way to secure wages for the last campaign was to sign on for the next. This process probably encouraged soldiers to serve for long periods, although it did not ensure a comfortable retirement. In a petition for alms made to Henry VI between 1451 and 1453, one Walter Orpington claimed to have served in France for thirty-six years during which time he was stationed in various garrisons and fought in numerous armies. He fought first with Henry V at Harfleur in 1415 and later in ‘divers and many places in France and Normandy’. During that time he had been ‘taken prisoner and lost his goods so that now he had fallen in great age and poverty he had little to help and sustain him’.[11]
Orpington would have served in a retinue. The indenture system raised armies composed of a number of retinues – individual commanders were contracted to bring a retinue containing specific numbers of troops with them. For the aristocracy these might consist of existing household staff or those formally recruited throughout the country by commissioners of array. In the Agincourt campaign the size of retinues varied considerably. Some were very small: at least 122 men made contracts to serve with fewer than ten men, and some brought no additional troops at all. Those of high rank and those with the greatest military experience brought the largest retinues. Thomas, duke of Clarence (1387–1421), for example, recruited 240 men-at-arms and 720 archers; his retinue included an earl, two bannerets and fourteen knights.[12]
It was not only soldiers who had to be recruited for a campaign. Depending on an expedition’s length and objectives – raiding or occupation – specialists of various sorts would be needed. Pavillioners, grooms, cooks, stablemen, cordwainers, wheelwrights, fletchers, bowyers, saddlers, armourers, clerks, tailors, miners, stonecutters, smiths, waggoners and physicians and surgeons might be required. Even on brief raids a man-at-arms would usually be accompanied by one or more servants. These could add as much as 50 per cent to the numerical strength (if not the fighting strength) of a raiding force, while an army of occupation might be doubled in size. For major operations in which the king participated the royal household was put under arms, and so the expeditionary force included members of the pantry, kitchen, buttery, napery, spicery, poultry, scullery, bakehouse, hall, chamber and wardrobe. Edward III even took thirty falconers with him on campaign in 1359–60.[13]
This level of recruitment resulted in many sections of English society becoming increasingly militarised. The remarkable discovery of the mass grave from the battle of Towton (1461) in Yorkshire and what has been uncovered from the wreck of Henry VIII’s flagship, the Mary Rose (1545), provide fascinating glimpses of this process. The Towton soldiers had an average age of about thirty (considerably older than their modern counterparts) and they stood, on average, 5 feet 7½ inches tall; those from the Mary Rosewere of a very similar height but a little younger (in their mid-twenties). The skeletal evidence, revealing wounds received in much earlier conflicts, shows that many of these men, like Walter Orpington, stayed in or returned to military service over an extended period. One of the Towton soldiers, who was about fifty years of age when he died, had suffered a ghastly facial wound some twenty-five years previously, perhaps when he fought in France. Such men as this had made a military career for themselves. [14] Intriguingly, both sets of evidence also show a substantial number of soldiers with signs of abnormal muscular development and greater bone circumference on the left shoulder and upper arm. This probably suggests strenuous exercise, perhaps training with a longbow or unimanual weapon from a young age.[15]
In France, the Valois kings took some similar steps towards developing a professional army. Jean II instituted a substantial review of military structures following his accession in 1350, and Charles V made a series of major improvements in the 1360s and 1370s. The establishment of a relatively stable tax system, the military imperatives of the Hundred Years War and the support of a significant section of the French nobility allowed Charles to come close to gaining a permanent army of men-at-arms and (some mounted) crossbowmen by the end of his reign. Using lettres de retenue (similar to indentures) the system became centralised and organised by the king’s officials. This ‘army of reconquest’ succeeded spectacularly in regaining the lands which Charles’s father had ceded to the English by the treaty of Brétigny. It is by no means certain that Charles intended to continue with this military system in the long term, but it is certainly the case that when he (and Bertrand du Guesclin) died in 1380 the core of the army decayed. Then, because of Charles VI’s minority and the power struggles in the royal court, calls for peace with England grew louder. Soon the only permanent military forces were garrisons in Normandy and the south-west. The feudal array was re-established, the nobility took charge of local defence and national political divisions became reflected in divisions in military structures that were disastrously evident at Agincourt. It would not be until some time into Charles VII’s reign that serious attempts were made once more to establish a permanent force.
Consequently, as it progressed, the Hundred Years War was fought, increasingly, by paid professionals. In England after c.1350 and in France by c.1445 soldiering had become a job of work for the common man, not simply a feudal obligation. Yet it was also a means of social advancement, as Thomas Gray noted in the late 1350s. He wrote: ‘many [men began their careers] as archers, then becoming knights, and some of them captains’.[16] Not all these captains fought in their king’s ‘regular’ forces. The militarisation of society meant that independent mercenary companies or Free Companies became a common feature on the military landscape. These companies were composed of soldiers from throughout Europe such as the ill-fated Genoese crossbowmen who fought at Crécy.[17] Many were led by men from Britain and France such as Robert Knolles, Hugh Calveley (English), Bertrand du Guesclin, Perrinet Gressart (French), Owen Lawgoch (Welsh) and Jacques de Lalaing (Burgundian). Other companies, most famously that led by John Hawkwood, took service in Italy. The growth of the mercenary companies caused a great deal of upheaval. Thomas Gray noted the problems created by large bodies of professional soldiers during periods of truce. He stated that during the ‘truce’ following Jean II’s capture at Poitiers:
Many of the English who lived off the war [my emphasis] set out for Normandy, took castles, fortified manors and caused other such warlike mayhem in the country, with the support of men of the community of England, who came to [join] them day by day against the king’s orders. They came in astonishing numbers, all of them on their own account without any leader, and inflicted great oppressions on the country, taking tribute from almost the whole of Normandy, and from the borders of many surrounding lands … they achieved so much … And yet they were nothing but a gathering of commoners, young men, who until this time had been of little account, who came to have great standing and expertise from this war.[18]
The Free Companies continued to pose problems after the treaty of Brétigny was sealed. Charles V addressed these by seeking to use them for his own political advantage in the Castilian civil war. It proved an effective short-term solution. Later his grandson Charles VII was faced with similar circumstances, in his case the écorcheurs. Charles VII co-opted the mercenary companies directly into royal service. He created a standing army from the ranks of those men-at-arms who were unoccupied after the truce of Tours was concluded in 1444. In 1445–6 Charles established the royal companies of the gens d’ordonnance: 1,800 lances fournies (a group comprising 1,800 men-at-arms, 3,600 archers and 1,800 coutiliers (infantrymen armed with a short sword called acoustille)). This was expanded in 1448 into the system of the francs archers who represented every community and formed the core of a permanent army. First designed to be used in a campaign to Italy, these companies eventually recaptured Normandy (1449–50) and Gascony (1451, 1453).[19] When they did so Charles VII ensured his troops were well equipped
with good and sure armour and weapons … the men-at-arms were all armed with good cuirasses, armour for their limbs, swords … also with lances carried by pages of the men-at-arms, each of whom had three good horses for himself, his page and his varlet, being armed with a salet, jacket, dirk, hauberk, axe or bill. And each of the men-at-arms had two mounted archers, armed mostly with brigandines, leg harness and salets.[20]
English (Anglo-Welsh/Anglo-Gascon) armies were never quite so well appointed, and what they did carry tended to be rather different.[21] In particular they relied heavily on the longbow. Originally a Welsh weapon, as Gerald of Wales (Giraldus Cambrensis, c.1146–c.1223) discussed,[22] longbowmen became prominent in most English armies from Edward I’s later campaigns onwards. They were used to great effect at the battle of Falkirk in 1298 and then in successive encounters in Scotland and France – although not at Bannockburn. In the fourteenth century the use of the longbow spread to soldiers recruited from throughout England, although commanders such as Sir Gruffydd Llwyd, Sir Rhys ap Gruffydd, Sir Hywel y Fwyall (Hywel of the Axe) and Sir Gregory Sais continued to lead retinues to France composed chiefly of Welsh archers.[23]
While sometimes used in hunting, the longbow was chiefly a popular not an aristocratic weapon. Cheap to manufacture but difficult to master, it required a great deal of training from a young age. The national importance of archery was such that it became the subject of legislation. In 1357 and 1369 prohibitions were placed on the export of bows and arrows; in 1363 regular archery practice became compulsory, and in 1365 archers themselves were forbidden to leave England without royal licence. It is no co--incidence that this period saw the development of the Robin Hood legends. Archery was at the heart of national military success and Robin became the archer par excellence. Because of their military impact and their cost-effectiveness longbowmen became the most common soldiers in English armies. The proportion of longbowmen to other troops in expeditionary forces was regularly 3, 4, or 5:1 and sometimes as much as 20:1.[24]
Nonetheless, questions remain regarding these men and the weapon they used to (what appears to have been) such devastating effect. These range from the nature of the weapons themselves, their power and rate of accurate fire, to their impact on the enemy and the disposition of archers on the battlefield. There is little surviving literature on the subject written before the later fifteenth century, although various illustrated works, depict different uses of the bow and the stances adopted while shooting. These include the Queen Mary’s Psalter (probably made for Edward II), the Holkham Bible Picture Book (c.1330) and the Luttrell Psalter (c.1340). No longbows survive that predate those excavated from the Mary Rose, but if these are indicative of the weapons used in the Hundred Years War then they were formidable indeed. Measuring about 6 feet in length, they were made of yew or sometimes ash, with draw weights between 80 and perhaps as much as 185 pounds. This provided archers with a range of perhaps 400 yards, although the bow’s real killing power was probably considerably less than that. The string was usually carried separately in a pouch to keep it dry.[25] Typically, archers were protected by a padded jerkin or brigandine, which had metal plates sewn onto leather, a helmet (an open-faced bascinet or wide-brimmed pot helm), and perhaps some arm or leg protection. However, by no means all archers were equipped in this way and it is recorded that at Agincourt many had no armour, headgear or even shoes.[26]
Chronicle accounts certainly suggest that the impact of an arrow storm could be overwhelming, and clearly longbowmen were very effective against French cavalry (at Crécy) and dismounted men-at-arms (at Poitiers). At Agincourt the longbow was, again, critical. We are told that
[b]ecause of the strength of the arrow fire and their fear of it, most doubled back into the French vanguard, causing great disarray and breaking the line in many places … Their horses had been so troubled by the arrow shot of the English archers that they could not hold or control them. As a result the vanguard fell into disorder and countless numbers of men-at-arms began to fall. Those on horseback were so afraid of death that they put themselves into flight away from the enemy. Because of the example they set many of the French left the field in flight.[27]
By contrast with the longbow, the crossbow underwent considerable development throughout the period of the Hundred Years War. In the early battles its inferiority to the longbow was pronounced; it could shoot neither as far nor anywhere near as quickly – for every three crossbow quarrels (bolts) a bowmen might fire twenty arrows or more.[28] Crossbows were, however, particularly useful in sieges where they could be fired from protected positions. In battle a crossbowman was usually more heavily armed than an archer and, typically, equipped with a pavise type of shield. At Crécy the Genoese crossbowmen were ordered to attack without their pavises. Consequently, they had nowhere behind which they could reload when confronted with the English and Welsh longbowmen firing more quickly than they and over longer distances. These types of shield were also used in England and large numbers of them were stored in the Tower of London. The French valued them so highly that the trees from which they were made were protected.[29] However, by the beginning of the fifteenth century there were major innovations in crossbow design. Steel bows were introduced that could match or even outdistance a longbow. Although they remained slow to reload, at close-range and firing a heavy quarrel (12–18 inches in length) the crossbow became all but unstoppable.
The crossbow, which had been a weapon used on European battlefields from the twelfth century, was, therefore, improved considerably in this period. The Hundred Years War also saw the first use of an entirely new form of weapon that would, in time, revolutionise warfare completely. In their first battlefield incarnations gunpowder weapons, such as those used at Crécy, did little more than frighten the horses and had no impact on the outcome at all. They were light and simple guns often as dangerous to those firing them as to their targets.[30] However, their potential in sieges swiftly became apparent. In 1300 Pierre Dubois, a French royal clerk, had written a military treatise for Philippe IV. In his Doctrine of Successful Expeditions and Shortened Wars he commented on the time and expense involved in a major siege, noting that ‘A castle can hardly be taken within a year.’[31] Consequently, any innovation that reduced the time and cost of capturing enemy fortifications would be extremely valuable. Over time gunpowder weapons extended the scope and potential gains of military expeditions dramatically.
Edward III recognised the emerging possibilities when he brought at least ten cannon and materials for over 5,000 pounds of gunpowder to the siege of Calais, albeit the weapons do not appear to have contributed a great deal to the capture of the town. Nonetheless, the potential of artillery was being taken seriously. The Black Prince brought small cannon with him for his raid in 1356, and they were used to some effect in the siege of Romorantin. Then, in the period from 1360 to 1370, many towns and almost all the great powers in western Europe began to acquire their own arsenals. In 1369 the receiver of Ponthieu purchased 20 copper cannon for Edward III as well as five iron cannon; 215 pounds of saltpetre, sulphur and amber for making powder; and 1,300 large quarrels/bolts.[32] The French successfully used gunpowder weapons to bring down the town walls of Saint-Sauveur-le Vicomte in 1374, although gunpowder weapons did not supersede the trebuchet or mangonel as siege weapons, and on the battlefield they did not influence tactical thinking to any great extent.[33] Yet, these crude guns were evolving into formidable artillery, and soon they began to change the nature of warfare. At Harfleur (1415) the
guns and engines so pounded … the walls … that within a few days when by their violence and fury the barbican was in process of being largely demolished, the walls and towers … were rendered defenceless … and fine buildings, almost as far as the middle of the town, were either totally demolished or threatened with inevitable collapse.[34]
The exact nature and quantity of Henry V’s artillery at Harfleur are uncertain, but there is no doubt that these weapons caused enormous damage.
Such changes, however, did pose problems. Although a commander might capture a fortification or a town more swiftly by using artillery, the damage the guns could cause might render the site all but useless. This was not quite the case at Harfleur, but rebuilding proved to be a long and expensive process, and the condition of the town made it unattractive to potential settlers for some time.[35] Despite its evolution artillery remained far from fool-proof: at Agincourt it appears that French artillery accounted for only a solitary archer during the battle;[36] and in 1431 the duke of Burgundy fired 412 cannonballs into the town of Lagny and succeeded only in killing a chicken. The Parisian Bourgeois who recounted the story suggested the remarkable failure should be attributed to the fact that ‘this evil work’ was undertaken during Holy Week.[37] The trend, however, was clear – gunpowder weapons were becoming extremely important.
At Orléans in 1428–29 both sides deployed artillery on a grand scale. Joan of Arc’s initial attack on the English besieging force concentrated on an assault on the Tourelles – a gunnery emplacement. When captured this added a substantial number of artillery pieces to the French arsenal, which were used in the subsequent, devastating attacks on Jargeau, Meung and Beaugency. Joan herself was considered particularly adept in sighting the weapons. Gunpowder artillery would also be used effectively against La Pucelle. The Maid’s failure to take Paris was due, in part, to the capital’s own gunpowder defences and the improvements to the fortifications that had been made to counter such weapons. Furthermore, when defeated and captured at Compiègne, Joan had faced the Burgundians, who were furnished with what was, at that time, Europe’s most potent gunpowder ordnance.[38]
The French took major steps to match the Burgundians in the late 1430s when the full resources of the state were made available to put in place a professional artillery train. French artillery was completely reorganised, both administratively and tactically, by the Bureau brothers – Jean, the king’s Master Gunner, and his brother, Gaspard. The available weapons grew in number and efficiency, and the artillery train proved its worth in northern sieges at Montereau in 1437, Meaux in 1439 and Pontoise in 1441. In 1437 the castle of Castelnau-de-Cernès in Gascony was ‘broken down … by cannon and engines, and a great part of the walls were thrown to the ground’. Gunpowder weapons allowed the French to eject the English from Normandy and Gascony with astonishing speed. In some cases, as at Bourg north of Bordeaux in 1451, the mere presence of guns was sufficient to bring about an immediate surrender. Similarly, in July 1453 the French entered Castillon in Gascony through breaches in the walls ‘made by artillery’.[39] Charles VII’s arsenal included ‘a very great number of great bombards, great cannons, veuglaires, serpentines, crapaudins, culverins and ribaudquins … well furnished with powder, shot [with] carriages to drag them [and] gunners experienced to handle them’.[40]
Gunpowder weapons also began to be deployed as effective field artillery in the final engagements of the Hundred Years War. Formigny (1450) in Normandy may have been the first battle decided by gunpowder artillery. The engagement began with a predictable cavalry assault on the English infantry and longbowmen, with predictable results. Soon afterwards, however, the Bureau brothers arrived with artillery, probably two breech-loading culverins on wheeled carriages. These were capable of a high rate of fire and could outdistance the longbowmen. Although it required the arrival of further reinforcements to decide the battle, gunpowder artillery played a telling role. It seems somewhat prescient that the final battle in the war – at Castillon – was, undoubtedly, determined by artillery. It marks a deeply significant change in the nature of warfare. Two armies, perhaps 20,000 strong, marched into Gascony in the spring of 1453. One of these, perhaps numbering 7,000 men, laid siege to the town of Castillon. John Talbot (c.1387–1453) received a petition from the inhabitants of the town to relieve the siege and he arrived outside the French camp on 17 July. Talbot enjoyed some initial success against a detachment of francs archers, but Jean Bureau had deployed some 300 cannon for the siege and these were soon turned on the Anglo-Gascons. The battle turned into a rout; Talbot’s horse was killed by gunfire and, trapped under his mount, the earl was killed by an axe blow to the head.[41]
Developments in technology, therefore, revolutionised warfare, but armies still had certain basic requirements, particularly when it came to provisions. As armies became professional and soldiers began to receive wages, so the theoretical requirement lessened for commanders to provide their troops with provisions, as they had in the past. However, if left to their own devices, soldiers seeking to feed themselves on campaign could be extremely disruptive both to local populations and to military strategy, creating political and logistical problems. This was particularly evident during the Agincourt campaign, despite Henry V’s extensive planning. Large quantities of provisions were collected by the English government to supply its armies using the system of purveyance, but soldiers usually had to acquire additional supplies while abroad either through payment or plunder. Various estimates have been made to try and establish soldiers’ diets, which suggest that in order to function effectively in a campaign situation they would need to consume between 3,000 and 5,000 calories per day – the upper estimate is likely to be high and certainly in excess of what most troops enjoyed. According to a French campaign plan for 1327 a combatant subsisted for a day on 0.106 gallons of wine, 107 grams of meat and 1.039 kilograms of grain from which, theoretically, 1.385 kilograms of bread could be baked.[42]
The acquisition of food could well be part of an expedition’s overall strategy, since deliberate devastation formed an intrinsic element in a chevauchée. When Edward III’s army laid waste to 174 parishes between 9 and 22 October 1339, he could feed his army and implement his military objectives simultaneously. However, living off the land was often difficult, and it became more so as the war progressed. One could not guarantee the availability of sufficient supplies, and raided populations soon became adept at hiding food. Nor could one rely on such extraordinary days as the Scots enjoyed on 15 October 1346 when they plundered 295 cattle and 348 sheep from eight English settlements. Furthermore, effective pillaging took time, which meant an army had to spread out and move slowly, leaving it susceptible to attack. During the 1359–60 campaign Thomas Gray recounts that knights and esquires from the Black Prince’s company ‘were killed at night in their lodging, and foraying valets were taken in the field’.[43] Expeditions such as this were designed to be swiftly moving raids. This limited the size of any accompanying supply train. Even when small in number carts and wagons reduced an army’s freedom of movement, although the Black Prince’s 1355 campaign showed supply trains could ford rivers and travel at a good pace. Supply trains, nonetheless, were vulnerable to attack, and undoubtedly slowed down large armies.[44]
Successive campaigns could denude the countryside of supplies, especially if an army occupied an area for an extended period. Invading forces might also have to contend with a scorched-earth policy, as in 1359 (the Reims campaign) and in Castile in 1380. Henry V’s army in 1415 was brought to the verge of starvation despite moving through rich country. ‘There were scarcely supplies for eight days for the king. The French devastated the farms, the vineyards and food supplies. They were keen to harry the people by hunger so that they might ruin them completely by making them weak without even fighting.’[45]
Although often essential and, usually, militarily useful, plundering created an inherent political tension. It was a little difficult to render one’s potential subjects destitute while at the same time projecting an image of good lordship and a legitimate claim to the French throne. As a result, according to Jean le Bel, when Edward III launched the Reims campaign and made a serious bid for the French throne he attempted to do so without recourse to plunder. In order to feed the army between 6,000 and 12,000 carts were brought on the expedition. In the event it was not, primarily, a lack of food for the soldiers but shortage of fodder for the horses that forced the king to break off the siege of the coronation city. Feeding horses and other pack animals created enormous logistical problems and greatly increased the weight and volume of foodstuffs an army needed to carry.[46]
Baggage wagons had to carry foodstuffs, ammunition, weapons and equipment, while supply trains might also include animals, especially cattle. In addition to specifically military items, an army needed a great many utensils such as pans, goblets, leather buckets, cooking pots, spoons, bowls, barrels and bellows. Boots and warm clothing were needed as well given that the soldiers were likely to be sleeping outside. Armies also had to carry with them the means of producing food and cooking, particularly mills and ovens to make bread, oatmeal or biscuit.[47] If they did not bring such equipment with them they might have to try and find it. During the Reims campaign English soldiers were assaulted several times while they were trying to make flour. On one such occasion five English squires ‘who were unarmed except for their helmets and shields … were in a mill to grind some corn. Fifty French men-at-arms came to attack them.’ The consequences were not what one would expect. According to Thomas Gray these five defeated the fifty, capturing eleven of them. On another occasion men from Edward Despenser’s (1336–75) retinue were guarding some millers who were preparing flour for them when they were attacked by soldiers from a local French garrison.[48]
Conditions for French soldiers operating in France were different but not completely so. The Crown relied on a requisition system called the prise to raise supplies, chiefly cereals, wine and animal fodder. In general French soldiers were less likely to face opposition to the collection of food than the English, and they tended to be more knowledgeable about local communities and so were able to anticipate the availability of supplies. However, as Christine de Pizan noted, there were still problems associated with French armies seeking foodstuffs while on campaign. She asked whether, ‘if men-at-arms are given wages and there is no irregularity in their payment, can they take supplies from the countryside, and take anything else, as they commonly do nowadays in France?’ She was categorical in answering her own question: ‘I assure you absolutely not, for such things have nothing to do with war but are wicked and violent extortions.’ And if circumstances were such that it became essential to take supplies, the soldiers ‘should not be like wolves, who are not satisfied with one sheep but must kill the whole flock’.[49] Although the following account no doubt puts a fine gloss on reality, Charles VII’s military reforms did improve the situation. A royal chronicler suggested that because ‘they were paid each month [French soldiers] did not dare … to take any of the people prisoner nor to take or ransom any beast … nor seize any victuals … without paying for them, except only from the English or their adherents, in which case they could take the victuals lawfully’.[50] Presumably it was sometimes difficult to establish who might be an adherent of the English.
Clearly the impact of an army on the countryside and its inhabitants could be devastating. Even English apologists acknowledged that among expeditionary forces there were ‘thieves … who are more given to pillage than to pity and care nothing for the tears of the innocent as long as they can lay their hands on plunder’.[51] The despoliation of the French countryside and those who lived there was characteristic of the quotidian brutality of life on campaign. However, commanders sometimes tried to mitigate the destruction their forces caused. There was a careful balance to be maintained in this regard. On the one hand, a key purpose of a chevauchée was to despoil the French countryside, demonstrating the pitiful weakness of the Valois monarchy; on the other hand, English kings wished to present their credentials as legitimate and benign rulers of France. In order to control behaviour English commanders issued military ordinances. The first extant example dates from 1385, although it was probably based on earlier regulations. The 1415 ordinances laid down general rules to limit pillaging while taking account of the wider purpose of the expedition. The regulations were extensive: in addition to prohibitions on attacks on clergymen, women and certain other non-combatants, they dictated a wide assortment of military duties including keeping watch, finding quarters and supplies, the division of spoils and ransoms, and orders to maintain camp hygiene and control camp followers.[52]
Conditions for soldiers on campaign were rarely comfortable. The Reims campaign (1359–60) was, to take one example, a bleak experience for all those involved. The siege of the French coronation city ended when the English were forced to leave in search of supplies, particularly fodder for their horses. The subsequent assault on Paris was then halted by the weather:
The King [Edward III] took his leave, and putting fire to everything along his route, set up camp near Montlhéry with his army round him. On Sunday 13 April [1360] it was agreed to make a very long march towards Beauce, due to a lack of fodder for the horses. The weather was desperately bad with rain, hail and snow, and such was the cold that many weakened men and horses perished in the field. They abandoned many carts and pack horses on account of the cold, the wind and the wet, which happened to be the worst weather in living memory.[53]
Similarly, the conditions suffered by Henry V’s army during the siege of Harfleur and then on the march to Agincourt were terrible, as were the deeds they perpetrated, despite the king’s orders.[54] The siege began on 23 August 1415 when Henry imposed a blockade on Harfleur and the town fell some four weeks later. It was, therefore, not a long siege at all, but conditions for all worsened swiftly. The army’s food supply was precarious from the beginning of the operation and although foraging parties were sent out, the sheer size of the army meant these could achieve little. Henry made immediate requests to England and Gascony for supplies. Nor was hunger the only problem. The concentration of so many men in such a small area meant that living conditions soon deteriorated. The land around Harfleur, inevitably, was damp and rapidly became deeply unpleasant. Human waste, which could not easily be buried, soon polluted the water supply. Animal carcasses and other rubbish contributed to a growing stench; shellfish was relatively plentiful but posed a number of health risks; dysentery soon killed many and invalided more. Nor did it help that it was unseasonably warm. No doubt the aristocracy enjoyed more comfortable conditions, but even they were not immune to the problems and there were a number of high-ranking casualties. Richard Courtenay, bishop of Norwich, and Michael de la Pole, earl of Suffolk, both died. The duke of Clarence and the Earl Marshal, John Mowbray, fell ill and had to return home when the siege finally ended. Thomas, earl of Arundel, died shortly after his return. In total perhaps as many as 2,000 soldiers died from dysentery during the siege of Harfleur and perhaps as many again were invalided back to England.[55]
Although the siege had been short, the citizens of Harfleur did not simply capitulate. They manned the walls and employed several innovative defensive measures. Jars full of burning powders, sulphur and quicklime were placed on the town’s walls ready to be thrown in the eyes of the attackers. Burning fat was hurled at the siege towers and those who manned them. In response the English soldiers spent much of their time digging: trenches to protect the attacking forces and mines to undermine the town’s walls. The siege weapons pounded the walls throughout the day and the citizens of Harfleur struggled to make repairs overnight. Eventually the pressure from outside began to tell, the outer defences fell, and with that came the realisation that there was no hope of rescue. The leaders of Harfleur, including Raoul, sire de Gaucourt, surrendered on 22 September. Alongside a large proportion of the civilian population, Gaucourt and the members of the garrison were expelled/permitted to leave on condition that they did not take up arms against Henry again during this campaign.
Once he had control of the town Henry installed a very substantial garrison consisting of 300 men-at-arms and 900 archers under the command of Thomas Beaufort, earl of Dorset. The king then left with what remained of the army to march to Calais, a distance of approximately 150 miles. They were said to be a ‘trifling band, now weakened by hunger, dysentery, and fever’.[56] In reality they were hungry and ill but not quite so few in number. From the beginning of the march a French contingent, under the command of Marshal Boucicaut (Jean II le Maingre, 1366–1421), shadowed the English. Boucicaut had observed events at Harfleur without seeking to intervene, since he not been able to raise a sufficiently large army to guarantee success in battle. However, as time passed, French recruitment continued, and as Henry lost men to the garrison, to dysentery and to death, the French chances seemed better. The dauphin, Louis of Guienne, arrived at Vernon, on the borders of Normandy, and the constable, Charles d’Albret, took up position first at Honfleur and then at Rouen, which many considered Henry’s next likely target.
Henry’s progress was delayed as the French tried to block his path across the Somme, including the ford at Blanchetaque, which Edward III had used to escape from Philippe VI in 1346. Supplies began to run perilously low as the English were driven away from Calais and towards the main body of the French army. Finally ways were found across the river at Voyennes and Béthencourt (near Péronne) – the English crossed only one or two men at a time. Heading north once more Henry was finally intercepted by the French at Agincourt.
We cannot know for certain what the soldiers felt in the hours before battle was joined. We have little in the way of personal letters and reminiscences and so there is a great deal that we can only surmise. Some must have been terrified. Others may have relished the prospect of killing. Much would have depended on a soldier’s experiences and whether he had been in a battle before. The psychological aspect of combat was crucial. Perhaps because violence was an everyday part of medieval life, the shock of combat may have been reduced for the uninitiated.[57] Whatever the case, dealing with fear and the threat of injury, dismemberment or death was central to success in battle, individually and collectively. Infantrymen had to contend with the impact, literal and psychological, of attack, and if they were inexperienced or could not cope with that fear – if they fled instead of fought – it could prove fatal individually or collectively. Indeed, it had been precisely this discipline among groups of battle-hardened infantrymen that accounted for a succession of English victories in Scotland and France. Prior to this the shock of a cavalry charge often proved decisive. Cohesion and solidarity (emotional and physical) in the ranks were vital. At Agincourt the knowledge that the French had greatly superior numbers, which the English could see for themselves by the ‘forest of spears’ across the field, did not break the will of Henry’s troops. Nonetheless, it was partly for psychological reasons that the king ordered his army to begin the attack, believing that to delay any further would result in the English soldiers being ‘infected with fear’ at the size of the French army.[58]
The structure of retinues may have contributed to the greater resolve of the English. Some of those recruited for the Agincourt campaign were experienced, professional soldiers, but others were novices who had been offered no choice but to accompany their masters overseas. However, they were recruited alongside and would fight next to friends, relatives and colleagues, which could bolster morale: these were no ‘Pals’ Brigades’, but shame and solidarity were powerful forces. The presence of a substantial proportion of the nobility and the general militarisation of society ensured that English domestic social networks became linked to military service overseas. Consequently, a local collective feeling became associated with an emerging national esprit de corps. At Agincourt, as at Crécy and Poitiers, experienced soldiers commanded these retinues, maintained order and gave heart to their troops. Edward, duke of York (c.1373–1415), and Thomas, Lord Camoys (c.1350–1421), commanded the vanguard and rearguard respectively – both had seen a great deal of military action. Henry V himself had served a harsh military apprenticeship during the Glyn Dŵr revolt and he had seen battle at Shrewsbury in 1403. Furthermore, even though some of the soldiers had little military experience before arriving in France, they gained a good deal at Harfleur and on the march to Agincourt. In this way, as was the case in the Crécy campaign, ‘virgin’ soldiers acquired a taste of (for) fighting before the battle and they could also turn to veterans for guidance. Such retinues, built around an experienced and tempered ‘core’, were central to English military successes from 1346 to 1415 and beyond. At Verneuil (1424), for example, the vanguard in the army led by John, duke of Bedford, was broken by a French cavalry charge, but the English soldiers regrouped and there was no rout.[59]
The presence of the king or a member of the royal family might also help maintain order, discipline and morale. Henry certainly seems to have played an important role at Agincourt. When Sir Walter Hungerford (1378–1449) bemoaned the lack of archers in his company, Henry reprimanded him in a speech remarkably similar to that familiar from Shakespeare (‘If we are marked to die, we are enough/To do our country loss; and if to live,/The fewer men, the greater share of honour’). Henry’s ‘humble few’ with the aid of the Almighty would ‘overcome the opposing arrogance of the French’.[60] In a similar fashion the Black Prince had rallied his troops before the battle of Poitiers. According to his biographer, Chandos Herald, Edward had prayed:
Father, as thou art true God, true man,
Deign by thy most holy name
Me and my folk to protect from harm,
Because true God in Heaven on high,
You know that my right is good.[61]
This was recognition that for all one’s preparation, divine favour would ultimately determine the outcome. Battles had deep religious significance. Not only was victory or defeat an indication of divine judgment, but for many it might bring one decidedly closer to divine judgment of a very personal nature. Before Agincourt, as was common, there were prayers and every soldier ‘who had not previously cleansed his conscience by confession, put on the armour of penitence; and there was no shortage then save only one of priests’. When the English viewed the bloody refuse of the battle at its conclusion, the outcome was judged inevitable because ‘St George was seen fighting in the battle on the[ir] side’.[62]
The battle of Agincourt began at about 11 o’clock on the morning of 25 October (the feast day of Saints Crispin and Crispian). It had not been a pleasant night: heavy rain had turned the ploughed field between the two armies into a quagmire. The English and French forces had deployed before dawn and several hours passed without any move being made to attack. Eventually, Henry ordered an advance, perhaps fearing that his soldiers’ nerve would not hold much longer. But before they moved forward an extraordinary act took place: each man knelt, kissed the ground and took a little earth in his mouth. This was clearly a ritual, a personal ceremony with sacramental connotations, combining something of the Eucharist with a memento of the burial service. The archers then pulled up the stakes with which they defended their positions and advanced.[63]
The size of the armies that fought at Agincourt remains a matter of contention. The Shakespearean myth suggests that the English were outnumbered by at least ten to one in 1415. Such an assumption is based on contemporary and near-contemporary English chronicles, which estimated the French army as between 60,000 and 160,000 men. Such grossly inflated numbers were designed to exaggerate the scale of Henry’s victory. More recent work suggests the French army was more modest in size, perhaps 20,000–30,000 troops (including 10,000 men-at-arms, 10,000 gros valets – lightly armed soldiers who each accompanied a man-at-arms – and approximately 4,000 archers, crossbowmen and others). And it is even possible that the French army was smaller still, numbering 12,000 soldiers or fewer. By comparison the English army numbered between 6,000 and 9,000 soldiers – the author of the Gesta Henrici Quinti suggested 5,000 archers and 1,000 men-at-arms. The French, therefore, outnumbered the English by at least two to one, but by no more than four to one. However, the composition of each army differed significantly: about 65 per cent of the French soldiers were men-at-arms, whereas these accounted for fewer than 25 per cent of the English troops – the remainder were archers.[64]
In the event the French assault at Agincourt was disorganised, arrogant and naive, but it did not begin that way. The French commanders had a clear plan of action on the eve of the battle. Boucicaut (the marshal) and the Constable of France, Charles d’Albret, intended to use – essentially – English tactics against Henry by dismounting the main body of men-at-arms, dividing them into three ‘battles’ (divisions), and advancing them with the support of archers and crossbowmen deployed on the flanks. Artur de Richemont and Louis, count of Vendôme, commanded two cavalry wings which were to be held in reserve until the English had been engaged. They would then launch a surprise flanking attack on the English archers and perhaps also on the rear of the English infantry.[65] The plan, however, could not be implemented. First, the terrain proved thoroughly unfavourable – there was no room for a flanking manoeuvre. Prior to its advance the English army had been defended by the Agincourt and Tramecourt woods, and thereafter the archers secured their defensive position with stakes. Second, and more significantly, there was a breakdown of discipline in the French ranks. Many of the French nobility would not wait for the missile troops to begin the engagement and jockeyed among themselves for a prime position in the vanguard.
Given their numerical disadvantage it is surprising that the English began the assault when Sir Thomas Erpingham’s archers launched their first volley. It proved effective, however, by disrupting the French and goading them into a poorly organised attack. The French may well have known the condition of the English army – weary, hungry and sick – and so prolonging the agony could only be to their advantage.[66] The French heavy cavalry charged but was slowed by the sodden soil and then driven back by a punishing volley of arrows. At close range the longbowmen’s arrows were deadly and could punch through even plate armour: ‘by their very force [they] pierced the sides and visors of their helmets’.[67] Forced to retreat into the advancing French infantry, the cavalry caused chaos.
Because of the English longbowmen, those French troops who did reach the enemy lines were disorientated and, in some cases, wounded. Despite this their superior numbers began to tell and the English were pushed back. The king himself was caught up in the intense exchange and Edward, duke of York, was killed, but the line held. The French, however, now began to tire and the lightly armed English archers attacked from the flanks: ‘seizing axes, stakes and swords and spear-heads that were lying about, they struck down, hacked and stabbed the enemy’.[68] In the heavy conditions the archers were extremely mobile. Many wore no armour at all and some even removed their headgear and boots so they might have better vision and grip underfoot. Barrels of wine were kept nearby so they could drink when they had a moment. The more nimble among them may have been sent out at intervals onto the battlefield to retrieve arrows.[69]
The ferocious pressure from the front and flanks, and the weight of numbers from behind, prevented an organised French retreat:
[S]o great was the undisciplined violence and pressure of the mass of men behind that the living fell on top of the dead, and others falling on top of the living were killed as well [leaving] such a great heap of the slain and of those lying crushed in between that our men climbed up those heaps, which had risen above a man’s height, and butchered their enemies down below.[70]
At this point many of the French nobility were forced to surrender and offered themselves for ransom. However, perhaps two hours later, the English baggage train came under attack as French reserves under Waleran, count of Fauquembergues, launched a final assault. In response, fearing he would be encircled and that he might also be attacked by the captives, Henry ordered all but the most important prisoners executed.
On the English side there were remarkably few casualties. Many men, however, must have been wounded, some gravely. One Thomas Hostell suffered an extraordinary range of injuries over the course of the 1415 expedition, which left him in a dreadful condition after his return to England. At the siege of Harfleur he was ‘smitten with a springald through the head, losing one eye, and his cheekbone broken; [while] at the battle of Agincourt [he was] sore hurt, maimed and wounded’. As a consequence he became ‘enfeebled and bruised [and when] fallen to great age and poverty, and greatly indebted he [could] not help himself’.[71] Whether much could have been done for Thomas, throughout the war English commanders recognised that they needed to provide medical assistance for (at least some of) their troops. At Crécy Edward III had dressing stations available to soldiers during the battle, although medical care centred on the elite.[72] Henry V certainly took medical matters seriously and recruited a team of doctors for the 1415 expedition. Having been wounded in battle himself, at Shrewsbury in 1403, the king recognised the value of medical assistance on the battlefield. He had been struck by an arrow in the face and, while the shaft was removed, the arrowhead remained deeply embedded. Eventually, the king’s surgeon, John Bradmore, devised a mechanism for safely enlarging the wound and extracting the arrowhead before cleansing the area. Consequently, when he left for the Agincourt campaign, Henry was accompanied by a medical team of twenty-one surgeons which included Thomas Morstede, Nicholas Colnet and William Bradwardine. These were skilled doctors and Morstede would later write the Fair Book of Surgery, which became a standard textbook. He and Bradwardine served on the Normandy campaign which departed England in 1417.[73]
The consequences of battle might, however, go beyond wounds to the body; physical trauma can also lead to mental incapacity. During Edward I’s reign there are two examples of this: one Bartholomew Sakeville suffered an acute fever following a blow to the head from which he never fully recovered, and another soldier, Nigel Coppedene, was pardoned of murder as he was judged mentally incompetent following his treatment as a prisoner of war.[74] Some medieval soldiers, like their modern counterparts, must have suffered from combat trauma (or post-traumatic stress). It is difficult to know what Thomas Gray implied when he described the battle of Poitiers as hidouse (hideous or fearsome), but no doubt it was a gruesome experience. Evidence for the emotional and psychological impact of such encounters is sparse but not non-existent. The sight of the piles of the slain at Agincourt certainly did not enrapture all the victors. Rather, there were tears at the ‘terrible deaths and bitter wounds of so many Christian men’.[75] Similarly, during the siege of Rouen (1419) an English soldier, John Page, recalled the plight of those trapped between the city walls and the encircling forces:
There ne was no man, I understand,
That saw that but his heart would change,
And [if] he considered that sight
He would be pensive and no thing light.[76]
Although he was a soldier, and one committed to Henry V’s cause, Page was deeply moved by the hellish conditions which the desperate civilians suffered.
Buoyed by the triumph but exhausted and hungry, the bedraggled English army trudged from Agincourt to Calais. There they were delayed for a fortnight awaiting a favourable wind to bring them home. However, the authorities at Calais would not allow the bulk of the army to enter the town, fearing disruption and a threat to their own food supply. Consequently, many of the English soldiers sold their prisoners and plunder for little profit in order to buy what they could. ‘[M]ost of them had spent eight to ten days without eating bread, and of other victuals, meat, butter, eggs, cheese only the little they could find … there was such a shortage of bread that [by the time they reached Calais] they did not bother what it cost, but only that they should have some.’[77]
When he finally returned to England and London in November 1415, Henry was greeted with a magnificent celebration – almost a Roman triumph. The success at Agincourt practically sanctified Henry in English eyes; the victory was divine confirmation of the righteousness of his claims in France and of the rights of the Lancastrian dynasty to rule in England (and France). There would be no lack of popular support for his next expedition, the recapture of Normandy.
In preparation for this new invasion Henry needed a secure and safe passage to France, and a bridgehead from which to advance. He had two bases in the north of the country, Calais and Harfleur; the latter, though, was exposed and under constant threat of attack from land and sea. It did, nevertheless, offer the king a fine strategic vantage-point from which to enter the duchy of Normandy. During the Hundred Years War, because of the nature of communications and the limitations of maritime technology, one could not take ‘command of the sea’, but one could establish a maritime ‘zone of control’ for a short period of time.[78] Henry needed this before he could launch the Normandy campaign, and he achieved it through two major naval battles, at Harfleur in 1416 and off the Chef de Caux in the following year. The first encounter saw the duke of Bedford command an English force against a Franco-Genoese fleet that blockaded the port. The English had fewer ships but more troops, many of them archers. Although wounded in the battle himself, Bedford broke the blockade and captured three Genoese carracks in the process. The second battle, to clear the immediate path for the invasion fleet, took place close to Honfleur, a port near the mouth of the River Seine. Again, a Franco-Genoese fleet was operating in the area. John Holland, earl of Huntingdon (1395–1447), led an English flotilla to victory on this occasion.[79] Less than a month later the king sailed at the head of an invasion force of around 10,000 men in a newly built ship of 1,000 tons, the Jesus. Once it landed the army continued to be reinforced and resupplied on a regular basis by ship.
In this and other ways the sea played a vital role in the Hundred Years War. Both a barrier and a means of transportation, it lay at the heart of all logistical problems and potentialities. Its moods determined the success or failure of every expedition at the outset. Because much of the war was socio-economic in character, attacks on trade vessels by both sides were common. Maritime raiding was also common practice and a tactic both sides used extensively. It proved financially profitable, psychologically useful and an effective means of disrupting daily life, trade, shipping and fishing. In a war fought predominantly in France it was one of the few ways the French could retaliate against the enemy at home. Although not comparable to the terror of the chevauchées, the southern and eastern coasts of England were subjected to regular assault. These caused widespread destruction, some deaths and, at times, a profound climate of fear.[80]
This was almost tangible during the raids launched by Jean de Vienne, Admiral of France, in the 1370s and 1380s, when there was also a major threat of invasion. The initial plan involved the simultaneous landing of two forces, one led by Vienne in Scotland, the other commanded by Olivier de Clisson on the south coast of England. Vienne arrived at Leith on 1 June 1385 with a force of 1,300 men-at-arms and 250 crossbowmen. He led a raid into the Borders, but Richard II acted decisively and drove him back. Vienne returned to the West March and plundered Cumberland, but the invasion failed mainly because Clisson’s force was delayed. In 1386–87 Vienne assembled a vast second invasion force at Harfleur, with perhaps 30,000 troops. Again the plan failed, and again because of Clisson, who fell into the hands of the duke of Brittany. Thereafter Charles VI’s illness and growing tension in the Valois court curtailed the French naval effort.[81]
Because of the centrality of the sea in the prosecution of the Hundred Years War, it is not surprising that in terms of total costs naval and maritime expenditure were often greater than those incurred by land forces. In England ships were requisitioned in vast numbers and the scale of maritime operations was formidable from the outset. During the 1340s and 1350s at least a thousand ‘arrests’ of merchants ships were made. Estimates for the size of the English fleet at the battle of Sluys in June 1340 vary between 147 and 300 vessels. In 1347 Edward III used over 700 ships and about 15,000 sailors for the siege of Calais.[82] In France more substantial shipyards were available to the Valois kings to construct vessels; this was necessary since the Capetian and Valois kings could not press vessels into service in the same numbers as the Plantagenets. In 1295 Philippe IV had established the Clos des Galées, a base for French royal vessels on the left bank of the Seine at Richebourg, outside Rouen. This centre, modelled on the naval arsenal at Seville, was active in building and repairing ships in the early years of the Hundred Years War. It specialised in galleys – large, oared fighting ships, sometimes with two masts, based on a Mediterranean design rather than on the northern European model descended from Viking longships.[83] In the opening phase of the war the French may have had a slight edge over the English in terms of naval construction techniques, but for much of the war there was little to choose between the two sides in terms of maritime technology.
As well as transports, ships served as fighting platforms and in this way they reflected the military prejudices of each side. As one would expect, the English favoured the longbow and the French the crossbow as long-range naval weapons. Although there is some evidence of torsion artillery (catapults powered by highly tensioned and twisted ropes) in the early years of the Hundred Years War, most sea battles were decided by individual boarding actions in which ships were grappled to one another. There were many such encounters throughout the war. In the opening exchanges there were three recognised battles (Sluys in 1340, Winchelsea (Les Espagnols sur Mer) in 1350 and La Rochelle in 1372), and numerous smaller engagements.[84] Edward III, it seems, had a fondness (weakness) for ramming the opposition; his tactics at Winchelsea in 1350, against a Castilian force sailing home, have been likened to ‘a demented ten-year-old on the dodgems’.[85]
When Henry V acceded to the throne in 1413 he recognised that his French ambitions relied on an expansion in English naval strength. He clearly ‘understood the use of sea power as a primary weapon of war’.[86] New ships were built, others were refitted; the design of many of these was influenced by Genoese carracks with high-sided hulls. This made them difficult to board and provided good platforms for the use of missile weapons, which by this time included some rudimentary guns. It was during Henry’s reign that Southampton became a major naval base. The king’s expeditionary fleet in 1415 consisted of an extraordinary 1,500 ships which were needed to carry the 12,000 soldiers for the siege of Harfleur and the subsequent expedition to Agincourt. The invasion force in 1417 was a little smaller, but it still constituted a very sizable army – perhaps 10,000 soldiers. The conquest of the duchy followed. French attention was focused on the Burgundian threat to Paris while in the series of sieges Henry systematically took control of the duchy, capturing Caen in 1417 and Rouen in 1419.
Once completed, the reconquest of Normandy ensured that French access to the English coast was much reduced. It was, however, very expensive to maintain even a small group of ships in good repair, and once Normandy was in English hands (which provided greater control of the Channel), naval priorities declined and ships were sold to pay the king’s debts after Henry V died in 1422. Thereafter English naval power gradually decayed – a state of affairs the author of the Libelle of Englyshe Polycye lamented. Recognising the collapse of the position in France, he argued strongly that the sea lanes around England should be kept open in order to maintain trade links with Calais (the location of the wool staple), Wales and Ireland. In reality, as English control in France crumbled, attacks on the south coast of England resumed. In 1448 the French burned Rye and Winchelsea, and the loss of Gascony did not mark the end of such activity. In 1457 Pierre de Brézé, seneschal of Normandy, sacked Sandwich.[87] Such events would have seemed incomprehensible in Henry V’s reign. Agincourt, the reconquest of Normandy and, lastly, the Burgundian alliance finally brought sufficient pressure to bear on Charles VI’s doddering regime to compel the treaty of Troyes in 1420 and with it the prospect of a Dual Monarchy. In the concluding years of Henry V’s reign what had been a war of raids and sieges became a war of occupation.

[1] ‘Histoire de Charles VI’, in A. Curry, ed., The Battle of Agincourt: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge, 2000), 107.
[2] T. Walsingham, St Albans Chronicle 1406–1420, ed. V. H. Galbraith (Oxford, 1937), 333.
[3] Henry V suggested, according to Shakespeare, that fighting at Agincourt was intrinsically ennobling for his soldiers: Henry V, IV. iii. 63.
[4] Knighton’s Chronicle, 62.
[5] J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages, trans. S. Willard and Mrs R. W. Southern (Woodbridge, 2nd edn, 1997), 111, 199.
[6] Scalacronica, 163; G. de Cuvelier, La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin de Cuvelier, ed. J.-C. Faucon, 3 vols (Toulouse, 1990–91), ll. 5875–8; Le Jouvencel, I, 189; C. Rogers, ‘Tactics and the Face of Battle’, European Warfare, 1350–1750, ed. F. Tallett and D. J. B. Trim (Cambridge, 2010), 203–5.
[7] M. Bennett, ‘The Development of Battle Tactics in the Hundred Years War’, Arms, Armies and Fortifications, ed. Curry and Hughes, 5, 10–13.
[8] P. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. M. Jones (Oxford, 1984), 87.
[9] Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 26–38; C. T. Allmand, The Hundred Years War: England and France at War, c.1300–c.1450 (Cambridge, 1988; rev. edn, 2001), 92–3.
[10] A. Curry, A. Bell, A. Chapman, A. King and D. Simpkin, ‘What Did You Do in the Hundred Years War, Daddy? The Soldier in Later Medieval England’, Historian, 96 (2007), 7; Prestwich, ‘Why did Englishmen Fight in the Hundred Years War?’, 58–65.
[11] TNA C 1/9/407.
[12] A. Curry, Agincourt: A New History (Stroud, 2005), 52–3, 57–8. Clarence contracted dysentery at Harfleur and did not take part in the battle of Agincourt: G. L. Harriss, ‘Thomas, Duke of Clarence (1387–1421)’, ODNB (online edn, 2010).
[13] Y. N. Harari, ‘Strategy and Supply in Fourteenth-Century Western European Invasion Campaigns’, Journal of Military History, 64 (2000), 301–2.
[14] V. Fiorato, A. Boylston and C. Knussel, eds, Blood-Red Roses: The Archaeology of a Mass Grave from the Battle of Towton, 1461 (Oxford, 2000), 45–59, 94; A. J. Stirland, The Men of the Mary Rose (Stroud, 2005), 81–2; K. DeVries, ‘Teenagers at War during the Middle Ages’, The Premodern Teenager: Youth in Society, 1150–1650, ed. K. Eisenbichler (Toronto, 2002), 207–23.
[15] S. A. Novak, ‘Battle-Related Trauma’, Blood-Red Roses, ed. Fiorato, Boylston and Knussle, 116. See ibid., 104, 107–9 for a survey of the skeletons of archers, which shows that the Towton soldiers were not especially tall or robust.
[16] Scalacronica, 157.
[17] K. DeVries, ‘Medieval Mercenaries: Methodology, Definitions and Problems’, Mercenaries and Paid Men: The Mercenary Identity in the Middle Ages, ed. J. France (Leiden, 2008), 54, 56, and n. 57.
[18] Scalacronica, 153.
[19] Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 277–319; idem, ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XVe siècle. Du “Roi de Bourges” au très victorieux roi de France’, Histoire militaire de la France, ed. Corvisier, 201–8; Vale, Charles VII, 104–6.
[20] ‘Chronique française du roi de France Charles VII’, English Historical Documents, IV, 262.
[21] Ayton, ‘English Armies in the Fourteenth Century’, Arms, Armies and Fortifications, ed. Curry and Hughes, 34; R. Hardy, ‘Longbow’, ibid., 161–3, 180.
[22] Gerald of Wales, The Journey through Wales, ed. and trans. L. Thorpe (London, 1978), 112–13.
[23] Curry et al., ‘What Did You Do in the Hundred Years War, Daddy?’, 12; www.medievalsoldier.org; Verbruggen, Art of Warfare, 117–21; A. Chapman, ‘Welshmen in the Armies of Edward I’, The Impact of the Edwardian Castles in Wales, ed. D. M. Williams and J. R. Kenyon (Oxford, 2010), 175–82.
[24] J. Bradbury, The Medieval Archer (New York, 1985), 93; Ayton, ‘Military Service and the Development of the Robin Hood Legend in the Fourteenth Century’, 135; A. J. Pollard, ‘Idealising Criminality: Robin Hood in the Fifteenth Century’, Pragmatic Utopias: Ideas and Communities, 1200–1630, ed. R. Horrox and S. Rees Jones (Cambridge, 2001), 158–61.
[25] P. V. Harris, ‘Archery in the First Half of the Fourteenth Century’, Journal of the Society of Archer-Antiquaries, 13 (1970), 19–21; Rogers, ‘The Military Revolutions of the Hundred Years War’, 249–51 and nn. 36–41; Novak, ‘Battle-Related Trauma’, 109; P. Marsden, Sealed by Time: The Loss and Recovery of the Mary Rose(Portsmouth, 2003), 121, 124–5. It has been proposed that rather than causing a great number of casualties, archer fire disorganised an enemy assault making them easy prey for infantry: C. Gaier, ‘L’invincibilité anglaise et le grand arc après la Guerre de Cent Ans: un mythe tenace’, Tijdschrift voor geschiedenis, 91 (1978), 378–85; J. Keegan, Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo and the Somme(Harmondsworth, 1978), 78–116. For a different approach, see C. J. Rogers, ‘The Efficacy of the English Longbow: A Reply to Kelly DeVries’, War in History, 5 (1998), 233–42.
[26] Chronicles of Jean Le Fèvre, Jean Waurin and Enguerrand de Monstrelet: Curry, ed., Battle of Agincourt, 160.
[27] Le Fèvre, Waurin and Monstrelet: Curry, ed., Battle of Agincourt, 161. Also see M. Strickland and R. Hardy, The Great Warbow: From Hastings to the Mary Rose(Stroud, 2005), 318–38.
[28] Mitchell, ‘Longbow–Crossbow Shootout’, 242–5.
[29] K. DeVries, ‘The Introduction and Use of the Pavise in the Hundred Years War’, Arms and Armour, 4 (2007), 95, 98–9.
[30] M. Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience(New Haven, CT, and London, 1996), 293; T. F. Tout, ‘Firearms in England in the Fourteenth Century’, EHR, 26 (1911), 670–4, 676.
[31] Cited by C. J. Rogers, ‘The Age of the Hundred Years War’, Medieval Warfare: A History, ed. M. Keen (Oxford, 1999), 136.
[32] Froissart, Chroniques, ed. Luce, IV, 11; Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 140; J. Bradbury, The Medieval Siege (Woodbridge, 1992), 159; S. Storey-Challenger, L’administration anglaise du Ponthieu après le traité de Brétigny, 1361–1369(Abbeville, 1975), 286.
[33] R. D. Smith, ‘Artillery and the Hundred Years War: Myth and Interpretation’, Arms, Armies and Fortifications, ed. Curry and Hughes, 153–5; R. L. C. Jones, ‘Fortifications and Sieges in Western Europe c.800–1450’, Medieval Warfare, ed. Keen, 180–3; M. Prestwich, ‘Was there a Military Revolution in Medieval England?’, Recognition Essays Presented to E. B. Fryde, ed. C.Richmond and I. Harvey (Aberystwyth, 1996), 25.
[34] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 39; K. DeVries, ‘The Impact of Gunpowder Weaponry in the Hundred Years War’, The Medieval City under Siege, ed. I. A. Corfis and M. Wolfe (Woodbridge, 1995), 228–30.
[35] Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 83.
[36] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 86–7 and n. 1; J. Barker, Agincourt (London, 2005), 296–7.
[37] Parisian Bourgeois, 257.
[38] K. DeVries, ‘The Use of Gunpowder Weaponry by and against Joan of Arc during the Hundred Years War’, War and Society, 14 (1996), 9–14; DeVries, Joan of Arc, 52, 56–8; R. D. Smith and K. DeVries, The Artillery of the Dukes of Burgundy, 1363–1477 (Woodbridge, 2005), esp. 98–103.
[39] Vale, War and Chivalry, 132–3.
[40] ‘Chronique française du roi de France Charles VII’: English Historical Documents, IV, 262.
[41] K. DeVries, Medieval Military Technology (Ontario, repr. 2003), 162–3; DeVries, ‘Impact of Gunpowder Weaponry on Siege Warfare’, 22; M. de Lombarès, ‘Castillon (17 juillet 1453): première victoire de l’artillerie’, Revue historique de l’Armée, 3 (1976), 7–31; M. Keen, ‘The Changing Scene: Guns, Gunpowder and Permanent Armies’,Medieval Warfare, ed. Keen, 272–3; A. H. Burne, The Agincourt War: A Military History of the Latter Part of the Hundred Years War from 1369 to 1453(London, 1956), 332–42.
[42] Harari, ‘Strategy and Supply’, 302–3 and n. 10; Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, 247–8.
[43] Scalacronica, 175.
[44] Hewitt, Black Prince’s Expedition, 47–8; P. Hoskins, In the Steps of the Black Prince: The Road to Poitiers, 1355–1356 (Woodbridge, 2011), 21–2.
[45] T. Elmham, ‘Liber Metricus de Henrico Quinto’: Curry, ed., Battle of Agincourt, 43; Harari, ‘Strategy and Supply’, 306, 308–10.
[46] Chronicles of Jean le Bel, ed. Bryant, 256–7; R.Wadge, Arrowstorm: The World of the Archer in the Hundred Years War (Stroud, 2007), 75–7.
[47] Harari, ‘Strategy and Supply’, 298, 304, 315–16, 318–19.
[48] Scalacronica, 175, 185.
[49] C. de Pizan, Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, 165–6.
[50] ‘Chronique française du roi de France Charles VII’, English Historical Documents, IV, 262.
[51] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 55.
[52] Keen, Laws of War, 64–5, 104–6; Curry, ‘The Military Ordinances of Henry V: Texts and Contexts’, War, Government and Aristocracy in the British Isles, ed. Given-Wilson et al., 214–49.
[53] Scalacronica, 185.
[54] Curry, ed. Battle of Agincourt, 43–4, 129.
[55] Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 85; Barker, Agincourt, 188–92.
[56] Walsingham, St Albans Chronicle, II, 673.
[57] Keegan, Face of Battle, 114–16.
[58] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 81, 83. See further C. J. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Middle Ages (Westport, CT, 2007), 169–74.
[59] Ayton, ‘English Army at Crécy’, Battle of Crécy, 200–24; M. K. Jones, ‘The Battle of Verneuil (17 August 1424): Towards a History of Courage’, War in History, 9 (2002), 395–8.
[60] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 79; Shakespeare, Henry V, IV. iii. 22–4.
[61] Chandos Herald, Life of the Black Prince, 38. See also J. R. E. Bliese, ‘When Knightly Courage may Fail: Battle Orations in Medieval Europe’, Historian, 53 (1991), 489–504.
[62] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 79; Elmham, ‘Liber Metricus de Henrico Quinto’: Curry, ed., Battle of Agincourt, 45, 48.
[63] Barker, Agincourt, 289. On the religious preparations soldiers made prior to campaigning, see G. St John, ‘Dying Beyond the Seas: Testamentary Preparation for Campaigning during the Hundred Years War’, Fourteenth-Century England, VII, ed. W. M. Ormrod (Woodbridge, 2012), 177–96.
[64] Both Contamine and Curry suggest that the French army was much smaller than is commonly accepted (9,000–12,000): P. Contamine, ‘Crécy (1346) et Azincourt (1415): une comparaison’, Divers aspects du Moyen Âge en Occident (Calais, 1977), 35; Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 187. Other recent works suggest a figure of around 24,000 is more accurate: C. J. Rogers, ‘The Battle of Agincourt’, Hundred Years War, II: Different Vistas, ed. Villalon and Kagay, 57–63; Barker, Agincourt, 227, 274; M. Bennett, Agincourt, 1415 (Oxford, 1991), 72.
[65] C. Phillpotts, ‘The French Plan of Battle during the Agincourt Campaign’, EHR, 99 (1984), 59–66.
[66] Thomas Gray thought the French delay prior to beginning the battle of Poitiers had been instigated for much the same reason: Scalacronica, 145.
[67] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 87.
[68] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 89.
[69] Monstrelet: Curry, ed., Battle of Agincourt, 160.
[70] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 91.
[71] C. Rawcliffe, Medicine and Society in Later Medieval England (Stroud, 1995), 4.
[72] Ayton, ‘English Army at Crécy’, Battle of Crécy, ed. Ayton and Preston, 174.
[73] Barker, Agincourt, 29–30, 142–6; M. Carlin, ‘Morstede, Thomas (d.1450)’, ODNB(online edn, 2004); Strickland and Hardy, Great Warbow, 279–86.
[74] Scalacronica, 146–7; W. Turner, ‘Mental Incapacity and the Financing of War in Medieval England’, Hundred Years War, II: Different Vistas, ed. Kagay and Villalon, 388, 390. For the sparse and tantalising evidence for trauma arising from primitive combat, see L. N. Keeley, War before Civilization: The Myth of the Peaceful Savage(New York, 1996), 146.
[75] Gesta Henrici Quinti, 92–3.
[76] ‘The Siege of Rouen’, The Historical Collections of a Citizen of London in the Fifteenth Century, ed. J. Gairdner (London, 1876), 1–46, cited by A. Goodman, The Wars of the Roses: The Soldiers’ Experience (Stroud, 2005), 29.
[77] Le Fèvre and Waurin: Curry, ed. Battle of Agincourt, 167.
[78] Barker, Conquest, 7; C. Richmond, ‘The War at Sea’, The Hundred Years War, ed. K. Fowler (London, 1971), 98–100.
[79] Allmand, Henry V, 103, 107–8, 113; A. Curry, ‘After Agincourt, What Next? Henry V and the Campaign of 1416’, Conflicts, Consequences and the Crown in the Late Middle Ages, ed. L. Clark (Woodbridge, 2007), 23–51.
[80] Rodger, Safeguard of the Sea, 91–2; S. Rose, Medieval Naval Warfare, 1000–1500 (New York, 2002), 68; Richmond, ‘The War at Sea’, 103; G. R. Cushway, ‘“The Lord of the Sea”: The English Navy in the Reign of Edward III’, unpub PhD thesis (University of Exeter, 2006), 264.
[81] D. Green, ‘Jean de Vienne’, The Oxford Encyclopedia of Medieval Warfare and Military Technology, ed. C. J. Rogers, 3 vols (New York, 2010), II, 440.
[82] M. M. Postan, ‘The Costs of the Hundred Years’ War’, Past and Present, 27 (1964), 34–5, 39; T. J. Runyan, ‘Ships and Mariners in Later Medieval England’, Journal of British Studies, 16 (1977), 3–4, 8; J. W. Sherborne, ‘The Hundred Years’ War. The English Navy: Shipping and Manpower 1369–1389’, Past and Present, 37 (1967), 163–75.
[83] Rose, Medieval Sea, 112. By the end of the fourteenth century the Clos des Gallées had become little more than a scrapyard – it was destroyed when the English took Rouen in 1419.
[84] I. Friel, ‘Winds of Change’, Arms, Armies and Fortifications, ed. Curry and Hughes, 185; Cushway, ‘The Lord of the Sea’, 11; Sumption, Trial by Battle, 215–16, 264, 404; Rogers, Wars of Edward III, 36.
[85] Friel, ‘Winds of Change’, 187.
[86] Rodger, Safeguard of the Sea, 145.
[87] Rose, Medieval Sea, 118–20.

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