Chapter One
Chapter One: The two crowns
1415
Henry V, king of England was on the run. Him and 6,000 men were on the run. 15,000 French knights were on the chase.
Henry thought to himself how stupid he had been. The rain was pouring down on him. He could see the perspiration coming out of every man's breath, as they breathed out into the misty air. He was soaked. All his men were soaked, and he was a long way from home.
"Sire...” he heard a voice, distant because of the noise of the rain and the groaning men around him.
"Sire!" It was closer now.
Henry could see who it was now. It was the Duke of York.
“Scouts have just reported back to me. The French are bigger than we thought.”
“How much bigger?”
“30,000.”
Henry looked distant. His lower jaw trembled. Thunder grumbled, in expectation of the battle to come. He thought back to his past battles, the times he had crushed the Welsh uprising.
No, he would stand here and fight. Like a true king of England. He was the one who had stupidly brought his men here, miles from England. He was the one who had lost thousands of men whilst laying siege to Harfleur. He had no choice.
The voice came back again.
“The look confident. The spies report a lot of French nobility is here. They look eager to annihilate our army.”
Through the mud they marched. 70 miles in just three days.
“Damn this weather!” thought Henry.
Around him, he could see the miserable faces of thousands of English soldiers. Thousands of men held their long bows in the air, just to stop them getting wet. Then he heard the sounds of hooves.
Suddenly, from a wood to the right, he saw a dozen horsemen riding towards them. They came towards him. One came out ahead of them, and rode up to Henry.
“Sire, we are scouts of Lord Camoy’s. We report that the French army in pursuit has blocked our path and has issued a challenge.”
Henry had dreaded this. He had hoped to get to Calais before being cut off.
“Still 30,000?” queried Henry.
“Yes”, said the scout. “Here is their proclamation.”
He handed Henry a parchment. Unrolling it, he read:
"Our lords have heard how you intend with your army to conquer the towns, castles and cities of the realm of France and to depopulate French cities. And because of this, and for the sake of their country and their oaths, many of our lords are assembled to defend their rights; and they inform you by us that before you come to Calais they will meet you to fight you and be revenged of your conduct"
To which Henry said: “Be all things according to the will of God.”
The English army was marching between the villages of Agincourt and Trarnecourt. In the distant they could see the French army, spread out like numerous flies, too difficult to count.
But Henry’s hopes were suddenly lifted. To his left and right was two woods. Between him and the French army stood a muddy, ploughed field.
“No…surely the French aren’t so stupid.”
He had one chance. If he could get this right…
Clignet de Brebent looked at the advancing English. Pathetic, he thought. Why should we show mercy to these cowards who plundered their land and desecrated it. Let them starve! Or even better, on the edge of his sword.
He looked down at his sword. A five-foot long beast that could cut thought many heads.
He jumped on his horse.
The rain was stopping.
An omen he thought, of the dawn of a new French victory. They would kill Henry on the battlefield today!
How wrong he was.
The French cavalry were in place. Everything was ready. Only a 250-yard gap stood.
“Charge!” cried Clignet de Brebent.
And what a charge it was. Thousands of French horses thundering all of a sudden.
But wait! The sky suddenly turned black. Black with arrows. Damn those English longbows.
“But we outnumber them” he thought.
The arrows cut through soldiers. The thickest soldiers armour was sliced like butter. Screams erupted from all around the French lines. Before the arrows stopped falling, another hail came.
The screams were worse. One soldier beside him was struck on the head, and he saw his head sliced off by the power of the bolt.
The next volley came a few seconds later. Soldiers all around him were falling. The screams were now deafening. He could hear solder’s limbs being ripped off, the shore force of the arrows pinning some solder’s to the ground.
Henry looked at his line. His knights were dismounted now, fighting side by side with ordinary men of arms. Archers were positioned on the flanks. Spikes were stuck in the ground.
“It is just like Potiers,” thought Henry.
The French knights charged through a thin clearing between the two woods. Like a trap.
Not for nothing had the English longbow trained. Every Sunday, they would practice. And their vigorous training and discipline paid off, as thousands of French knights were being slaughtered before him.
“Sire, the French men at arms are advancing.”
Sure enough, he could see the French foot soldiers charging across the muddy field.
“Ready!” He could hear Lord Camoys shout, preparing the left flank.
“Ready!” It was the Duke of York on the right.
The French solders were nearly there.
“Step back!”
Suddenly the front ranks of the English army stepped back. The confused French soldiers slowed sown, completely losing momentum.
“Now!”
The English army threw themselves suddenly into the French ranks. The real battle had begun.
David, a longbow man moved silently with a small band of his fellow archers. They were moving through the wood, like a few hundred other longbow man in the opposite wood.
“Okay”, said one commander.
They could see ranks of French soldiers in the field, almost queuing to get to the English lines.
They opened fire.
Hours later, Henry looked at the battlefield. The impossible had happened. 15,000 French soldiers lay dead on the field before him.
