In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - An English AAR

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII


The Maiden of Lorraine

Jeanne d'Arc, the Maiden of Lorraine​

Dauphiné province of Berri
March, Year of our Lord Fourteen Twenty-six

‘She has sent one more of these letters, my lord. This girl who calls herself The Maiden of Lorraine.’​

‘I can read by myself, thank you very much, Jacques.’​

‘She pretends she has been sent by God. Look, not even a signature. What messenger of God cannot write his own name? I advise you not to see her, my lord.’​

‘It says here that she is already on her way. She will be here any week now.’​

‘This is preposterous. We know nothing about her. For all we know she could be a spy for the English.’​

‘My lord, Jacques is right. She says she can hear voice in her head. She may be a sorceress. A witch.’​

‘O Gérard, you judge her too hard. She is but a peasant who cares for her king, and wants to see me crowned. All she wants to do is to fight for me.’​

‘Not exactly, my lord. She says here that she wants an army fully equipped at your expense. Considering we have lost all ports to the English in the last war, I have a hard time seeing how you can afford such a thing.’​

‘Jacques, I can meet with her if I want to. With half of France gone to the English, it’s not like I have anything to lose.’​

‘Except the other half, my lord. I strongly urge you not to see her.’​

‘Well, I think you should.’​

The sudden comment threw all three of them off balance. They looked across the room to the place of origin the voice had come from.

‘So, this is interesting. How is it that while my mother-in-law thinks one thing, my two loyal and trusted advisors think another?’​

‘Because I care about you,’ the Dauphin’s mother-in-law answered matter-of-factly.​

‘If she is this saviour of France as she claims, then you have nothing to lose. If she is not, then you can get rid of her just as any other poor fool you have thrown into the dungeon.’​

‘But who will pay for this army that she requests? I have lost everything.’​

‘I will. You will receive enough to recruit a basis. And the rest will follow, you will see. When they spot this maiden, they will follow her without any thought of worldly possessions such as money.’​

‘How can you be so sure?’ Jacques asked with a doubtful face.​

‘Because peasants are simple people. And simple people follow two things. Money, and their hearts. There is an interesting story circling the country. A prophecy actually. It can be heard in every village. It says, that when France is in dire need, like now when half is beset by the English, a virgin from Lorraine will come forth, to save France. And now, a girl, proclaiming to be a virgin, from Lorraine, has sought an audience with you, sought to gain command of an army that will drive the English out. If she is the one, then she has truly been sent by God.’​

‘You think she may have been sent by God?’​

‘Perhaps. It is not my place to judge that. It is up to you. If she is not what she claims to be, then you will expose her quickly. But, if she really is all that this prophecy says, then I think she can help you. And maybe…just maybe, she can put that crown on your head.’​

Dauphiné province of Berri
May, Year of our Lord Fourteen Twenty-six


They rode down the road in a set pace. They were not in a hurry, but they were not lagging behind either. The sun stood high in the blue spring sky and the scarce trees around them were just about to blossom. Having ridden for days, their brown capes had turned grey from relentless dust that marked their way for miles in the dry ground. There were four of them. For their whole journey, they had been trying to ride invisibly through the French scenery, all the way from Lorraine through the hostile territory of Burgundy. It was not until now they were safe, having crossed the Dauphin’s border several hours ago. Continuing their ride to the west, they reached the Dauphin’s palace within nightfall. As one figure made itself across the palace grounds to the stairways, the other three halted by the stables instead, taking care of their horses.

‘She’s here now, my lord.’​

It was Pierre, his most personal aide and servant who spoke.

‘Alright,’ Charles answered, trying to calm himself.​

He wanted to meet with her of course. But what if Jacques or Gérard were right? What if she really was an assassin, or a witch sent by the English to cast a spell on him? His courage sank at the prospect of it.

‘My lord, I again urge you not to see this woman. It is a trap, I can feel it!’​

‘I have taken the precautions to consult a seer who told me that the stars says I have nothing to worry about,’ he answered, more to reassure himself than anybody else.​

‘And suppose she is an assassin. What difference does a bunch of stars do then?’​

‘Jacques, why do you say such things? I am the poorest man in the country. Especially after the English defeated my army. I have renounced the crown of France. Who would want to assassinate me?’​

It took but one look by Jacques on the Dauphin’s closest so-called allies and dukes to make him understand.

‘Right, they might. Then what should I do?’​

‘Sire,’ Pierre suddenly said with a hushed voice. ‘What if you placed another on the throne before she arrived.’​

It did not take the Dauphin long to figure out his servant’s plan and he became remarkably excited.

‘Excellent. If she is truly sent by God, then she will discover the fake. If she is not, then she will kill the wrong man. The only question that remains is who.’​

‘Sire, it would give me great pleasure to serve as the fake king. If I die, I will do so knowing that I have saved your life, for there is nothing more honourable than that.’​

‘Then so be it. Listen up everybody.’ Charles stood up and waved to get the attention in the room. ‘We are going to play a little game with this maiden from Lorraine. Let us pretend, just pretend, that for now, I am not king. Instead, my valiant servant Pierre is. When the girl enters, nobody must give any hint whatsoever as to who I am.’​

She headed upstairs, through the labyrinth of corridors that headed to the Dauphin’s reception chambers. She had never been there, yet she knew exactly how she was going to find the right room. They had told her. They had told her everything. The English plans for attacking, the betrayal of the Burgundese, and the fall of English France. They had given her a Godly sword. That and the robes she now wore were the only possessions she owned, except for her clothes.

She reached the door she had seen in her dreams. Her hand moved as if she did not control it, slowly opening it. She had expected to be received alone, just the Dauphin and her, with a few aides. This scene that was playing out in front of her was none of that.

The whole court was gathered, roaming around. People everywhere, not empty as she had foreseen. It made her nervous, her stomach acting up strangely. Forward, a voice told her. She did not know where it came from, or how it entered her mind. All she knew was that it had helped her numerous times before and had never lied to her. She strode inside the room, trying to search for the Dauphin. Suddenly a man stood in front of her.

‘I have come to see the Dauphin,’ she said with her strongest and most confident voice she was able to procure.​

‘If you say so. This way,’ the man answered, leading through the mass of nobles and servants to one end of the room.​

On a large wooden chair, wrapped in a white and red cape, embroidered with gold, sat a man, trying to look dignified. But as she headed his way, she began to stumble to the left, across the room. She withdrew further and further away from the throne, to a more remote area, not as well lit as the rest. Her path was irregular like that of a drunk though with a goal, but her steps were yet as strong as ever. She knew she was guided.

‘You,’ she said, as she pointed with an arm she did not raise herself. ‘You are the Dauphin.’​

The man in front of her stared at her with a chocked expression.

‘How did you know?’​

‘God guided my way, just as he has guided my fate.’​

‘This is absurd! How can you claim to be sent by God just by pointing the Dauphin out. You could have seen him somewhere,’ Jacques spat out at her, having moved himself to the scene.​

‘My dear Jacques,’ the Dauphin began, but was interrupted by his aide.​

‘No! I say this woman must prove her link to God by doing something more than just locating Your Majesty!’​

‘Dear God. I, Charles de Valois, pray to you now. I beg of You to remove all of my sin, for I have not prayed to Thee for a long time. I know it is wrong to hate, but I cannot stop hating. It is a feeling that cannot go away. I want to forgive, but I cannot forgive. The English has taken everything from me, and I want them to burn in the fires of Purgatory. They make me suffer by killing, plundering, and ravaging my lands. Why do You, in all Your glory, allow these things to happen? Is it a test for me? If so, it is a difficult and challenging one. In all Your glory, I pray that I will be liberated of them soon, and that Your fiery revenge shall strike down upon them and deliver them from these lands. Amen.’​

The Dauphin could not believe what he heard with his own ears.

‘That…that was my prayer, long ago, several months ago. How could you possibly know of it?’​

‘It is the will of God,’ she simply replied.​

‘You will make a deal with the Burgundians. In order for you not to break on your vow, Burgundy shall be the springing factor. You will join the war in secret and hope for the English not to see your involvement until it is too late. Therefore, time is everything. Once Burgundy strikes, you must have already mobilised your forces. Once we are at war, England will head for the Lorie valley and try to take Orleans. You must give me an army to lead the defence of that city, else it will fall.’​

They were standing alone, in one of the many barracks the castle provided. Gathered around a map of France, only the Dauphin, Jeanne d'Arc as she called herself, and Charles's generals attended.

‘Have you had any military training Jeanne, your name was Jeanne, right?’​

‘No I have not, and yes it is.’​

‘Well then, Jeanne, what makes you think that this here Dauphin will grant you an army at his expense to a commander who has had no military education, and if you pardon me to say this, a woman?’​

‘What difference does it make if I am a woman, educated in war or not? It is God’s will and that is all that is important! You must let me lead this army, else all is lost for France.’​

‘Did you not hear me, woman? There is no way that-‘​

‘Enough, Philip, I have been convinced,’ Charles interrupted. ‘You shall receive all that is necessary. Leave the arrangements to me. Just tell me what I need to hear. When and where will the English and the Burgundians battle?’​

‘The English will not bother with the Burgundians at first, not realising the threat. Once they move against them, battle can commence anywhere. What is important is not them. It is the defence of Orleans. Once the English spy our activities, as they will, they will take Orleans, and I must be there to stop them.’​

‘Right. Then you make yourself comfortable here at the castle until everything has been prepared.’​

Jeanne made her way out of the room.

‘Jacques. Stay for a while, will you?’​

‘Certainly, my lord.’​

‘I need to write a letter.’​

Jacques took up quill and feather-pen.

‘For whom shall it be addressed to, my lord?’​

‘To the English regent of France, the Duke of Bedford.’​

 

[coz1]

Oh no, now Jeanne D'Arc's on the scene. The French are getting some breaks, but they won't last. I am sure of it. It is the will of God.

 

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV​

With the sudden act of war from Burgundy and the Dauphin, England quickly sent out a messenger headed for the Brabantian capital. With war and hostilities continuing on and off between Burgundy and Brabant, the Dutch duchy was beginning to suffer both economically and militarily when they noticed that England held their ground, and when the English diplomat arrived, they quickly signed a treaty where both countries would return to normal in order to fight a common growing enemy. Burgundy now stood alone against two enemies that were no longer weakening each other with war, even though they were allied in secret with the Dauphin. However, what they did not know was that the Dauphin had gone behind their own backs to the English and told them of the plans of war.

Bedford, interested in the girl that would save France, wanted the Dauphin to hand her over, and though reluctant, the French noble knew that it would be the best for his country. People or no people, mother-in-law or no mother-in-law, he could see that continued war with England could only bring destruction in the end, even if he could have seized a few quick, easy victories in the beginning. Only sending a limited number of troops to Bugrundy, the Dauphin saved the most of his soldiers with the explanation that they were to be assigned to Jeanne d’Arc in liberating Orleans from the English. With the English not even having attacked the city, some nobles thought the girl was a witch, and it did not help matters when the Dauphin’s archbishop Gérard tried to convince everybody that was the case. But as the Dauphin, and more importantly, the people, thought that she was the girl of a prophecy, not much could be done to stop her leading the army toward Orleans.

In order to defeat Jeanne d'Arc, Bedford called for his skilled general Thomas Montacute, the Earl of Salisbury​

What Jeanne had not anticipated though, was the Dauphin’s agreement with Bedford. Bedford had sent one of his most successful generals, Thomas Montacute, the Earl of Salisbury and a Knight of the Garter, to the Loire valley with orders to take Orleans. Instructing him to leave the Dauphin’s lands untouched, but allowed him to meet and engage any hostile army whatever country allegiance, the two leaders of France had the battle already set up. The Dauphin’s army had been intentionally badly equipped for a battle with the English, making the probability that Jeanne would be either killed or caught during battle highly likely. Should she be caught, Bedford would arrange her execution on the grounds of sorcery, and if she successfully fled the Dauphin would judge her himself for sorcery as she had bewitched him to lend her an army which had perished. With Jeanne as the reason for war, the Dauphin would be spared an English invasion, as long as Bedford got his hands on her. Even though he knew her to be special, with her accurate telling of the past, the Dauphin felt that in the current situation, the mundane felt so much more important than the ecclesiastical did. With Jeanne gone, the Dauphin would get a legitimate cause to end the war in order to save his lands, and England could concentrate on their real enemy, Burgundy. Both countries would profit from the situation.

The English general Salisbury attacked the city of Orléans
on two fronts to avoid Jeanne d'Arc's defences​

The offensive on Orleans went as Salisbury had planned. Attacking from the north in two different directions, the defence that Jeanne had set up was easily surrounded and in July, only a month after the initial battle, and Orleans was under English siege. The Maiden of Lorraine had been properly dealt with and sent to Ile de France where Bedford was preparing counter-attacks on the Burgundian assault from the north. Without ceremony, Bedford had the French upstart hung upon the walls of Paris. With Jeanne dead, the Dauphin withdrew from the war with the cause for it dead. The unexpected turn of events sent the Duke of Burgundy mad with rage on his unreliable ally and declared war upon the Dauphin. Though with no official alliance between the Dauphin and the English, the scenario of the war had turned completely. Instead of weak defences by the English as Burgundy had expected their troops to be spread out to face the Dauphin as well, the Duke of Burgundy now had to battle through tightly built defensive structures manned by more than twice the expected numbers of English soldiers, as well as leading offensive raids down in the southern lands of the Dauphin. The war with the English did not progress as the Duke had presumed and peace had to be settled with no country receiving the upper hand in the conflict since Bedford was more intended on defending the land they already possessed instead of taking more they would have problems defending should a similar situation arise. The war between Burgundy and the Dauphin went better for the Duke, and in the peace treaty Burgundy received enough land to connect its southern and northern provinces, much to the annoyance to the English. Once the wars between the three strongest countries in France had ended, only England and Burgundy had profited from it. Burgundy receiving their link between north and south, and England an ally in the great city of Orléans, becoming a vassal of the increasingly expanding English kingdom.

In order not to accumulate too much hate among the French populace, Bedford ordered
that Orleans was not to be assimilated into the kingdom. Instead he agreed to
their wish to be an independent city-state allied to the English​

 

[coz1]

What a mess! Backstabbing and DoW's flying all over the place! It certainly keeps you on your toes, that's for sure. And now Salisbury has come to assist. That should help when the next round of war comes a calling.

 

[Katapraktoi]

You bet coz1! It was a real mayhem I tell you.

However, I do have one thing to announce, I hope those of you who read this AAR isn't going to judge me too hard for it...

Around 1432 (it's about 1428 in the current AAR chapter) I cheated. I just had to! I rewrote a script for an event that made me lowe my BB rating. I was rating "extremely bad reputation", that is the third from the bottom of the BB scale. I had wars coming each month from several countries that I did not even border to. Half of Europe, litterally (Sweden, Denmark, Norway and all French and Dutch nations, all of it except Castile and Italy were DOWing me), all of the western countries in Europe were charging me on me. It was unplayable. I would not have made it through, and thus this AAR would end within a 15 year period instead of the intended 400. I want to continue with this AAR, but with a crashing economy, I did't get any money because all territories on the continent were besieged, so I could not hire soldiers to fight back. Small nations like Cologne and Luxembourg charged me with almost 20.000 men each,how can those nations have so many soldiers when their one province has a population of 10000? My stability was at a constant -3 and I could not get it up because the slider cost 12.000 (twelve thousand, not hundred) for one level and I gained +5 each month. It would have taken me about 200 years to finish one level the computer calculated... I just had to lower my BB in order to continue.
Anyway, enough with my defending myself for my actions. What is done is done and I don't want to go back now that I have played four more years. I have been able to make peace with all nations except Scotland with whom I want to wage war for my storyplot to continue. Just wantet to say this (and the cheat was to lower BB rating, not anything else, no money, not anthing).

Seems like I am forced to cheat every now and then in my AARs in order for the story to go on. And if so, I think that you do so legitimately. If not cheating will mess the game up and screw your story up, then I say that you can cheat that once just in order to continue playing.

Those of you who still want to keep reading my AAR, just wait a day or two for me to write the next chapter! Until then...

 

[stnylan]

No hassles my side, though it sounds like with a little thought you might manage a great scene or two based around whatever event you edited.

And in these last two updates, it's all going on isn't it? No wonder you began to get swamped.

 

[coz1]

Well, at least you fessed up. I have no issue with it other than the fact that the BB you gained, which thus ended up causing your wars, does tend to mirror, somewhat, the issues England would have had if they had tried to manage continental affairs as well as those on the Island. One of the things that made England so great eventually was that they finally gave up on their dreams of continental possessions and instead turned their attention to the sea, with great effect. But given that the AI cheats in troop numbers and such (not to mention alliance numbers), I can surely understand the pain. And as long as the updates read as well as they have, I won't hold one little cheat against you.

Just don't let it happen again!

 

[Katapraktoi]

Stnylan: Not really, that is just the very small beginning of what happened afterwards. If I had not continued with the lower BB I could have taken a screenshot in diplomatic mode so that you all could see how the whole of western Europe ganked on me, the fights in the updates were triggered by events and I can handle those. But when suddenly Denmark and small one-province German states declare war on me that don't even have a border to me declare war... hmm then something is not right here. ^^ However, all has been fixed now! I managed to get a peace with most countries except for those who I went to war with event-wise, because I didn't want to make peace with them until I could make a story out of the wars. In any case, in the following updates, it will get better, and I have had few wars, none actually after the Scottish one I think... don't want to reveal too much of what is happening as well, got to save it for the story you know.

coz1: Don't worry. Personally I hate to cheat, though I have no problem with others doing it (except in multiplayer of course ) so I will try to avoid it at all cost. Though sometimes, one just has to, like in circumstances such as these. ^^ Oh well... now, let's see what good ol' uncle Katapraktoi can dig up from his pocket of surprises, shall we?

 

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XV

Chapter XV​

With the defeat of the Dauphin, the Burgundian Duke Philip III, had become the rivalling faction to rule in France. His small duchy had spread through well played diplomacy and decisive attacks on his enemies, and now covered a fourth of France, controlling the north-east and the south-east. The English king Henry VI was still a child in many eyes, and especially in Philip III’s. The Burgundian Duke demanded that the eastern province of Champagne was to be ceded to him as he literally controlled it even though the province was considered English lands. The populace had never really accepted their English masters and were rather ruled by the French Duke. The proposition appalled Bedford who bluntly rejected it at an instant, however, Henry was now gaining a few years and had passed the initial stage of fear for the crown. He now had gained enough years to realise the crown’s worth, however, as easily as any other child, he was influenced by those who wanted to exploit the young king as far as they could. These secret enemies of the crown wanted nothing else but to ruin the Duke of Bedford’s reputation and position of regent of France.

By the order of the king, Bedford had to accept the English decision to
give in the Philip III's demand for the French province of Champagne​

Overruled by his own king, Bedford could then do nothing when Henry agreed to the ceding of Champagne to Philip. Even though it was no great loss for England, it was the sheer principle, that even though the king was above all, such a young king as Henry would at least listen to the advises the regent could give. Bedford was never informed who had influenced the king for his decision, but he had his mind set for a couple of men in the King’s Council. However, it could be of little consequence what Bedford thought or felt. A more urgent issue was going to plague his mind for the several years to come.


English province of Northumberland, under siege by the Scots
November, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty


The chilly, icy wind threw itself against their faces as they pushed north along the open landscape. Bedford’s cleanly shaven face let the wind pass by, streaking his chins, but it was another matter for Winter. His rough beard was towed back and forth by the crude wind and had it not been for his helmet, his beard would surely have blown right up into his face. Bedford let himself be amused by the situation with Winter’s beard, trying to shake off the feeling of imminent battle. He was a lord, and an English such to add, the bravest and most chivalrous one there was, but he could still not feel totally calm in times of war. He wondered if it could be a sign of weakness.

They had left London nearly two months ago, as the first words of war had been delivered by border scouts from the north. Bedford had had the luck to be present in London as the news reached the court, since he had travelled from France to the capital to council with the king about his decision to give Champagne to Burgundy. The meeting had not even started when a messenger had delivered the words that the Scots king James I had once again declared war. Bedford had acted quickly, convincing the king to let him field an army in order to crush these upstart Scots for the last time, before the Beauforts had had the time to react and announcing their wish to deal with the Scottish threat.

Bedford had been given free reins for his campaign and he had gathered all his trusted generals and commanders for a destructive war with Scotland. Having lost to Burgundy, not officially but Bedford knew victory from defeat, Bedford needed to show his prowess in battle not to let the Beauforts besmirch his name, calling him incompetent. Bedford wanted to make sure that that would not happen. Though with such experienced commanders as Earl Winter, his friend from a long time back, Baron Summerfield and Duke Burke, his brother Henry’s trusted commanders, and Duke Goodwill, Henry’s closest officer and advisor next to Bedford himself, there was no possible way they could lose the war. Bedford threw away his unnerving feeling, the prospect of war was perhaps not something that should be worrying after all, he thought.

‘It’s a miracle these mutton-eating bastards even have the courage to declare war on us. They should have learned what happens from the last time,’ Winter grunted from under his beard.​

‘Do not worry lord Earl Winter. I am sure that whatever happens, they will this time. We are fielding an army greater than that of Agincourt. I see little that could stand against us with such a mighty force.’​

‘Yet, you should not underestimate a smaller army, my lord Duke Bedford,’ Goodwill cut in. ‘You should think of the French’s advantage in numbers at that very same battle, and yet we won. Numbers confer nothing, valour is everything.’​

‘Well said!’ Winter replied with his thunderous voice. ‘A man’s valour is right here’ he said as he placed his hand on his torso.​

‘Well then, you must have quite the lot of valour, lord Earl Winter, compared to myself for example’ Goodwill said behind an ill held back smile.​

‘I have no idea how you reasoned, but yes, I’d say you’re right! My valour equals that of the very King Arthur’ Winter proudly exclaimed.​

‘Oh it was quite simple. One just compares those bellies of ours that embody our valour, and you win quite easily then, my lord Earl.’​

Winter refused to speak for the rest of the journey north.

In late November the party arrived to the besieged provincial capital of Northumberland, Newcastle. Bedford halted and made camp ten miles from the city, far enough to set up proper defences should the Scots try to force them away, but near enough from them to slowly advance on the Scots position to relieve the garrisoned commander. As soon as Bedford’s army had made camp, he ordered immediate sleep. He wanted his soldiers well rested for the coming battle of the coming day. Scouts were sent out to see if the Scots moved from their position, but when they returned during late evening no sightings had been made, though they would continue through the night to search for Scots raiding parties.

‘Lord Earl Winter, I want you to lead the light cavalry for this attack.’​

They stood in Bedford’s tent pavilion, all cramped around the maps of northern England, and Newcastle especially.

‘You will be accompanied by lord Duke Goodwill. You task will be to wheel around the defending positions and take out their archers. Meanwhile, lord Baron Summerfield and lord Duke Burke will lead the knightly cavalry in a head on charge. I will command the infantry myself. Once your initial charge is done, I want you two,’ Bedford nodded toward Burke and Summerfield, ‘to feign a retreat for a second charge. If and when the Scots reform to prepare for the charge, our Welsh bowmen will pin them down while I move the footmen forth into position. While I do this, I need you two lords Burke and Summerfield to screen my advance, while lords Winter and Goodwill should now have wheeled into the backs of the Scots. With their archers subdued, our losses will be minimal until combat begins. Once the footmen have charged, lords Burke and Summerfield must wheel to the other side and charge their flank. Should this succeed, we will have the Scots running like cowards by the end of the day. Now, does everybody understand their respective task?’​

The following day after the camp had been set and the officers had worked out their plan of attack, the English army marched toward their Scots enemies and liberation of the northernmost city of England. Only once before had the Scots been able to advance longer than Northumberland, and that one time had been over two hundred years ago. Bedford did not want to have such pressing issues on his shoulders should they lose this day. Rather be killed in battle as a true knight than lose a battle against the barbarians of the north. But Bedford did indeed worry too much about the future. As weak and impressionable King Henry was, as strong and capable Duke Bedford was, and he would see that his leadership would inspire to great deeds this day of battle. The Scots, not having moved during the night, stood patiently waiting on the gigantic field spreading from the city. Newcastle acted as an epicentre with hills and valleys surrounding it, and it seemed as if the landscape was a scene that was frozen in time. Compared to the English forces which comprised most of men on foot - armed either with close combat weapons or with bows - with very little cavalry, the Scots had amassed a huge number of mounted warriors, probably in the hope of riding down most of the English forces, Bedford figured.

‘Awfully lots of horses,’ Winter growled, thinking the same thing Bedford had just a second ago.​

‘I would not worry, lord Earl Winter. If we only follow the plan of attack, I am sure that we will not suffer defeat today. I know of your victories, Winter, and everybody else’s for that matter, and I am confident that you can improvise for the situation, should the need arise to reform and make an unplanned attack. As long as you take out those archers, things should go fairly as planned. I hope you share my confidence, lord Earl Winter.’​

‘Aye, I do lord Duke Bedford. The day anybody claims otherwise, my soul shall burn in Purgatory.’ Winter answered, with totally solemn a face.​

Bedford could tell he meant what he said.

‘Then I pray by God, that that day will never come,’ he replied with equal solemnity.​

Bedford’s plan played out almost exactly as he had planned. Winter and Goodwill began a few hours earlier to cover their movement around the right flank of the Scottish formations. Bedford and his remaining generals began their own march straight toward the enemy. With a mixed force of archers and billmen in the front, the knights rode behind the large cover of soldiers. By noon they reached the heights from where the archers could begin sporadic fires on the Scots with help by the leeward wind. The Scots refused to budge, partly because of the hills, but also because of the hampering protection the English archers received from their accompanied footmen. They hampered their aim and rate of fire, but the billmen also gave protection to the archers, which weighed better than the prospect of quicker firing rates though no defence at all.

Bedford gave Winter two more hours to get in position, as he did not know whether the man had already made it to his rally point or if he still had a long way to go. Once the time was up, Bedford began his movement down the slight slope while Burke and Summerfield made ready for the charge. With their lances held high, they began their slow but steady increase of gallop past Bedford and down toward the left Scots flank where most of the foot soldiers were gathered. As Bedford marched, the billmen separated themselves from the archers and the rest of the men-at-arms. When Summerfield charged home into the tightly packed Scotsmen, Bedford gave the signal for a full charge by the infantry while the archers made ready for volley after volley after missile fire. As Summerfield left the broken line of Scots, Bedford signalled for the archers to fire and saw how Winter charged in the Scots back with perfect timing. With the Scots line of defence enveloped, Summerfield had an easy time charging a second time into the flank and though the Scots fought bravely indeed, their general gave way after only a few hours of fighting.

The Scots fought badly but bravely, finally collapsing at the oncoming English.
A brilliant escape rout saved the bulk of the army though​

If the Scots had fought with bad leadership, the escape rout had instead been planned by a genius. With Scots spearmen protecting the new flanks, the rest of the army made their way from the battlefield by an opening in the back from where Bedford could not attack. Giving their lives for their brethren-in-arms, the flanks finally collapsed but they had served their purpose. The main body of the cavalry had escaped unharmed, and what lay dead on the field were mostly archers and mixed footmen. Several Englishmen lay dead as well, impaled by the Scots spear wall, or ridden down by the few Scots cavalry that had been able to penetrate the English screening force.

Giving his soldiers no time to rest, Bedford quickly divided his army into two. Giving command to Goodwill of one of them, he ordered the general to ride to Strathclyde in order to seize the second largest town of Scotland, Glasgow. Bedford himself would pursue the fleeing Scots to where he thought they would most probably would reside with such a great army they possessed - the capital of Edinburgh in Lothian.

The retreating Scots fought bravely against Bedford’s pursuing troops,
but in the end, even Lothian fell to the hands of the English​

 

[coz1]

It seems as though Bedford has a need to prove his worth, perhaps (as if he needed to) since the King has others he is willing to listen to. Let's hope he is successful in the Scots campaign. The last battle was written well, and thanks God - a success. I wonder if it will continue to be such. For Bedford's sake, I hope so.

 

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XVI

Chapter XVI​

English province of Anglia
January, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-four

‘These are indeed alarming news you province, brother.’​

‘I could not sit and do nothing, and you know it. We must change our strategy. He has soon grown old enough where he will be able to take his own decisions. If so, then he can easily depose one of us. Or why not both of us? If Bedford wins another victory, then I am afraid we might lose the opportunity.’​

Henry looked at his brother. Could he be right in his assumptions? Of course. Being a member of the King’s Council, he had close connection to the king himself and knew what and how he thought.

‘Gloucester is sure to manipulate the child if we do not. Instead of overthrowing him, let us make good use of him I say! If we can influence him enough, we may enjoy new estates and riches from the royal treasury. He will be king, true, but we would be the kings of the king! England would then surely be within our grasp.’​

Henry’s scepticism began to fade away with his brother’s convincing words. Always being the mastermind behind the Beaufort’s plans, Henry now saw that his brother had more to give than just influence in the royal court.

‘You speak wisely, Thomas. I think I understand what you mean. The boy is almost twelve years of age, we cannot waste any more time if we should proceed with your plan. Besides, trusting that moron James of Scotland was a mistake. Seeing Bedford’s total success in the campaign, I seriously wish I could have the chance to reconsider the deal we made those years ago. No, we will go with this new plan instead.’​

‘One more thing I must warn you of though. Talbot has returned and is now heading north to meet up with Bedford. The only thing that could be worse now would be if that blasted York returned as well. If so, our plans could suffer greatly.’​

Henry’s eyes widened when he heard the name York. The seasoned veteran, with blue blood in his veins as well, had been sent to France in the early stages of the war and had been left there once peace had been settled because of the Beauforts’ meddling. York was an extremely charismatic leader, his father having been a hero at Agincourt although later executed for treason by Henry V. In spite of this, York was still alive and well and resided in France by the order of the King’s Council. Both the Beaufort brothers’ greatest fear was if he ever intended to return to England and plan his revenge on them for their obvious influences in the decision of his position in France.

‘May God forbid that from ever happening!’ Henry exclaimed in a hushed voice.​

The Beaufort brothers worked both quickly and efficiently. Introducing Henry to the King’s Council, both brothers now had access to the king and with Henry’s silver tongue they had an easy time persuading the king what was best for England. Starting with minor issues, the more confidence they received from the king, the more pressing issues they could influence. Little could they know what they were about to trigger in the years to come.


French province of Orléanais (Orleans)
March, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-five

‘By this seal, I hereby declare the alliance between the Duchy of Orleans and the Kingdom of England valid and working as of this moment. Should one be attacked, it will be in the interest and chivalrous spirit to assist the other with both military and diplomatic support and aid. Let the alliance between our two great nations prosper.’​

The hall was filled with the clapping of hundreds of hands as Richard Plantagenet, the Duke of York, and the French Duke of Orleans, Louis Gaston both signed the treaty. York had been placed in charge of France when Bedford had left for London, and as he did not return because of the Scottish campaign, York had been appointed vice regent of France. With this, Orleans was not only considered a protectorate and vassal for the English, they were now given the status of full allies which raised their standing among nations slightly. What was more important, it gave a signal, although false – but this only the leaders of the alliance knew of – to the populace of Orleans that they were ruled by their Duke and not the English. Because of heavy riots, the French Duke had requested the English to intervene, though not militarily. By the suggestion of York, the arrangement of the alliance now being signed was worked out and by the sight of it, Louis Gaston thought it had been a success.

However, underneath the threat of the populace lay a more serious issue, one that the English had not been informed of by the French Duke. The Dauphin had since the last war given ill hidden hints that he wanted the lands of Orleans. The large city would give him a good situation in central France, and a leader could not have too much land. Fearing a hostile takeover, Louis Gaston used his good connections with England to set up the alliance in the hopes of protection, or at least a frightening example for the Dauphin.


English province of Anglia
May, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-five


Bedford stood in the centre of the hall, wooden benches circling around him on which almost all the nobles of the whole country sat, having travelled from all around the country. They listened to his words with grave expressions on their faces, pondering his words as he went on accusing the guilty lords. A transgression had been made, where the king’s laws had not been used and the nobles had went their own way in collecting and paying taxes to the crown. Most of the accused had collected too high a tax from the farmers and had kept the surplus that was left over after the king’s envoys had collected the taxes from the nobles. Others were just ignoring the collectors’ demands for payment, refusing to give the king his rightful share. With a more centralised government and the feudal system wearing off in England, the nobles, enjoying almost nonexistent taxes, were still collecting money by themselves and supplied the king only with mediocre armies while keeping most of the profits for themselves. This was unacceptable, and to increase his standing with the king – something that had degraded through time because of his absence in France – Bedford felt that he was the one who had to deal with the nobles in front of the king. However, Bedford had barely begun his accusations in the court before the Beauforts intervened on behalf of the nobles.

‘The nobles, you included lord Duke Bedford, have always, and should and will always, enjoy low or even no taxes. It is their duty to provide the King with an army when it is necessary, and they are therefore relieved of any financial burden so that they can afford such expenditures.’​

‘I am very well aware of the tax situation for nobles, thank you very much, lord Winchester. As you put it so well yourself, I am indeed included among nobles, and as such, I should be aware of my own financials, do you not agree?’​

Bedford did not wait for an answer, it would not have come even if he had, he knew.

‘But it is imperative for us not to neglect the needs of the King, and as can be seen in France, take the Dauphin for example, that money is needed by the King, should let us say, a riot, or even a conspiracy, arise in the realm.’​

Both Beaufort brothers shot Bedford ever so hostile gazes.

‘And what do you imply by that remark if I may ask, lord Duke Bedford?!’ Exeter spat out.​

‘I imply nothing, I usually let actions speak for me,’ Bedford simply replied. ‘But I have not come here to discuss such issues. I stand here now to condemn these men who do not pay enough respect to his Majesty the King by avoiding paying a small provision of their income, as they should, being the low class nobles as they are.’​

‘With their low class, they could not possibly contribute any sum that is required for the King. Your Majesty should not listen to this man. He thinks nothing of your Majesty’s well-being, instead he only focuses on himself.’​

‘What is so bad about money, Henry?’​

The child king had spent much time with his two new so-called guardians that he had begun addressing them with their given names instead of their titles, and still used them on formal occasions. As he was king, and because of the prospect of an easier job in the future, the Beauforts let him continue with the else informal names.

‘You usually talk much about money, and lands as well. Does land not mean money, Henry? And you want much of that, do you not? What could possibly be so bad about my owning land then?’​

The Beaufort had a hard time hiding the embarrassment in front of the rest of the court.

‘Well yes, but there is a difference if a king and if a noble own land. But I will tell you of this another time, another place. For now, my only suggestion is that you dismiss this man and leave these matters to me.’​

‘Do not influence the King!’ Bedford bellowed across the room with a furious gaze at Beaufort.​

‘Your Majesty, you must learn to rule by yourself and not by the assistance of your nobles. Can Your Majesty not see the wrong in what these nobles have done? They have held money from you deliberately. If lord Winchester speaks of money, or land, then should you not also think of this? These men steal money from you and they disgrace Your Majesty by owning the land Your Majesty has lent them. There is but one sentence when it comes to disobeying the King!’​

‘Silence, or I will have you arrested!’​

Beaufort's eyes burned with hate and he spat poison as he spoke.

‘That is not for you to decide. The good lord Duke Gloucester is still the regent and guardian of the King. Only he has the power to arrest a noble during a meeting of the King’s Council,’ Bedford replied coolly.​

Beaufort literally shook with anger as he knew he had been defeated, his face turning red from rage. In front of the rest of the court no less. His humiliation was complete. The only thing he could do was to wish Bedford to a worse place than this, so help him God.

Despite a weak king and Beaufort's intervention, Bedford successfully charged and condemned
the nobles that did not follow the law. It further proved his dedication to the king and his
able character. His actions were the embodied threats to the Beauforts' road to power​

English province of Lancashire
July, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-five

‘It is impossible to say who did this. Only that the stab was most probably made from behind. The surgeon has established the fact from his examination as he washed the body clean. The opening is bigger in the back than in the front. He believes that the assailant was not strong enough to press the blade hard enough and thus it did not run him through completely, but enough for him to bleed to death. He may have been coming from a non-lethal angle, or perhaps he was left-handed.’​

They were gathered in a hastily erected tent along the highway running north. The weather was brilliant, but the mood in the tent was quite the different.

‘God curse him or those who did this!’​

Winter’s anger was on the brink of berserk rage and it took Goodwill, Burke, and Summerfield to hold him down when he started kicking chairs and tables around inside the tent.

‘I know who they were,’ he grumbled through gritted teeth. ‘It was those filthy Beauforts! Afraid to lose their position to John. Poor John.’​

Winter allowed himself to calm down as he sank down beside the white, cool body. Bedford did not look at all like the usual polite but still humorous man he had been, not at all. Now he lay there, his eyes closed, his mouth shut, never to open again and either complain or humour Winter’s own bad mouth. Being an able man, not only Winter had lost a friend, the whole of England had lost a brilliant commander and leader.

The death of John Plantagenet of Lancaster, the Duke of Bedford,
had dire consequences for the whole of English-owned France​

Not only the armies in Scotland suffered by their loss of leadership. On the continent uprisings started as soon as the news of the dead regent of France reached the villages in English France. Eager to throw off the yoke of the English, seeing their overlords as nothing else as cruel oppressors and conquerors, mass revolts fired through all of English-owned France. The English managed to hold the peasants back with their fortified positions inside garrisons and castles, but until true leadership could be restored, the riots would pass for a continuing decade. Nobody could prove their theories of Bedford’s death, but as sure as Winter and Bedford had been of Henry V’s assailant being sent by the Dauphin, Winter now had equal conviction that Bedford’s murderer could be sent by none other than the Beauforts. And perhaps, there were more truth to it than some wanted to believe…

 

[Katapraktoi]

I hope this update answered your previous question, coz1.

 

[coz1]

Well, it certainly answers where the influence is coming from. Poor Bedford. Such an able commander and needed member among the King's council. I fear that Henry VI will have hard times ahead. Not to mention, the few underpinnings of the War of the Roses you laid out there. Tough times...tough times, indeed.

 

[stnylan]

That is one nasty event. Let us hope that Winter can avenge his fallen comrade, for England will surely go to rot and ruin left to the brothers Beaufort!

 

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XVII

Chapter XVII​

Scots province of Lothian, controlled by the English
December, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-five


Despite the tragic death of Bedford, the campaign in Scotland continued at the hands of newly assigned Lieutenant-General Talbot. The general was not a noble in the way Winter or Goodwill could call themselves one. In fact, the reason for Talbot’s success and promotion to general was only the factor of immense bravery during the Battle of Agincourt and the recommendations from several nobles who had been commanders during the great battle, Bedford and Gloucester among others. Therefore, as Talbot arrived in Scotland, it grieved him greatly at the news of Bedford’s death, and pious as he was, the first thing he did was to visit the tent where Bedford still was kept until he could be transferred to his hometown of Bedford and be buried there. When Talbot had made his business in the tent, praying for an hour for Bedford’s soul, he immediately went to see his superior in the campaign.

‘Lord Earl Winter, Lt.General Talbot is here to see you.’​

‘Talbot?’ Winter’s gloomy face lit up a second at the mentioning of Talbot’s name.​

‘He is here? Well show him in now! What do you mean by keeping him waiting you bloody imbecile,’ he bawled at his servant, a clearly changed attitude from the recent depression everybody had felt from the General before.​

‘Oh you should not be so harsh with your servants, Winter. They are only doing their job,’ a voice from the entrance could be heard.​

While Winter had reprimanded his servant, Talbot had made his way inside without waiting for his announcement and now stood in the doorway, smiling toward his comrade-in-arms.

‘By the bloody Madonna it is good to see you! So much has changed since you were gone, so much.’​

Talbot’s disappearing smile made Winter understand he already knew what had happened.

‘It is a loss for the whole of England, not just us.’​

‘Aye, you said it. And I know it was those God-cursed lice-ridden Beauforts’ fault!’​

‘Calm yourself,’ Talbot motioned. ‘As much as it pains me to say it, you cannot do anything about it and you know it. The Beauforts will receive their punishment once they meet our Maker, but until then you must not act rashly. Our loss shall not go unheard of. I know that the good Lord will help us and deliver our enemies, should they be from the outside or within.’​

The coming days the two spent their time together in Winter’s tent. With the whole of Scotland already subdued by Bedford before his assassination, the others had only to wait for the Scots king to seek them out for a peace offer. Of course, they had sent out scouts should the king have escaped already before the siege and was not in the great castle of Edinburgh, however, they doubted it. Being the strongest castle in Scotland, and with little place to flee, Winter and Talbot did not think James could, or even would, escape because of his honour. And rightly as they thought, in the end of that very same month, an envoy was sent out from the castle carrying a white flag. One single rider made his way through the thousands of soldiers that were relaxing across the field, not worrying over the Scots defences that had been destroyed in the initial bombarding more than a year ago when the siege had begun.

‘On behalf of James I, King of Scotland, I have come to propose a peace. If your lords Dukes and Earls would most kindly accept this offer, a proper meeting with the King has already been prepared. It can take place within the day, if the lords so will.’​

Winter nodded toward the envoy and turned to Talbot as the Scotsman left with speed toward the castle.

‘I think we’re about to see an end to this war at last. If only Bedford could have been here with us on this day, God bless his soul. Had it not been for him, then we would not be in this favourable position today.’​

‘Think of it no more, or else it will only weigh your heart down instead of filling it with joy for our victory. By the moment that we accept the peace from the Scots king I am sure that Bedford will be with us, not in body but in spirit.’​

‘Aye, I surely hope so as well.’​

‘Your Majesty, may I introduce to you the lords Earl Winter and Duke Talbot.’​

The announcer made way for the English to pass into the halls of the Scots throne room. The hall was quite spared from the otherwise half-destroyed castle that had been suffering from English bombardment for over a year. The city that Winter and his company had ridden through was a rubble of stone and wood and large pyres of garbage, unusable material and dead bodies. However, the inside of the Scots castle had kept its dignity and glamour. The walls were still white and clean, and with long tapestries in blue and white hanging from the ceiling along the walls. On either sides of the English procession the Scots court was gathered, numbering a hundred men, Winter could count approximately. In front of Winter, James the Scots king stood by his throne. As Winter went forth his escort of his personal retainers formed a column on each side, wearing no armour, but still armed with swords. If Winter and his company were not back in camp within two hours, Goodwill and the others had order to assault the castle if no new orders had been given during that time. In a small way, their lives were guaranteed by the mere threat of overwhelming force by the English.

‘Welcome, honoured guests. You honour me by your presence for these peace talks.’​

‘Spare me the chivalrous courtesies, King James,’ Winter replied, sarcasm drenching his last words.​

To Winter, the Scots king had not been crowned legally since it was the English that had been in possession of the Stone of Scone before it had vanished those years ago. He could not prove anything, but sometimes that was not necessary, Winter thought. It was as in battle, sometimes one should jus trust his instincts instead of mind.

‘If you have invited me to waste my time, then by God I know of better things I can do with that. Let us discuss “peace” then. What petty offer do you suggest that I can reject before even thinking it through?’​

Startled at Winter’s rude behaviour it took the Scots king some time before he could begin his well-in-advance already thought of proposition.

‘I will give you estates in northern Scotland, along with the land to the English Crown. With it there will be a generous sum of money that I am sure that your king will have a hard time refusing. This is what I can give.’​

As plainly as the king had put it, Winter wanted to reject the offer just for the principle of it, hating every bit of the man in front of him. But before Winter could even open his mouth, Talbot intervened.

‘You Majesty, that will be a fair deal and on behalf of the King of England and France, we accept you generous offer, though I must ask for but one more thing that only your Majesty can give us.’​

‘And that would be?’ James asked with sincere surprise.​

‘This be an object that but one man can possess, and I am afraid that if you want peace, you must hand it over to the King of England. The item of our demand is nothing less than the Stone of Scone.’​

‘What?!’ James cried out involuntarily. ‘Do you have any idea what you ask of me? That is the most sacred symbol of Scotland. God be my witness, there will be no such day as when I give back that stone. It belongs to Scotland! It is not any item that you can bargain with.’​

‘Then I suggest that you make your last prayers, Your Majesty, because if we do not receive that stone then this castle will not stand for much longer, or the city for that matter.’​

‘Are you threatening me, in my own castle?’​

‘I have not finished, your Majesty,’ Talbot continued calmly. ‘You will be allowed to pre-crown your son the heir as King of Scotland before we take the Stone with us. Thus your linage is secured, at least until your son has grown to be a man. What happens then is not for me to say. All I know is that we will walk away with the Stone of Scone, it is your decision should it be with your death as consequence or not.’​

James could do nothing but to stare at the English General.

‘In either case, Scotland will be doomed. You English do not care about legacy or tradition at all. All you ever think of is domination and rape and murder. Take it. Take the Stone! This is the last time that you will ever hear from me again, to that I promise, by God it will not be me who breaks that vow.’​

The peace ended a five year long war with Scotland and England was the undesputed victor.
In addition to the lands of northern Scotland, England took back the Stone of Scone,
disrupting the Scots tradition of crowning their king with the Stone present​

English province of Normandie
December, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-five


Across the Channel, on the continent, another scene was playing out at the same time as the peace between England and Scotland was settled. Along the border between English owned Normandie and the French ally of Brittany, a French fortress by the name Fougeres lay, that was built almost upon the very border between the two countries. Because of the restlessness in France after Bedford’s death, English patrols were reinforced should they encounter a riot, and they were now numbering several hundred mounts. One of these patrols was led by a soldier that had defected from the Aragonese military, the allies of the Dauphin through the Dauphin’s mother-in-law, the daughter of the Aragonese king. His name was Francois de Surienne, a mercenary at first but through connections to the top he came in contact with John Beaufort, the brother to Henry and Thomas Beaufort in the King’s Council, and the father of Joan Beaufort who had married the Scots king, James.

Through his connections he was promoted to Major in a short time and came under the personal payroll of Beaufort shortly. Because of a major injury during the first war with France and the Dauphin, Francois’s right arm was decapitated by his elbow and he had to learn how to use his left arm for everything. Having been promoted, he was not discharged from the army because he could still be part of the officer corps, but he did not fight ever again. His new sword arm was too weak to deal seriously lethal blows and so he used it instead to direct his troops on the field.

Only weeks after the peace had been concluded in Scotland, Francois led his patrol along the border of Brittany and came upon the fortress of Fougeres. As he approached, a party was ravaging the building, according to his own statement. The whole issue was clouded in mystery as many of his men died fighting the looters and nobody could ever prove Francois wrong. However, the French Duke of Brittany Francis II claimed with support by the Dauphin Charles VII that the men inside the fortress were nothing of the sort that Francois claimed. The Duke claimed that they were French soldiers and that the English had violated the treaty that had been set up less than ten years ago. With the incident at Fougeres and a population in uproar, the English situation in France was hard to maintain, constantly trying both by the French populace in English-controlled France and by the surrounding French duchies.

The event at Fougeres heightened the tensions between England and
her surrounding French neighbours, especially Brittany and the Dauphin​

 

[unmerged(10426)]

A very interesting read.

 

[coz1]

Well, Talbot seems the match of Bedford in strength at least. And he does temper Winter a bit. However, if I recall there should be some good French generals to greet you when and if Charles VII comes calling again.

 

[stnylan]

There is something very appealing about Winter. He can be so refreshingly direct, like a sword-thrust.

 

[Katapraktoi]

In the Footsteps of Magna Charta - Chapter XVIII

Chapter XVIII​

English province of Normandie
January, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-seven


He concentrated hard, keeping his arm steady, aiming carefully. The longbow was a weapon for the strong, and a certain strength in a man’s arms was required to draw the bowstring. It took years to master the longbow and only England’s best archers were skilled enough to fire arrows by the seconds. He knew he was not one of them, but it did not matter. In competitions like these, he only needed aim, not speed. With his left eye closed, the arrow lying softly against his steady thumb, he closed out the yells from his mind. Concentration, that was what he needed. His arms started to give in to the awesome power the string demanded to stay drawn. He had to release now or he would miss totally. With a last breath, he let go.

‘A well aimed shot, lord Talbot! I’d say that if we stand against the French, I could feel safe knowing that they at least shoot worse than our own bowmen!’​

A storm of laughter echoed through the cellar that was packed by officers of different grades. From the highest General to the lowest Gatekeeper had gathered to avoid the harsh winter cold that plagued those still on watch.

‘With all that ale in your belly, I would not be so cocky, lord Baron Summerfield,’ Talbot answered with a smile. ‘In fact, how about you be my guest and try for yourself? Let us see your amazing skills that would outwit even the smartest of French, if there are any such French.’​

‘I’d be most happy, lord Talbot,’ Summerfield replied, making a sarcastic bow toward his competitor.​

He stumbled forth, heavily intoxicated by the amount of alcohol he had consumed. As he grabbed the bow, people moved further away from the practice target that had been set up along the short of the wall, in fear of being hit by a very probable stray arrow from the drunken archer.

‘Now you’ll see a true Englishman shoot,’ he said in a sluggish voice before he drew the bowstring and released the arrow.​

It launched through the empty corridor that was trimmed by people and hit straight at the target. The perfect hit surprised not only Talbot, but the whole audience who was speechless after the undoubtedly lucky feat. With the total silence that followed, Summerfield’s drunken laughter at his success pierced the room. Because of the focus on Summerfield, nobody noticed the servant that made his way carefully through the crowd to Winter who sat in one end of the room, who was as amazed as any one at the shot, before the servant caught his attention.

‘My lord Earl Winter. Urgent dispatches from the Duke of Orleans.’​

Winter took the scroll from the servant and unravelled it.

To the Duke of Bedford, Regent of France

According to our agreement, should any one of our two countries be attacked, the other should respond by taking that war to their own heart and fight side by side, as brothers, against their common enemy. By this letter, I, Charles I, the Duke of Orleans, humbly request aid by England against the war-mongering Dauphin and accompanying allies.

Respectful salutations
Charles of Orleans​

It did only take seconds before Winter was on his feet. The room was no longer quiet, but in a chaotic cheering to Summerfield’s shot, though with his thunderous voice it was easy for Winter to make himself heard.

‘Silence, by God, silence, else I’ll have you bloody shot myself if necessary. Where is everybody, I can only see Summerfield and Talbot. Somerset? Burke? Are you in this fray?’​

A few sporadic shoutings confirmed their presence before Winter spoke again.

‘Summerfield, if you can do that again in battle, then I am quite confident that you’ll be of use to us. You on the other way, General Talbot, I think you should keep to commanding instead of archery in the future. Your skills may come in handy as well, who knows?’​

‘My skills are always handy,’ Summerfield answered confidently with a grin. ‘The question is why you ask such a thing.’​

‘Well, gentlemen. I have just received words intended for our good lord Bedford, God rest his soul. Instead I read them, and it seems as if our good old friend the Dauphin is on the move again, this time against our newly made allies in Orleans. Therefore I wanted to see which ones in here were ready for a war!’​

Winter shouted the last words with all his might to overrule the deafening howl that the bulk of people procured at the prospect of yet another war with the French.

With word from Winter to Parliament about the recent happenings on the continent, two separate armies were raised. A smaller, lighter equipped army was prepared to be shipped across the Irish Sea and land in Meath. Their orders were to defend Meath from foreign invasion, and if given opportunity, attack the Irish principality of Desmond as these upstart Irish had allied themselves with the Dauphin rather than stay under the protection of the English, acting as vassals. Parliament knew that it would upset the rest of the Irish principalities greatly, but with pressure from the Beauforts, and within weeks orders from the king, a confrontation was inevitable. A newly promoted Captain Hope was assigned with the task of brining the Irish down.

On the continent, Winter and Salisbury divided command of the second army combined of English and French forces as they set up their strategy of attack. With a few months into summer already, they assumed that the Dauphin already had besieged the city of Orleans, but as they did not want to ruin the surprise of a relief army on behalf of their French allies, scouts were not sent to investigate the occupation progress. Instead, they divided in three armies, intending to attack on three separate flanks. Winter and Salisbury would lead one army each, and by Winter’s recommendation, Summerfield was given command of the third.


Irish province of Munster, under attack by the English
June, Year of our Lord Fourteen Thirty-seven


They were located along the border between Leinster and Munster. The rolling green hills were ideal to the skirmish-type warfare that the warriors of the Emerald Isle employed. For that reason, Captain Hope had been given a specially equipped army. Instead of mail cuirasses, they wore leather lamella in order to be able to move more freely, putting a longer distance behind them when marching. With the standard metal cuirass, it was draining to the limit to fight for several hours. With the new type of armour, Hope hoped that his soldiers could keep fighting even after marching for half a day. To his slightly mixed horror and excitement, he did not have to wait long before he would see proof of the effectiveness of the newly adopted idea.

Having just entered Desmond lands during the warm month, Hope was presented with a huge forest, a rare sight for him so far on the Emerald Isle. As it stretched for dozens of miles in each direction, Hope had no other choice but to pass through, despite his worries that it would severely disorganise the army. Even so, it was imperative that they strike at the Irish quickly, before they convinced the other Irish principalities to join in their struggle. If things got out of hand, it would no longer be just a war fuelled by an oath to an ally. It could rise to the level where Irish independence was set on top priority, and that was something that Hope knew Parliament would not accept. Being an island nation, England could not afford to have another sea power present so near their own coasts. Ireland had to be England’s allies, or become subjects of that very same nation.

After camping for the night on the outskirts of the woods, Hope continued marching into the wooden barricade of trees. It was not such a dense forest so the army could move through it with relative ease, but there was no question that formations had to be abandoned in favour of mobility for the moment. Instead of marching in the usual lines, Hope tried to gather the army in one large square around him, but inside the woods communications were difficult and Hope was frustrated that he did not have full control of the situation. He began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to discard organisation and formation in favour of gaining a few days mach toward the Irish capital. It did not take him long before truly changing his mind that he had made a mistake when pitched screams could be heard from the left flanks and disorder began to spread like fire among the soldiers.

‘Gallow! See what is happening to our left. Turnbull, make sure that the Sergeants gather their companies and secure flanks around me. And bring those archers closer, away from whatever action we are facing.’​

His orders were quick and definite. Having just been promoted to Captain, he was commanding his army alone for the first time, but he did so with such resolve any one onlooker would probably be unable to tell he was in truth inexperienced.

‘Captain! Our scouts return with reported sightings of several hundred in front of us, probably Irish. No news from the flank as of yet.’​

‘Blast it. No use of archers in the woods. Spears, face forward a hundred yards! Swords, stand ready as second rank. Archers, switch to melee, prepare to defend. All men, stand and hold ground on location! Gallow, what in God’s name is happening on that flank! Speak to me!’​

‘It is the Irish, Captain. They’re coming at us in the hundreds. Gallowglasses amass. We’re holding the line for now, but I’m not sure for how much longer.’​

‘Gallowglasses? What are they doing in woods like these?’​

Hope could not see the sense in it all. The use of Gallowglasses was focused on battles across fields and moors. Having the need for great wielding space for their claymores, Hope was puzzled at the use of them in the raging battle in front of him. Even though being light for a two-handed sword, its enormous length would severely cripple its effectiveness in the forest. Could the Irish really be so desperate to use them in the forest instead of the plains? Was it a diversion, or was it simply because if they allowed the English to march onto open grounds, they would not be able to defeat them? The thoughts surged through his mind and suddenly he had decided. An instinct he had not felt before overwhelmed him. If it failed, a lot of lives would be shed because of his decision, but if it succeeded... If it succeeded then he would win the battle with a crushing force. He quickly thought it through again, but could not see any other option to win. He had decided.

‘Archers, string bows! Swords and spears, rally to me! Make way for archers!’​

‘Captain, what are you going to do?’ Gallow asked, fear clearly showing in his face. ‘If you send the archers forth they will surely die!’​

‘Silence, Gallow. I know what I am doing!’​

Or so he thought. He hoped. No, he was sure.

‘Archers are individual, pick your targets by yourself, you may fire at will! Spears, form shield wall, prepare to make way for rallying archers! Swords are still second rank!’​

Hope’s plan was desperate, but effective if it succeeded. Allowing his archers to fire at will against the incoming Irish Gallowglasses, they could be picked off one by one. Not wearing any armour, any one hit by an arrow would cripple the warrior if it did not kill him. If the leg was hit, he could not walk, if the arm was hit his sword could not be wielded, if he was hit anywhere else, death would surely claim him. Being in a forest, it would take all the skill the archers could amass to aim and hit, but Hope was confident in his English bowmen. Once the archers felt threatened, they would run inside the shield wall that had been set up around Hope in a protective circle. Once the Gallowglasses reached the circle, he knew that the English would be at disadvantage again against the two-handed swords, but with the archers’ kills, he hoped for a severely crippled Irish army to rush at the English lines instead of a full regiment of brutal Gaelic warriors.

By nightfall the battle was over. The scenario had not played out exactly as Hope had hoped for, but at least it was a clear English victory. With the archers fleeing toward Hope as the Irish charged, many were cut down in their escape as they were trapped between the Gallowglasses and the shield wall that would not open up even though Hope ordered the men to make way. Many arrived safely behind the wall, but at least a quarter of all bowmen were killed before the Irish lunged themselves against the English wall of spears. With their claymores they slashed their way through the English ranks until they were repelled by the English men-at-arms, wielding swords of their own. In the end, three thousand Englishmen lay dead on the earthen ground while six thousand Irish warriors and mercenaries coloured the forest red with blood. Meanwhile, a similar scenario was played out many miles from the forest in Munster, on the continent, in the middle of France.

 

[coz1]

That pesky little Dauphin! And to bring the Irish on board now. That King surely has a death wish.