The Agincourt Campaign (Part IV)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction inspired by true events.

This concludes the story that portrays the final weeks of Sir James Bennett's life. Sir James Bennett is the father of William, the fictional protagonist of my novel series Lancastrian. I already have plans for another short story in the future, but for now I will be focusing my efforts on the second Lancastrian book. You might also go back and read all 4 parts so the story will flow better. Please enjoy this last section of my short story!

Part IV

The Sword of Colchester

As the French knights, clad in heavy armour, trudged through the soft, muddy ground, the first volley of English arrows met them. At this range the arrows did little to their strong armor. Their progress was slow and the arrow storm did not relent. Many less fortunate, lightly armoured Frenchmen, including peasants, were easy prey for the longbows. French war horses thundered towards the English walls of red and orange shields. But before the two armies could close and clash, the horses slowed and struggled to advance in the clinging mud. Now Henry signaled to Sir James and he surged forward with his men and joined battle with the French. King Henry did not stay behind and observe, as many kings and generals in history have preferred. Rather, he hurled himself upon his enemies, and with vengeful sword rained down blows upon their heads. The French, weighed down by their heavy armour, began to curse it and struggled to defend themselves.

The English longbows continued to shower the French with constant barrages; and it became apparent that the narrow passage between the two forests favored Henry with his smaller force. His enemy’s battle lines were thick and so even the least skilled archer would hit a mark. But sadly for the French, few Englishmen wielding a longbow that day lacked either skill or experience. Another problem for the French was that these archers were protected by long, sharpened wooden stakes driven into the ground in front of them. The French horse could not successfully approach the English bowmen, so steel-tipped death continued to shower down upon the hapless French soldiers. When finally the front lines of both armies met, their clash of steel was violent, bloody and deadly for hundreds on both sides. Sir James and Fastolf did not stray far from their young king. Henry had positioned himself on a slightly raised hilltop somewhat in the center of the battlefield. He singlehandedly slew many men there who saw his battle standard as a chance to claim personal glory. Any man who dared assault him found only the blade of the English king or one of his knights. Soon, the battlefield was so crowded that the French knights and men-at-arms could not even raise an arm to strike out or use their shields.

“Archers! Drop your bows and take up swords!” ordered Henry. “The enemy cannot fight now, though I doubt they ever could. We will overwhelm their front line!”

At this moment a horn sounded out over the battle hue and cries and the two groups of archers hidden in the trees now directed their fire at the rear lines of the French. Many fell from this, and fewer still knew from whence the arrows came. The knights of Sir Benedict and Montacute stood ready to protect the lightly armoured archers who were hiding behind them.

“Ha! Show my axe a French head!” said Benedict. “There is more honour in looking your enemy in the eye as he dies than downing him from a safe distance!”

“Sir, I can shoot the button clean off a man’s tunic at this range,” a young but strong looking archer said. “Is there no honor in being skillful in the name of my king?”

“Ah, you are right!” said Benedict. “But look! The French knaves have spotted us. Thin their ranks before my axe and sword does your work for you!”

The young archer and his company loosed more arrows and their barbed heads brought pain and death to many of their foes. King Henry was right in putting faith in his longbows, for the accuracy and power of these fearsome weapons caused frustration and much death on the French side. Still they pressed against the English, and now the Dukes of Orléans charged forward and faced Henry, who was not alone as Sir James and Fastolf stood by him on either side. Even as the battle began to turn sour for France, these two dukes fought with vigor and determination. Their nearby allies rallied and they were filled with rage and courage. But Henry and Sir James and the English captains slew many together. The rear lines of the French army had been routed by the skilled archers. Those who remained were cut off from the bulk of their army. One last effort was made to fell King Henry and the dukes lunged towards him. Sir James stepped in front of his king but was met by several blows from his enemies’ weapons. He went tumbling down the hillside, momentarily leaving Henry to defend himself.

He took one down with a strong swing into the man’s neck where the armour was weak, but his sword stuck into bone and could not be quickly removed. The other duke attempted to use this as a chance to attack the king but found Fastolf’s sword thrust through his gut. King Henry was saved and the remaining French fled in fear and despair. But when the armies separated, Henry beheld his friend, Sir James, on the ground with his face in the mud and blood. Fastolf and Montacute stooped down to pick up their friend. James’ face was bruised and covered in the battlefield’s filth and gore, but most of the blood on his face and chest armor was not his own, it was that of fallen friends and foes. Henry came down to see for himself.

“Of all the fallen today, I feel most hurt by this,” he said removing his battle helm. “I do not say this lightly, for every man lost here today shall be missed and mourned, even those fighting for my enemy.”

Then King Henry went down to where Sir James had fallen. But the wounded knight was not gone yet. He came around slowly, retching and choking on the dirt and blood of the field of Agincourt.

“John, my good friend, Fastolf,” he struggled to find the breath to speak and for a while those gathered around thought he might live. “Take my sword to Colchester and give it to my wife, Lady Isabel.”

Fastolf took the sword, which had no equal in beauty and craftsmanship, save the king’s own blade.

“Do me a kindness, friend,” James continued. “Promise to take my son as a page, teach him the values of chivalry and knighthood. And if he be worthy, instruct him so he may become a knight and replace me.”

“I swear by all I treasure within England that this will happen,” answered Fastolf.

At this, Sir James Bennett, lord of Colchester, let out one last quavering breath and departed this earth. The surrounding soldiers bowed their heads, even the king.

“Shroud his body and take it away,” ordered Henry. “Go and also gather all of our dead and take an account of their names. Fastolf, come to me.”

John Fastolf went before his king and kneeled as the monarch’s sword was washed and cleaned by a servant. Then Henry turned and lightly touched each of Fastolf’s shoulders with the blade.

“John Fastolf, do you swear by your life to uphold and protect the laws of your king and England? Do you also swear to, as a knight, protect those who cannot protect themselves, to serve the lowly before yourself, and to answer the call of your king without question?”

“I do, sire,”

“Then rise,” Henry ordered and sheathed his sword. “Rise, Sir John Fastolf, lord of Caister and knight of the realm of England.”

Fastolf rose to his feet as a new man. One great knight had been lost, yet another had proven worthy to be elevated and honored with the sacred trust of chivalric manhood. The battlefield took several days to clear and even the French returned to claim their dead, who were more numerous. Sir Fastolf prepared James’ body to transport and removed his brilliant blue armour. Days later the English army arrived at Calais, where the injured and sick remained to be allowed time to recover. The remainder of the army took to the ships and sailed across the Strait of Dover. The English were well received and celebrated at Calais, even by the French peasants. Even having just learned of their own countrymen’s defeat, these coastal people were more accepting of Henry’s claim to France’s throne.

No time was wasted in boarding the ships that Sir Alistair had successfully kept safe during the time his king had been gone. Fastolf personally saw to it that Sir James’ body was secured below decks. Not many bodies were being taken back to England; instead they were mostly stacked and burned on the battlefield at Agincourt.

 “Only the fallen lords and knights will return home,” said King Henry. “But all will find rest this day in the presence of God.”

He and his knights and the priests who were present crossed themselves as the king’s ship took to the wind and sailed out upon the Strait of Dover. This voyage would not be as long as the one that saw the army coming from England to Harfleur and on this clear day the white cliffs of Dover could be seen faintly from Calais.

They intended to sail north along the coast and then finally up the Thames to London. The mist was thick when they arrived and several smaller vessels came to meet them and guide the larger ship in to the London docks. A great crowd had gathered there to meet the king, or they were there at least in hopes of doing so. While on this campaign, King Henry had sent no word home to relay any news regarding either victory or defeat. His brother, John Lancaster, the Duke of Bedford, was also there to meet the returning party. He wore a grey and sour look on his long face, one that appeared to convey disappointment over Henry’s arrival. John Lancaster had been given regency of England in the absence of his brother. He was known for taking pains to avoid battle, unlike his three brothers, who had no fear of it. Sir Fastolf took note of the duke’s foul attitude, even as he kneeled to kiss the regent’s ring.

“Glad is all of England to have you returning home, sire,” said John Lancaster as he turned away with his brother and towards the castle.

Meanwhile, Fastolf and his men, including Sir Benedict, unloaded the ship. As this happening, some of the slower and smaller vessels arrived at the capitol’s docks.

“I must go to Colchester,” Fastolf said to Benedict. “I must delivery Sir James’ sword. Then, methinks I will retire to my home at Norwich, at least until my king requires again my service.”

“Godspeed, my friend” Benedict shook Fastolf’s hand. “I will retire westward to my home. I hope we meet again soon!”

Now Sir Fastolf, eager to return home, loaded a cart with all his belongings. His men-at-arms slid the body of Sir James and his armour into another cart. Then they were on their way, leaving from the eastern Aldgate. Colchester was not far from the capitol and even with two carts their journey would not take more than a few days. Through the grassy hills and dense forests of Essex they went, though the land was not green and lush looking; it was bitterly cold and well into November and the trees had by now lost their foliage. Patches of snow lay throughout the land, but did not yet cover it entirely.

“So passes another beautiful autumn and with it a good friend and knight,” Fastolf said quietly to himself.

“What’s that, sir?” a soldier nearby came closer, thinking Fastolf’s words were directed at him.

“Just lamenting our fallen friend here,” answered the knight.

“Aye, he was a good man,”

Fastolf continued whispering to himself, only quieter. Their trek to Colchester came to an end the next day when they climbed the last hill and beheld the city below. A man mounted on a horse met them before they could approach the walls.

“State your business, travelers,” he said as he gripped the sword at his hip.

“I am Sir Fastolf of Norwich, lord of Caister-on-Sea,” the knight looked around and noticed that several bowmen had taken aim at them from among the trees and from behind the horseman.

“Ah, John!” exclaimed the man coming down off his horse. “I know my lord, Sir James Bennett, is fond of you. But I heard he had gone to war for King Henry. Did you not join them?”

“I was indeed with them,” answered Fastolf. “Our fortunes during the campaign were few and the conquest was cut short. But I come with grave news; I must speak with Lady Isabel.”

“You must tell me first,” said the man. “Sorry, mate; it’s my job to ask questions. I must protect my home. Your name and title do not exempt you from our laws.”

Fastolf nodded and slowly went to the cart where he uncovered Sir James’ corpse. The horseman and the nearby archers gasped and crossed themselves.

“I will ride ahead and tell my lady of your arrival,” said the horseman solemnly as he climbed back up onto his animal and went off towards the castle.

As Fastolf and his party moved towards the gate the knight looked and saw a young lad and an older fellow corralling a flock of sheep.

“That is Sir James’ son, William,” one of the bowman noticed where Fastolf’s attention had gone.

“Why does the lord’s son tend sheep?” he asked.

“Teaching the boy to value hard work is easy when making him responsible for the lives of such important animals,” answered the bowman. “Without our flocks, Colchester could not survive!”

Fastolf’s party, along with the cart bearing the body of the fallen knight, was met in the front of the castle. Isabel came running out to meet them. She did not even acknowledge the travelers at first; instead the new widow fell weeping on the wooden casket in which her husband lay. The soldiers and the lady’s attendants did not interrupt. Finally, she stood and addressed the people who had delivered the fallen knight.

“It is an honour to my family and this city that my husband has returned,” this she said with great difficulty through her tears. “Stay for a while, I pray, for rest and refreshment before continuing on your journey?”

“No, m’lady,” said Fastolf. “I must return to my home as quickly as possible. But, before leaving I must return to you James’ sword.”

Fastolf knelt and held the weapon up for Isabel, still within its beautifully designed sheath. She took it graciously and then retired to the castle.

“I hope one day I will see that sword again,” Fastolf said as the lady and her retinue disappeared behind the gates. “And I pray it’ll be at your son’s side soon.”

“Sir, have you forgotten to give Lady Isabel her husband’s armour?” asked a man-at-arms.

“I will keep it at Caister,” replied Fastolf. “It will help remind me of my promise to Sir James. Shall we return home, now?”

As Fastolf’s group rode out they passed the shepherd and the young boy, who marveled at the knight and his fighting men.

“Come hither, boy,” said the man. “Let us return you to your mother.”

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The Agincourt Campaign (Part III)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction inspired by true events. 

Part III

The King’s Speech

Sickness had inflicted the English army and more men than King Henry had wanted would need to stay behind in Harfleur. There was no looting or murder when the king’s men marched into the city, unlike the battle of Chiset, when the French tortured, murdered, and imprisoned anyone left after the battle, even those who willingly surrendered. The French even cut off two fingers from every Englishman’s right hand, so as to make it impossible to serve as an archer ever again. But most were killed; a man-at-arms or archer was not valuable for ransom. King Henry was not a brutal man, but he was not weak when dealing with his enemies. However, he was known to be merciful.

“I will gain the trust of these lowly French peasants through mercy and superior rule,” said the king.

And so as he had promised, any Frenchman who wished to leave Harfleur was permitted to go. Not many did, however, seeing that their homes were not sacked and burned. They wished to remain with their homes and possessions instead of risking the dangerous French countryside, where highwaymen and Burgundy’s troops roamed. The two commanding knights of Harfleur were kept under heavy guard however. King Henry’s resources had been greatly depleted by the siege, since it had taken longer than expected, and now he needed to find funds to further the campaign. A messenger was sent out to Paris so as to negotiate a ransom for these knights, but it was more than a week before an answer was given. Finances for the campaign were eventually supplemented through this negotiation, but less than was hoped for.

Sir James patrolled the streets with his men, even several days after the victory. This was when a great commotion occurred. There was a crowd of people in the yard before a church, mostly French peasants and some English men-at-arms. They were yelling and directing anger at something, or someone. James and his men hurried to investigate.

“Step back, peasants, knaves!” ordered James drawing his sword. The red lion engraving that rested below the blade shimmered in the sunlight.

The crowd obeyed but still showed anger. Then the English knight saw why there was such a great stir. The French dauphin had been dragged out from hiding within the church’s strong walls and had been beaten. The rabble of peasants grew increasingly angry when Sir James went to the dauphin’s side. The English soldiers, who were outnumbered here, brandished their weapons and held aloft their shields.

“Tell me why do you harbor such anger?” James yelled at the crowd. They only answered with harsh tones and hostile insults. Then one man spoke up and addressed the English knight in his language.

“Our dauphin betrayed us!” he said. “We know your king offered to settle the siege through a challenge of combat with this man! He refused! He is a coward! He might have saved Harfleur much grief, whether through defeat or victory, had he accepted your king’s reasonable request. The dauphin betrayed us!”

He spoke in French and the crowd surged, but the strong men-at-arms pushed back. The rabble threw rocks and the soldiers threw punches.

“Stop! Stop and allow the good King Henry to administer proper judgment on this man for you!” Sir James pleaded with the crowd.

The men-at-arms pushed back more against the angry crowd, who had not been entirely calmed by the knight’s words. They were still upset and spat and hurled insults towards the dauphin as the English escorted him away. The dauphin, who had suffered a few blows to the head before the English arrived, looked at his rescuer and thanked him.

“Merci, monsieur,” he said.

“Do not thank me,” answered James. “It is the king who deserves your gratitude.”

“Who is this?” Fastolf came to James as they went up towards Harfleur’s keep. “It seems the city’s peasants are angry and seek to do you and this man harm. There is a mob following us.”

“He is the dauphin,” replied James as he firmly led the man by the arm.

“Ah, this is the man who would not answer King Henry’s challenge!” asked Fastolf while taking a hard look at the man.

“Aye, and it should be his majesty the king who decides his fate,”

They arrived at the stone keep, which now flew English colors. The dauphin looked up, and beholding the banner of the House of Lancaster, grew shameful and afraid of the king’s reaction at seeing him. The guards knew this man was important; else a knight would not be escorting him. Then they saw the following crowd and moved to protect the gate with the other men-at-arms. But the rabble did not approach the gate, seeing that great harm would come to them from above, as many longbow men looked at them from atop the wall with arrows notched.

“Spoils of war, eh James?” Thomas Lancaster met them in the courtyard.

“I am sure your brother, the king, will take great interest in this man,” replied Sir James throwing the man forward to his knees. “The dauphin of Harfleur! He who refused Henry’s honorable challenge."

“Clap him in irons, men!” Thomas ordered.

The dauphin did not protest, figuring it was safer with the English than with his own countrymen. However, he was still fearful of the English king’s response to his capture. They went to Henry, who was busy discussing military details with his captains. The dauphin was forced to his knees before the king, and the men-at-arms held him tightly while also showing respect with bowed heads. Henry did not pay them heed right away, not even his respected knights and brother dared to interrupt him.

“Who is this lowly fellow?” the king’s attention finally turned to the prisoner. “His stench offends my nostrils and his appearance causes my eyes to twitch!”

“He is dauphin of Harfleur, m’lord,” answered James.

“This is the one who was too frightened to face me in single combat?” King Henry rose from his seat and went to inspect the prisoner. “This is he who could have saved his city, but instead hid to save his own skin?”

“The very same, lord,” James grabbed the dauphin by the collar and forced him to his feet.

Henry circled the prisoner and haughtily inspected him. The king reached up to his own clean shaven face and touched his scar, the one he had received at the Battle of Shrewsbury.

“I do not have time to deal with this man,” said Henry. “Throw him in the dungeons and let his shame eat away at his conscience! His neck does not deserve to meet my sword!”

“Thank you, sire!” said the dauphin, who knew he was being spared the torture of the mob’s wrath.

  “Do not thank me, coward,” answered Henry. “For before snow covers this place the rats in prison will eat out your eyes!” The soldiers then took him away and tossed him into one of the dark, damp holes reserved for political prisoners.

A few days passed, and the French peasants became more accepting of King Henry’s occupation, but still held bitter thoughts towards him. At this time an ambassador came with an offer to pay a handsome sum for the ransom of the two French knights.

“My army has been depleted far too much!” said Henry. “I do not believe my original plan to take Paris will see light before winter.”

“Do we go home, sire?” asked Thomas Lancaster. “It would be a shame if the men were not permitted the spoils of war after their fine work to capture Harfleur for you.”

“We will leave Normandy,” said the king. His men looked surprised. They all wondered if he were conceding his claim to France so easily. “But, we will march up the coast attacking the smaller villages, taking prisoners. Let the men have their way! Eventually we will turn east, then north. There may be a few strong pockets of resistance along the coast between Dieppe and Boulogne, so we must avoid those places. Thomas, my brother, you will remain here with your men and ensure that England’s interests are secure until we return.”

“So eventually we go east to Pèronne then finally north to the coast?” asked James. “There we can ferry across the Strait of Dover back to England.”

“Yes, and pray the French do not catch us before Calais!” said Fastolf.

“Go now and prepare the horses,” ordered Henry. “Bribe the men with promises of plunder and prizes if you must. I know they are weary but the prospect of home will offer comfort and peace.”

“What of those who are injured or sickly, m’lord?” asked Sir James. “They cannot travel with us.”

“They will be spared from further warfare!” said Henry leaving the keep. “But, now Harfleur is England. They are home!”

Henry went out and now preparations to leave the city began. A messenger went forth to the coast and informed the captain of the king’s ship to move up the coast towards Dover. A few ships followed, while others remained to protect Harfleur and the Sienna. Then the king mounted his strong black mare and rode off on the northern road, followed by his knights. The men-at-arms and archers fell in behind with their horses and carts and siege weapons, wending their way along the route the king had determined. No attempt on Paris would be made now, instead they would raid smaller cities and towns along the coast. Little resistance was given as the English ravaged the territories north of the capitol. Sir James and his friend, Fastolf, were witness to barbarities that shamed them during this campaign. However, their protests fell on death ears when they came to the king.

“The men must keep their spirits high!” answered Henry. “And those who deny my kingship must be punished! I do not intend for the French to see my rule as weak.”

When the army crossed the Somme River John Hardyng of York rode to meet them. He had come from Calais and set out upon hearing of Henry’s journey north. The king’s strength now increased slightly with this retinue from York. And although there had once been a rivalry between Houses of Lancaster and York, King Henry now welcomed Hardyng and the extra troops. And then, as though the depressing rain was not enough, a scout arrived bringing news for Henry that was not welcomed:

”M’lord, the French have mustered an army at Rouen,” he said. “This is perhaps the force that intended to relieve Harfleur.  By now they know it is too late to rescue that city and so they shadow our movements.”

“Ah, so it is good that the Somme lies between us and the French!” said the king.

“It will be hard to avoid them, lord,” said James. “Our army is still weak and slow. The men had not yet recovered from a lengthy siege when we set out upon this march. This French force has been sitting on their bums all the while, fat and well rested.”

“Then we must simply hurry along to Calais!” answered the king. “The city there will be safe. Its walls will protect us as we prepare our withdrawal to England. Let us go on!”

Ever optimistic, King Henry set spurs to his horse and galloped on ahead, passing his sluggish and tiring troops. Many had brought horses with them, but most of these animals remained in the city or had been lost during the siege. As news spread that a French army was on their heels, the exhausted English soldiers now quickened their pace, eager to reach the safety of Calais. They nervously looked back over their shoulders as the march went on. The siege equipment was abandoned, allowing them to move quicker, but the fear of seeing the French cavalry riding over the horizon behind them lingered. Days and weeks of this fear went by, until October had nearly expired. It was then that the English came to a clearing between the woods of Tramecourt and Azincourt, which the English called Agincourt. The French had managed to block the only clear path on towards Calais ahead of them. It was their skilled horsemen and mounted knights that enabled them to find a way ahead of King Henry. The English were fatigued and suffered from sickness. Now the armies faced each other, but no action was taken. The French did not advance. King Henry therefor desired to give his men more time to rest.

“M’lord, our situation is dire!” said Sir James. “Even with Hardyng’s men we are outmanned. We need more men in order to defeat the army before us!”

“James, you are a valuable man to me,” answered the king. “and I have always known you to be pious. But we must remain confident, and use our superior skill as bowmen to offset this disadvantage. Perhaps the archers can find cover in the trees there?”

Henry pointed to either forest that enclosed what would become the battlefield.

“Put our archers in the trees and hide them,” Henry continued. “We will use our arrows to flank them once battle is joined. I will lead our men down the middle. Sir James and Fastolf; you will be with me.”

“I will take some men to guard the archers of the right flank,” said Sir Benedict. “My heavy knights will not be much use bogged down in the deep mud in the middle with you, my king.”

“Then I will go to the left flank,” said Montacute. “Still sire, this is a grim task. Looking at the French camp it appears as though there is a great host of them. Do we have hope of victory?”

“You speak as a fool would!” said King Henry. “Do you not believe that the Almighty, with this small force of men on his side, can conquer the hostile arrogance of the French? They pride themselves on their own strength! Let us pray to God and lean on the strength of our longbows.”

Montacute said nothing, but the king did not jest about praying. Every man in his army made confessions that night. Many priests dispersed around the encampment. The men were ordered to remain silent with their thoughts. Henry wished them to all remain focused on their coming task, rather than drinking and being merry.

“Quiet, all of you!” Henry’s captains ordered as they went around the camp. “Else your right ear will be cut off. That’ll teach you to maintain silence!”

This was of course absurd, for a man would scream in pain if his ear was lopped off. But still, the message behind this threat was understood. The next morning Sir James looked out towards the French encampment. They were already arrayed in three lines of battle. The Dukes of Orléans led the army and were flanked on either side by cavalry. There was a flutter of silver and blue as the French mustered under the fleur-di-lis flags. Now the English were gathered, and in just the way King Henry and his men had discussed. Three columns stretched out, two with men-at-arms and the third was populated by archers. But still, the bulk of available archers hid among the tress. The young king cried out with great vehemence from his horse:

“If we are marked for death, we here are enough to do our country a loss!” he began as the men all looked to him for inspiration. “And if to live, the fewer men will share in the honour. God’s will! I pray thee; wish not one man more than this. By Jove, I covet not gold, nor care I who feeds at my expense. I care not if men wear my garments, for such outward things escape my desires! But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. Wish not a man away from dear England. Rather, grant he God’s peace and proclaim it through my host! But warn he that has no stomach to this fight: let him depart; his passage shall be made. And so for convoy put crowns in that man’s purse, for we will not die in his company! He that fears death shall not hold fellowship with us.”

The army yelled and jeered as if saying they would never abandon their king. Henry continued.

“But this day, on the feast of Saint Crispian, may he that lives be remembered! May he also rise with the name of Crispian and see old age. Let him, at the feast’s vigil, strip his sleeve and boast of his scars! He will say ‘these wounds I had on Crispian’s Day!’ Old men forget, yet he that lives through this conflict shall recall his feats today! Then shall our names be familiar on his mouth; the names from those brothers of the king, Lancaster, Bedford, York, Exeter, Warwick, Talbot, Salisbury, Gloucester, and Colchester!”

With each named city a contingent of men cheered and clamored.

“With their flowing cups of wine and ale may these men be remembered. The good man will teach his son of today, and Crispian’s Day shall never go unheard. For he that sheds blood with me shall be my brother! And the gentlemen in England, now asleep, shall think themselves accursed for being absent today. They will be ashamed of their manhood when hearing speak of those who fought on Saint Crispian’s Day!”

The king turned to face the French army and thrust his sword forward even as his enemies charged through the slopping mud. Then the archers there amongst the English king and his knights let loose their arrows and the battle of Agincourt began.

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