Shakespeare's Kings (57 page)

The
French
commanders,
the
Constable
of
France
Charles
d'Albret and
Marshal
Jean
Boucicault,
followed
a
different
plan.
For
an
army
as large
as
theirs,
the
limited
space
between
the
two
woods
on
each
side -
some
1,200
yards
-
made
a
line
formation
impossible:
they
accordingly formed
a
column,
deployed
in
three
ranks
one
behind
the
other,
similarly dismounted
but
with
a
body
of
heavy
cavalry
on
each
side
of
the
front rank.
Between
the
three
were
companies
of
crossbowmen
—
despite the
lessons
of
the
previous
century,
the
longbow
had
never
been generally
adopted
in
France
—
and
there
seem
also
to
have
been
a
few light
cannon,
though
these
too
were
hardly
used.
Basically
the
French were
putting
their
trust
in
their
far
superior
strength,
and
in
the
impetus of
the
outflanking
cavalry
attack
with
which
they
intended
to
open
the
Battle
.

Oddly
enough,
they
seem
to
have
taken
no
account
of
the
recent weather.
A
knight
in
full
armour
imposes
a
formidable
weight
on
the strongest
of
horses,
and
for
a
successful
cavalry
charge
hard
ground
was essential.
At
eleven
o'clock
the
Constable
gave
the
signal
for
the
attack, and
the
chargers
moved
forward;
but
they
soon
sank
up
to
their
fetl
ocks in
the
soft
mud,
and
the
dismounted
men-at-arms
did
very
little
better. Meanwhile
the
English
archers
loosed
a
deluge
of
arrows
and
took
a fearsome
toll
of
cavalry
and
infantry
alike,
before
exchanging
their
bows for
short
swords,
axes
and
clubs,
with
which
they
quickly
accounted for
the
relatively
few
Frenchmen
who
managed
to
reach
the
English line.
The
second
wave
of
the
attack,
under
the
Duke
of
Alencon,
was no
more
successful
than
the
first,
the
English
scrambling
over
the
piles of
dead
and
wounded
to
continue
the
slaughter.
The
third
wave,
seeing the
fate
of
its
predecessors,
turned
tail
and
fled.

It was at this point, with victory already assured, that the King gave the order which in the eyes of posterity has been the darkest stain on his reputation. Only the highest-ranking noblemen - for whom valuable ransoms could be expected - were to be spared; all other prisoners, he commanded, were to be insta
ntly
put to death. What prompted such a reaction, utterly contrary as it was to all the traditions of medieval warfare? Was there, as it was later claimed, some sudden movement on the part of the French cavalry which led Henry to fear an attack from the rear? It is possible, though no such attack took place. Many of his men refused point-blank to obey the order, even after he had threatened to hang all those who held back; he was at last obliged to designate
200
of his own archers specifically for the task. Such was the aftermath of the victory that has gone down as one of the most glorious in English history.

By mid-afternoon there was nothing to do but to count and, where possible, to identify the dead. The French losses were enormous: out of some
20,000
men well over a third - some
7,000
— were gone, including the Constable, the Dukes of Alencon and Bar, and two brothers of the Duke of Burgundy, Anthony Duke of Brabant and Philip Count of Nevers. With them were some
1,560
knights, perhaps
5,000
men-at-arms and an unknown number of irregulars. Marshal Boucicault, with the Dukes of Orleans and of Bourbon, was a prisoner. By contrast the English losses were at the most
1,600,
and probably a good deal less; some estimates suggest no more than a quarter of that figure. Only two noblemen lost their lives: the young Earl of Suffolk - whose father had been killed at Harfleur - and the forty-two-year-old Duke of York, who was seriously overweight and whose heavy armour seems to have brought on a heart attack. His body was subsequently taken back to England and buried at the
castle
of Fotheringhay.

Given the state of the ground and the tactics chosen by the French, the victory of Agincourt was a foregone conclusion; but there were other reasons too why the battle ended as it did. The English army was united under a single commander, who had already proved himself a superb leader of men and who fought like a tiger throughout the battle, personally saving the life of his brother the Duke of Gloucester. The French on the other hand were split, with none of their generals in undisputed control and their command structure, such as it was, riven by divided loyalties. Moreover — and this must be repeated since to us
in
retrospect
it
seems
well-nigh
inexplicable
-
despite
their
experience at
Crecy
and
Poitiers
they
had
still
not
accepted
the
superiority
of
the longbow
and
were
conseque
ntly
powerless
against
the
English
archers. For
this
alone
they
deserved
to
lose
-
though
they
certainly
did
not deserve
the
unspeakable
brutality
with
which
they
were
treated
after their
defeat.

The
news
reached
London
four
days
later,
on
29
October,
and
was received
with
jubilation.
The
church
bells
rang
all
over
the
city
as
the Mayor
led
the
citizens
first
to
the
shrine
of
Edward
the
Confessor
in Westminster
Abbey
and
then
to
St
Paul's
for
a
service
of
thanksgiving. On
the
same
day
King
Henry
V
entered
Calais
with
what
was
left
of his
victorious
army.
It
took
him
a
fortnight
to
muster
a
sufficient
fleet to
transport
it
back
to
England,
during
which
time
the
men
were obliged
to
exchange
many
of
their
prisoners
-
for
whom
they
had expected
large
ransoms
-
for
the
bare
necessities
of
life;
but
finally
on the
morning
of
16
November
he
was
able
to
set
sail,
landing
the
same evening
at
Dover,
where
the
local
magnates
waded
into
the
water
and carried
him
triumphantly
ashore.
The
next
day
he
reached
Canterbury, and
from
there
rode
by
easy
stages
to
the
capital,
where
he
arrived
on the
23rd
to
a
hero's
welcome.

London
had
never
witnessed
such
a
procession
as
that
which
escorted the
King
from
Blackheath
to
Westminster.
It
was
led
by
the
Mayor
and Corporation,
who
were
followed
by
all
the
principal
merchants
of
the city
and
members
of
the
guilds
and
crafts,
carrying
aloft
their
identifying banners
and
standards;
the
numbers
involved
have
been
estimated
at well
over
15,000.
London
Bridge
was
scarcely
visible
for
flags
and triumphal
arches,
which
continued
as
far
as
St
Paul's
itself,
and
the conduit
in
Cheapside
is
said
to
have
flowed
with
wine
instead
of
water. After
a
brief
ceremony
at
the
cathedral
Henry
rode
along
the
river
to Westminster
Abbey
for
another,
longer,
service
at
the
shrine
of
the Confessor;
all
the
way
the
streets
were
lined
with
excited
crowds, cheering
him
to
the
echo.