Shakespeare's Kings (56 page)

His treatment of the townspeople was severe rather than savage. Harfleur was not put to the sack, as it might easily have been. The chief citizens were captured and held to ransom. As for the rest, those who agreed to swear allegiance to the English crown were permitted to remain; those who refused — numbering some
2,000,
including women and children - were driven from the city. (Most of them were later picked up by the French army and resettled in Rouen.) Henry, meanwhile, sent a messenger to the Dauphin bearing a challenge to single combat, the crown of France to go to the winner after the death of Charles VI; but this seems to have been rather a matter of form than anything else. The nineteen-year-old Dauphin, a confirmed debauchee who had already contracted the disease which was to kill him within the year, was hardly likely to measure himself against a professional soldier eight years his senior, in the prime of life and the pink of condition.

Harfleur had been, in a sense, a victory; it was certainly reported as one in London. But it had also been a catastrophe. Death or disease had deprived the King of almost a third of his men. Of the
2,500
men-at-arms who h
ad sailed with him to France, there remained only some
900,
with perhaps
5,000
archers. In such circumstances, the planned advance on Paris was obviously out of the question: the only sensible course for Henry would have been to return directly to England, leaving a strong garrison in the conquered town. Although his reputation might not have been enhanced by the expedition, at least he could have claimed another English bridgehead on French soil. But for him the adventure was not yet over. His spirits were largely unaffected by his
losses,
and
he
now
announced
to
his
surviving
captains
his
intention
of advancing
to
Calais.

To
most
of
them,
such
a
plan
must
have
seemed
little
short
of
insane. Calais
was
separated
from
Harfleur
by
150
miles
of
difficult
country, studded
with
hostile
castles
and
fortified
towns
and
crossed
by
a
number of
rivers,
many
of
which
might
soon
be
flooded
by
the
autumn
rains.
The French
army,
meanwhile,
was
known
to
have
received
the
Armagnac reinforcements
it
had
long
been
expecting;
it
now
easily
outnumbered the
sadly
depleted
English
force
and
could
confide
ntly
be
expected
to block
its
path.
Of
all
this
the
King
was
well
aware,
but
his
mind
was made
up.
On
8
October,
leaving
his
uncle
Thomas
Beaufort,
Earl
of Dorset,
with
1,200
men
to
garrison
Harfleur,
he
gave
the
order
to march.

The
first
week
of
the
English
advance
went
better
than
might
have been
expected.
There
was
the
occasional
minor
skirmish,
but
the French
army
continued
to
hold
back,
the
walled
towns
along
the
way surrendered
at
once
and
the
rivers
Bethune
and
Bresle
were
negotiated without
mishap.
The
first
serious
obstacle
was
the
Somme.
There
was a
well-known
ford
at
its
mouth,
known
as
Blanche-Taque,
where Edward
III
had
crossed
on
his
way
to
Crecy
sixty-nine
years
before; but
this
the
French
army
had
rendered
impassable
with
rows
of
sharpened stakes,
while
its
approaches
were
defended
by
a
company
of
cavalry. All
Henry
could
do
was
to
lead
his
men
upstream
in
search
of
another crossing-point.
For
nearly
sixty
miles
they
followed
the
left
bank, past
Amiens
and
Abbeville
-
both
formidably
defended
-
until
they eventually
found
a
ford
near
the
village
of
Bethencourt,
where
they crossed
in
safety.
But
many
of
them
had
set
out
in
an
already
fragile state
of
health,
they
had
now
been
ten
days
on
the
march,
and
they were
dog-tired.
Between
them
and
Calais
lay
over
a
hundred
miles
of open
road
—
and
somewhere
along
it,
almost
certainly,
the
enemy.

They
had
not
gone
far
beyond
the
Somme
when
the
French
heralds rode
up
and
informed
the
King
that
that
army
was
indeed
a
short distance
ahead,
and
that
he
must
prepare
to
face
it
in
pitched
battle,
on ground
—
for
such
were
the
rules
of
medieval
chivalry
—
favourable
to neither
side.
Henry
accepted
the
message
cheerfully
enough
(unlike most
of
his
men
who,
according
to
the
royal
chaplain,
believed
that their
only
hope
lay
in
the
mercy
of
God)
and,
assuming
that
the
enemy
would attack almost at once, immediately donned his armour, ordering his knights to do the same. In fact the two sides did not meet for another three days; but at last, on the morning of
24
October, the coming of dawn revealed the French army encamped on the opposite bank of the little river Ternoise. After some difficulty in securing the existing bridge, the English crossed in safety; but the King knew that he would not get much further without a fight, and it soon became clear just where the battle was to be - in the open country some thirty miles north-west of Arras, between the two neighbouring villages of Tramecourt and Agincourt.
¹
As he watched the French army preparing for the fray, Henry seems at last to have recognized the gravity of his situation. He was, first of all, overwhelmingly outnumbered — perhaps by as much as five or six to one. Moreover the enemy was fresh and rested, while his own men were near exhaustion after two full weeks on the march. And so he suddenly took a decision which has always tended to be overlooked by the more patriotic or chauvinist historians, Shakespeare himself included: he sued for peace. Sending over to the French camp the handful of prisoners that he had taken on the road from Harfleur, he offered in addition the restoration of that town and all his other gains, with full compensation for all the damage caused by his troops, in return for their safe passage to Calais. There was little hope, as he well knew, that his offer would be accepted; but at least it would delay the start of the battle by some hours, giving his soldiers the chance of the night's rest that they so desperately needed.

For a week there had been almost incessant rain. All day the storm clouds had been gathering once again; and as evening fell there came yet another downpour, which continued for much of the night. Lying - as most of the English were - out in the open, few of them could have got much sleep. Fewer still could have realized, however, that where the coming battle was concerned, this almost unremitting rain was the best thing that could possibly have happened and would be seen, in retrospect, as a gift from God.

By the morning of Friday
25
October - it was the Feast of SS. Crispin and Crispinian - the rain had stopped, leaving the recently ploughed meadows between the woods of Tramecourt to the east and Agincourt

1. Now known as Azincourt.

to
the
west
a
waterlogged
morass;
but
there
had
been
no
reply
to Henry's
offer
of
terms,
and
both
sides
now
prepared
for
battle.
The King
drew
up
his
army
in
three
divisions,
line
abreast.
He
himself, wearing
his
surcoat
on
which
the
three
leopards
of
England
were quartered
with
the
f
leurs-de-lys
of
France,
his
helmet
encircled
by
a
slim gold
crown,
took
command
of
the
centre.
The
right
wing
he
placed under
his
father's
cousin
Edward,
the
former
Earl
of
Rutland
and
later of
Albemarle,
who
had
succeeded
to
the
Duchy
of
York
in
1402;
the left
was
entrusted
to
one
of
his
most
faithful
generals,
Lord
Camoys. All
three
wings,
in
which
the
men-at-arms
fought
dismounted,
were supported
on
each
flank
by
companies
of
archers.