Henry received them graciously but in his most regal manner: bare-headed, but dressed entirely in cloth of gold, and surrounded by members of his great council, including his three brothers. Once more the French declared their desire for a “true, complete and perfect peace” between the two realms and repeated their offer of an enlarged Aquitaine, marriage with Catherine of France and a dowry of eight hundred thousand francs, if only Henry would disband the army which, they knew, he was assembling at Southampton. After some days of inconsequential and half-hearted bargaining, the ambassadors were again summoned to the king’s presence to hear his final answer from the mouth of his chancellor, Henry Beaufort, bishop of Winchester. The king and his great council, Beaufort declared, had decided that if the French did not give him Catherine and the duchies of Aquitaine, Normandy, Anjou and Touraine, together with the counties of Poitou, Maine and Ponthieu, “and all the other places which once belonged to his predecessors by right of inheritance, he would not put off his voyage . . . but with all his power he would destroy the realm and the king of France.” At the conclusion of Beaufort’s speech, Henry himself added that, with God’s permission, he would indeed do as the bishop had said, “and this he promised the ambassadors, on the word of a king.”
Realising that nothing they could say or do would deflect Henry from his purpose, the archbishop of Bourges permitted himself one last defiant speech, protesting that the French had made their generous offers, not through fear of the English, but for love of peace and to avoid the spilling of Christian blood. The king of France would drive the English from his realm and all his dominions. “You will either be taken prisoner there,” he warned Henry, “or you will die there.”2
Faced with the failure of their mission, there was nothing left for the French ambassadors to do but to return to Paris, where they reported Henry’s intransigence and what they had been able to learn about the English preparations for war. Yet, even now, it seems that the French continued to underestimate the strength and scope of Henry’s purpose. In this it appears that they were deliberately misled by the English. Richard Courtenay, bishop of Norwich, who was a close friend of the king and had been intimately involved in the negotiations, confided in Master Jean Fusoris, a canon of Notre Dame attached to the embassy, that he believed the marriage might have been arranged if only the ambassadors had come earlier, and declared that he had not yet given up all hope of a treaty. As late as August 1415 (after Henry had sailed for France), the Venetians were still getting reports that a settlement and peace were possible. The general expectation on the French side appears to have been that even if the invasion did go ahead, it would be a brief raid, like that of 1412, which would achieve nothing to justify its expense.3
The role that Fusoris played in the delegation was at best questionable and at worst treasonable. In all probability he was an English spy. Although a clergyman, he was better known to his contemporaries as an astrologer and maker of astrological instruments. He had pestered his way into being taken on the embassy by claiming that he was owed large sums by the bishop, whom he had met on the latter’s two diplomatic missions to Paris in the autumn of 1414 and spring of 1415. Courtenay had then cultivated Fusoris, telling him that he shared his interest in astrology and buying books and instruments from him. He had also consulted him professionally, persuading Fusoris to use his almanacs and astrolabes to divine the omens for a marriage between Henry and Catherine and the likely success of his current embassy. Courtenay had also expressed concern about Henry V’s long-term health and sought a horoscope reading, based on the king’s nativity, to predict how long he would live.4
Bizarre though it seems to find a bishop consulting an astrologer, this was by no means unusual in France. In England, astrology as a means of predicting the future was regarded as both sorcery and the false prophecy condemned in the Bible. It had been further brought into disrepute by its association with Richard II, whose unusually continental tastes had included one for divination; predictions of his second coming had persuaded Henry IV to enact legislation against prophecy in 1402 and 1406. Charles V of France, on the other hand, had been a devotee of the arts of astrology and geomancy (an art similar to reading tea-leaves, but using a handful of earth), collecting an impressive library on all the occult sciences. His court astrologer was a former lecturer in astrology at the university of Bologna, Tommaso da Pizzano (now more familiar as the father of Christine de Pizan). Da Pizzano famously claimed that he had used his arts to drive the English out of France in the 1370s. He had done this by having five hollow human figures made out of lead under a propitious constellation, labelling each one with the name and astrological character of the king of England and his four captains, then filling them with earth taken from the middle and the four corners of France respectively. At the right astrological moment, he had buried each one, face downwards and with its hands positioned behind its back, in the place from which the earth had been taken, reciting incantations for the annihilation of the persons they represented and the expulsion of the English from France as he did so. The result was sensational, if not instantaneous, for “within a few months all the said companies had fled from the realm.”5
Fusoris, probably unaware of the difference in attitude between the two countries, may have hoped to gain a post as court astrologer, or, at the very least, to sell some of his books and instruments to the English king. In either case, he was an easy target for a wily diplomat like Courtenay, who persuaded him that Henry V had a great interest in astrology and that he wished to meet him. Having strung Fusoris along for the entire length of the negotiations at Winchester—during which time the astrologer roused the suspicions of the official French envoys by failing to turn up for meals and by his frequent meetings and conversations with Englishmen—Courtenay finally introduced him to the king after mass, making a pointed speech about how the Frenchman, “thinking there would be a treaty of peace,” had brought Henry gifts of astrolabes, charts and almanacs. If Fusoris had expected a fulsome welcome and expressions of gratitude or interest, he did not get them. Henry’s response was a typically laconic “Thank you, Master John” in Latin, followed by a slightly less formal “many thanks” in French. He even refused to accept one of the treatises or a little book of astrological puzzles.6
In fact, Henry’s interest in astrology was either minimal or, more likely, feigned as a cover for a public meeting with a man whose occupation had given him privileged access to and contacts within French royal circles, making him a potentially useful spy. At least two of the other envoys would testify at Fusoris’s trial for treason that he had also had another meeting with the king, during which he was closeted away with him for a two full hours, but this Fusoris vigorously denied. Nevertheless, before he left, he paid yet another visit to Courtenay and was given £33 6s 8d, money that, he claimed, was due to him as payment for the bishop’s outstanding debt, but which may have been for services rendered. Fusoris’s considered opinion of Henry—which may be unreliable, as it was given in the courtroom during his trial—was that the king had the fine manner of a lord and great stateliness, but that he thought him more suited to the Church than to war. To his mind, Clarence cut an altogether more warlike figure.7
Henry, however, was about to reveal his martial side. Having nothing further to discuss with the French ambassadors, he abandoned them at Winchester and on the evening of 6 July 1415 rode off to join his army, which was now mustering around Southampton. He set up his headquarters at Portchester Castle, whose great keep and curtain walls, interspersed at regular intervals with round watch towers, had benefited from his recent modernisation programme. Standing on a headland in the natural harbour of Portsmouth Bay, directly opposite the sea entrance, the castle was conveniently placed for Henry to make regular forays to review the gathering troops and to keep an eye on the progress of the fleet building up in Southampton Water and the Solent. When the time came, it would also prove to be his ideal point of embarkation: from Portchester he could sail direc
tly to the head of the fleet and lead it out to sea.
The final arrangements for the campaign were now in place. Henry’s twenty-six-year-old younger brother, John, duke of Bedford, had been appointed to act, with the assistance of a small council, headed by the archbishop of Canterbury, the bishops of Winchester and Durham, and the earl of Westmorland, as king’s lieutenant for England, Wales and Ireland during Henry’s absence. Sir John Tiptoft, a long-standing Lancastrian retainer and highly experienced royal and parliamentary administrator, had likewise been appointed seneschal of Aquitaine and departed with a substantial army for the duchy in June.8
Measures had also been taken for the defence of the kingdom in the absence of not just the king but so many of the fighting men upon whom it normally relied. Reinforcements had been sent to safeguard the Scottish, Welsh and Calais marches, and to join the fleet guarding the coast. As a matter of principle, those living in areas that were most likely to be attacked, such as the northernmost counties, had not been recruited for the campaign and had actually been ordered to remain at their posts. Robert Twyford, who attempted to join the king’s own retinue, had his indentures cancelled because “it pleased [the king] that he should remain in the company of lord Grey, Warden of the East March of Scotland, for the reinforcement of the said marches.” All military leave in Calais was cancelled for the duration of the king’s expedition.9
Commissions had also been appointed in every county to identify each man capable of fighting and ensure that he was properly armed and equipped according to his status. As we have seen, all men aged between sixteen and sixty, irrespective of rank, were required by law to practise at the archery butts every Sunday and Holy Day after mass; those with lands or rents worth between £2 and £5 had also to provide themselves with a bow, arrows, sword and dagger, so that they were ready to serve whenever called upon to do so. Though many of these men were undoubtedly recruited into the king’s army, those too young, old or incapacitated in some way would remain behind as the medieval equivalent of the Home Guard.10
It is a measure of the exceptional strain placed on the resources of manpower within the realm by the demands of the Agincourt campaign that this was not considered sufficient. It was to the Church that, once again, Henry looked to make up his shortfall. Contemporary legal opinion was divided many ways on the subject, but it was generally accepted that clergymen could defend themselves if they were attacked, and it was on this principle that commissions of the clergy for the defence of the realm could be justified. Henry therefore addressed a writ to the archbishops of Canterbury and York, and to all the bishops individually, demanding a muster of the clergy in every diocese with all possible haste. The array was to include anyone capable of bearing arms, irrespective of whether they were secular clergy, such as parish priests, or members of religious orders living in enclosed monastic houses. Even those who were officially exempt from such demands were to be called up and, for once, the liberties of the Church were not to be respected. Every single cleric was to be well and suitably armed, according to his status and his capabilities, and ready to resist “the malice, impudence and harassment of our enemies.” Perhaps to sweeten the pill, the preamble to the writ hinted that the Church’s own enemies, Lollards and heretics, rather than marauding Scots or Frenchmen, were the object of this extraordinary measure: it declared that the king was acting “for the defence of the realm and of our Mother Church of England and of the Catholic Faith.”11 The records for the eleven dioceses which still exist show that, between them, they mustered over 12,000 clergymen; the great diocese of Lincoln found 4500 suitable men in total, of whom 4000 were arrayed as archers, while even the comparatively tiny see of Bath and Wells produced sixty men-at-arms, 830 archers and ten mounted archers.12 When the lost figures for the remaining eight dioceses are added to these, the Church must have fielded an extraordinary shadow army of tonsured and habit-clad monks, canons, friars, priests and chaplains, drawn from the sanctuary of monastery, cathedral and university cloister, parish churches and chantry chapels. What is more, it was a militia that substantially outnumbered the more conventional armed forces gathering in Southampton.
That army now numbered just over 12,000 fighting men drawn from almost every corner of the kingdom, including Aquitaine. (There were no Irish or Scottish contingents, despite the colourful captains Macmorris and Jamy, of Shakespearean fame.) This represented a tremendous effort on the part of the individual retinue leaders who, like the king himself, found the responsibility of raising, equipping and feeding their companies a severe financial strain. The accounts of the young John Mowbray, for whom this was his first official outing in his military capacity as earl marshal, reveal that he spent more than £2000 (almost $1.6 million today) on his contribution to the war effort, even though he only received £1450 back from the king in wages for himself and his men.13
The earl had been one of the first to sign up for the campaign, indenting with the king on 29 April. By 1 July, when his accountants paid the quarter’s wages to those who had signed indentures to serve with him, he had fifty-five men-at-arms, only two of whom were knights, and 147 archers. All of them were paid their wages for the whole of the first quarter (ninety-one days) in full and at the rate for going to France, even though the earl himself, in common with the rest of those who indented to serve the king directly, had only received half of the pay for the same period. His second payment was only due when he mustered his troops before the king’s reviewers (on 1 July, which is why he had arranged to pay his men on that day), but the muster was postponed for a fortnight and the earl was left to bankroll the shortfall in the meantime.14
The earl’s accounts reveal that he had to build up this large retinue out of very small units. The largest sub-retinue was raised by an esquire Perceval Lynlay, who brought five men-at-arms with him and a company of fifteen archers. Although two knights and five other esquires also produced comparatively large contingents, thirty esquires signed up as individual men-at-arms, each one bringing either two or three archers with him, and forty of the archers were also recruited on an individual basis. From their names, which sometimes occur elsewhere in the accounts in a professional capacity, one can guess that many of this last group were members of the earl’s household: William Coke (the cook), Nicholas Armourer, William Sadelyler, John Foteman, John Fysshelake. One archer is even specifically referred to as a tentmaker.15
The accounts also include wages paid at military rates to a small group who were almost certainly non-combatants and therefore could not count towards the numbers of fighting men whom the earl had contracted to supply. The group included the earl’s two heralds (each of whom had to provide himself with an archer), three minstrels and his trumpeter, “Thomas Trumpet,” the last of whom was paid a flat rate of £10 a year. This raises the unanswerable question of just how many non-combatants accompanied the English army to France. The chancery rolls, which list those to whom royal letters of attorney and protection were granted for the campaign, record the professions of a small proportion of the applicants. These include men who were obviously not intended to fight: Thomas Baudewyn, rector of Swaby in Lincolnshire, who accompanied the duke of Clarence; John Hugge, a notary in the retinue of the Flemish knight Hertonk von Clux; and John Cook, one of the king’s chaplains. Others may have been there in a purely professional capacity. The particular skills of William Merssh, the king’s smith from the Tower of London, or John Persshall of London, a “bladesmith” in the retinue of Nicholas Merbury, were more valuable than a capacity to fight. Some of the more important grocers, fishmongers and merchants, many of whom were London citizens, may have been involved purely as suppliers to the various retinues. But what are we to make of the two tailors, the Norwich baker, the Coventry woolman, the Petworth butcher, the London drover and William Belle, a taverner in the duke of Clarence’s retinue, the last of whose letters of protection were revoked in November “because he delays in London”?16 Were they there to practise their trades or as soldiers? The l
atter would seem the most likely answer, although the two were not necessarily incompatible. Only one of the approximately five hundred men who received letters of protection or attorney described his occupation as “archer” and many of those paid as archers by the earl marshal were members of his household. An army of this size would inevitably have to draw heavily on the civilian population to supplement the ranks of professional soldiers.17
Just like the new king, the earl marshal found himself pouring considerable sums into the equipping of his retinue, purchasing bows, arrows, bow-strings and, perhaps surprisingly, even crossbow supplies, from a number of different fletchers and tradesmen. All were carefully boxed up for transportation in specially purchased chests, which were then covered with waxed cloths to protect them from water damage.18 Though it seems to have been expected that retinue leaders like the earl would provide at least some military equipment for their archers, there was no similar obligation towards the men-at-arms. It was taken for granted that they would provide for themselves entirely, the bare minimum being a full suit of plate armour, weaponry and the four horses allowed by the terms of the indentures. The quality of all these might differ markedly according to income, but it was important to have the best affordable, since the owner’s life might depend on it. Valuable weapons, particularly swords and daggers, might be passed from father to son or bequeathed to favoured retainers because their design did not change significantly and they could be refurbished. Lances were expendable, like arrows, but more adaptable. The wooden shafts needed to be long enough for use on horseback, but could also be cut down at short notice: the French men-at-arms at Agincourt would be ordered to shorten their lances when the decision was taken to fight on foot.19 Perhaps the most significant new weapon in the armoury of the man-at-arms was the axe, or pollaxe, which had been developed in the late fourteenth century in response to the introduction of plate armour. Like the mace, which it replaced, the axe was designed with a hammer head to crush an opponent’s armour with a swinging blow, but it also had a deadly spiked point that could be used in a stabbing action to puncture plate armour and drive between its vulnerable joints.20
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