Not every man-at-arms could afford to equip himself with the latest armour, but the earl marshal was determined to cut a fine figure for his first campaign. In June and July he managed to spend more than £70 (the equivalent of almost $48,300 today) on armour alone. Confounding modern misconceptions that a complete suit of armour could be bought off the peg, as it were, the earl went to considerable trouble to source each piece independently. One London armourer supplied him with a pair of plates, which encased his trunk, another made him two bascinets, or helmets, and a third provided the plate defences for his legs (legharneys) and his upper and lower arms (vantbraces and rerebraces), together with plate gauntlets and sabatons, which protected his feet. Another specialist, John Freynch of London, sold him a pair of gilded spurs and mended an old pair for him, charging him £1 3s 4d for the privilege. The job of adding the finishing details, such as the internal padding that prevented the plate pieces chafing and ensured a good fit, making a crest for one of the helmets and a ventail or neckpiece for a bascinet, or producing laces (armyngpointes) for the skilled and onerous task of securing each piece in its correct place, was left to the earl’s own employee, the aptly named Nicholas Armourer. Nicholas was also responsible for repairing broken pieces and sometimes sourcing new ones: on 26 June, for example, he bought a pair of mail thigh defences made in Milan, the acknowledged centre of European armorial expertise. Mail, made of interlinking metal rings, provided a second line of defence under plate armour, particularly at vulnerable points, such as under the arms and at the joints, which were often exposed when moving. A further protective layer closest to the skin was provided by a thickly padded fabric garment, which cushioned the wearer from the weight of the blows falling on his armour. Materials for making a new armyngdoublett “for the lord for when he was about to cross over to French parts” duly appear in the earl marshal’s accounts.21
Encased from head to foot in plate armour, with even his face hidden behind the visor of his helmet, the earl would have been unrecognisable among his peers. He therefore spent another small fortune on the blazonry or heraldry that would enable him and his company to be identified. A London embroiderer, John Hunt, was paid the vast sum of £40 for making and embroidering in silk and gold a surcoat, or short, tight-fitting tunic worn over the armour, for the earl and a matching trapper for his horse, both decorated with Mowbray’s arms as earl marshal of England. So much work was involved in this that there was a risk that neither surcoat nor trapper would be ready in time for the campaign, prompting the earl to add a tip of 2s 8d “to hurry up” the process. A London painter was also employed to paint the earl’s arms on trappers, pennons, standards, pavilions and forty-eight shields, the last probably being for decorative rather than military purposes, since shields were an unnecessary encumbrance to a man-at-arms clad head to toe in full plate armour.22
Though uniforms in the modern sense were unknown at this time, retainers of a great lord were accustomed to wear his livery, supplied at his cost, which included clothing in his chosen colours and badges bearing his arms or device. Sir John Fastolf, for instance, clad the men of his retinue in the distinctive red and white cloth manufactured by the tenants of his manor of Castle Combe in Wiltshire and the contingents of archers raised by the crown in Wales and Cheshire were clearly identifiable by their caps and tunics of green and white. John Mowbray also bought copious amounts of red, white, black and green cloth for members of his household (though his falconers were more appropriately dressed in russet) in the months leading up to the Agincourt campaign. He may even have provided them with their crosses of St George, which the king’s ordinances compelled them to wear on their chests and backs while serving in the royal army.23
The earl’s preparations extended to his own living accommodation. His pavilion would be equipped with every facility, including a new bed, mattress and bolster, a new seat for his latrine and an old pavilion pressed into service as his wardrobe. His cook busied himself purchasing cauldrons, cooking vessels and bottles, his carter repaired and put in order the wagons that would carry his luggage and his master of horses bought a new pavilion in London that had been specially adapted and fitted out to serve as a stableblock for the duration of the campaign.24
Given the scale of the earl’s expenditure, and his limited income, it was not surprising that he soon ran out of money and was obliged to borrow from Thomas, earl of Arundel. He was by no means the only one who found himself in debt. John Cheyne, an esquire in the retinue of Sir John Cornewaille, wrote in desperation from Southampton on 12 July 1415. “I am hiere, and have been atte greet costages and dispens,” he informed Sir John Pelham. He needed a “certain notable somme er[e] I go” and therefore sent his servant with “certein thynges of meyne” to pledge as security for a loan, which he offered to pay back at whatever terms Pelham suggested. Even so wealthy a magnate as Edward, duke of York, was obliged to mortgage some of his estates before he left England, so that he could meet the wage bill of his vast retinue.25
The earl marshal’s company was typical of most of those now gathering at Southampton, but there were some notable exceptions. In certain instances, these reflected the conditions of the locality in which the men had been recruited. Jehan de Seintpee, unable to recruit archers in his native Aquitaine, brought 100 crossbowmen instead, eighty of them on foot.26 John Merbury, the king’s chamberlain of south Wales, brought 500 archers from Carmarthenshire, Cardiganshire and Brecknockshire, but only twenty men-at-arms, at least three of whom—Meredith ap Owen ap Griffith, Griffith Don and David ap Ieuan ap Trahaiarn—were former rebels who had made their peace with Henry V. They were to meet some of their compatriots, who had not, on the field of Agincourt, fighting for the French.
Some retinues were composed entirely of those with specialist skills. Sir John Greyndor, for instance, brought his own company of nine men-at-arms and thirty archers, but also recruited 120 Welsh miners, six of whom were masters of their craft and paid 12d a day, the rest receiving 6d a day for their services.27 Mining was an essential part of siege-craft, as was the use of artillery. Henry had personally retained twenty-one master gunners and five gunners, each of whom had two “servants of guns,” making a team of seventy-eight in all. The best artillery men in medieval times were said to come from Germany and the Low Countries, so it is interesting to see that most of the king’s master gunners had names suggesting Dutch origin and that he paid the highest rates to obtain their services. Even the ordinary gunners received the same wages as a man-at-arms, but the master gunners were paid an extraordinary 20d a day, a differential that was reflected in the pay of their servants. Gerard Sprunk, the king’s own gunner, by contrast, had only £10, out of which he had to pay four archers.28
In addition to the latest in cannonry, Henry also anticipated using the more traditional catapult assault weapons, such as trebuchets and mangonels, and had gone even further afield to find the best available. The mayor and municipal magistrates of Bordeaux were ordered to send him “two of the best engines, called brides, and a suitable and capable master and carpenter to operate them” for his campaign.29 Henry also took belfries with him. These were two-storey towers on wheels, timber-framed and covered with ox-hides, which could be pushed right up to the besieged position, providing shelter for battering rams, attacking forces and ladders or bridges reaching across to the tops of walls. In order to be able to maintain and repair all these machines, Henry retained 124 carpenters, twenty-five cordwainers (leather-workers, whose numbers indicate that they were not solely employed making and mending shoes), six wheelwrights (who would also be needed to repair the wagons and carts accompanying the expedition) and 120 simple labourers.30
Henry’s personal company, like that of the earl marshal, was an expanded version of his own household. John Waterton, the master of the king’s horse, brought sixty grooms, a surveyor and a clerk of the stable, a clerk and twelve yeoman purveyors of oats for the horses, twelve smiths, nine saddlers and a couple of men whose sole responsibility
seems to have been to be “the King’s Guides by night.” Altogether, Waterton appears to have had 233 royal horses in his care, though by the end of the campaign he had a mere ninety-eight, a salutary reminder that horses were no more immune to the impact of war than men. Six bow-makers, six fletchers, a bascinet or helmet specialist called Nicholas Brampton and a team of twelve armourers, led by “Albryght mayl maker,” had responsibility for the armour and weapons of the king’s household. John Conyn, “sergeant of our tents and pavilions,” had four painters and twenty-eight servants to look after the royal pavilions.31
The king’s kitchens, which were supervised by William Balne and his two under-clerks, boasted three yeomen and a clerk of the king’s poultry, eight yeomen and a clerk of his bakehouse, three clerks of his spicery, a clerk of his table-linen and another for his hall, a clerk and fifteen assorted labourers for the scullery, plus 156 yeomen and servants not assigned to any particular department. Henry had his own carpenters and labourers “of the hall” and three pages “of his chamber” to act as messengers. His clerks of the marshalcy and the wardrobe, two almoners (responsible for administering the king’s alms-giving) and William Kynwolmersh, the cofferer or treasurer of the royal household, also accompanied the king. Henry’s piety was amply demonstrated by the size of the religious establishment he took with him. The most senior clerics were Master Jean de Bordiu, a Gascon doctor of law and former chancellor of Aquitaine, and Master Esmond Lacy, the dean of the king’s chapel, but there were also three clerks, fifteen chaplains and fourteen monks, the last group having charge of the vestments and altar equipment. Among these clerics was the anonymous chaplain, author of a wonderfully vivid account of the campaign, the Gesta Henrici Quinti, who sat in the baggage train, quaking with fear and praying for victory, as the battle of Agincourt raged around him.32
No self-respecting medieval monarch or aristocrat ever went far without his band of minstrels, and Henry, a music lover, was no exception. Eighteen minstrels accompanied him to France, each earning 12d a day, the same rate of pay as a man-at-arms. Of these, at least three were trumpeters, three pipers and one a fiddler. Though the instruments of the rest are not specified, it would be normal for there also to be some clarion or wind players and at least one “nakerer,” or drummer. (Medieval manuscripts and carvings often depict the nakerer with two small round drums, slung from a belt and carried at groin level, which perhaps explains the origin of the vulgar term “knackers” for testicles.)33 Ensemble playing was in its infancy in this period, but the minstrels would play when marching, in the chapel and for recreational purposes: at the siege of Melun in 1420, Henry would have his “six or eight English clarions and divers other instruments” playing “melodiously for a good hour at sunset and at the daybreak.” The trumpeters would also be used on formal occasions, such as to announce the king’s arrival, when fanfares were required, or to attract public attention before proclamations. Most important of all, on military campaigns they were the medieval equivalent of the modern signal corps, enabling commands to be passed quickly and effectively down the line.34
Not all minstrels were musicians, however, and it would be a mistake to assume that all eighteen played instruments. The term had a much more general meaning in the medieval period and corresponds better to the modern definition of an entertainer. Some minstrels told or sang tales of chivalry; others danced, did acrobatics or played the fool. Henry II, in the twelfth century, had been so fond of the favourite party trick of one of his minstrels that he gave him a thirty-acre estate in Suffolk, on the sole condition that he and his heirs repeated it in the royal presence every Christmas. When one learns that the minstrel was known as Roland le Fartere and that the trick was to make a leap, a whistle and a fart, one can understand why his descendants had alienated the estate by the 1330s. Henry V’s tastes were perhaps less crude, though he employed both a royal fool, William, and a tregatour, or conjuror, “Maister John Rykell,” whose sleight of hand earned him immortality in the poet John Lydgate’s Daunce de Macabres.35
There was something of a family tradition in minstrelsy, as Roland le Fartere’s descendants learnt to their cost. Henry V’s marshal of his minstrels, John Clyff, who signed the indenture with the king for service on the Agincourt campaign on behalf of his fellows, was the son or grandson of John of Gaunt’s nakerer. Of the remainder whose surnames are not simply a description of the instrument they played, three were members of the Haliday family. Thomas and Walter, who were probably the sons of William Haliday, were among the group of named minstrels who received bequests of £5 each from Henry V’s will and went on to serve his son. A Walter Haliday and a John Clyff, presumably of another generation, were still active in royal service (albeit the house of York, rather than Lancaster) under Edward IV, and in 1469 were granted a licence to establish a guild of royal minstrels.36
The same sort of family tradition affected the heraldic profession. This was not surprising, since heralds had begun life as minstrels, and only achieved their distinctive status as the knowledge required of them grew more specialised and technical. Hereditary badges had been used on the shields of knights and nobles since the twelfth century, developing into a unique heraldic device or blazon for each individual, which heralds were expected to recognise instantly. By the late fourteenth century, heralds had also established themselves as the rule-makers and judges of the chivalric world. As the acknowledged experts on the history and drawing up of blazonry, they were called upon to identify the arms of those fighting in joust, tournament and war, to judge cases of disputed arms and to confirm orders of social precedence. Their knowledge of chivalric conventions and rules of conduct also made them unrivalled masters of ceremony, whose responsibility it was to award the palm of honour to those who displayed outstanding combat prowess and to organise all the social ritual connected with knighthood, from tournament to coronation. Last, but not least, they had become the authors of chivalric record, drawing up reference books of English and continental coats of arms, preserving exceptionally fine examples of jousting challenges and chronicling deeds of chivalry. It was no accident that at least two of the eyewitness accounts of the battle of Agincourt were drawn up by heralds. “Yours is a fair office,” the allegorical figure Dame Prudence declared in one of the popular literary debates regarding heralds written in about 1430, “for by your report men judge of worldly honour.”37
In times of war, heralds had a very important role to play. It was their responsibility to record for posterity the granting of knighthoods in the field, to note the arms and names of those who fought well and, more macabrely, to identify and record the dead; they were sometimes even required to judge who had won the victory. They were also expected to act as messengers between the warring parties, delivering defiances, demanding surrenders and requesting truces or safe-conducts.38 This duty had developed out of their original function of delivering jousting challenges, both nationally and internationally, often to hostile nations. Like knighthood, the possession of heraldic office was regarded as transcending national boundaries and allegiance, ensuring a herald diplomatic immunity and honourable treatment wherever he went in Europe.39
Every nobleman had his own herald, but by the fifteenth century a hierarchy had developed with the kings of arms at the top and pursuivants at the bottom. In England, the kings of arms were royal appointments and the realm was divided into four provinces. England itself had a northern and a southern province, presided over by Lancaster and Leicester kings of arms respectively; then there was also a king of arms for Ireland and for Aquitaine (Guyenne). Despite their names, all were based at court, and all were summoned to attend the king for the Agincourt campaign.40
The other essential profession represented in every major retinue was the medical one. The king himself took his personal physician, Master Nicholas Colnet, and twenty-three surgeons. There was an important distinction between the physician, who was at the top of the medical tree and responsible only for diagnosis and prescription, and the su
rgeon, who was less learned and more practical, carrying out operations, treating fractures and wounds and applying plasters and purges. Though there was much jostling for position between the two, they were united in their disdain for the barber-surgeons and unlicensed practitioners (usually women) whose ignorance, superstition and lack of skill they deplored. Nevertheless, women were practising as both physicians and surgeons. Westminster Abbey employed women in both capacities, even though it meant that they had to come within the precincts of the monastery and, inevitably, have close physical contact with the monks; they were well paid for their services, too, suggesting that they were effective.41
Most physicians were not only men but also university graduates who had studied for up to fourteen years to obtain a doctorate in medicine. For authority, they relied heavily on classical texts, such as those by Hippocrates and Galen, and for diagnosis, they looked mainly to the analysis of urine, whose colour was compared to a graduated chart that depicted every hue from white to red, including green. Nicholas Colnet was a fellow of Merton College, Oxford, who had entered royal service as a clerk and physician in 1411, but owed his advancement to Henry V. In August 1414, at the king’s personal request, Colnet was granted a papal dispensation allowing him to remain a cleric in minor orders, so that his medical services to Henry were not interrupted by ecclesiastical promotion or transfer. He was one of the first to sign an indenture for service on the Agincourt campaign, for which he was to receive the same rate of pay as a man-at-arms, 12d a day, and to bring with him three archers.42
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