Evidently hoping that this success would have broken the spirit of the French, Henry sent a herald into Harfleur the next morning, 17 September, with a safe-conduct for de Gaucourt and a group of representatives of the town council, so that they could come into the English camp to discuss terms. Henry was at his most charming and persuasive: he greeted them in person and advised them, in his kindliest manner, to surrender the town. He reminded them that Harfleur was part of the duchy of Normandy, which had belonged to the English crown by right since ancient times, and of the fate that would befall them if they continued to resist him. De Gaucourt was exhausted, half-starved, suffering from dysentery himself and staring death in the face, but he still had his pride and his sense of duty. He refused to surrender. Defiantly, he informed Henry that he had not received his office as captain of the town from him and did not recognise his authority: he knew that the king of France would not allow the siege of Harfleur to continue much longer and that any day he would arrive at the head of his army to drive the English away.37
It is impossible to know whether de Gaucourt believed these proud words himself. He may have had a blindly optimistic faith that his king would not allow such an important place as Harfleur to fall without striking a blow in its defence. On the other hand, a man of his military experience must have known that, in tactical terms, it was probably better to allow Harfleur to fall and recapture it after the English had left, rather than risk everything on the unpredictable outcome of a pitched battle.
Cut off from the outside world by the besieging armies, it must have been difficult for de Gaucourt to get any intelligence, let alone up to date information, about what efforts were being made on his behalf. Constable d’Albret and Marshal Boucicaut had now, apparently, united their forces at Rouen. There they had spent huge sumspurchasing a small boat, filling it with food and other necessaries and entrusting it to one Jehan Lescot, a local mariner, with instructions that he should take it to the relief of Harfleur. Astonishingly, Lescot (who may have been a pirate and was highly paid for his services) succeeded in getting through the English blockade not once, but twice, for de Gaucourt later arranged for him to escape in secret from the town, so that he could report back to d’Albret on conditions there. D’Albret also sent Robin de Hellande, the bailli of Rouen, to Paris, entrusted with verbal messages to the king, dauphin and council “touching the descent and arrival of the English and the provisions that ought to be made against them, for the salvation of the said town of Harfleur and of the countryside around it.”38
De Gaucourt may also have been aware that in addition to d’Albret and Boucicaut, some of the local nobility—among them the young seneschal of Hainault, who had once been so eager to test his valour against Englishmen in jousting challenges—had raised their own troops to resist the English. Frustrated by the failure of any officially organised resistance, they had determined to take matters into their own hands, continually harrying the English troops, especially those camped with Clarence before the Rouen gate, and attacking any small groups of Englishmen they found scouting or foraging away from the army. One force of some five hundred or six hundred local knights, led by the sire de Lille Adam and Jacques de Brimeu, decided to make a grand gesture. The plan was that a small party would ride within sight of the enemy camp so that the English would raise the alarm and then give chase on horseback, leaving their archers behind. When they had been drawn sufficiently far away from the main army, they would be ambushed and slaughtered by de Lille Adam and de Brimeu. Unfortunately for the French, de Lille Adam made his move too early and was seen by the English men-at-arms. Realising it was a trap, they immediately abandoned the chase and returned to the safety of their camp. The disaster was compounded by the capture of both de Lille Adam and Brimeu.39
While the local nobility did what they could to resist and harry the English invaders, the princes of the blood royal seemed incapable of decisive action. It was not until 28 August, a week and a half after the siege of Harfleur had begun, that the king’s council at last issued the general call to arms in defence of the country, which it was the duty of every man capable of bearing weapons to obey. The king’s letters authorising the proclamation of the summons in every town and at every public meeting were sent out to the baillis and seneschals of each district with instructions that the muster should take place at Rouen. Letters were also sent directly to towns such as Verdun, Tournai and Amiens, which had their own city militias, ordering them to send assistance to Harfleur. Fifty crossbowmen did indeed belatedly leave Tournai on 17 September, but they did not get as far as Harfleur and returned home two months later, never having encountered the English at all. On 1 September embassies were sent to both Charles d’Orléans and John the Fearless, duke of Burgundy, requesting them to send five hundred men-at-arms each. It was a measure of how deep the rift between them remained, despite the peace that had been celebrated only a few months previously, that both dukes were asked not to come in person with their troops.40
On 1 September the dauphin set out with his household from Paris, arriving a couple of days later at Vernon, just over halfway to Rouen, where he remained for the rest of the month. Charles VI himself was not capable of leading his army into war, but on 10 September he made a personal pilgrimage to the great royal abbey of St Denis and there collected the sacred oriflamme from the high altar. It was then entrusted to Guillaume Martel, sire de Bacqueville, who took the customary oath as its bearer, before setting off to join the king’s army gathering at Rouen. A citizen of Paris was sufficiently stirred by these events to note the preparations and departures in his journal. It was perhaps indicative of the general mood in Paris that it was not the plight of his fellows in far-off Harfleur which stirred his indignation, but the tax imposed to finance the campaign. It was, he complained, the heaviest ever seen.41
As the situation in Harfleur became increasingly desperate, de Gaucourt sent message after message to the dauphin, pleading for assistance. “Your humble subjects, so closely besieged and reduced to great distress by the English, beg your highness that you will make haste to send them help to raise the siege, so that they are not compelled to surrender this most renowned and valuable port and thus bring shame on the majesty of the king.” The dauphin was either embarrassed by these pleas, or simply indifferent to them, for the messengers found it almost impossible to gain admittance to his presence. When they did, they were fobbed off with assurances that “our father the king will deal with these things at an opportune moment.” All they could do was report back that a vast army, forty thousand strong, it was claimed, was gathering at Rouen.42 What they could not do was say whether it would arrive in time to save the courageous defenders of Harfleur, or merely to avenge them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“OUR TOWN OF HARFLEUR”
Raoul de Gaucourt’s defiant refusal to surrender Harfleur merely hardened Henry V’s resolve. In the words of the chaplain, he decided “to proceed to sterner measures against this stiff-necked people whom neither persuasive kindliness nor destructive harshness could make more amenable.” That very evening, Henry sent his trumpeters throughout the camp to proclaim that the final assault would begin the next morning and that every sailor in the fleet, as well as every soldier in the army, should make his preparations. At the same time, he ordered an even heavier bombardment than usual, to prevent the French from sleeping and make them easier to defeat the following day.1
This prompt reaction to the rejection of the king’s terms finally brought Harfleur to its knees. De Gaucourt, d’Estouteville and the military contingent may not have wished to surrender, but the citizens could not take any more. Terrified at the prospect of the town being taken by force, with all the terrible reprisals authorised by Deuteronomy, the town council determined to offer a conditional surrender. Before dawn broke on Wednesday 18 September, the day for which the final assault had been planned, a group of fourteen burgesses carried a message to the duke of Clarence, offering to render the town into his hands
if they had received no aid from their king by Sunday 22 September.2
There is something of a mystery about this surrender. The English chaplain, who was an eyewitness, merely noted that the besieged entered into negotiations with the king, and does not mention the role of the duke of Clarence or the burgesses. Thomas Walsingham, the author of the St Albans Chronicle, written in the early 1420s, describes the offer being made to Clarence, but attributes it to a single herald commissioned by de Gaucourt and the other lords in the garrison. The monk of St Denis, writing between 1415 and 1422, ascribes the agreement of terms entirely to the intervention of the duke of Clarence.3 But why should the offer to capitulate have been made to Clarence, when the king himself was present at the siege and he alone could authorise the cessation of the fighting? The monk hinted that it may have been because Clarence was perceived as a more sympathetic figure: it was widely known in France that he had favoured the Armagnac cause during his father’s lifetime. But in fact there was probably a very different explanation. Several French sources imply that treachery was at work. The chronicler of Ruisseauville, near Agincourt, reported that “it was commonly said that Clignet de Brabant [an Armagnac leader and sometime admiral of France] and the sire de Gaucourt with the constable of France had sold it.” This can be dismissed as malicious gossip, like the rumours that Charles d’Albret had treasonably entered into an agreement with Henry V not to resist the English landing.4 But the monk of St Denis had learnt, from de Gaucourt and d’Estouteville, that the English actually began their 18 September assault “on the south side” and that the besieged resisted them bravely for three full hours, until those “on the other side” of the town opened the gate to the enemy. If this version of events is true, it would explain why the offer to surrender was made to Clarence, instead of to Henry himself, as would have been more appropriate and usual. The gate “on the south side,” where the assault was launched, was the Leure gate, where both de Gaucourt and Henry himself were based. The gate “on the other side,” from which the delegation issued to offer terms, was the Rouen gate, where Clarence was in command. The fact that the assault “on the south side” continued for three hours could therefore be explained by the length of time it must have taken to get the message to Clarence and from him to the king.5
Additional support for this interpretation of events comes from the letter that the king himself wrote to the mayor and aldermen of London on the day of the formal handing over of Harfleur.
. . . it was our full purpose to make assault upon the town on Wednesday the 18th day of this month of September; but those within the town had perceived it, and made great instance, with means which they had not employed theretofore, to have conference with us. And to avoid the effusion of human blood on the one side and on the other, we inclined to their offer, and thereupon we made answer unto them, and sent to them the last conclusion of our will; to the which they agreed, and for the same we do render thanks unto God, for we thought that they would not have so readily assented to the said conclusion. And on the same Wednesday there came by our command out of the said town the Sieurs de Gaucourt, d’Estouteville, Hankevile [that is, de Hacqueville], and other lords and knights, who had the governance of the town, and delivered hostages; and all those . . . were sworn upon the body of Our Saviour that they would make unto us full deliverance of our said town . . .6
The very fact that the king commanded de Gaucourt to come out of the town suggests that the latter had not initiated the submission. Indeed, it seems likely that he had no prior knowledge of the burgesses’ intention to surrender, despite being captain of the town, and therefore the one who should ultimately have been responsible for making the decision. Nevertheless, treachery is perhaps too strong a term to describe the action of the civilian population. They had fought long and bravely, and endured great hardship for almost five weeks; they had lost their houses, their livelihoods and, in many cases, their lives. They had no wish to see their wives and daughters raped or their menfolk murdered by a horde of Englishmen salivating at the thought of plunder. Unlike de Gaucourt and the rest of the military garrison, they were not accustomed to putting their lives on the line, and they did not have to pay lip-service to romantic chivalric notions of glory and honour. There was nothing to say that they, too, had a duty to fight to the death.
Even if de Gaucourt had wanted to fight on to the bitter end, the town council’s decision to surrender forced his hand. He could not continue to hold Harfleur if he did not have the support of those within its walls. He had lost as many as a third of his own men; those who remained were exhausted, famished and sick.7 Henry had made it clear from the outset that he regarded the defenders of Harfleur as rebels against his authority, rather than loyal subjects of another country resisting a foreign invasion. Like the Burgundian captain of Soissons, Enguerrand de Bournonville, who had been executed by their own Armagnac forces the previous year, they could expect no mercy:8 the laws of war authorised them to be treated as traitors, and their lives and everything they owned would automatically be forfeit. Knowing all this, de Gaucourt had to weigh in the balance the damage to his personal reputation and the possibility that he and the other military leaders faced the gallows against the universal bloodbath that would be the inevitable consequence of further futile resistance. However unwillingly, de Gaucourt decided to submit.
With d’Estouteville and Guillaume de Léon, sire de Hacqueville, de Gaucourt entered into negotiations with the king’s representatives, agreeing to terms which, after a fashion, allowed him to salvage something of his honour. There was to be a truce on both sides until one o’clock on Sunday 22 September. Harfleur was to be allowed to send one last request for help to the king or the dauphin, but if the appointed time had elapsed without either of them coming to lift the siege by force of arms, then the town, its people and all their possessions would be unconditionally surrendered to the king’s mercy. In that event, at least the burden of responsibility for the surrender would not fall entirely on de Gaucourt’s shoulders.
Later that same day a solemn procession made its way to the foot of the walls. At its head was Benedict Nicholls, bishop of Bangor in Wales, who was carrying the Eucharist, accompanied by all the royal chaplains, including our chronicler, wearing their ecclesiastical robes. The earl of Dorset, Lord Fitzhugh and Sir Thomas Erpingham followed, carrying the indentures in which the terms were set out. As they reached the foot of the walls, the bishop cried out, “Fear not! The king of England has not come to lay waste to your lands. We are good Christians and Harfleur is not Soissons!” As Henry had commanded, the representatives of the town and garrison, led by de Gaucourt, then emerged, and both parties swore on the Eucharist to observe the articles of the agreement and signed the indentures. Twenty-four French hostages “from the more noble and important among them,” including d’Estouteville, were handed over as pledges and a safe-conduct was given to the sire de Hacqueville, and twelve of his entourage, to allow them to go to seek help for Harfleur. The king absented himself from all these proceedings and did not even appear when the hostages were brought to his tent, though he allowed them to dine there and ordered that they were to be treated honourably until de Hacqueville returned.9
For the next few days an eerie silence reigned over Harfleur; the deadly hail of missiles had ceased, the cannon were silent, the catapults still. Even now, however, there could be no real relaxation for de Gaucourt and his men. According to the terms of the truce, they could not fight and they could not repair their shattered fortifications, but they had to prepare themselves for the possibility of further military action. They may have tried to snatch some rest, but how could they sleep when their fate stood on a knife’s edge? Would the blood-red oriflamme suddenly appear on the horizon, heralding the approach of a relieving army? Would there be battle? Or would they have to face the shame of surrender, imprisonment in a foreign country, even execution?
The man who carried all the hopes of Harfleur with him made his way as swiftly as he coul
d to Vernon, where the dauphin was still in residence. There de Haccqueville made an emotional plea for aid, with the added poignancy that, this time, there was no doubt as to the fate that awaited Harfleur. The dauphin’s response was brief and to the point. The king’s army was not yet fully assembled and it was not ready to give such help so quickly. And so de Hacqueville had to return, empty-handed and with a heavy heart, to tell de Gaucourt that his mission had failed and that the gallant defence of Harfleur had all been in vain.10
The sense of shock and shame that the surrender of Harfleur to the English inspired throughout France was so great that those who knew nothing of the circumstances were quick to blame and condemn de Gaucourt and his men for their failure to preserve the town. Only the monk of St Denis sprang to their defence, with an impassioned and sympathetic paean of praise. It ought to be remembered how often they repeatedly made daring sorties against the enemy, and how with their utmost strength they drove back every attempt to gain entry into the town through underground mines dug out in secret. Without any doubt, these men were worthy of the highest praise for their endurance of every adversity: even as the roofs of the buildings were crashing in around them, they remained continuously in arms, sustained by the most meagre rations and spending their nights without sleep, so that they were prepared to repel any sudden assaults.11
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