As this grisly deed proceeded, Captains Fluellen and Gower discovered another. Some French troops fleeing the battlefield had come upon the English luggage, killed the boys guarding it and plundered the king’s tent.
‘It’s completely against the law of arms, look you,’ cried Fluellen.
Gower nodded. ‘The cowards haven’t left one boy alive, and they’ve nicked the king’s gear. No wonder he’s ordered the prisoners killed.’
As the captain spoke, the king himself approached with Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter and other nobles. They had some prisoners with them.
‘I was not angry since I came to France,’ said Henry, ‘till now.’ He gazed at the mutilated corpses of the luggage boys, then turned to his friends. ‘From this moment, we kill every Frenchman we find. We take no prisoners – flee or die are their only choices. Start with the prisoners here.’
‘My liege, the herald of the French is here again,’ said Exeter.
Gloucester looked at the dejected Montjoy. ‘His eyes are humbler than they used to be,’ he observed.
‘Now then, Montjoy,’ greeted Henry. ‘Come about that ransom, have you?’
The herald shook his head. ‘I seek permission to bury our dead,’ he said.
‘So soon?’ queried the king. ‘I don’t even know yet who’s won the day: there are still French horsemen galloping about the field.’
‘The day is yours,’ murmured Montjoy.
‘God’s doing then, not ours,’ said Henry. ‘Tell me, Herald, what’s the name of that castle over there?’
‘They call it Agincourt.’
‘Then this will be known as the field of Agincourt, fought on Crispin’s Day.’
Fluellen spoke up. ‘Your Majesty’s great-grandfather and great uncle, the Black Prince, fought a brave battle here in France, isn’t it?’
‘They did, Fluellen,’ agreed the king.
‘Yes, and Welsh soldiers played a gallant part, see, fighting in a garden where leeks grew, wearing leeks in their caps, so that the leek has become an honourable badge of the service.’ He smiled. ‘In fact I think you wear the leek yourself on Saint David’s Day.’
‘I do,’ confirmed Henry, ‘for I’m Welsh myself, y’know.’
Fluellen strutted away, glowing with pride.
‘Heralds,’ commanded the king, ‘go with my countryman, count the dead of both sides and let me have the tally.’
A soldier came by, whom the king recognised. It was Williams, who had challenged him last night while he was disguised.
‘Bring that fellow to me,’ he ordered Exeter.
‘Soldier,’ said Exeter, ‘the king wants a word with you.’
The man approached.
‘Why d’you have a glove in your cap?’ asked Henry.
‘Sire, I’ve vowed to fight its owner, if he’s alive.’
‘An Englishman?’
‘A swaggering loudmouth, your Majesty. If he claims his glove I’m going to batter him. Or, if I see my glove in his cap, I’ll knock it off, and the head with it.’
The king looked at him. ‘See you keep your vow, when you meet the fellow.’
‘I will, my liege,’ said the soldier.
‘Who’s your captain?’ asked Henry.
‘Captain Gower, sire.’
When Williams had gone, Henry called Fluellen to him and gave him Williams’s glove. ‘This belongs to an enemy of mine,’ he said. ‘Wear it in your cap, and if somebody claims it, you’ll know he’s not a friend and I want you to apprehend him.’
‘It’ll be an honour, your Majesty,’ said Fluellen.
‘Oh, and send Captain Gower to me.’
When the Welshman departed, Henry explained to Warwick and Gloucester what he’d done, and asked them to keep an eye on Fluellen. ‘That glove might earn him a thick ear,’ he chuckled. ‘It belongs to a short-tempered soldier, and I wouldn’t put it past Fluellen to overreact. Watch, and see nobody’s seriously hurt.’
Presently, Captain Gower approached. As luck would have it, Williams was with him. ‘I believe the king means to knight you, Captain,’ he murmured.
At that moment, Fluellen also appeared. Williams saw his glove in the Welshman’s cap.
‘That’s my glove!’ Williams cried. ‘So it was you last night, strutting and blowing. Take that!’ He hit Fluellen hard across the face with Henry’s glove.
‘If this is your glove,’ roared Fluellen, ‘then you’re the king’s enemy and a damned traitor, and I’ll arrest you if I don’t kill you first.’
Warwick and Gloucester hurried forward. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Warwick.
‘My lord of Warwick,’ gasped Fluellen, ‘it’s treason – this man’s an enemy of the king; and here is the king.’
Henry approached. ‘What is happening?’
‘My liege,’ gasped Fluellen, ‘this man’s a traitor and an enemy. He recognised the glove you gave me and struck me.’
‘It’s my glove,’ protested Williams. ‘Look – here’s the match. I gave it to the puffed-up braggart I met last night, and vowed to batter him if I saw it in his cap.’ He pointed to Fluellen. ‘This is he, and I’ve kept my vow.’
‘He’s lying, your Majesty,’ cried the Welshman. ‘He’s nothing but a low-down traitor. You gave me this glove – tell him.’
‘Give me your glove, soldier,’ commanded the king. ‘See – here’s the match, which you gave to me. It was I you vowed to strike.’
‘But…’ Williams shook his head. ‘You didn’t look like… You were disguised. I would never do anything to offend my king, your Majesty. Not knowingly. I can only beg you to pardon me.’
The king handed the soldier’s glove to Exeter. ‘Fill this with crowns,’ he said, ‘and give it to him.’ He looked at Williams. ‘Keep it, soldier, and wear it for an honour in your cap.’
A herald now approached. Henry turned to him. ‘Are the dead counted?’
‘Yes, my liege. This paper gives the tally of French dead.’ He gave the king the slip of paper. Henry looked at Exeter. ‘Which French nobles have we as prisoners, Uncle?’
‘Charles, Duke of Orleans,’ said Exeter. ‘John, Duke of Bourbon and Lord Bouciqualt. Also fifteen hundred other lords and barons, knights and squires. And that’s not counting the common men.’
Henry shook his head in amazement. ‘This note says the French lost ten thousand men, of whom only sixteen hundred were peasants. That means they’ve lost eight thousand four hundred princes, barons, lords, knights, squires and gentlemen of blood and quality. It’s beyond belief.’ He looked at the herald. ‘Do you have the tally of our English dead?’
‘Right here, your Majesty.’ He handed the king another paper.
‘Edward Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Kikely, Davy Gam Esquire.’ Henry looked up. ‘No others by name, and only twenty-five common soldiers.’
The difference in numbers of the French and English dead made Henry’s victory even more stunning than it had seemed before. He was elated, but declined to claim any credit for himself. God, he said, had brought about this miraculous outcome.
Act Five
Imagine now the aftermath of battle:
The ruined grains and vines, the wasted cattle
All through France. And see how Henry and his bride
Spread healing peace across the countryside.
So may all warring men lay down their blades,
And wander arm in arm through sunlit glades.
Cheering crowds thronged the sands and quaysides as Henry’s victorious army returned to England. More crowds lined the king’s route from the coast to London. At Blackheath, Henry’s lords urged him to display his bent sword and battered helmet before the ecstatic citizens, but he declined on grounds of modesty – the triumph at Agincourt had not been his own, but God’s.
Everywhere they went, the king’s soldiers were acclaimed as conquering heroes. As Henry had predicted on the eve of battle, thousands of men regretted not having been at Agincourt, and havin
g no claim to a share in the glory.
As for the king, soon enough he was obliged to set sail again for France, to negotiate a settlement with the French king and his court.
At the English camp in France, Fluellen and Gower were having a conversation about the Welshman’s favourite topic – leeks.
‘Why are you wearing your leek today, Fluellen?’ asked Gower. ‘Saint David’s Day is past.’
‘I’m wearing it today,’ replied Fluellen, ‘because yesterday I meets that criminal waste of space, Pistol, and he’s got bread and salt with him, see? And he tells me to eat my leek. Eat your leek, boyo, he says. And this is at a place where I can’t kick his backside for him, nor twist his ear off, so I’m wearing my leek till we meets at a suitable spot, and there we’ll see who eats what, isn’t it?’
As the Welshman spoke, Pistol came into view.
‘Talk of the devil,’ cried Gower. ‘And here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.’
Fluellen snorted. ‘I doesn’t give a stuff for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks, neither. God bless you, Pistol, you scurvy, lousy knave – God bless you.’
‘Looking for bovver are you, you Welsh git?’ enquired Pistol. ‘Bring it on if you fink you’re hard enough, or else get lost – stink of leeks makes me want to puke.’
Fluellen plucked the leek from his cap. ‘Makes you want to puke, isn’t it? Then look you, I’m going to make you eat it.’
Pistol shook his head. ‘No way, sunshine.’
Fluellen gave the villain a slap. ‘Now will you eat?’
‘You’re dead, Welshman,’ hissed Pistol. ‘You’re toast.’
‘I’ll be dead one day,’ agreed Fluellen, ‘as will we all. Meanwhile, here’s your dinner, and here’s a sauce to improve your appetite.’ He punched Pistol in the mouth.
‘That’s enough,’ growled Gower. ‘You’ve made your point, Fluellen.’
‘No.’ The Welshman shook his head. ‘He’ll eat the leek, or I’ll know the reason why.’ He advanced on Pistol. ‘Going to eat it, are you, or d’you want more sauce to help it down?’
Pistol was a coward, the sauce was not to his liking. He started to nibble the leek, and Fluellen stood over him till he’d eaten every shred.
‘I’ll have my revenge,’ he vowed.
Gower shook his head. ‘No, you won’t, Pistol, you’re all wind and wee-wee. But next time you hear a Welsh accent, you might not be quite so quick with the put-downs.’
Pistol slunk away with his onion breath, to resume his career as a sneak thief, and to claim that the bruises he’d had from Fluellen were wounds received at Agincourt.
As Pistol departed the English camp, King Henry and his nobles arrived at the palace of the King of France. Henry spoke cordial greetings to the king and queen, the king’s sister Katherine and the French nobles.
‘We are happy to see your face, brother England,’ said the king, ‘and your entourage is most welcome also.’
The queen nodded agreement. ‘May this meeting have a peaceful outcome,’ she said. ‘May your Majesty’s eyes, lately filled with such hostility towards our people, look on us now with love.’
‘We’re here to say amen to that,’ said Henry.
The Duke of Burgundy looked at both kings. ‘It was no easy task for me,’ he said, ‘to bring the two of you together like this, face to face. I hope that now we can begin to move on, so that the long untended fields of France might be set in order, her ravaged crops replanted, her tangled vines pruned and her neglected meadows scythed. In short, it is my hope that peace might prevail, so that the young men of France may give up soldiering and relearn the skills that once kept our land productive.’
King Henry looked at the speaker. ‘If you want this peace, Duke of Burgundy, you must buy it by meeting all our demands, as set out in the paper you have been given.’
Burgundy nodded. ‘The king’s aware of your demands, but hasn’t decided yet.’
‘Well then,’ retorted Henry, ‘the peace you wish for is in his hands.’
‘I’ve only skimmed them,’ said the French king. ‘I need to discuss them point by point with your representatives before I respond.’
‘Fine,’ agreed Henry. ‘My uncle Exeter, together with Clarence, Gloucester, Warwick and Huntingdon will go over our demands with you.’ He turned to the French queen. ‘Will you go, too?’
Queen Isabella nodded. ‘It might be as well that a woman’s eye look things over.’
‘Leave my cousin Katherine here with me,’ said Henry. ‘She’s number one on my wish list.’
‘She has my permission to stay,’ said Isabella coolly, turning to follow her husband out of the room.
King Henry was now alone with Princess Katherine and Alice, her maid. He smiled at the princess. ‘Will you teach this rough soldier some words of love, so that he may have the chance to win your heart?’
Katherine pouted. ‘You are laughing at me, for the England I cannot speak.’
‘Just tell me you like me,’ pleaded Henry, ‘and I won’t care how the words come out.’
‘What this means – like me?’ asked the princess.
‘An angel is like you, Katherine,’ smiled the king, ‘and you are like an angel.’
Katherine frowned. ‘Que dit-il? That I is like the angel?’
The maid nodded. ‘Oui, that is what he said.’
‘I said it,’ confirmed Henry, ‘and I meant it.’
‘O, bon Dieu!’ gasped the princess, ‘les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.’
The king looked at Alice. ‘Did she just say men talk a lot of crap?’
The maid nodded. ‘Oui – that the mans talks deceit. I don’t know what is crap.’
Henry laughed. ‘She speaks English better than I do.’ He gazed at Katherine. ‘Oh look – just tell me you understand that I love you, and say you love me. If you ask more French of me than that, you’ll think yourself courted by a clodhopper who sold his farm and bought a crown.’
The princess nodded. ‘I understand, but…’
‘What?’
‘Is it possible for me to love the enemy of France?’
The king shook his head. ‘No, Kate, it is not possible for you to love the enemy of France, but in loving me you will love the friend of France.’ He smiled. ‘I love France so much, I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine. And Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.’
The Princess looked bewildered. ‘I … cannot this follow.’
Henry pulled a face. ‘I suppose I’d better try it in French then, God help us both. Er … Je quand sur le possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi …. uh, donc votre est France et vous etes mienne.’ He shook his head and sighed. ‘I’m never going to move you in French, Kate, except to laugh at me.’
Katherine shrugged. ‘Your French is as good as my English, I think.’
‘You may be right,’ conceded Henry, ‘but do you love me?’
‘This I cannot tell,’ murmured the princess.
‘Well, look,’ suggested Henry, ‘when you’re alone with Alice in your chamber, ask her what she thinks of me. Ask your friends, too, and your family.’ He smiled. ‘For myself, I can’t help believing that with the help of Saint Denis and Saint George, you and I will produce a warrior son, half French, half English, who will one day march on Constantinople and sieze the Turk by the beard.’
The pair continued to joust with lances of broken language till the French king returned with the English lords. He had agreed to all of Henry’s demands, including Princess Katherine’s hand in marriage.
‘Take her, fair son,’ he said, ‘and from her blood raise up issue to me; that the contending kingdoms of France and England may cease their hatred; and never war advance his bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France.’
‘Amen to that,’ intoned the assembled lords, and Henry, King of England and of France, sealed the pact with a kiss on the lips of hi
s future Queen.
About the Author
The play contains some of the most familiar lines in the English language. What Briton does not recognise these words, spoken by King Henry before the battle of Harfleur:
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once
more; or close the wall up with our English dead.
Or these, on the field of Agincourt:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. … gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold thier manhood cheap while any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s Day.
‘Marvellous stuff,’ my English tutor at college used to say. I couldn’t see it then, not really, but then I wasn’t a writer, hadn’t known the frustration of searching for exactly the right words with which to express a complex emotion, and falling short every time. Every time.
Will Shakespeare never fell short. That was his genius, and that’s why his words have resonated across the centuries, and will continue to do so.
It’s why my name sharing a page with his is more honour than I could possibly earn.
First published 2010 by
A & C Black Publishers Ltd
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY
www.acblack.com
Text copyright © 2010 Robert Swindells
Illustrations copyright © 2010 Mark Oldfield
The rights of Robert Swindells and Mark Oldfield to be identified as author and illustrator of this work respectively have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-40812-396-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-40815-341-3
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means – graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems – without the prior permission in writing of the publishers.
Henry V Page 4
