Have you ever been inside a castle? we're going to help the wife and daughter of Robert Cluzeaux herding geese and ducks up to the castle today. The chatelaine has contracted the Cluzeaux farm to provide geese and ducks to the castle, and manage their keep. The geese are a noisy lot, honking and hissing, and look out for the little green puddles of half-digested grass. I stepped in one a minute ago and nearly lost my footing. I can't imagine how Giselle and Francine manage to maintain order just by waving their hands and flicking their willow switches now and then. All I seem to do is scatter the birds every which way. Which is why I am not really doing anything, just tagging along and trying to prevent stragglers.
Fort Nieulay may not be as impressive as a big castle like Caernarfon in Wales, but it certainly looks formidable: the stone walls are buttressed on the outside, and I'm told the fort can muster fifty-five cannon in time of war. The first thing that strikes me as we enter (and the ducks scatter yet again) is the scarcity of soldiers in evidence. I've been told previously that a castle like this can be defended quite effectively by a much smaller force than that needed to overpower it, and evidently it's true. Inside the stone walls of the keep roughly two thirds of the space is taken up by wooden construction, although the walls themselves are quite thick enough to enclose corridors wide enough for two armed men to walk abreast, and still at least eighteen inches thick at the arrow slits. (The picture is actually Castle Rising Castle in Norfolk, England, but it gives a fair idea)
I have to admit that I wasn't sure how this was going to work when we first set out: obviously, the castle doesn't have a duckpond within the keep, but the ducks and geese seem to be quite happy about being herded into the loft over the barn. Although she was quite nice about it, Giselle has suggested that I should make myself busy elsewhere until it's time to return to the farm, which is fine with me, as it gives me a chance to ask a few questions.
Roger Bateman, the sentry at the gate who let us pass is a taciturn fellow at first, but once I start asking about the practical details of his armour he opens up a little more. Chainmail isn't particularly heavy, but it can be a regular "nuisance" (not Roger's words) to keep clean, particularly in bad weather, and he recommends the wearing of a padded leather jerkin as additional protection. He is particularly proud to retell his own part in the battle of Azincourt (he pronounces it "Agincourt") a few years ago, in the October of 1415.
"I came over back in August of '15 when the King laid siege to Harfleur port. I don't remember as anybody said why we had to take Harfleur. Not for me to bother anyways. I get paid for fighting His Majesty's battles, and as long as I get paid, who cares? Well the town held strong until September but I don't suppose they was expecting a siege so His Majesty left a garrison to occupy the town, and we started the march north to Calais which was already English territory and we could spend the winter training and re-equipping. See, if you don't look after your armour, it en't going to look after you.
What we didn't know, but you'd be a fool not to guess at it, was the French had been mustering an army. They didn't like having King Henry leaving his English footprints all over French soil and claiming he was the rightful King of France, but it didn't exactly help them that Burgundy was ready to side with whoever looked stronger, and if they'd had the gold to buy mercenaries in, they would have declared their own state and told King Charles where he could plant his vines.
We'd had to detour south after the French blocked our route across the Somme river. We were tired, half of us were sick and we'd got as far as the village of Maisoncelles when the column was halted again. Turns out we'd practically walked into an ambush, and if it hadn't been that it was almost dark, who knows but we might have?
Well, the order was given for us to pitch camp. So after we stuck sharpened wooden palings in the ground, we pretty much flopped where we was. Too swynking tired even to care about the rain. Sentries was posted 'cos even in the sopping black night you didn't know what the Frenchies might get up to, and before first light, His Majesty King Henry sent word through the ranks to address us. He told us that the French way was to take our noblemen commanders prisoner to be ransomed, but us ordinary pongoes had better fight for our lives 'cos in all likelihood, the French wouldn't have any use for us.
I di'n't know when I came, but I learned since; the French for ransom money is franc-or; means "Gold for freedom" that does.
As a battlefield we wasn't too badly placed. 'Twixt us and the Frenchies was mostly ploughed fields and thick woods on both flanks, so we was formed up with men-at-arms four lines deep, and shoulder to shoulder, ready with pikes and halberds, and the woods were sort of like a funnel, narrowing down towards our lines.
For the first watch of the day or so, the Frenchies didn't move, so His Majesty had us move our lines forward a little, with the archers at the front moving the palings as they went. Dunno whose idea the palings was. I'd not seen 'em used afore, but they made sense once you saw 'em in the ground. Not something you'd really want to charge at if you could see a better way.
Well, once the archers were in the best position, they let loose and the French cavalry fell apart! My guess is some of those arrows must have come down on the horses flanks. The French armoured men had hard going to get across the boggy ground but they finally made it, and started hacking away at our front lines. We had to fall back some but with more men pressing forward from behind, and our lines trying to drive them back into the mud we finally got the better of them.
Late in the day, though, while we was still fighting, word got to His Majesty that our supply train was being attacked. Well I think he took that kind of hard, 'cos I heard after, he ordered all the French prisoners killed. But it just goes to show, it don't do to be a boil on the King's bum!
We was proud, that day. And since then, I learned this song from a jongleur that spent a few days in the town. I'll sing it for you, and for the glory of His Majesty, God bless 'im."
X:49
T:Agincourt Carol
C:Anonymous
O:English
M:3/4
L:1/4
Q:
P:AB
K:C
P:A
D | D2 | D E>D | D C/B,/D/C/ |
w:De-o gra-ci-as_ Ang-li-
A, z A, | C/D/ E>D | D E/G/ F/D/ | (3D/C/D/ E/B,/ ^C |
w:a Re-de___ pro___ victo------ri-
D2
w:a
P:B
|: D | F2 E | D A _B | A2 G | A z F |
w:Our King went forth_ to Nor-man-dy, with
D F>E | G F D/E/ | D>^C C/B,/ | D z F |
w:grace and_ might_ of_ chi--val--ry. There
E/F/ G A | F G/_B/ A/F/ | E/F/ G/D/ E | F z F |
w:God__ for him__ wrought_ marv---lous--ly where-
F E C | E/F/G/F/ E/F/ | D2 C | D z F/G/ |
w:fore_ Eng-land___ may_ call and cree. Deo_
G F/ A G/ | G/ A F E/ | G2 D | D2 D |
w:----gra--ci--as. De-o gra-
E F2 | F E/F/G/A/ | F/C/ F/ E D/ | F z E |
w:ci-as An-gli---------a Re-
G F/C/ E/F/ | D E2 | D>C C/B,/ | D2 :|
w:---de_ pro vic-to--ri--a.
Of course, centuries later, William Shakespeare put some of his most stirring words into the mouth of King Henry V.
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
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