Crécy

by Griff Hosker

  “And if you are wrong, Captain, and the French are coming from a different direction?”

  I smiled, “Then I will be the one in trouble. Do not worry, Walter, I know the consequences of my actions.”

  After he had left us Michael said, “He is right, Captain, you risk the wrath of the Prince and the King both!”

  “I am Captain and I must make those judgements. If I am wrong, then the Prince will not use me again. I might even be dismissed.” I grinned, “I do not think I am wrong!”

  That night I placed two men at the edge of the woods as watchers. They were there to watch for any who had spied us but also to assess the defences at night. The fact that they kept a good watch at night told me much.

  My men arrived the next day at roughly the same time as the French hobelars trotted through the gates of Saint-Omer. As I counted the two hundred or so horsemen I wondered if this was the vanguard of the French army or just men to rid the woods of us. Leaving Walter and Job to watch them I joined my men back at our camp. Ned and Robin rode in with our gear. I donned my mail as it was easier to wear it than to carry it on a horse.

  “Is this the French army, Captain?”

  “I think so, Robin, but until I see knights, I will reserve judgement. They have sent hobelars and that means we have to be wary. Hobelars were useful men to have if you were hunting archers!” We had to assume that we might be at the camp for some time and so my archers organised it while I went with Ned and Jack to rejoin the others watching the gate.

  “Any more arrivals, Walter?”

  “Not warriors, Captain, but there were wagons and they were laden. They were escorted by spearmen and a company of crossbowmen.”

  It was increasingly likely that this was the French army. I remembered that, before Crécy, the French army had been strung out over eight miles. If that was true here, then we would have to wait until the middle of the afternoon to discover if this was the French army. We were watching the main gate to the south and we knew that there was a gate at the northern end and one on the western wall. We were almost caught out, but I had Michael with us, and he had sharper ears and eyes than us.

  “Captain, I hear horses and they are coming from the north.”

  In theory that could have meant English horsemen, but I knew that King Edward would send none until he heard from us. It had to be the hobelars. “Back to the camp and have the men stand to. I think that the French know we are here and the hobelars are coming to rid the woods of us.” When we reached the camp, our sudden arrival alerted the men, “Stand to! Get your bows. I want horse holders with the animals. There may be French horsemen coming. Be prepared to mount and ride on my command.” Turning to Michael I said, “Mount your horse and hold Megs as well as Ned and Jack’s horse.”

  He had done this so many times that it almost felt foolish to give him the order. I strung my bow and nocked a war arrow. I could hear the horses now as they came through the woods. Our camp was in a clearing, but we would not have a clear line of sight. This would be as much a test of my archer’s reactions as anything. One thing in our favour was that we had been coming here for almost a month and we knew the woods as well as any. Men found good places to stand where they had cover and as clear a line of sight as possible.

  It was Robin who spotted the first hobelar. Riding small horses and with their leather jerkins, spears and round shields the horsemen could move quickly and change direction at will but Robin allowed for the jinking of the small horse and his arrow slammed into the hobelar’s chest. It was first blood to us. Suddenly, the woods seemed to be full of the horsemen. My archers were good but the hobelars were coming from every direction. I sent an arrow into the shoulder of one Frenchman at a range of under ten paces so quickly did he appear. The power of the bow and the arrowhead knocked him from his saddle and, as he hit the ground, his neck was broken. I nocked and released another arrow which struck a hobelar in the side just as he was about to skewer Job. He dropped his spear and Job whipped the end of his bow around to tear across the Frenchman’s face. We were winning the skirmish, but I saw at least three of my archers speared. They would not survive.

  Then Michael shouted, “Behind you, Captain!” I turned and released the nocked arrow at the three-quarter draw. Even as the hobelar’s spear struck me my arrow hit him in the shoulder and that, I believe, saved my life. Balin’s mail helped but the spear dropped to the ground and I reached out my left hand and dragged the hobelar to crash at my feet, his horse racing off into the woods. I took an arrow and rammed it through his mouth. I pulled it out and nocked it, aware that the spearhead had penetrated one or two of the mail links and my aketon to prick my side. I sent the arrow, which had already killed one man into the back of another as the hobelars fled the woods.

  I turned and saw a badly wounded hobelar; he had an arrow in his shoulder and what looked like a broken leg from the fall. His days as a soldier were over!

  I went to him, “Where is your King’s army, Frenchman?”

  I had nothing to threaten him with, but I hoped that by using the word Frenchman in such a derogatory way he would be insulted enough to answer me with a curse. He obliged, “He is close you God-Damn! And he brings more than twenty thousand men to drive you and your men back into the sea.”

  I nodded and, taking my sword cut a branch from a nearby tree and threw it to him, “You might try to make this into a splint!”

  “You will rot in hell you son of a whore!”

  Ignoring the insult, I turned and looked around. We had lost few men and we could escape. “See to the wounded. Collect the weapons. Michael!” Michael rode over with Megs and I mounted, “Thank you for the warning. Come let us see where they go!” I hung my bow from the hook I had made for Megs from a crossbowman’s spanning hook. “Ned take charge and when all is done bring the men to the edge of the wood, mounted and ready to ride home!” I drew my sword as we rode, following the fleeing hobelars. One, who was wounded already, fell as we neared the edge and his head, slamming into the bole of the tree, ended his life. We reined in and I saw the walls of the town lined with men. They had been reinforced and, as we looked, I saw banners and horsemen approaching. It was the French army.

  The road before us would lead to Calais. Of course, we would have to ride through French land but that did not matter. Our patrols had shown us that there were few dangers on the road. That would now change. Ned and my men began to arrive. The dead archers were slung over the horses. We would bury them where the French could not despoil them.

  “Ned, you and Michael lead the men towards Calais. Robin and I will be the rearguard.”

  The French knights and men at arms were two hundred paces from us as Ned and Michael led my men, like a flock of startled birds, from the trees and down the road. On the walls there was a shout of alarm and men began to load their crossbows. The French men at arms urged their horses to get at us. We were their avowed enemy, we were archers.

  As Walter rode past me, he shouted, “I am the last!” and Robin and I rode along the road following the rest of my men. I saw that Robin held a hobelar spear in his hand. I should have thought of that too. I was riding on the left side of Robin when the crossbow bolt struck my shoulder. Once again it was Balin’s mail which saved me from injury. The other bolts either missed or dropped short. The men at arms rode for, perhaps two miles and then stopped. We slowed and, when the others saw that we had slowed, then they did too. We kept up a steady pace all the way to Calais, but we did not push our horses. Leaving Michael to see to a very tired Megs I hurried to the house the King and his son were using as a headquarters.

  The sentries outside recognised me, and I was admitted, “Well?”

  “King Philip is at Saint-Omer, Your Majesty, and he has twenty thousand men.”

  Prince Edward nodded, “And we have more than thirty!”

  “You have done well, Hawkwood.” I was then ignored as the King turned to his son, “Have a rider fetch the Flemish and then ask Sir John Chandos to b
egin building ramparts and ditches. It will take a few days for King Philip to reach us, let us give him a warm welcome. We might kill two birds with one stone here. Defeat Philip and take Calais.”

  I left and headed back to my men. The armour had saved me, but it had been damaged and I paid the weaponsmith at the camp to replace the damaged links. It was not an expensive repair and I thought it was worth it. While I was without it, just a day, I made myself a surcoat to keep it covered. I was becoming used to my mail but I wished to keep it cleaner and so I managed to acquire some white material and, as I stood a watch, I sewed a plain white surcoat. I liked the effect and it meant it was harder for my enemies to detect that I wore mail.

  The next day we were given the task of building a ditch close to the southwestern corner of our siege works. The soil was soft, and it was easy to dig the earth and pile it up behind us. By the end of the day, we had a ditch as deep as a man and a rampart which was four feet high. The next morning, we flattened the soil on the defended side of the rampart so that we had a solid fighting platform from which to loose our arrows. The French army took seven days to reach our position and that surprised me; I would have expected them to be speedier. By then we had a veritable fort outside our siege works. The French King rode with his senior lords to view our defences. He did not like what he saw for there was no attack for a day or two.

  The French approached our ditches at the end of July, and I could see that they intended to probe us. King Philip had lost to us too many times to be bold. Caution was his new watchword and the wild charge of Crécy was a distant memory. I also saw that he was using mercenaries for his attack perhaps because he had lost so many of his nobles. He chose to attack the section of the defences which we defended. There were just five hundred men at arms spread along that part of the line and four hundred archers. The bulk of our archers were closer to the main gate. The French King used just five thousand men for his probe; we had time to count them as they approached. Two thousand were the Genoese crossbowmen again but this time they had their pavise with them. There were also mercenaries, men at arms. I recognised Swabian swordsmen as well as Italian and German men at arms. We had slain so many of his nobles that he had to hire elite warriors. These men would fight hard for their reputation lay in winning. If they lost and they were not dead, then they would never be hired again.

  Sir Richard Elfingham, now Baron Elfingham, commanded the men at arms. He had done well in Gascony and was a trusted warrior. I was quite happy for him to command me. We had Captain Jack of Nottingham commanding our archers and I liked him too. All things considered, I was quite happy. I should not have been, but this was the first time I had fought against a completely mercenary force. I learned that they were not as reckless as a national army. The French knights at Crécy had been foolish when they attacked and not planned well. They had come in wave after wave. The Scots at Durham had been similarly affected by the red cross of St George and it had blinded them. They could have defeated us, but they were not well-led. These mercenaries were. I saw that they fought under a yellow banner with red chevrons. I did not recognise it. Their leader had a bascinet with a visor so I could not see his face. Many of the mercenaries wore that type of helmet. The Genoese had the kettle helmet.

  The Genoese carried their crossbows on their backs and held their man-sized pavise before them. We did not waste arrows as they approached our lines. Behind them marched the men at arms. Although they had smaller shields than the Genoese, they had plate and mail armour. We could have hit them but the shorter the range the better the chance of stopping them. The crossbowmen stopped two hundred paces from us. We had the earth rampart before us and that would absorb many bolts. Indeed, it was so high that Robin Goodfellow could not even be seen from the other side. I wore my bascinet and my coif as well as my mail. It was possible that I could be hit but the Genoese who managed it would need to be incredibly accurate and hit my face. The Genoese set up their pavise and, effectively, disappeared as they used their spanning hooks to prepare their weapon.

  “Draw!” We all pulled to a half draw.

  The crossbowmen would need to either use their knee to steady their weapon or, more likely, rest the crossbow on the top of the pavise. As soon as they did so then we would have a target.

  “Loose when you see a target!” Captain Jack trusted us.

  I aimed at the nearest pavise and I began to draw back slowly to the full draw. Fighting crossbows behind a pavise was all about timing. When we had stayed in Hartburn with Captain Philip he had given Robin and I tips on how to fight against them. I had a bodkin arrow nocked and I saw the kettle helmet rise. I loosed a heartbeat before the crossbow came over the top. I nocked a second arrow, but this duel would be won by the more patient. I was fortunate for the arrow hit the crossbow close to where he held it and the metal there deflected it into his skull. The bodkin went directly through. As he fell forward his pavise collapsed. I drew my second and joined the others as we sent arrow after arrow at the Genoese. As at Crécy, our superior rate of release won the battle and also the fact that we knew exactly when they were going to release their bolts. We saw their crossbows rise. It is very hard to concentrate when you see the bodkin tipped shaft hurtling towards you. Archers did die but more crossbowmen fell.

  The mercenary leader ordered the surviving Genoese forward and, surprisingly, they obeyed. The reasoning behind the order was clear. The men at arms were going to advance and close with us. They wanted to have to endure our arrows for as short a time as possible. Our own men at arms were fewer in number; if they could break through our barrier then the French army could exploit it and, perhaps relieve the siege.

  Captain Jack shouted, “Choose your targets! We are better than these infernal machines for we are English archers!”

  I chose a war arrow for the range would soon be close enough for me to aim at the nose, eye, any flesh, in fact, which I could see. We all drew and waited for the pavise to stop. They did so at one hundred paces range. They did not make a solid line of pavise and they left channels through which the men at arms could run. These were not the French knights who played at war, these were professional soldiers and soon they would be close enough to show us their skill and determination. When the pavise stopped I waited for the kettle helmet to disappear behind the wooden boards and I aimed. This would be a flatter, faster trajectory and the prick would be the centre of the crossbowman’s head. I drew back to a three-quarter draw as I saw the top of the helmet rise. Obligingly the Genoese also lifted his crossbow at the same time and I drew to the full bow so that as he snapped up his crossbow and peered down it to aim at me, his death was already on the way for I sent my arrow to hit him on the top of his nose. I nocked another, a bodkin this time for I saw a Swabian, albeit briefly when the pavise fell. My arrow hit his left upper arm and the angle of the man at arms meant that it drove into his shoulder. His shield dropped and the Swabian wisely followed it to the ground.

  I now saw, clearly, their plan. We were aiming at the Genoese and the men at arms were sprinting between them in a foot race to get to us. I nocked another bodkin, shouting, “Bodkins!” to my men. In the time it took to nock an arrow the first man at arms had covered almost half the distance to me and even though my arrow hit him in the chest a second was on his heels and by the time I had nocked an arrow was thirty paces from me. The arrow drove so deeply that only the fletch stood proud of the dead man’s chest!

  The next man had clambered up the ditch to the top of the rampart and was so close that nocking and releasing an arrow in time was out of the question and I dropped my bow and drew my sword as the Swabian swung his bastard sword at me. I used my hand and a half sword two-handed and the blades rang together; sparks flew, and the noise made my ears ring. I knew that the whole siege hung in the balance. Prince Edward and his father had not expected our lines to be breached and it looked like the French and their mercenaries had chosen their point of attack well. I knew that the Swabian would be the better swordsm
an and so I had to use my greater strength and my quick hands. I twisted my sword around as Ralph of Malton had shown me. I surprised him and I managed to push his sword over his shoulder. Before he could swing again, I pushed my shoulder at his knee, and he lost his balance toppling backwards into the stake filled ditch. He was skewered. I saw that although we had defeated the Genoese and the crossbowmen were fleeing, the men at arms had gained the ramparts and although our own men at arms were holding them until Prince Edward could send reinforcements, my archers would either be slaughtered or have to learn to fight superior swordsmen.

  Michael was still with me and, as I headed down the line to where three mercenaries were hacking their way through my archers, I said, “Just watch my back for me. That is all! Take no risks for help will come soon!” I was not sure that I believed it.

  Even as the three men killed Hob, one of my archers, I was swinging my long sword. Nob fell, almost hacked in two and my sword struck the mailed side of the swordsman who had killed him. He had been in the process of preparing to swing at Luke who was whipping his bow around to use it as a staff when my sword hit him, and it knocked him into his companion. I threw my axe at the man who had been knocked against the rampart and the head of the weapon struck him a ringing blow. Luke dropped his bow and, drawing his dagger leapt at the third swordsman. I think my sudden attack distracted the mercenary and Luke knocked the mailed man to the ground. I was on the two I had hit and I wasted no time, I slid my sword into the throat of the swordsman whose side I had laid open and even as I went to finish off the other Michael had beaten me to it. I turned and saw Luke drive his dagger into the eye of the man he had attacked.