Though a number of esquires were knighted during the Agincourt campaign, there was no explosion in the assumption of coats of arms and the ranks of the nobility were not immediately swelled by hordes of ambitious archers, so we can safely dismiss this interpretation. The most likely explanation of the exemption is that it allowed those who had unofficially changed their coat of arms in consequence of taking part in the battle to bear these arms as of right in perpetuity. John de Wodehouse, for example, changed the ermine chevron on his coat of arms to one of gold (or, in heraldic terminology) scattered with drops of blood, and later adopted the motto “Agincourt.” Sir Roland de Lenthale similarly added the motto “Agincourt” to his coat. Rather more imaginatively, Richard Waller commemorated his capture of Charles d’Orléans by adding the duke’s shield to the walnut tree that was his family crest.18
As for Charles d’Orléans himself, he and the other important French prisoners had endured the humiliation of defeat, capture and being paraded through the streets of London for the delectation of an English audience, followed by incarceration in the Tower of London to await the king’s decision on their fate. This brought about a particularly poignant reunion for Arthur, count of Richemont, with his mother, the dowager Queen Joan, whom he had not seen since she left Brittany to marry Henry IV when he was a child of ten. Richemont was now twenty-two and, to his mother’s annoyance and grief, he failed to recognise her among her ladies when he was brought into her presence. She too must have experienced some difficulty in recognising her son, for his face had been badly disfigured by wounds received at Agincourt. The meeting was not a happy one, and though Joan covered up her disappointment by giving him clothing and a large sum of money to distribute among his fellow-prisoners and guards, he never saw her again throughout the seven long years of his captivity.19
The terms of his imprisonment were not harsh, even by modern standards. As befitted their aristocratic status, the French prisoners were permitted to live as honoured guests in the households of their captors and were free to ride, hunt and go hawking as they pleased. The more senior ones were allowed to stay in the king’s own palaces at Eltham, Windsor and Westminster, and were provided with state beds purchased for their own use. They were not separated or isolated, but generally kept in groups or at least allowed contact with each other. They were even allowed to make their captivity more comfortable by bringing over their favourite servants, horses and possessions—Marshal Boucicaut shared his captivity with his personal confessor, Frère Honorat Durand, and his barber, Jean Moreau, while one of the duke of Bourbon’s first demands was that four of his falconers should be sent over to him. Generous sums were also allocated for their living expenses, though this was not entirely altruistic: these expenses were then added to the ransoms they were required to pay to obtain their freedom.20
It was only in times of particular danger that their liberties were curtailed. In June 1417, when Henry was about to invade France for a second time, all his French prisoners were temporarily sent out to more secure custody in the provinces: Charles d’Orléans was sent to Pontefract Castle in Yorkshire (a particularly insensitive choice, since his first wife’s first husband, Richard II, had been murdered within its walls), Marshal Boucicaut and the counts of Eu and Richemont were transferred to Fotheringhay Castle in Northamptonshire and Georges de Clère, the sire de Torcy, and a number of other prisoners were taken to Conwy and Caernarvon castles in north Wales. Even in these more remote places, the prisoners were generally allowed to take exercise outside the castle walls. When Charles d’Orléans and Marshal Boucicaut were held at Pontefract Castle, their jailer, Robert Waterton, regularly allowed them to visit his manor of Methley, six miles away, where the hunting was particularly good. In 1419, however, during the crisis following the murder of John the Fearless, there were rumours that Charles d’Orléans had been in contact with the Scottish duke of Albany, and Henry moved swiftly to clamp down on his privileges. He was not to be allowed to leave the castle under any circumstances, not even to go to “Robertes place or to any disport, for it is better he lack his disport than we were deceived.”21
For all the comforts of their captivity,22 it was still captivity. Less important prisoners, who had not crossed over to England, were being ransomed and set free in a steady stream throughout the weeks and months following the battle. At Boulogne, the city authorities dispensed wine to celebrate the return of those released from English prisons; from the beginning of November this was happening on almost a weekly basis, and the returnees included the mayor of Le Crotoy and Jehan Vinct, son of a former mayor of Boulogne. By the following June, some prisoners from England were also beginning to make their way home. On 3 June 1416 a safe-conduct was issued on behalf of Jean, sire de Ligne, a Hainaulter who had been captured at the battle by the earl of Oxford, together with his eldest son, Jennet de Poix, and David de Poix. This allowed the sire de Ligne to be released on licence so that he could raise the money for his ransom; his arrival at Boulogne was celebrated on 14 June, but this was premature, for he was under oath to return to England by 29 September. If he had raised the requisite sums, he could then expect to be set free; if not, then he would have to return to captivity.23
While it was customary for those released on licence to provide hostages as pledges for their return, the temptation not to go back must have been strong. This did happen on occasion. As we have already seen, the earl of Douglas and Jacques de Créquy, sire de Heilly, both broke their oaths so that they could remain at liberty.24 Henry V’s prisoners from Harfleur and Agincourt were more honourable. When Arthur, count of Richemont, was allowed to go to Normandy in the company of the earl of Suffolk in 1420, he refused to be complicit in a plot to rescue him: “he replied that he would rather die than break the faith and the oath that he had given the king of England.”25 Raoul de Gaucourt was also released on licence in 1416 and again in 1417, yet, despite feeling that Henry V had not honoured his promises to him, he returned to captivity each time. Uniquely, because the whole matter later became the subject of a court case before the Paris Parlement between himself and the heir of Jean d’Estouteville, we have de Gaucourt’s first-hand account of his attempts to secure his freedom. His negotiations began with the king, who, instead of simply demanding a sum of money as the joint ransom for de Gaucourt and d’Estouteville, asserted that seven or eight score of his servants and subjects “were being very harshly treated as prisoners in France, and that if we desired our liberation, we should exert ourselves to obtain theirs.” As these Englishmen were not as valuable as the two defenders of Harfleur, Henry suggested that he would take the opinions of two English and two French knights as to how much more they should pay to make up the difference. He also mentioned that he had lost some of his jewels in the attack on the baggage train at Agincourt, “which it would be a great thing for us if we could recover,” and demanded two hundred casks of Beaune wine, which would also be taken into the final account.
Troubled by this unusual arrangement, de Gaucourt and d’Estouteville consulted Charles d’Orléans, the duke of Bourbon, the counts of Richemont, Eu and Vendôme, and Marshal Boucicaut, who gave it as their unanimous opinion that they should agree to the king’s conditions if only to avoid the prospect of a long detention in England. Even though de Gaucourt “was by no means cured of my severe complaint,” he received his safe-conduct from the king on 3 April 1416 and set off for France, where he managed to secure the liberation of all except twenty of the English “gentlemen, merchants and soldiers” who were being held prisoner. The jewels “were already dispersed, and in different hands,” but de Gaucourt succeeded in finding the king’s crown, coronation orb and golden cross containing the fragment of the True Cross, “as well as several other things which he was anxious to recover; in particular, the seals of the said King’s chancery.” He purchased the wine and, taking the seals with him, returned to England believing that he had done everything demanded of him.26
Henry, however, proved implacable. He d
eclared that he was perfectly satisfied with the diligence that de Gaucourt had displayed, but that everything should be conveyed to London before he would authorise his release. The Frenchman therefore hired a ship, paid off the outstanding ransoms of the English prisoners, provided them all with new clothes and liveries and delivered them and the king’s jewels to the Tower of London. A week later, a second ship carrying the casks of wine arrived. Once again, de Gaucourt and d’Estouteville thought they had fulfilled all the king’s conditions and sought their release, but Henry left London without giving them an answer. Four and a half months later, without consulting them, without their knowledge or consent, and without compensating them, he ordered that the English who had been living at de Gaucourt’s expense in the Tower should all be set free.27
On 25 January 1417, the same day that de Gaucourt had received his safe-conduct for his ship “with twelve or fourteen mariners” bringing back the prisoners and wine, he was also given licence to return to France. This was to allow him to complete his arrangements, but also because he had been entrusted with a special mission to the French court. In a secret meeting between the duke of Bourbon and Henry V, the king had said that he might be prepared to give up his own claim to the throne of France if Charles VI agreed to accept the terms of the Treaty of Brétigny and renounce all his rights to Harfleur. Bourbon had suggested that this offer was so reasonable that he would even do homage to Henry himself, as king of France, if Charles VI rejected it. Raoul de Gaucourt was chosen to convey Henry’s terms and to urge Charles VI and his advisors to accept them. But it was another futile task. The offer was bogus. A second invasion of France was imminent and as Henry informed Sir John Tiptoft on the very day de Gaucourt’s licence was granted, “I will not abandon my expedition for any agreement they make.”28
All de Gaucourt’s efforts had come to nothing. Although he had saved the dukes of Bourbon and Orléans the 40,000 crowns (around $4,443,600 today) which Henry had demanded from them as security for his return by 31 March, peace between England and France was no nearer. He was personally 13,000 crowns out of pocket in his attempts to secure his and d’Estouteville’s release, yet they were still the king’s prisoners. What is more, when Henry gave orders on his deathbed that certain of his French prisoners should not be released until his infant son came of age, de Gaucourt’s name was one of them. It would be ten years after the battle of Agincourt before he finally achieved his freedom and only then because his ransom was needed to offset that demanded by the French for the release of John Holland, earl of Huntingdon.29 His later career proved Henry’s wisdom in keeping him captive. On his final return to France, de Gaucourt devoted himself to the service of the dauphin and fought in every military campaign against the English. Appointed captain of Orléans and governor of the Dauphiné, he distinguished himself both on and off the field, was an early champion of Joan of Arc and, with her, raised the English siege of Orléans and attended the dauphin’s triumphant coronation at Reims. He lived long enough to see the reconquest of both Normandy and Aquitaine, and, by the time he died, in his eighties or early nineties, he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had been one of the chief architects of the final expulsion of the English from France.30
Another of Henry’s prisoners who later played a leading role in the restoration of the French monarchy was Arthur, count of Richemont. Prior to his capture at Agincourt, and despite his brother the duke of Brittany’s alliances with England, he had been an active supporter of the Armagnac cause. While in captivity, he was persuaded by Henry V to change his allegiance so that he then became an active supporter of the Anglo-Burgundian alliance. He agreed to become an ally and vassal of the English king and, as we have seen, was therefore permitted to return to France on parole, so long as he remained in the company of the earl of Suffolk. Absconding after Henry’s death, he married Margaret of Burgundy, John the Fearless’s daughter and widow of the dauphin Louis de Guienne, a year later. In 1425 the dauphin Charles, as yet uncrowned and unanointed, offered him the post of constable of France, and in a second spectacular political volte-face the count of Richemont returned to his Armagnac roots. His reforms of the French army and his victories over the English at the battles of Patay (1429) and Formigny (1450) paved the way for the reconquest of Normandy.31
The brother and stepson of the duke of Bourbon—Louis de Bourbon, count of Vendôme, and Charles d’Artois, count of Eu—similarly took up arms against the English after their respective releases in 1423 and 1438. After twenty-three years in captivity, and now aged forty-five, Charles d’Artois had his revenge for his lost youth by becoming the French king’s lieutenant in both Normandy and Guienne.32 The duke of Bourbon himself never had that opportunity. In July 1420 he was offered terms that might have obtained his release, though Raoul de Gaucourt’s experience did not augur well. He was allowed to return to France on licence to find a hundred thousand gold crowns for his ransom, on condition that he also persuaded his son, the count of Clermont, to join the Anglo-Burgundian alliance, and provided important hostages, including his second son. All his efforts to meet these terms proved unavailing and although Henry V died while he was still at liberty, unlike the count of Richemont he did not consider his obligations at an end. He returned to England, where his captivity did not prevent him fathering an illegitimate daughter, and died at Bolingbroke in 1434. Even in death he did not return home, for he was buried in the Franciscan church of London.33
Marshal Boucicaut, too, would never see France again. At forty-eight years of age when he was captured at Agincourt, he was already one of the oldest prisoners and, having spent all his life from the age of twelve in arms, he was now forced to end his days in involuntary retirement. This most pious of men, who reserved hours each day for his devotions, and every Friday wore black and fasted in memory of Christ’s passion, had commissioned a Book of Hours in 1405-8. Twenty-seven miniatures of saints with special relevance to his life adorn the book. Ironically, the first and most important was dedicated to St Leonard, the patron saint of prisoners. Though it had been included in memory of the marshal’s brief captivity after Nicopolis, it proved to be a prescient choice. All Boucicaut’s efforts to obtain his release were in vain. He offered Henry V sixty thousand crowns as a ransom, but this was rejected out of hand. The pope tried to intervene on his behalf, sending ambassadors to England to offer forty thousand crowns and promising that Boucicaut would give his oath never to fight against the English again. Henry remained obdurate. Despairing of ever obtaining his freedom, Boucicaut added a codicil to his will a few weeks before he died, leaving a few tokens to his fellow-prisoners and the rest of his small estate to his brother Geffroi. On 25 June 1421, this internationally famous paragon of chivalry died in the obscurity of Robert Waterton’s manor house at Methley in Yorkshire. It was the passing of an age and of the great Boucicaut name. The marshal’s wife had died while he was in prison, he had no children and both his nephews, who inherited the estate from their father, died childless, too. His body, however, was taken back to France and buried, with honour, close to his father, the first marshal Boucicaut, in the chapel of the Virgin behind the choir of the Church of St Martin at Tours.34
The fate of Henry V’s most important prisoner was equally pathetic. Charles d’Orléans was still legally a minor when he was captured at Agincourt. He celebrated his twenty-first birthday within days of landing in England and would spend the next twenty-five years of his life in captivity. His younger brother Philippe died in 1420, his only child Jeanne in 1432 and his wife Bonne of Armagnac at about the same time. Helpless to aid either his own cause or that of France, he could only watch from the sidelines as Henry V invaded France and conquered Normandy. The assassination of his father’s murderer, John the Fearless, by the dauphin in 1419 might have been a cause for rejoicing, but it was short-lived. As a sixteenth-century prior remarked, when showing John the Fearless’s skull to François I, “It was through this hole that the English entered into France.”35 The murder drove Ph
ilippe, the duke of Burgundy’s son and heir, into open alliance with the English and led directly to the Treaty of Troyes, by which the dauphin was disinherited for his crime and Henry V, having achieved his long-held ambition of marrying Catherine of France, was legally recognised by Charles VI as the rightful heir to his crown.
Ironically, Henry V never became king of France, for Charles VI outlived his son-in-law by almost two months. Henry V’s son was only nine months old when he inherited the crowns of England and France, and it was in neither the English nor the Burgundian interest to procure Charles d’Orléans’ release. Until 1435, when Philippe, duke of Burgundy, abandoned his English alliance and made his peace with the dauphin, whom he now recognised as Charles VII, the only people who actively championed Charles d’Orléans’ cause were his bastard brother Jean, count of Dunois, and Joan of Arc. It would take another five years before all sides came to the conclusion that Charles was more valuable as a potential peacemaker between England and France than as an impotent prisoner. He was formally set free in a ceremony at Westminster Abbey on 28 October 1440.
A month later, aged forty-six, he married for the third and last time. His fourteen-year-old bride would give birth to three children, one of whom would eventually succeed to the throne of France as Louis XII, but Charles himself had lost his appetite for politics. He retired to live quietly at his chateau at Blois, where he spent his time much as he had done in captivity in England: reading his impressively large library of books on philosophy, theology and science, pursuing his interest in clocks and other mechanical devices and writing the urbane and witty love poetry of which he had become a master craftsman during his years of enforced leisure.36
Though most of Charles d’Orléans’ poetry belonged firmly in the courtly love tradition and should not be read as autobiographical, his personal plight surfaced occasionally. Seeing the coastline of France while on a visit to Dover, for instance, inspired a plea for the peace that would allow him to return home:
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