The Bow (11 page)

The Earl grunted: ‘Sometimes captain I worry that we
lean too heavily on our yew hedges. Will this one stand today?’

'My lord,’ replied William with a twinkle in his eye,
‘It will have to.’ He saluted Dorset and then hurried away to
order his men into position.

A few paces away, James with Ralf beside him was
finishing a pit, and about to return to his bow. Suddenly he heard a
familiar voice:

Eh, eh! So it’s ye skittle-heads again!
Now we’re in trouble boyo! What with ye
and
the French.’

James smiled and looked around: ‘Yevan! What are ye
doing cluttering up this fine day! I’d hoped to fight this fight in
a bit of peace.’ He held out his hand, and the Welshman took it.

‘
We’ve been ordered into the line, boyo! Seems the
Earl thinks ye Englishmen are not up to it. And quite right too.’
He strung his bow, took ‘first point’ and drove his arrows in the
turf in front of him. The others did the same. Ralf was looking about
nervously, and dropped an arrow as he drew it from his belt. There
was a hand on his shoulder. It was Yevan:

'Easy lad. Nothing to worry about. We’ll look after
ye. Won’t we James?’ James nodded and took another bundle of
arrows from a baggage boy.

Someone called out, and they looked up. There were more
horsemen on the ridge. And banners too.

‘
The crows gather,’ said Yevan and he winked at
Ralf. Ralf tried to smile back. ‘Do you miss your wife?’ he said
suddenly.

The Welshman seemed taken aback, but he smiled. ‘I
have no wife, lad! But aye, I miss her.’ With a shrug, he went on.
‘The Great Sickness took her, see. And the babba as well. I miss
her sore. I miss them both.’ He paused. ‘So that’s why I’m
here a soldierin’. Here in France. Away from my valley.’

Ralf carefully took his bowstring from under his cap and
strung his bow. ‘I’ve a girl in Norwich,’ he said. ‘A
sweetheart.’

‘
Have ye now!’

'Aye I have. Lilibeth, that’s her name. Leastways,
that’s what we all call her. Her real name’s Elizabeth, and she
lives with her folks above a draper’s.’

‘
And she has bright eyes, shining hair, and a voice as
light as silk.’

'Ye know her then!’

‘
Aye, I know her! She’s every poor boy’s lass
between here and Pembroke cliffs. She’s . . .’

James held up his hand. ‘Easy, Yevan. Ye’re teasing
the lad! But watch ye now. There’s a storm brewing on that ridge
all right. Have ye ever seen so many horse?’

They all looked again. The length of the ridge was
covered by a glittering array of armoured cavalry, spear points and
pennons tossing as they jostled forward.

'That’s Armagnac up there,’ said William Bretoun as
he came up to the group of archers. ‘Constable of France, and a
fine soldier to boot. Don’t underrate him lads. He’s not all
plume and polish. We’ll need to hit him good and hard at the first
push or he’ll have us for sure.’

Yevan nodded in agreement. ‘And ‘e’s got the high
ground, with no mud to cross, and vengeance all over his coats. See
that banner in the centre: red and gold lions rampant, quartered on a
white and red field? That’s Armagnac himself, and he won’t be in
the mood for mercy. Not after our little dance at Agincourt.’

Ralf swallowed hard, and tested his bowstring once more:
‘When will they come, d’ye think?’ he asked.

‘
When they’re good and ready lad. And not before.
They’ve got us where they want us, but they won’t be rushing in
like milkmaids and ploughboys. They’ve made that mistake before, so
they won’t be about to do it again.’

Though the sound of trumpets and now drums continued
from the French lines, growing in intensity with each passing moment,
the English positions were now strangely silent. All was ready. The
men-at-arms stood with pike and bill in a single rank of mail and
plate that stretched for over a quarter of a mile. Interspersed along
that line were groups of archers three and four deep and a company
strong: a captain to each company, and a master bow man to every
twenty men. They waited.

A breeze sprang up, an easterly, that sent the clouds
scudding and made the pennons snap. The archers eyed the wind
anxiously and licked their fingers and held them up, hoping for a
shift or at least a lull.

‘
By all the saints’, said William as he strode
restlessly behind his company, ‘If that doesn’t bring down
Frenchie on us nothing will.’

‘
What’s wrong?’ whispered Ralf anxiously.

‘
It’s the breeze,’ replied James. ‘In our teeth
it is, and set to suck the life out of any shafts we loose.’

‘
Surely not,’ said Ralf, but his voice shook.

James did not reply, but an old archer next to him,
Richard Walsh of Reigate, laughed and shook his head:

‘
Listen, young’un! Did ye not see some of our shafts
skip off their plate at eighty paces when the air was slack?’ Ralf
nodded. ‘Well, then,’ the old archer went on, ‘Ye’d better
draw to ear and not to pap if ye want to see your lassie again.’

They waited some more. The breeze freshened till they
felt it sharp against their faces, and then it died away to uncertain
gusts.

'A plague on this’, muttered Yevan, ‘Why don’t
they come?’

Suddenly they were aware of the Earl at their backs. He
was mounted on his warhorse now, and trotting up and down behind the
line.

‘
Steady, lads!’ he roared. ‘There’s no use
fretting till they make a charge. Then by God’s grace we’ll all
know what to do.’

‘
Aye, run like the very devil,’ muttered one archer
under his breath, and all those around him laughed.

‘
Steady!’ the Earl roared once more. ‘Don’t
loose until your captains call. I’ll string the first man who
shoots afore!’ He turned his horse’s head and headed away towards
the left flank. Moments later, Sir Walter returned followed by the
baggage boys weighed down with the last bundles of war arrows.

'No sense in keeping them back there,’ he said, as the
master bowmen distributed them. ‘We’ve no reserve lines, and the
wagons are indefensible.’ He looked to the ridge. ‘Here they
come,’ he said.

As he spoke, a thousand pennons on the ridge top dipped,
and a mass of armoured chevaliers plunged down the slope towards
them. Men knelt and kissed the earth.

‘
Take point!’ called the captains. The archers
shuffled into position and the men-at-arms stepped forward, their
spear-points and pikes lowered.

The French cavalry reached the base of the slope and
surged out onto the field, their mounts barely breaking stride.

‘
They ride like angels!’ said Sir Walter as he stood
behind where James and Ralf had taken point.

‘
Aye, my lord, like avenging angels!’ replied
William Bretoun, as he shifted his stance one last time, and took
measure of the Frenchmen’s charge. He glanced to left and right,
then turned his gaze to the oncoming cavalry.

'On my call!’ he shouted.

‘
Welshmen all!’ came the reply, even from those
English archers who found themselves among the men in green and
white.

The cavalry swept on, and at eight hundred paces the
ground began to shake. William leant forward.

‘
Knee! . . . Stretch! . . . Now strike!’

The air hummed and hissed as more than five hundred
arrows shot skywards. James heard Ralf gasp. This was the first time
the lad had heard or seen such a volley.

‘
Keep to the shot!’ James shouted, as he saw Ralf
staring after the first volley. With a jerk of surprise Ralf bent to
his task.

As at Agincourt, the cloud of arrows fell on the
advancing cavalry. Horses reared, plunged and fell. Riders toppled
from the saddle. Others wrenched their mounts around, wounded and
galled by shafts.

But the rest came on, gathering in pace, and stretching
to the full weight of the charge.

‘
Bodkins, damn your eyes! Bodkins! Not war arrows!’
roared Sir Walter.

Another two flights were loosed.

‘
They are bodkins, sire!’ shouted the Yeovil captain
in return. ‘But that’s not six penny plate out there. That’s
harness from Milan and Nuremberg. The best!’

Three more volleys were called, and at last the cavalry
broke away. They headed back towards the base of the slope where they
reformed. As they did so, another squadron of at least a thousand
horses appeared on the ridge top in support.

James took stock of what arrows he had left, and looked
around him. There was concern everywhere, even on the faces of the
greybeards.

The Earl galloped up to where Sir Walter was standing,
and leant from the saddle.

‘
Not good enough, Sir Walter.’

The old knight looked up at him, and wiped his brow.
‘Aye, my lord. We stung them, but that’s all. Too many shots skid
off. False shots. Not worth a tinker’s damm!’

‘
Even with bodkins?’

‘
Aye, my lord. They have the measure of our stripe.’

The Earl frowned. He turned his gaze to the French lines
which were showing signs of moving forward again.

‘
Then shoot the horses’, he said.

Sir Walter bowed and shouted the order to his captains.

When Yevan heard it, he shrugged and spat. ‘Them’s
all very well’, he said. ‘Shoot the ‘orses. Oh, aye! Just like
that! Thank ‘e, yer lordship!’

‘
What’s wrong?’ whispered Ralf. He was white and
shaking.

James didn’t seem to hear. He was watching the French
cavalry as it stirred itself for the charge, then he knelt to count
his remaining bodkins.

At last he spoke: ‘What’s wrong? I’ll tell ‘e.
Horses aren’t that easy to bring down. I’ve seen one stuck full
of clothyards gallop all the way to the line, and trample six men
before we finally finished him an’ his master.’

'That’s ‘orrible.’

'That’s war, laddie. Now look to your bow! They’re
coming again!’

The French cavalry came at them across the field, clods
and turf flying about their hooves. Their banners were held high, and
the lions of Armagnac were carried to the fore. They charged in a
crescent, flanks five hundred yards apart, and arcing in toward the
centre.

'Hold your shot!’ called Sir Walter. ‘We’ll strike
them at eighty paces!’

‘
Eighty paces my lord?’ said William Bretoun.

‘
Aye, eighty Captain! Now call it!’

The captain nodded: ‘It’s eighty, lads! Eighty and
not afore. You ‘eard me! Hold to my mark! Let Frenchie feel the
stripe!’

His command was taken up by the other captains, and
echoed along the line. The cavalry thundered on. Closer and closer.
The ground shook. All about him James could see archers, eyes fixed
on the approaching enemy, hands gripping and relaxing against the
bows. He eased his shoulders, and glanced at Ralf. The lad was
shaking a little, and wide-eyed, but he would be all right.

Shifting his footing yet again James turned to the
cavalry. They were well within range, and measuring their charge with
a steady rhythm which made the air drum. Already he could hear the
faint clink of harness and buckles striking against polished plate.

‘
Jesus help us!’ said Ralf suddenly. ‘Why don’t
we shoot?’

On they came, Armagnac at their head, till it seemed
they would sweep into the English line without an arrow loosed.

'Hold! Hold, curse you! My mark!’ William was shouting
above the rising sound of the charge. The archers held, and the
cavalry swept on, their shields bright, and their painted devices
shining clear in the late afternoon sun.

At last, when it seemed as if anything now was nothing
but too late, the captains made the call:

‘
Right lads! On my mark! Knee . . .Stretch . . . Now
strike!’

The English line flexed, the bows sang and a storm of
arrows flew against the French. This time the bodkins struck home
with greater efficiency. Everywhere horses staggered and fell,
throwing their riders to the ground. When the second volley went in
at fifty paces, James could see that the arrows were also piercing
the French armour at gorget, helm and breastplate, and only horses
protected with the heavy chanfrons were able to endure the
short-range bodkins.

Still, the French did not slacken in their charge,
though their ranks were badly thinned.

‘
Ware pikes!’ The order rang along the English line,
and the men-at-arms stepped forward with a great shout.

Swerving to avoid the chevrons of archers the surviving
French cavalry threw themselves against the single rank of infantry.
The pits and hedges gave some protection to the pike and billmen, but
they could do little to halt the attack. Wherever horsemen struck the
line they burst through. Some were brought down immediately, but most
charged over the infantry, striking to left and right with swords,
maces and battle axes.

Twenty paces from where James and Ralf stood, three
French destriers smashed their way through, scattering the
men-at-arms in their path. But instead of wheeling about to attack
the infantry from the rear they merely galloped off towards the
baggage park. It was the same all along the line.