CRÉCY
FOR a short space after the trumpets had sounded all was bustle, men
running hither and thither, each with a fixed purpose. Directly
Raymond had donned his armour he emerged from his tent to find all
the Hampshire companies busily engaged in breaking their fast, as
were most of the troops, the King having ordered that every man
should make a hearty meal, so as to be sustained throughout the day.
This over, the men formed into their accustomed ranks, and instantly
there was a long procession of camp-followers and lackeys leading the
horses to the enclosure behind the camp, for the order had gone forth
that all combatants were to fight afoot.
Long was that parade remembered by the young squire. The
white-surcoated archers, with their well-filled quivers and, in most
cases, an additional sheaf of arrows in their belts, the
heavily-armed men-at-arms with rusty headpieces and war-worn
accoutrements, all standing fast in regular lines, made a picture
that gladdened the hearts of their leaders as they gazed upon the
stern, bronzed faces of their men.
Already the more remote columns were deploying, and soon the order
came for the first division to march to the ground where the King had
decided to make his stand. The battlefield was well chosen, being on
the edge of the plateau overlooking the little valley that lay
between the English and the direction from which the French attack
was expected.
On arriving at the allotted station, Raymond found that the supreme
command of his division was entrusted to the Prince of Wales, a mere
youth of fifteen, who had already shown great promise of a notable
military career. With him were the Earls of Warwick and Oxford and a
host of noble lords, the brunt of the fight being expected to fall
upon this division.
Raymond found that this division was drawn up in two lines, the two
thousand bowmen being in front and the men-at-arms, numbering eight
hundred, in the second rank, while right behind were the wild-looking
Welsh and Irish auxiliaries, each man eagerly whetting his long knife
for use when the time came for them to be let loose on their
discomfited foes.
Away on the left was another large division of archers and
men-at-arms drawn up in similar order, under the command of the Earl
of Northampton; while, glancing backwards towards the
windmill-crowned hill, Raymond saw the close ranks of the reserve
division, composed of seven hundred men-at-arms and two thousand
archers, under the direct command of the King.
Looking in the direction of Abbeville, Raymond could see no signs of
the French host, and, after all, he wondered whether the attack would
be made, seeing the strength of the natural defences occupied by the
English.
At length a dull hum of excitement ran along the ranks. The voices of
the company-commanders could be heard ordering their men to stand to
their arms, and in a few moments, mounted on a white palfrey and
bearing a white rod in his hand, the King rode slowly along the front
of those rigid lines of warriors.
At intervals he reined in his steed in order to address the troops,
bidding them stand stoutly to their arms and take heed to his honour
in the fight. A roar of cheering greeted the monarch as he left the
first division to inspect the second, and the men were told to stand
at ease, and again refresh themselves with food and rest.
Although awaiting an attack is one of the worst ordeals that can be
undergone, Raymond was amazed at the coolness of the soldiers, as
with merry laugh and jest they sat or sprawled on the ground. Many
were busily engaged in fixing new strings to their bows, smoothing
out the feathers of their arrows, or waxing or greasing the heads of
their deadly shafts to enable them to pierce an obstacle with greater
ease, while others crowded round the master-bowmen, asking advice or
information on the coming struggle.
Redward had shaken off his depression, and greeted his son with a
cheerfulness that was all the more remarkable by reason of his
confession on the eve of battle.
"A goodly sight," he exclaimed, "and never can I hope to be in better
company. Look at the lads! One would think they were about to try
their turn at the butts."
"And think'st thou that the French will fight?"
"Assuredly; they seek to overwhelm and crush us with the weight of
numbers. Can the archers but hold the ridge for one hour the day will
go with us."
"But 'twill be eventide ere the enemy come to blows?"
"Ay; but if mine eyes do not deceive me, there they are, right on the
skyline."
Raymond looked, and in the distance he saw the cloud of dust that
invariably envelops an army on the march. Others had detected the
sight, and there was a general stir amongst the troops. Exclamations
of satisfaction burst from all lips at the prospect of the approach
of the French host.
"'Twill be six or seven hours ere they draw nigh," remarked Redward,
"and footsore and weary will they be after a three leagues' march in
battle array. But, see, Raymond, there is thine uncle, Sir Maurice
Revyngton, at the head of the men of Totnes, and, mark you, Sir
Reginald Scarsdale is in close converse with him. What doth it mean,
I wonder?"
A little later in the day the sun, which had been shining brightly in
the eyes of the English host, disappeared behind a thick bank of
clouds. The air was close and sultry, and at midday the gloom was so
intense that it seemed as if night was drawing nigh. With raucous
cries a vast number of crows, ever regarded as birds of ill-omen,
flew across the front of the army and alighted on the plain beneath;
then resuming their flight they disappeared in the direction of the
advancing Frenchmen.
"It will go ill with the King of France," remarked Sir John Hacket to
his squire. "If he reads the sign aright methinks he will stay his
hand. But see, a thunder-storm approaches rapidly!"
"Pass the word for the archers to protect their bow-strings,"
exclaimed the Earl of Warwick to the nearest Constable, and in
obedience to the order the bowmen either drew waterproof cases over
their bows or, if unprovided with these, unstrung their weapons and
placed the cords under their quilted coats.
Hardly were these preparations completed than the rain descended in a
torrential downpour, blotting out the horizon in a mirky blur, then,
as suddenly as it came, the cloud passed over on its way towards
Abbeville, and the sun again shone brilliantly, its warmth soon
drying the sodden clothing of the soldiers.
Nearer and nearer came the dark masses of Frenchmen, till within a
league of their enemies they halted. Shortly afterwards a group of
horsemen could be seen riding towards the English position, and, amid
breathless excitement, it was observed that four French knights were
approaching.
Either from absolute contempt for their enemies or relying on the
chivalrous instincts that frequently show themselves between opposing
enemies, the Frenchmen rode within a bow-shot of the English lines,
then, calmly trotting along the whole front of the army, they
appeared to be making careful observations of the dispositions of
their foe.
Several knights besought the Prince of Wales to be allowed to have
their chargers brought them, so that they might earn a slight
advancement by engaging the intrepid Frenchmen; others requested that
the archers should shoot them down; but to all entreaties the Prince
firmly but courteously returned a refusal, and in perfect silence the
English allowed the French knights to complete their reconnaissance,
and to retire in safety to their own host.
Slowly the hours passed, and still the French army showed no signs of
advancing. The sun was now shining well behind the English, and would
serve to dazzle the eyes of their attackers. Meanwhile the archers
had planted their pointed stakes, and the men-at-arms in charge of
the bombards had loaded these cumbersome engines and trained them on
the plain across which the enemy must advance.
Once again the wearisome monotony was broken by the appearance of a
man who was observed to make his way steadily and rapidly towards the
English lines. When within bowshot he waved his arms in token of
friendship, and four archers were sent out to escort him to the
Prince. The new-comer was a tall, lightly-built man, with long,
spider-like legs and arms, and sharp, projecting elbow-joints and
knees. He was attired in a close-fitting dress of blue cloth that
served to increase his angularities, and from his belt hung an
ink-horn counterbalanced by a short knife.
"Mark ye," quoth Sir John Hacket to his squire, "yonder sly fox is on
no lawful errand, and, certes, 'twill go hard with him if he plays
the traitor with our Prince. Look at his protruding forehead and his
shifty, blinking eyes. A creature like that would fawn to one's face
and plunge a dagger into one's back! Hark to what he has to say."
The man spoke in a deep yet quavering voice, yet so loudly that
Raymond could hear every word.
"My name, fair sir, is Alexandre Gourdain, and I am clerk in the
household of King Philip."
"Forbear to trouble me with thy name and calling," replied the Prince
curtly, "but deliver thy message."
"Message, fair sir? Nay, I bear no message, but have come to tell
thee that, though counselled to tarry till to-morrow, my master has
decided to begin the fight----"
"One moment! Thou bring'st this news on thy own behalf?"
"Yea, fair sir."
"And seekest a guerdon?"
"Yea, fair sir; I do but ask----"
"Enough, thou recreant! Think'st thou that I would list to a
double-faced rogue to learn the movements of a gallant foe? Hence
with ye! Ho, archers! Strip this coward's coat from off his back, and
give him a score lusty stripes with your bow-cords. Then turn him
loose, and if he go not back to his master, feather him with shafts.
Get thee gone, knave."
"Is it not as I said?" remarked the Constable of Portchester in an
undertone. "See, the archers take a delight in their task."
The twenty strokes were laid on with all the force of the soldiers'
sinewy arms, then, threatened by a hundred drawn bows, the miserable
wretch was pushed out of the lines and sent on his way towards the
army he had stooped to betray.
Signs of animation were now observed in the dense masses of the
enemy. The heavily-armed cavalry rode forth in a disorderly mob,
brandishing their arms and shouting; then, retiring on the main body,
their places were taken by a body of archers, nearly two thousand
strong, who slowly advanced towards the foot of the rising ground,
where the English were posted in firm array.
"'Tis the crossbowmen of Genoa. Steady, my lads; their bolts will be
singing over our heads anon," shouted Sir John, and at the same
moment the Prince of Wales gave the signal for the archers to stand
and make ready.
Silently yet swiftly the white-surcoated lines of bowmen sprang to
their feet and took up their allotted stations in the formation of a
harrow. With feet planted firmly, and with arrows notched to their
six-foot bows, they stood ready for action.
At length the Genoese came within bowshot, the clicking of their
windlacs as they drew the cords of their crossbows sounding like the
chirping of myriad crickets. Then with a loud shout they leaped from
the ground. Another shout, and the leap was repeated.
"Do they take us for a crowd of yokels at a country fair?" asked one
archer of his fellow. "They prance for all the world like a
dog-baited bear."
"They'll dance higher ere long, I'll warrant," replied his comrade
grimly.
Once more the Genoese leapt, then levelling their crossbows, they let
fly a volley of short bolts.
A shout of derision greeted this discharge, for, without exception,
the bolts fell far short of the proper distance, sticking in the
ground at a sharp angle and rendering the advance of the French
cavalry, when it should take place, full of additional peril.
"That shows what the rain did for the strings of their crossbows,"
said Sir John Hacket to the Constable of Lewes, who had joined him at
the beginning of the advance. "Steady, men. At the word, loose wholly
together."
The long-drawn tension was broken by the voice of the great Lord
Chandos. "In the name of God and St. George--shoot!"
The twang of two thousand longbows reverberated along the line. The
intervening space between the armies was white with a sleet of
arrows. Looking towards the Genoese, Raymond saw a dense mass of men
bending over their crossbows and working their windlacs in desperate
haste to reload their cumbersome weapons. The next moment the Genoese
were literally swept away. Hardly an arrow failed to find a mark;
heads, breasts, arms, and legs were transfixed by stinging shafts.
Dead, wounded, and unscathed were mixed in a writhing, struggling
mass, and the confusion was increased by the unwounded striving to
fall back upon the main body of the French host.
All the while the English archers shot straight and true at the
disorganised Genoese. The squire, though unable to see the faces of
the bowmen in front of him, was astonished at the quiet, collected
manner in which they loosed their bows.
Then, as he glanced towards the panic-stricken foemen, the squire
observed a strong body of French mounted troops charging down, as he
supposed, to the support of the ill-fated crossbowmen. The ground
trembled beneath the feet of the cavalry, as with loose rein and
wildly brandished weapons their riders pressed forward in a headlong
charge.
But to Raymond's surprise, instead of deploying right and left of the
fugitives, the Frenchmen cut right through their Genoese mercenaries,
slashing at the miserable men with sword and axe.
In this tangled web horsemen fell in scores. Genoese and Frenchmen
fought each other with the madness of fury and self-preservation, and
all the time the hail of English arrows swept down knight and
crossbow-man in indiscriminate slaughter.
To add to the confusion, the bombards on the right of the Prince's
division opened fire, and amid clouds of thick, suffocating smoke the
heavy stone balls went crashing through the dense masses of the foe,
and, for the first time in warfare, it was seen that thrice-tempered
armour was useless before the power of artillery.
Then a trumpet sounded from the English ranks, and the hail of arrows
ceased as by magic. There was a loud discordant shout, the trampling
of hundreds of feet, and through the now rapidly clearing smoke
Raymond saw the Welsh and Irish levies dash out upon the demoralised
foe. With their long knives they threw themselves on the Frenchmen,
and, in the heat of the fight, all thought of quarter was ignored,
and knights, worth a rich ransom, were slaughtered as they lay
helpless on the ground with as little compunction as if they were
peasants.
So intently was Raymond engaged in watching the struggle before him
that for the time being he did not notice what was happening on the
flanks of the first division, till suddenly the hoarse voice of the
Earl of Oxford was heard shouting, "Stand to your arms, fair knights
and squires! The French are upon us!"
For the first time on that memorable day a desperate hand-to-hand
conflict was about to take place.