1415: Henry V's Year of Glory (53 page)

The remainder of the ordinances were similarly intended to strengthen the army through discipline. No one was to ride out from the host without permission, or to go forging ahead on their own. No one was to raise a banner or pennon of St George to lead a group of men away from the main army, nor to go ahead of the host under a banner unless he was a messenger. No one was to burn any buildings without special command of the king. If anyone found victuals or wine he should take only enough for himself and not destroy the remainder but leave it for the army. Men were not to rob each other of any victuals they found or otherwise received. No one except the king, constable or marshal was to give safe conduct to anyone from outside the army.

Particular ordinances treated the problem of prisoners. For most soldiers the main lure of war was the attraction of wealth – to be gained not by looting but by taking and ransoming important men. Hence disputes often arose over who had taken whom prisoner. It was now made clear that there were to be no disputes over captives – nor over weapons, coats of arms, or lodgings. Grooms and pages who got involved in such arguments were to have their left ear cut off. When a man took a prisoner, he was to take his helmet and gauntlets as a sign that his victim was already claimed. Two men who collectively defeated a knight could share the rights and subsequent ransom. It was clearly anticipated that, in the heat of battle, rivalries between men could lead to one trying to kill the other’s prisoner. This was forbidden. The killing of a man who was trying to submit was similarly not allowed. No man was to sell his prisoner or to ransom him without the king’s permission, and everyone who took prisoners was liable to pay his lord one third of the eventual ransom.

There was one last moral ordinance in this set, and it is very revealing of Henry’s attitude to women of easy virtue and his view of sex. Although earlier English kings had tolerated prostitutes in the royal household, Henry had a much stricter moral view. He prohibited any women from staying in the camp at all, or even being located nearer than three miles. His ordinance laid down that the first time a woman was found in the camp, she was to be warned. The second time she was to have her left arm broken.
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*

In his pavilion, the duke of York sealed his last will and testament. Like Henry IV and Henry V himself, he adopted the self-demeaning language of extreme abasement. The document, which was in French, began:

In the name of God the Almighty, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and the Holy Trinity, and the glorious Virgin, Our Lady St Mary, and St Thomas our glorious Martyr, and of St Edward the Holy Confessor, and all the Holy Saints in Paradise, I, Edward of York, of all sinners the most wicked and blameworthy …

He desired to be buried in the chapel at Fotheringay, ‘in the middle of the choir, near the steps, under a flat marble slab’. He stipulated that his debts should be paid and the expenses of his funeral should not exceed £100. His first bequest was to the king: ‘the best sword and the best dagger I have’. Next was

to my dear wife Philippa my bed of feathers and leopards, with the furniture that goes with it; also my white and red tapestry of garters, fetterlocks and falcons; my green bed, embroidered with a compass, my two large vessels of silver, the covered basins in her keeping, with the falcons and fetterlocks in the middle, with a blue background.

Those servants of his who had been in his service for a whole year before sailing to Harfleur were to be paid their wages in full for the six-month term after his death: £2 10s to each esquire, £1 to each ‘
garçon
’ and half a mark (6s 8d) to each page. All his houpelands (full-length, long-sleeved and high-collared gowns) were to be divided among the servants of his chamber and wardrobe; his saddles and harnesses were likewise to be divided among his servants. In all the Masses that might be said for him, he willed that Richard II, Henry IV, his father Edmund of York, and his mother Isabella should also be mentioned. He continued:

I will that all my vestments, crucifixes, images, tabernacles, basins, ewers, censers, sconces and other jewels in my chapel, excepting the goods and jewels that I pledged to enable me to go in that voyage to France in the company of my lord the king, be after my decease given to the master and his brethren of my said college [of Fotheringay], to be perpetually kept by them and their successors …

Other personal bequests included £20 to Thomas Pleistede ‘in memory of the kindness that he showed me when I was a prisoner at Pevensey’; a sword, a coat of mail and £10 in cash to Philip Beauchamp; a suit of jointed armour covered in red velvet and £10 in money to Thomas Beauchamp; and a new suit of jointed armour covered in velvet, his helmet and his best horse to Sir John Popham.
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*

In London, the talk was of Lollardy. In the wake of the letter from Henry at Southampton, the mayor, Thomas Falconer, had renewed his searches for dissidents. And on the information of his new servant, the fifteen-year-old Alexander Philip, he had been alerted to John Claydon. The mayor had ordered a search of Claydon’s house in St Martin’s Lane, where the copy of
The Lantern of Light
had been found.

Today Claydon was brought before Henry Chichele, archbishop of Canterbury, and a large gathering of theologians and lawyers, in St Paul’s Cathedral. Claydon admitted that he had been accused of Lollardy repeatedly, for more than twenty years. He further admitted that he had been locked in the prison at Conway for two years on account of his supposed heresy, and for three years in the Fleet Prison in London. He added that, having been released by order of the chancellor at the time, John Scarle, he had publicly abjured the heresies of Lollardy, and had promised to abstain from the company of other Lollards.

Archbishop Chichele began to interrogate Claydon. Had he any books in English? Yes, many, replied Claydon. Chichele beckoned the mayor forward to give evidence. A book in English, bound in red leather was produced. Handing it to Chichele, Thomas Falconer declared it had been found in Claydon’s house and was ‘the worst and the most perverse book that he had ever read’. The archbishop asked Claydon whether he recognised the book; Claydon admitted that he had had it written at his own cost. Chichele demanded that Claydon name the author. ‘John Grime,’ Claydon replied.

Now Chichele began to press his victim.
What
was John Grime, he demanded, presumably expecting the answer ‘a Lollard’. Claydon did not answer. Chichele was insistent. Had Claydon read this book? Claydon admitted he could not read but had heard parts of it read by John Fuller. And were any parts of this book Catholic, profitable, good and true? Claydon replied that he was very fond of the book, and found many things there that were profitable for his soul, especially the text of the sermon that had been preached at Horsleydown. And did the accused have any communication with Richard Gurmyn, a baker suspected of Lollardy, since his abjuration? Yes, admitted Claydon, Gurmyn often came to his house.
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Following this confession, Chichele passed the book over to a
doctor of divinity and a doctor of law to be examined. He prorogued the case until the following Monday, when the judgment would be delivered.
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Sunday 18th

Harfleur was now all but cut off. The captain, Jean d’Estouteville, must have looked at the gathering horde of Englishmen to the west with foreboding. There were so many of them, drawing up their cannon and siege engines – and he himself had probably fewer than two hundred soldiers and the services of about a thousand able-bodied townsmen. No help could reasonably be expected now. But if he despaired of reinforcements the feeling was premature, for riding to join the people of Harfleur in their hopeless struggle was Raoul de Gaucourt.

Raoul de Gaucourt was a Picard knight – and one the of the most determined, courageous and resourceful military leaders in France. He had fought against the Turks on the Nicopolis crusade in 1396 and was one of the thirteen knights of the duke of Bourbon’s new Order of the Prisoner’s Shackle. Boucicaut, the most famous knight in Christendom, was one of his personal friends and comrades in arms. De Gaucourt also understood the dangers of the English archers, having faced them at the battle of St Cloud in 1411.
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That Henry had already surrounded the town, and was pillaging the countryside far to the east of Harfleur did not dissuade this man from bravely riding with his three hundred men-at-arms straight for the gates on the eastern side of the town.

Henry was taken by surprise. With his groups of knights going far to the east beyond Harfleur, he did not imagine for a moment that reinforcements would arrive this late in the day, and risk a battle. But he had failed to take into consideration the water defences of Harfleur. Henry could not send troops arrayed for battle around the south of the town to intercept de Gaucourt, due to the salt marshes and the river Lézarde. Nor could he send a force of men around the north side due to the flooding of the valley. He could do nothing but watch as Raoul de Gaucourt led the last contingent of fighting men into the town, to the great joy of those within.

The boldness of de Gaucourt’s entry into Harfleur infuriated Henry. It was an obvious sign of his failure to seal off the town properly at the outset. But it is a noticeable feature of Henry’s character that, when his pride was hurt, he did not let the matter lie or accept the injury but took decisive action. Now he decided to employ one of his most efficient weapons of war: his brother, Thomas of Clarence. That very night he ordered Clarence to take his battle and find his way around the flooded valley, sealing off the town on the east side. Clarence was to take a cannon with him, and start bombarding the town. At the same time Henry ordered his ships to shift to the mouth of the Lézarde and prevent any reinforcements or supplies reaching the town by the water gate. He would not be made to look foolish again.

Monday 19th

At dawn, when the people of Harfleur roused themselves to face the day ahead, they looked up at Mont Cabert, the hill overlooking the town on the east, and saw the forces of Thomas, duke of Clarence, arrayed around a chapel on the slopes. They saw the cannon of the king of England to the west, facing the gate, and the banners of the lords of England all around their beautiful town. The huge weight of Henry’s determination to demonstrate that God was on his side had come to bear on them, and the pressure must have been terrifying. They knew that, unless the king of France sent a relieving army, they had no hope. Many would die, and those who survived could expect to lose all they had worked for all their lives.

Henry’s herald began the proceedings. The king sent him to the
Porte Leure
to offer,

in accordance with the twentieth chapter of Deuteronomic law, peace to the besieged if, freely and without coercion, they would open their gates to him and, as was their duty, restore that town, which was a noble and hereditary portion of his crown of England and of his duchy of Normandy.
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This repetition of Deuteronomic law – mentioned in Henry’s extraordinary letter of 28 July – must have been chilling to those who heard
it, especially in respect of claiming Harfleur as a hereditary possession. For the law as laid out in Deuteronomy 20, verses 10–16, was very explicit as to what should happen to those who resisted a hereditary lord:

10. When you come to a city, in order to attack it, first proclaim peace to it;

11. And it shall be: if it gives an answer of peace, and opens its gates to you, then all the people that are found therein shall be your subjects and shall serve you;

12. And if it does not give an answer of peace, but makes war against you, then you should besiege it;

13. And when the Lord your God has delivered it into your hands you shall smite every male therein with the edge of the sword;

14. But the women, the children and cattle and everything that is in the city, including all the spoil, you shall take for your own; and you shall enjoy the spoil of your enemies that the Lord God has given you;

15. Thus shall you do to all the cities that are distant from your homeland, which are not of the cities of these nations;

16. But of the cities of those people that the Lord God gives you as an inheritance, you shall save alive nothing that breathes.

Despite this horrific threat, according to the author of the
Gesta
, the inhabitants of the town made light of the offer of peace and the threats of destruction. Henry responded by ‘informing them of the penal edicts contained in the aforesaid law [of Deuteronomy] which it would be necessary to execute upon them as a rebellious people should they persist thus in their obstinacy to the end’.
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As Henry regarded the town as part of his inheritance from God this meant that the women and children, and even the cattle of the town, could also expect to be slaughtered along with the men.

But still the people of Harfleur did not give in.

*

There were various methods employed in the middle ages for the destruction of a town. Water supplies could be cut off or poisoned; buildings set alight in the hope that the fire would spread throughout
the town; the town could be blockaded to prevent food from entering; the walls could be over-run by large numbers of troops using scaling ladders and battering rams on the gates; and cannon and other siege engines could be used to smash down the walls. Harfleur was a difficult prospect whichever method Henry chose. The volume of water flowing through the town (despite the closure of sluices to flood the valley to the north) made it difficult to cut off the water supply. The barbicans prevented any direct attack on the gates, and an attempt to scale the walls would inevitably lead to a massive loss of life. Henry’s own ordinances prohibited burning – and even though he could have rescinded those instructions, the town would not have been worth possessing if he had burnt it to the ground. His model for a successful siege was Edward III’s seizure of Calais, which had been effected by a combined landward and seaward blockade, both of which Henry had already put in place. However, it had taken Edward III eleven months to starve Calais into submission, and Henry did not have eleven months to spare. He could not afford such a long campaign, nor could he risk a battle before the walls with an oncoming French army without a port from which he could retreat.