1415: Henry V's Year of Glory (58 page)

When the three envoys reported to Henry in the early hours, he knew he had won. The French army was still assembling, the French king and the dauphin were not yet at Rouen; there was no chance of them sending a relieving army so soon. And by accepting the surrender now, having threatened them all with death, he could show mercy in the hour of his triumph, exactly as Edward III had done at the siege of Calais, sparing the lives of the six burghers who came, with ropes around their necks and carrying the keys of the town. So he agreed. The cannon fell silent.

*

Lying on his bed in his pavilion, Michael de la Pole, earl of Suffolk, was breathing his last. The man who had seen his father impeached by the enemies of Richard II, who had worked for so many years to recover his family dignities, and had done so, and had written his will in June, died from the dysentery that was now rife in the English camp. Two of his sons were with him: his twenty-year-old heir, Michael, and his younger son, William, who was also sick. In accordance with the earl’s wishes, his body would be taken home to be buried in the church at Wingfield, Suffolk. Or at least his bones would.

Medieval armies often carried with them a large cauldron. When an important man, like the earl of Suffolk, died on campaign, and if it was impossible to embalm his body and send it home intact, his heart was cut out and preserved, and his body was dismembered and boiled for a long time, so that the flesh was stripped from the bones, like so much meat. The bones were then gathered and sent back with the heart for burial. Boiling and removing the flesh and cooked organs from a man’s ribcage and skull must have been one of the most unpleasant duties of a soldier on campaign – short of actually killing people.

*

At one o’clock this afternoon, two processions approached each other beneath the walls of Harfleur. That from the English side, which had come down from Graville, was led by the bishop of Bangor, with the thirty-two chaplains of the king’s chapel singing behind him. With them came the English envoys, and clerks with the indentures drawn up for the surrender of the town, accompanied by many other lords, knights and esquires. From the town came Raoul d’Anquetonville and twelve other seigneurs, and twenty-four other knights and esquires, accompanied by a large number of Harfleur’s leading citizens.

When they met, just outside the
Porte Leure
, the commanders of the town swore on the consecrated host that they would abide by the terms of the agreement. Proctors on behalf of the king (who was not present) did likewise. The terms were read and sealed, and the French half of the agreement handed over. When this formality was complete, the twenty-four knights and esquires submitted themselves as hostages; following this they were invited into a royal tent nearby where they were given food and drink. After the meal, they were each
assigned to a different lord, so they might be honourably treated while the French envoys went to seek a relieving army. Guillaume de Léon, seigneur de Hacqueville, was chosen to ride to the dauphin, and set off immediately with twelve men-at-arms.
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De Léon’s mission was bound to be in vain. It was likely to take him at least fifteen hours in the saddle to reach the dauphin at Vernon, which was more than 75 miles away by road. He did not have time to ride on to see King Charles at Meulan if he wanted to be back in time for the deadline of three o’clock on 22 September.

*

In Paris, the deadline for gathering the new tax was fast approaching; but little money had come in. The sheriffs and collectors of taxes were ordered to hasten their collections. This did nothing to endear the administration to the people of Paris, who now began to speak about inviting John the Fearless back to the city to take charge of the government. In country areas, it was said, men and women and their children were retreating into the woods with their possessions and living there like savages rather than await the royal tax collectors, whom they feared more than the English. We may doubt that this was actually the case, just as we may doubt the story that some Frenchmen turned to brigandage as a result of the taxation; but as these stories come from a contemporary local source, they are indicative of how bitterly this new tax was viewed by the Parisians.
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Friday 20th

De Léon probably arrived at Vernon either late the previous evening or early this morning. He delivered his message. In reply he was told curtly that the army had not yet gathered, and could not reach Harfleur in time. His journey had been in vain. The French were abandoning the people of Harfleur to their fate.

De Léon mounted his horse and rode back to Harfleur, to tell the townsmen the sad news.

*

King Charles was now at Mantes.
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The previous day he had been at Meulan, from where a letter was sent out today, in his name and that of the council, to various places in Northern France. The text addressed to the bailiff of Amiens reads as follows:

Whereas by our letters we have commanded you to make proclamation throughout your bailiwick, for all nobles and armed men experienced in war immediately to join our very dear and well-beloved son [the dauphin], whom we have nominated our captain-general of the kingdom. It is now some time since we have marched against our adversary of England who has, with a large army, invaded our province of Normandy and taken our town of Harfleur, owing to the neglect and delay of you and others in not punctually obeying our orders; for, from want of succour, our noble and loyal subjects within Harfleur, having made a most vigorous defence, were forced to surrender it to the enemy. And as the preservation and defence of our kingdom is the concern of all, we call on our good and faithful subjects for aid, and are determined to regain those parts of which the enemy may be in possession, and to drive them out of our kingdom in disgrace and confusion, by the blessing of God, the holy Virgin Mary, and with the assistance of our kindred and loyal subjects.

You will therefore by these letters strictly command everyone within your jurisdiction, on the duty they owe us, to lose no time in arming themselves and in hastening to join [the dauphin] … In addition to the above, you will likewise ensure that all cannon, engines of war, and other offensive or defensive weapons that can be spared from the principal towns be sent to our aid without delay, which we promise to restore at the end of the war. You will use every possible diligence in seeing to the execution of these our commands; and should there be any neglect on your part, which God forbid, we will punish you in such wise that you shall serve as an example to all others who offend in a similar manner …
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The French government was in a state of panic. They had already started to blame minor officials for allowing the English to seize Harfleur, even though there were still two days left before the siege would be over. They had also received information that John the Fearless had written to his Picard vassals urging them not to obey ‘the command
of any other lord, whoever he might be’, which was the reason why these men had failed to muster.
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So now they saw fit to blame John the Fearless personally. This pattern of creating scapegoats and blaming political adversaries for the failures would continue for years. Burgundians blamed Armagnacs, and Armagnacs blamed Burgundians. And still the king and the dauphin had no real knowledge as to whether the dukes of Orléans and Burgundy were going to send sufficient men to help fight the English. According to the chronicler Monstrelet, messengers were sent out again today to the two dukes with further letters repeating the order for them each to send five hundred men-at-arms immediately. The government was without money, short of armed men, short of leadership, and short of a strategy. It did not bode well for those who were setting out to muster at Rouen, let alone the starving men, women and children sheltering in the ruins of Harfleur.

Saturday 21st: the Feast of St Matthew

In Wales, about this time, and in some unknown location, Owen Glendower died. The great Welsh patriot who had evaded Henry and all his soldiers in life now evaded him in death. Few men knew where he was, and those who did know were not going to say. They were not even going to announce his death; his burial place would forever remain a closely guarded secret. He would live on in the hearts of his countrymen – defeated by the English but unbowed and unrepentant in striving to make an independent princedom of Wales.

Glendower’s achievement ultimately had not been the independence of Wales. It had not even been to the benefit of most Welshmen. Hundreds of families on both sides of the border had been impoverished by the war: the English through the many harassments of Glendower’s men; the Welsh through the reprisal attacks of Henry and his men as well as the annual expeditions of Henry’s father. Extreme anti-Welsh legislation had been passed in parliament as a result of constant pressure from the English representatives, so that no Welshman could marry an English wife, or own property in England, or even sue an Englishman in an English court. Even now there were swathes of the country where ruined farms and barns lay
burnt out, and no income was generated, and no tithes were paid. Glendower’s real achievement was symbolic: a sense that resistance against the English landlords and parliament was not only possible but might lead to a better and prouder, more confident Wales. Since the beginning of his rebellion in 1400, he had never been caught; he had suffered through the loss of sons, brothers and friends in battle; but he had reigned as Prince Owain IV, and he had presided over a Welsh parliament, and he had inspired people. That inspiration would outlive him by centuries. In that respect he had much in common with Henry himself.

Eventually news did filter through to the English. No further mention is made of Glendower in English sources; royal commissioners were henceforth directed to negotiate with his son. Contemporary Welsh chroniclers began to refer to 1415 as the year in which the Welsh rebellion finally came to an end.
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Sunday 22nd: the Feast of St Maurice

The date set for the surrender of Harfleur was not an arbitrary one, plucked out of thin air. St Maurice might not have been a saint familiar to everyone at Harfleur, and his was not one of the major feasts; but what he symbolised was relevant. He had been a Roman soldier who had refused to kill Christians, and had been martyred as a result. That mercifulness towards Christians was exactly what Henry V wanted to stress now. It was a religious propaganda exercise: Henry had promised to destroy the inhabitants in line with Deuteronomic law; but by showing mercy and sparing their lives he was associating himself with the values of a saint and a follower of Christ’s teaching.

At eight o’clock Guillaume de Léon, the seigneur de Hacqueville, returned to tell the townsmen the bad news. There would be no relieving army. At one o’clock the ailing Raoul de Gaucourt, together with Jean d’Estouteville and the other commanders, Lyonnet de Braquemont, Olivier de Braquemont, Jean Bufreuil and Roland de Gérault, and all those who had previously sworn to observe the terms of the truce, walked out of the ruins of the
Porte Leure
and through the still-smoking remains of its barbican. They followed the English heralds along the road and up the nearby hill to where the great
pavilion of Henry V had been placed. There was a throne in front of it, and all the lords of England who were sufficiently healthy were seated in a circle, wearing rich robes. Sir Gilbert Umphraville stood to the right of the seated king, bearing Henry’s crowned helm on a staff. As the twenty-four hostages were near at hand, they too were invited to join their countrymen in the formal surrender, making the total of Frenchmen present about sixty-six.
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According to Adam Usk, those who had come from the town wore ropes around their necks in emulation of the burghers of Calais.

At this stage, the Earl Marshal was still well enough to conduct his official duties, so it fell to him formally to receive the men of the town. He announced on the king’s behalf that the men of Harfleur and their fellow Frenchmen had resisted Henry, king of England and France, and therefore had tried to withhold a part of his inheritance, so they were liable to be put to death
en masse
. However, as they had surrendered of their own free will, albeit tardily, he assured them that, ‘they should not depart entirely without mercy, although he [the king] might wish to modify this after further consideration’.
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All the while the Earl Marshal was speaking, Henry was staring fixedly ahead – making a point of not even looking at those who had dared to defy his will.
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Once again the king’s fierce pride was in evidence. Given this personal feeling on the king’s part, we should not assume that he had always intended to let the men, women and children of Harfleur survive. His great uncle, Edward the Black Prince, had spared no one when he had attacked Limoges in 1370 – killing women and children as well as men, in line with the full Deuteronomic sentence. Indeed, it is worth bearing in mind what happened at Limoges in order to understand Henry’s clemency on this occasion and his cold-hearted lack of it on others. As Froissart described the sack of Limoges,

On the next day, in line with the prince’s order, a large section of the wall was blown up, filling in the ditch at the place where it fell. The English were pleased to see this happen, for they were all prepared, armed and drawn up in their ranks, ready to enter the town when the moment should come. The foot soldiers were able to enter this way with ease: on entering they ran to the gate, cut the supporting bars, and knocked it down, together with the barriers. And all this was done so suddenly that the townspeople were not expecting it. Then [the Black Prince], the duke of Lancaster [John of Gaunt], the earl of Cambridge, the earl of Pembroke, Sir Guiscard d’Angle and all the others, together with their men rushed in … all prepared to do harm and ransack the town, and to kill men, women and children; for this is what they had been ordered to do. This was a most terrible thing: men, women and children threw themselves on their knees before the prince crying ‘Mercy, gentle sires, have mercy!’ But he was so enraged by hatred that he heard none of them; thus none – neither man nor woman – was heeded. All were put to the sword … wherever they were found … men and women who were in no way guilty … More than three thousand persons, men, women and children, were put to death there that day.
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