Agincourt (50 page)

If it was sometimes difficult to obtain payment for wages, there were other compensations available. Humphrey, duke of Gloucester, was granted the castle and lordship of Lanstephan, which had been forfeited by the Welsh rebel Henry Gwyn, “who was killed at Agencourt in the company of the king’s adversaries of France.” As the king could not afford to redeem the jewels he had given as security to his friend Henry Lord Fitzhugh, he gave him possession of all the lands held in chief by the son and heir of John, Lord Lovell, during his minority, so that he could offset the income against the wages owed to him and his company. Another royal knight Sir Gilbert Umfraville was similarly granted a valuable wardship in lieu of his wages for the campaign, and Sir Roland Lenthale was rewarded with the wardship and marriage rights of the son and heir of Sir John Mortymer “in consideration of his great expense on the king’s last voyage.” (Conversely Sir Walter Beauchamp and John Blaket, who presumably had received the money due to them, were both pursued in the courts for non-return of the king’s jewels: when Beauchamp failed to respond to several court orders, the local sheriff was ordered to seize lands to their value from him.)
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A rather less expensive way of rewarding loyal service, but nevertheless one that was much sought after and highly prized, was admission to the Order of the Garter. This prestigious chivalric order could never exceed twenty-six members, yet in the five years after Agincourt, thirteen of the new appointees were veterans of the battle. Five of them—Sir John Holland, Thomas, Lord Camoys, who had commanded the left wing, the earls of Oxford and Salisbury and Sir William Harington—were admitted in 1416 alone.
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Most knights and esquires could not aspire to such heights of chivalry, but there was another, equally effective way of rewarding their prowess. This was to turn a blind eye to the unauthorised assumption of coats of arms by Agincourt veterans. On 2 June 1417 Henry ordered his sheriffs to proclaim that no one, “of what estate, degree or condition soever he be,” was to appear at a muster for the new campaign wearing a coat of arms to which he was not entitled either by ancestral right or official grant, on pain of being stripped of his assumed coat of arms and barred from taking part in the expedition. The sole exemption to this was for “those who bore arms with us at the Battle of Agincourt.” The interpretation of this clause has been much debated and for many years it was assumed that anyone who had fought in the battle was automatically raised to the nobility. This gave rise to Shakespeare’s famous lines in which Henry V promised his men before the battle

For he, today that sheds his blood with me,

Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile

This day shall gentle his condition.

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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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For all the comforts of their captivity,
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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Henry, however, proved implacable. He declared 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.
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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.”
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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.
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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.
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