CHAPTER XIX
CRECY
FOR a short space after the trumpets had sounded all was bustle, menrunning hither and thither, each with a fixed purpose. DirectlyRaymond had donned his armour he emerged from his tent to find allthe Hampshire companies busily engaged in breaking their fast, aswere most of the troops, the King having ordered that every manshould make a hearty meal, so as to be sustained throughout the day.
This over, the men formed into their accustomed ranks, and instantlythere was a long procession of camp-followers and lackeys leading thehorses to the enclosure behind the camp, for the order had gone forththat all combatants were to fight afoot.
Long was that parade remembered by the young squire. Thewhite-surcoated archers, with their well-filled quivers and, in mostcases, an additional sheaf of arrows in their belts, theheavily-armed men-at-arms with rusty headpieces and war-wornaccoutrements, all standing fast in regular lines, made a picturethat gladdened the hearts of their leaders as they gazed upon thestern, bronzed faces of their men.
Already the more remote columns were deploying, and soon the ordercame for the first division to march to the ground where the King haddecided to make his stand. The battlefield was well chosen, being onthe edge of the plateau overlooking the little valley that laybetween the English and the direction from which the French attackwas expected.
On arriving at the allotted station, Raymond found that the supremecommand of his division was entrusted to the Prince of Wales, a mereyouth of fifteen, who had already shown great promise of a notablemilitary career. With him were the Earls of Warwick and Oxford and ahost of noble lords, the brunt of the fight being expected to fallupon this division.
Raymond found that this division was drawn up in two lines, the twothousand bowmen being in front and the men-at-arms, numbering eighthundred, in the second rank, while right behind were the wild-lookingWelsh and Irish auxiliaries, each man eagerly whetting his long knifefor use when the time came for them to be let loose on theirdiscomfited foes.
Away on the left was another large division of archers andmen-at-arms drawn up in similar order, under the command of the Earlof Northampton; while, glancing backwards towards thewindmill-crowned hill, Raymond saw the close ranks of the reservedivision, composed of seven hundred men-at-arms and two thousandarchers, under the direct command of the King.
Looking in the direction of Abbeville, Raymond could see no signs ofthe French host, and, after all, he wondered whether the attack wouldbe made, seeing the strength of the natural defences occupied by theEnglish.
At length a dull hum of excitement ran along the ranks. The voices ofthe company-commanders could be heard ordering their men to stand totheir arms, and in a few moments, mounted on a white palfrey andbearing a white rod in his hand, the King rode slowly along the frontof 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 honourin the fight. A roar of cheering greeted the monarch as he left thefirst division to inspect the second, and the men were told to standat ease, and again refresh themselves with food and rest.
Although awaiting an attack is one of the worst ordeals that can beundergone, Raymond was amazed at the coolness of the soldiers, aswith merry laugh and jest they sat or sprawled on the ground. Manywere busily engaged in fixing new strings to their bows, smoothingout the feathers of their arrows, or waxing or greasing the heads oftheir deadly shafts to enable them to pierce an obstacle with greaterease, while others crowded round the master-bowmen, asking advice orinformation on the coming struggle.
Redward had shaken off his depression, and greeted his son with acheerfulness that was all the more remarkable by reason of hisconfession on the eve of battle.
"A goodly sight," he exclaimed, "and never can I hope to be in bettercompany. Look at the lads! One would think they were about to trytheir turn at the butts."
"And think'st thou that the French will fight?"
"Assuredly; they seek to overwhelm and crush us with the weight ofnumbers. Can the archers but hold the ridge for one hour the day willgo 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 theskyline."
Raymond looked, and in the distance he saw the cloud of dust thatinvariably envelops an army on the march. Others had detected thesight, and there was a general stir amongst the troops. Exclamationsof satisfaction burst from all lips at the prospect of the approachof 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 inbattle array. But, see, Raymond, there is thine uncle, Sir MauriceRevyngton, at the head of the men of Totnes, and, mark you, SirReginald 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 inthe eyes of the English host, disappeared behind a thick bank ofclouds. The air was close and sultry, and at midday the gloom was sointense that it seemed as if night was drawing nigh. With raucouscries 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 theadvancing Frenchmen.
"It will go ill with the King of France," remarked Sir John Hacket tohis squire. "If he reads the sign aright methinks he will stay hishand. 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 inobedience to the order the bowmen either drew waterproof cases overtheir bows or, if unprovided with these, unstrung their weapons andplaced the cords under their quilted coats.
Hardly were these preparations completed than the rain descended in atorrential downpour, blotting out the horizon in a mirky blur, then,as suddenly as it came, the cloud passed over on its way towardsAbbeville, and the sun again shone brilliantly, its warmth soondrying the sodden clothing of the soldiers.
Nearer and nearer came the dark masses of Frenchmen, till within aleague of their enemies they halted. Shortly afterwards a group ofhorsemen could be seen riding towards the English position, and, amidbreathless excitement, it was observed that four French knights wereapproaching.
Either from absolute contempt for their enemies or relying on thechivalrous instincts that frequently show themselves between opposingenemies, the Frenchmen rode within a bow-shot of the English lines,then, calmly trotting along the whole front of the army, theyappeared to be making careful observations of the dispositions oftheir foe.
Several knights besought the Prince of Wales to be allowed to havetheir chargers brought them, so that they might earn a slightadvancement by engaging the intrepid Frenchmen; others requested thatthe archers should shoot them down; but to all entreaties the Princefirmly but courteously returned a refusal, and in perfect silence theEnglish 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 ofadvancing. The sun was now shining well behind the English, and wouldserve to dazzle the eyes of their attackers. Meanwhile the archershad planted their pointed stakes, and the men-at-arms in charge ofthe bombards had loaded these cumbersome engines and trained them onthe plain across which the enemy must advance.
Once again the wearisome monotony was broken by the appearance of aman who was observed to make his way steadily and rapidly towards theEnglish lines. When within bowshot he waved his arms in token offriendship, and four archers were sent out to escort him to thePrince. The new-comer was a tall, lightly-built man, with long,spider-like legs and arms, and sharp, projecting elbow-joints andknees. He was attired in a close-fitting dress of blue cloth thatserved to increase his angularities, and from his belt hung anink-horn counterbalanced by a short knife.
"Mark ye," quoth Si
r John Hacket to his squire, "yonder sly fox is onno lawful errand, and, certes, 'twill go hard with him if he playsthe traitor with our Prince. Look at his protruding forehead and hisshifty, blinking eyes. A creature like that would fawn to one's faceand 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 thatRaymond could hear every word.
"My name, fair sir, is Alexandre Gourdain, and I am clerk in thehousehold of King Philip."
"Forbear to trouble me with thy name and calling," replied the Princecurtly, "but deliver thy message."
"Message, fair sir? Nay, I bear no message, but have come to tellthee that, though counselled to tarry till to-morrow, my master hasdecided 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 adouble-faced rogue to learn the movements of a gallant foe? Hencewith ye! Ho, archers! Strip this coward's coat from off his back, andgive him a score lusty stripes with your bow-cords. Then turn himloose, 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 anundertone. "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 miserablewretch was pushed out of the lines and sent on his way towards thearmy he had stooped to betray.
Signs of animation were now observed in the dense masses of theenemy. 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 thousandstrong, 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 besinging over our heads anon," shouted Sir John, and at the samemoment the Prince of Wales gave the signal for the archers to standand make ready.
Silently yet swiftly the white-surcoated lines of bow-men sprang totheir feet and took up their allotted stations in the formation of aharrow. With feet planted firmly, and with arrows notched to theirsix-foot bows, they stood ready for action.
At length the Genoese came within bowshot, the clicking of theirwindlacs as they drew the cords of their crossbows sounding like thechirping of myriad crickets. Then with a loud shout they leaped fromthe ground. Another shout, and the leap was repeated.
"Do they take us for a crowd of yokels at a country fair?" asked onearcher of his fellow. "They prance for all the world like adog-baited bear."
"They'll dance higher ere long, I'll warrant," replied his comradegrimly.
Once more the Genoese leapt, then levelling their crossbows, they letfly 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 theground at a sharp angle and rendering the advance of the Frenchcavalry, 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 atthe beginning of the advance. "Steady, men. At the word, loose whollytogether."
The long-drawn tension was broken by the voice of the great LordChandos. "In the name of God and St. George--shoot!"
The twang of two thousand longbows reverberated along the line. Theintervening space between the armies was white with a sleet ofarrows. Looking towards the Genoese, Raymond saw a dense mass of menbending over their crossbows and working their windlacs in desperatehaste to reload their cumbersome weapons. The next moment the Genoesewere 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, strugglingmass, and the confusion was increased by the unwounded striving tofall back upon the main body of the French host.
All the while the English archers shot straight and true at thedisorganised Genoese. The squire, though unable to see the faces ofthe bowmen in front of him, was astonished at the quiet, collectedmanner in which they loosed their bows.
Then, as he glanced towards the panic-stricken foemen, the squireobserved a strong body of French mounted troops charging down, as hesupposed, to the support of the ill-fated crossbowmen. The groundtrembled beneath the feet of the cavalry, as with loose rein andwildly brandished weapons their riders pressed forward in a headlongcharge.
But to Raymond's surprise, instead of deploying right and left of thefugitives, 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 Frenchmenfought each other with the madness of fury and self-preservation, andall the time the hail of English arrows swept down knight andcrossbow-man in indiscriminate slaughter.
To add to the confusion, the bombards on the right of the Prince'sdivision opened fire, and amid clouds of thick, suffocating smoke theheavy stone balls went crashing through the dense masses of the foe,and, for the first time in warfare, it was seen that thrice-temperedarmour was useless before the power of artillery.
Then a trumpet sounded from the English ranks, and the hail of arrowsceased as by magic. There was a loud discordant shout, the tramplingof hundreds of feet, and through the now rapidly clearing smokeRaymond saw the Welsh and Irish levies dash out upon the demoralisedfoe. 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 layhelpless on the ground with as little compunction as if they werepeasants.
So intently was Raymond engaged in watching the struggle before himthat for the time being he did not notice what was happening on theflanks of the first division, till suddenly the hoarse voice of theEarl of Oxford was heard shouting, "Stand to your arms, fair knightsand squires! The French are upon us!"
For the first time on that memorable day a desperate hand-to-handconflict was about to take place.