The last time an English King had come to France it had been led by the Black Prince. Now a new King, a throwback to those days contemplated retaking what he believed to be his birthright!
King Henry Vth of England plans to do just that but disease and sickness robs him of half his army. Forced to flee north as his predecessor had done the English and Welsh army is surrounded on all sides and a host even greater than that which fought at Crécy awaits them. When St Crispin’s Day dawns the beleaguered English are ready to die and prepared to fight to the last.
The incredible story of how a handful of men at arms and less than 5,000 archers defeated over 20,000 men at arms and 20,000 other warriors. The story of how a King won a crown!
The story of the Southampton Plot, the Harfleur Campaign and the Battle of Agincourt.
Once again Will Strongstaff has to help a King but this king is one worth following. He is not his father, the cunning Henry Bolngbroke, nor is he erratic King Richard. However, Will Strongstaff will stillneed to put his body on the line as he tries to protect the young charismatic King henry from enemies at home and on the battlefield.
Excerpt
Stephen had two of his men ride as scouts with Christopher and Jack. The reason was clear. They were Northumbrians and knew the land. His other man, Hob, rode at the rear with Walter. I was still worried about my squire. His age had not seemed a problem when he had come to me for that was in a time of peace. This was war and was not the place for the young. When this was over, he would have learned much that would improve his skills, but we had a long way to go to achieve that! The manor house was still empty when we reached Wooler and so we occupied it. This time we searched it, but we found no incriminating documents. We ate well and the lord of the manor would be disappointed when he returned home for his wine cellar was also emptied. My men were good soldiers and did not allow a thick head to impair their judgement. We left well before dawn and headed down the road to Morpeth. The fact that Stephen of Morpeth lived north of the town helped us as it shortened our journey a little.
I confess that I was finding the long days in the saddle hard. I was the oldest by more than twenty years, but I would not show my men any weakness. My only concession was to ride with my helmet on my cantle. It weighed more than any other single piece of armour! It was good that we had men with local knowledge with us for the ambush when it came, was at a good site. We had to cross the River Coquet close to Thropton and the ambushers had chosen the spot with a keen eye. If we had not had Stephen of Morpeth and his men with us, then it might have gone ill with us. As it was John of Thropton was with my archers and he knew the village and the bridge. He halted us before we reached it.
“My lord, this does not feel right.” He pointed to the trees by the river, “There are usually birds there, but I see none. I think that men will wait for us at the bridge over the Coquet. It is a wooden bridge and narrow. Crossbows and bows could make it a killing ground.”
I had learned to trust these northern warriors. I turned to Stephen of Morpeth, “What do you suggest?”
“There is a ford to the east of the bridge. It cannot be crossed by men on foot, but horses can. We cross the river and then attack those waiting on the bridge.”
“But you do not know the numbers!”
He laughed, “And I need not! In the first ambush, we slew them all and had two paltry wounds. I care not who waits for us; when we emerge behind them then they will fill their breeks and flee!”
With such confidence there was but one course of action. We left the road and headed across fields and through copses until we reached the ford. The river was not wide, but I could see that its speed meant a man on foot might be swept from his feet. Our horses had little trouble negotiating the obstacle for their hooves were on the riverbed the whole time. We could see the bridge upstream as we crossed, and I caught sight of metal as the sun glinted off the swords and helmets of the men waiting to attack us. John of Thropton had been correct and it looked like Stephen’s plan might work. When we made the southern bank, we dismounted, and I left a reluctant Walter watching the tethered horses. Armed and ready my archers and John of Thropton led us towards the ambush. We heard their horses neigh as they sensed us, but the men seemed to ignore the sound. Stephen of Morpeth had trained his men well and we moved as one. Matty and Nat were keen to show that they were the equal of Stephen and James Jameson. My archers had bodkins nocked for we had seen metal. I led the arrow of men which moved up through the undergrowth. I glimpsed a livery and saw that it was arms gules with two bars ermine. There were some men on the southern bank but the majority were waiting in the woods to the north side. They were hidden from the road but not the river. The French were laying the ambush and I had to admire Richard, Earl of Cambridge. He was using allies and dupes to mask his trail. I was now convinced who had concocted this plot, but I had no evidence to give to the King!
My two archers flanked me with nocked arrows and when we were less than forty paces from the end of the bridge, I raised my sword to halt us and to indicate to the archers that they should draw. I did not need to tell them their targets. There were four mailed and plated men at arms at this end of the bridge. We could not see the knight but that did not matter. My archers would use bodkins to take out the mailed men and we would charge the others. As my men had said, it did not matter how many awaited us for this was our land and our country! The rest of the men I led were all waiting eagerly. They were all warriors and knew that a battle or a skirmish such as this one could be won in the first moments. The French were confident in their ambush and the fact that they had ignored the warning of their horses made them overconfident. We had to cross this bridge to reach Morpeth and they believed we would trot down the road like lambs to the slaughter. The knight and his squire were mounted on horses along with the others at the north side of the river. As two arrows slammed into two French men at arms, we ran. The knight drew his sword but his words were muffled for he wore a visor and was on the other side of the river, but the orders were clear and his men began to mount. Even as we clambered up the slope to the bridge the other two mailed men fell as Christopher and Jack used their skills well. I held my sword two handed and hacked through the leg of a mail-less warrior. The edge grated off the bone and I knew that he would simply bleed out. My men leapt up and slashed, stabbed and chopped into men who had no idea where we had come from. Christopher and Jack made the road and began loosing their arrows at the men on the north side of the bridge. The French knight was lucky, a bodkin arrow hit his leg and a second smacked off his bascinet, but his squire was not so lucky. One of Jack’s arrow struck him in the shoulder and stuck. They had almost twenty men on the north side of the bridge but the narrow bridge, as John of Thropton had said, was a killing ground, and they dared not cross it. Obviously, not all were French but, their plot foiled, they followed the French knight and his wounded squire and fled.
I cupped my hands and shouted, “Walter, fetch the horses, James, go and help him. Stephen, have your men collect the French horses and strip the bodies. We will guard the bridge.”
Hob laughed, “They will still be running a week from now. Captain Stephen, I think I will enjoy following this man! Great rewards and little risk.”
