Agincourt, 1415 by B. Renfrew

Author:B. Renfrew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greenhill Books
Published: 2017-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

English Camp, Maisoncelle, 2:43 a.m.

Henry gazed at the blazing lights of the French encampment. Thousands of English soldiers huddled or slept unseen in the darkness around him. His order for the army to pass the night in quiet prayer had hardly been necessary. An exhausted silence cloaked the camp. Any men still awake were lost in thoughts of home and what might be their final hours. Even the horses, tethered in long lines, were silent, as if sensing what the morning would bring.

Henry paused by one of the watch fires. A group of archers sat or lay around it. Many of the men were asleep; one muttered incoherently as he dreamed.

“Sir.” A tall archer stood at Henry’s side. The king’s face was hidden by the hood of his long black cloak.

“Do you require assistance?” asked the man.

“What is your name, good fellow?” Henry said.

“Nicholas Longford, sir.” The archer did not ask the stranger’s identity; his voice of command marked him for a noble.

“I require nothing,” Henry said, “except a moment or two of your time.”

“Not much of that,” Longford gruffly replied. “Time, I mean.” “You fear the morrow?”

“What, the battle?” Longford asked.

Henry nodded.

“Any man who says he is not fearful is lying.”

“Even the king?” Henry asked.

Longford was silent for a moment. “Not my place to talk of them that’s my betters,” he replied guardedly.

“It is an honest question. Fear not to answer it.”

The archer stared doubtfully at the shrouded man then shrugged. “Aye. Any man with a heart knows fear at a time like this, and our king has a great heart.”

“A good answer.” Henry smiled. “You are content to follow him into the battle?”

“No man wants to die, but I am a soldier. I will follow Harry because it is my duty, and he is a worthy king.” There was neither flattery nor doubt in his reply.

“And what of your men? Do they think the same?”

“Most of them expect to have their brains dashed out by a French axe or a sword rammed through their guts. But they will fight for all of that.”

“The French greatly outnumber our army,” Henry persisted.

“They have hunted us across this accursed country as if we were dogs. The men are tired of running. Let them come, no matter how many.”

Silence followed Longford’s declaration. Henry reached out and clasped the man’s arm. Startled, Longford pulled back.

“I thank you for your words, and pray you will survive the battle,” the king said.

“Who were that poxy bladder?” one of the men by the fire muttered as Henry’s silhouette disappeared in the darkness.

“I don’t know, but there were something familiar about him.” Longford shrugged.

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