Medieval England under the Plantagenet kings is usually at war with someone. Most often, it’s the French who are the enemy, but the Scots and Welsh are contenders too during this era in history. The chronicler, Jean Froissart, wrote about The Hundred Years War, a name first coined around 1850 for a series of campaigns that lasted, on and off, from 1337 until 1456. Although Froissart was from the Low Countries, he knew the English well enough to observe: ‘The English will never love or honour their King unless he be victorious and a lover of arms and war against their neighbours and especially against such as are greater and richer than themselves’. For the nobility, an added bonus may be had from the spoils of war, such as ransoms, bribes received for leaving places untouched and the looting that sometimes went on. But for the common soldiers these rewards are modest, if they exist at all, and for everyone involved in warfare there is always the chance of injury or death.
This is a tricky question and the answer depends on who you are. If you are a young man, serving in a lord’s retinue, you will be trained in the arts of war, and if the opportunity arises, you’ll be eager to put your courage and skills to the test. But sometimes those without skills, armed only with the enthusiasm for a fight, find themselves on the battlefield. For example, during the Barons’ Wars of the 1260s Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, included the London Trained Bands in his army at the battle of Lewes in Sussex in 1264. Despite their name, they weren’t trained for war to any great degree and mainly comprised apprentices and labourers. Unsurprisingly, when facing a charge by the Lord Edward’s cavalry, the Londoners turned and fled in the direction of home.
Unwittingly though, the Bands still helped Simon to win the day because the Lord Edward – later King Edward I – and his youthful knights were also inexperienced in war and left the battle in pursuit of the fleeing Bands. This left Edward’s father, the hapless King Henry III, facing de Montfort. The king lost the day and became de Montfort’s pawn in the government of England. Incidentally, Simon actually made a good job of organising Parliament and ruling the country until Edward, having learned his lesson well, turned the tables on his one-time mentor and defeated and killed Simon at the battle of Evesham in 1265.1 During times of civil war like this, almost anyone could find themselves involved in the fight.
King Henry V knew this, having fought in a civil war battle at Shrewsbury in 1403. He was only Prince of Wales at the time but fought alongside his father, Henry IV, to put down a rebellion raised by Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, along with Percy’s son, Hotspur, and their Welsh ally, Owain Glyn Dwr.2 Let’s ask King Henry V, an expert on warfare, about his experiences:
Your Grace, may I ask you about your experiences of civil war and the continuing conflicts in France?
I suppose. If God wills it?
We’ve never met in person before, sire, but I’ve seen your portrait. Meeting you now, I see why you were painted in profile. Is that dreadful scar on your cheek a war wound?
You dare ask such a question? Yes, it is. I took an arrow in the face at the battle of Shrewsbury.
Surely, you wore a protective helmet with a face guard?
Of course I did – and we term it a helm and visor. But it was July and hot indeed. A water-carrier offered me a drink and I was in need. A moment’s youthful carelessness ... I raised my visor without turning aside from the fray. Some bastard Welsh archer got a lucky shot and I have suffered for it ever since.
But you survived, sire.
Master Bradmore, my surgeon, did as good a job as any man could hope and God guided his hand, of course. The scar still troubles me sometimes but I had to live since I was destined to be king.’
You certainly were, sire, and now that you are, you pursue this war in France. Why is that?
Because the crown of France is also mine by the right of inheritance from Edward III. Every English king worthy of the name makes war on the French.
But isn’t that very expensive?
Of course but sometimes it’s a greater cost not to.
How come, sire?
You haven’t learned your history, have you? Is it not obvious that a decent foreign war keeps the English nobles united and busy fighting a common enemy? Otherwise, being trained for little else besides war, they fight among themselves and civil strife is a more dreadful thing. Fighting the French means peace at home. To keep my visor closed wasn’t the only thing I learned at Shrewsbury.
The English had a recent victory against the French at Agincourt. I heard it was a miracle.
The odds were very much against us, the French greatly outnumbering us, but then we had God on our side which made it still an uneven match – but in our favour. God saw to it that we won so, yes, it was a miracle. Only my cousin, the Duke of York, was a noble casualty, drowning in the mud under his fallen horse.
I heard it said that the English longbow won the day. Is that true?
The common archers did well, I admit, but don’t discount my noble knights. Now either pick up a weapon and join the ranks or step aside and let us get on with the task of conquering these frog-eating French. I have a crown to win, since God wills it.
The English kings probably don’t like to admit that the longbow is their secret weapon because the archers are common folk, but everyone realises how much Edward III and Henry V owe to the skill of the longbowmen. Wanting to be certain that future generations will have the same capability and because it takes years to build up the muscle and bone structure to shoot a bow, archery practice is compulsory, by law. Every able-bodied male between the ages of twelve and sixty has to ‘shoot at the butts’, i.e., straw targets, after church on Sundays. Women are welcome to join in; you never know when a shortage of manpower may call the girls into action.
Shooting at the butts during compulsory archery practice.
Top tip
Get your terms right. You never ‘fire’ an arrow. Arrows are shot or loosed from the bow. Cannon and the new fangled ‘gounes’ are fired.
What sort of warfare would I practise?
England’s ultimate weapon in the fourteenth and early fifteenth century is the longbow. This is a six-foot-long stave of maple or yew with a string of linen, hemp or animal sinew. An experienced longbowman can shoot ten or twelve arrows a minute and their rapid hail against an advancing army is devastating, demoralising and maddening for the horses. The range is almost 300 yards, can be lethal up to about 165 yards and is capable of penetrating chain-mail armour. However, the longbow does have limitations, being mainly a weapon of defence and most effective against advancing enemy cavalry. It’s not much use if the enemy fails to advance or if the site of battle is poorly chosen. The longbow is peculiar to the English armies, the French preferring crossbows which have a longer range but are so much slower in shooting: perhaps three bolts a minute. The most skilled crossbowmen are the Genoese mercenaries, frequently employed by the French.
If you’re not an archer (and without having practised since you were twelve, you’re unlikely to excel with a bow), there is the chance to join the men-at-arms, including the knights banneret (paid 4s a day), knights bachelor (paid 2s a day) and esquires (1s a day). Men-at-arms on both sides are always mounted, so you’ll need to know how to ride, although they dismount to fight if it seems advantageous to do so. They carry a lance of 10-12ft in length, made of wood, but terminating in a metal spearhead or glaive. Also a long sword and a short dagger called a miserichord or ‘mercy’ because it can be used to dispatch the mortally wounded. There are other weapons that a mounted man-at-arms might choose, including the battle axe or hammer or a spiked club or mace. For protection, he usually wears a haulberk, a coat of mail made by riveting or soldering together small rings of iron or steel; or a gambeson, a quilted tunic of boiled leather and stuffed with fleece. Over the top, as additional protection, he may also have added a leather surcoat or jupon. The light cavalry, known as hobelars, are paid 1s a day and wear light armour such as metal hats, steel gauntlets and ‘jacks’; short, quilted coats with iron studs. As head protection, bascinets are the fashion in 1346 at the time of the battle of Crécy. The bascinets worn by the French nobility have snout-like visors with breathing holes. Even the horses are protected to some extent with armour known as bards, not surprisingly since a good warhorse can cost in excess of £100.
The foot soldiers carry a 6-ft pike with a heavy metal head for which designs vary, giving it various names: pike, bill, halberd, etc. They may also carry short swords and bucklers; small shields for hand-to-hand combat. As head protection, unlined metal kettle hats are most convenient and double as water carriers and cooking pots. By the early fourteenth century cannon are also coming onto the battlefield, although their range and accuracy are poor and the contraptions as likely to kill the cannoneer as his opponents. Their main effectiveness is as a means of scaring the enemy, and, in particular, causing his horses to bolt.
It is believed that cannon were used by the English at the battle of Crécy in 1346 as Jean Froissart wrote: ‘The English had with them two of the bombards and they made two or three discharges on the Genoese who fell into a state of disorder when they heard the roar.’ The English had first used what they called crakys of war against the Scots in 1327, and six years later Edward III had gounes at the siege of Berwick. Initially, both guns and powder were imported though both were soon being manufactured in England: the earliest Chamber and Issue Rolls show royal purchases of sulphur and saltpetre in 1333. Both substances continued to be bought in ever greater quantities to be made into gunpowder at the Tower of London. In 1345 Edward ordered the casting of ribaldi, or small cannon, before he sailed for France and it may have been these that were used at Crécy, mainly to frighten the enemy. They were certainly used later at the siege of Calais, and by the end of Edward’s reign Froissart records that the English had as many as a hundred cannon and mortars at the siege of St Malo. As siege weapons, however, the guns available to Edward were still more for show than effect.3
You can train as a knight, if you’re young, male and wealthy enough to afford the warhorse, as well as a riding horse or two, a packhorse, an esquire, a quality sword, lance and other assorted weaponry and, in the later fifteenth century, an exceedingly expensive suit of plate armour. You’ll need to persuade a lord to take you into his household as a page. Then, as you learn the rudiments of horsemanship, swordsmanship, martial strategy and tactics and even courtesy and manners, you can progress to serving as an esquire to a knight. An esquire is a posh servant and you’ll learn to care for the horses, polish your knight’s armour and keep his weapons sharp, as well as mundane chores like serving his meals, helping him dress and getting him and his horse ready for war.
A medieval battle re-enactment.
Finally, when all aspects are second nature to you, and if you’ve shown courage or exceptional prowess in the field of battle, your lord or, if you’re lucky, the king himself, may see fit to dub you a knight bachelor. This is the lower rank of knighthood, but means you’ll have your own esquire to serve you, though you’ll have to help train him in return. If you excel as a knight, the king may create you a knight banneret with your own little flag – a banneret – to which lesser knights must rally in battle, following you as their captain. This is as high as a common fellow can go in the ranks and requires money, years of training and a lord’s patronage, so isn’t easy to achieve. My advice is to leave warfare to those who are trained for it from childhood, if you possibly can. It’s a noisy, bloody, dirty business.
If you’re serious about getting involved I would advise you to read the most popular instruction book of the day: Vegetius’ hand book for soldiers, De Re Militari, [About Military Things]. Surprisingly, Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus had written his book way back in the fourth century AD and no one had bettered it since. Vegetius wasn’t even a soldier but more of a financial manager to the emperor, so perhaps his idea was that the emperor should be advised how best to spend his money on military matters and not waste it. What he wrote became the single most influential military treatise in the Western world, affecting European battle tactics, methods of warfare and military training right through the medieval period and beyond. Since anyone likely to wage war across Europe has probably read it, you’ll be at a disadvantage if you don’t. We know King Richard III had a copy.
Luckily, in 1408 Thomas, Lord Berkeley, translated the Latin version of Vegetius’ book into English and at some point the text was updated to include the more modern weaponry becoming available, such as longbows and cannon. De Re Militari is divided into four sections. The first is about selecting and training your men and covers daily exercise to keep them fit: running and jumping, marching and even swimming. How to handle swords, shields and other hand weapons is included with instructions for leaping on and off a horse with a sword in your hand. There are details on setting up and fortifying a camp depending on whether it’s a hasty affair with the enemy close, or a more leisurely affair with time to spend on making it more defensible and comfortable.
The second book tells of the structure of Roman legions in Vegetius’ day, which is interesting but not so relevant, but also includes a list of ‘engines of war’, added to by later writers to include new technologies such as gunpowder. Book three is more useful and well thumbed, setting out the general rules of warfare and the basics of military theory, including strategy, tactics and – most importantly – how to keep your army healthy and battle-ready. Here are a few vital points from Vegetius:
1. He who wants peace should prepare war.
2. The best plans are those of which the enemy knows nothing until they happen.
3. Every army should be kept busy and so remain sharp; idleness makes them dull.
4. Exercise and weapons practice keeps men more healthy than doctors and medicines.
5. Good commanders never fight openly in the field unless forced to do so by circumstance or unexpected happenings.4
The final book deals with the detailed construction of fortifications and the best ways to undermine and bring them down. There is also a section on naval warfare, shipbuilding and how best to foretell and cope with bad weather at sea.
Even if you don’t have your own army to command, by studying Vegetius you will at least know what your leaders are doing wrong. However, don’t be too free with your superior knowledge and excellent military advice; it could be dangerous. Kings, princes, dukes and lords always think they know best and, of course, God is on their side. Telling them they’re making a big mistake could be your biggest mistake: they won’t appreciate it and the consequences for you could be unpleasant, though whether that’s any worse than defeat is hard to know beforehand. Perhaps you could just leave your copy of Vegetius lying around where they’re certain to see it, book-marked to the relevant pages. If they do lose the battle, but you both survive, it’s best not to say ‘I told you so’.
What are my chances of survival?
If it happens that your local lord summons his tenants to fight for him, or the mayor calls the townsfolk to take up arms to defend the place, you’ll want to know your chances of survival. There is both good and bad news. Medieval warfare is mostly a case of hand-to-hand combat. If you can dodge your immediate opponent’s sword, pike or battleaxe, you stand a good chance. Remember though, he will be doing the same, trying to avoid your weapon, and if you succeed in knocking him down, there’ll likely be another opponent behind him. Battle is a tiring business.
There are also the medieval equivalents of weapons of mass destruction coming into play. Firstly, the longbow with thousands of arrows shot at once by massed archers and the next wave of deadly arrowheads following just five seconds later. Whether accurately aimed or not, with so many shafts falling on hundreds of soldiers, a great many are likely to hit a target, either horse or human. Secondly, cannon are being used increasingly. At first, they are more useful for scaring the horses, and men are also afraid of these fearsome, deafening things, shooting fire and lumps of lead into the air. Cannon aren’t particularly accurate, but even if you’re hit more by luck than judgement the result can be devastating and messy.
DID YOU KNOW?
The first English nobleman to be killed, indirectly, by a cannon was John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury. At the battle of Castillon, near Bordeaux in France, on 17 July 1453. Talbot’s horse was fatally injured by a cannon shot and fell, trapping Talbot beneath him so the French quickly finished him off.
In 1460 James II, king of Scots, was besieging the English fortress of Roxburgh Castle. Having the very latest in siege guns, the king was eager to have a go with his new toys and determined to fire one of the cannons himself. Warning: never carry out the first test firing in person. Unfortunately, this particular cannon was faulty and exploded in his face, killing the king immediately. Despite the loss of their monarch, the Scots continued the siege, undeterred, taking the castle – so it’s said – without the loss of another single Scottish life. The number of English casualties from the bombardment isn’t recorded.5
At the battle of Bosworth on 22 August 1485, King Richard III’s chief commander, John Howard, Duke of Norfolk, was killed early on in the fray by a cannonball. This tragic loss was the beginning of the end for the king’s cause that day. Norfolk’s son, Thomas, Earl of Surrey, was thought to have been close by and injured by the same cannonball but recovered.
As you will realise, even noblemen can be killed or wounded in war. But, as King Henry V told us earlier, quite serious injuries are not necessarily fatal. Of course, kings, princes and dukes will be attended by the best surgeons, but in an age when a mere scratch can become inflamed, turn septic and prove fatal, what chance does a lowly foot soldier have if he’s wounded? The answer is not quite as depressing as you might think.
Back in 1996 a mass grave was discovered not far from the site of the battle of Towton in Yorkshire. Around fifty skeletons were recovered, all male between the ages of sixteen and fifty. Many had met a violent end and the bones were carbon-dated, showing they were likely the casualties of Towton in 1461. Skeleton ‘Towton 16’ had an incredible history. He was quite tall, strong, and in his late forties and had died of a puncture wound to the head. However, this wasn’t his first battle, or his first encounter with a weapon of war. Towton 16 had previously suffered a major blade injury to his jaw, slashing through his face on the left side and deep enough to damage the bone, shearing off a piece of it and taking a tooth as well. A surgeon with remarkable skills had removed the broken sliver of bone and treated the injury, which then healed without any sign that it became infected. Towton 16 recovered well enough that he lived to fight another day, until his luck ran out.6 There is no evidence that he was anything but one of the foot soldiers, being buried in an unmarked grave with his fallen comrades, and yet he had previously received the very best of medical attention with a successful outcome. So all is not lost if you are wounded in war.
Towton 16’s facial reconstruction.
How would I be treated as a veteran?
The sad answer to this is, probably, not very well. There are no social services, and nobody has any concept of PTSD or the old idea of shell-shock. If you’re obviously disabled, having lost a limb or your eyesight, then you will receive sympathy and maybe the authorities’ permission to beg on the streets. Otherwise, a handout of alms from a monastery or the parish church coffers are your only hope, if you haven’t got a family to support you.
To receive aid, beggars must be ‘deserving’ and having lost your leg may not be reckoned sufficient to prevent you earning a living as, say, a potter, a scribe or a cobbler, or at some other job which requires sitting down. If you’ve lost an arm, there are ways of earning a living one-handed, delivering messages as a courier, or serving in a tavern or cookshop, for example. As we saw in Chapter 7, everyone is expected to work, if at all possible. Let’s ask one veteran of the battles of Barnet and Tewkesbury – both fought in 1471 between the Houses of York and Lancaster – about his experiences since:
Good fellow, you are a beggar here on London’s streets. Tell us how you came to be in this situation and how you manage.
Well, it’s pleasant to know that somebody still thinks I’m a “good fellow”. Most prefer not to think about me at all, as if I’m invisible. But since I’ve got all day, I’ll tell you all you want to know in exchange for some bread and ale.
That seems fair. How were you wounded?
Well, I survived Barnet Field with no more than a few scratches. But King Edward of York – the fourth, that is – having won his victory against that traitorous Earl of Warwick, still had to defeat Queen Margaret of Anjou’s Lancastrian henchmen in the West Country. So I tagged along with my bow, having nought better to do, and we faced them rascals down at a place called Tewkesbury. I did well enough until late on, in the hand-to-hand fighting, when I was suddenly facing this giant of a fellow: a Goliath, seven feet tall, if he was an inch, and twice as broad.
How tall?
Well, he was big, believe me: a lot bigger than me. I came off worst, not surprisingly, though I did get him with my poleaxe, a couple of prods finding their mark. And then he slashed my arm with his blade. It was such a shock, I can tell you, seeing my own hand, still holding the pole, lying on the ground at my feet. It didn’t even hurt, not at first, but all that blood gushing and knowing it was mine ... And then the devil went for my knee as well. I don’t recall much after that.
But you survived.
Aye, and sometimes I wonder why the surgeons went to so much trouble. I was a thatcher before: up and down ladders all day, ridging, coursing and fixing the gads ... it’s a very skilled craft, I tell you. But look at me now! No good for anything, except sitting here, outside St Paul’s, rattling my begging bowl – not that it rattles much with only a bent farthing and pebble in it. That’s all I’ve got since dawn this morning and, so I’ve been told, the bishop wants me to go sit somewhere else. Doesn’t like seeing me every time he goes into the cathedral. I suppose I remind him he ought to be more charitable.
That sounds harsh.
It is. And folk around here know me and one or two are more generous than most, occasionally buying me a decent meal or inviting me to share their dinner. If I have to go elsewhere, nobody will know me, will they? Then what? I’ll starve: that’s what. Speaking of which, you promised me food and drink, earlier ... a good wedge of cheese, a heel of bread, some cold meats, onions in vinegar and a slice of fruit tart would go down well.
I said bread and ale, not a royal feast.
You’re a heartless rascal; bad as the bishop.7
Take heed in medieval times: you don’t want to end up as a beggar on the street, not even a deserving one, so beware.