The Agincourt King: Coffee Pot Book Club Blog Tour.

From the day he was crowned, Henry V was determined to prove the legitimacy of his house. His father’s usurpation weighed heavily on his mind. Only a grand gesture would capture the respect of his own countrymen and the rest of Europe. He would follow in his great-grandfather Edward III’s footsteps, and recover lost territory in France.

Better yet, why not go for the crown? Poor, deranged Charles VI couldn’t manage his own barons. The civil war between the Burgundians and Armagnacs was more of a threat to his country than the English, even after Henry laid siege to Harfleur. But once Harfleur had fallen, the French came to their senses and determined to block his path to Calais and destroy him.

By the time the English reached Agincourt, they were starving, exhausted, and easy pickings. Or so the French thought. Little did they reckon on Henry’s leadership and the stout-hearted English archers who proved, once again, that numbers didn’t matter when God was on their side.

THE AGINCOURT KING

EXCERPT:

WAR COUNCIL AFTER HARFLEUR’S SURRENDER as told by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester

When Henry called a consultation with his captains, their numbers were alarmingly reduced. Our brother Clarence was pale and peaked, though he was still on his feet. The same could not be said for the Earl of Arundel, who could no longer leave his bed. Edmund Mortimer, Earl of March and John Mowbray, Earl Marshal were also unable to participate. Henry had already lost Bishop Courtenay and Michael de la Pole. Fortunately, Thomas Erpingham, the Duke of York, Dorset, and myself were still in good health. There were a handful of other captains. The sobering reality was that our army was not in much better shape. 

“As I see it,” Henry said when all were settled, “we have four choices. We could expand our conquest and lay siege to neighbouring towns…” He looked at all the frowning faces. “But I think we’re too reduced by sickness at the moment. We could make a chevauchée down the coast to Guyenne, but perhaps it’s too advanced in the season for that.” He paused while his secretary scribbled frantically, trying to keep up with his thoughts. No one ventured to interrupt him. Yet.

“We could return to England,” Henry went on, ignoring the looks of expectation on many of the faces. “But this would be a sorry return on the investment made toward this campaign. The expense, the time, the effort, the loss of lives… for what? One little port town? It’s almost as bad as losing a battle.” He turned away from us, unwilling to give anyone the opportunity to argue. 

“Or, we can march overland to Calais,” he said, so quietly we almost couldn’t hear him. Coming around, he raised his voice. “Let’s face it: Calais is the safest port for embarkation. Most of our ships are there already. Besides, I would follow in the footsteps of Edward III. I have it in my mind to see my duchy and to be seen by my countrymen. What would they think if I turned tail and ran home like a scared rabbit?”

He had already made up his mind, though we didn’t know it yet. The reality was, I think, that Henry wanted a fight. He knew the French would come after him. How could he prove God’s will without winning a battle? What glory was there in conquering a town by siege? Our great-grandfather faced the French at Crecy, against all odds. My brother would do no less.  

Ignoring the grumbling, he continued his reasoning. “No matter what we do, we’ll need to leave a substantial garrison here at Harfleur. Thomas,” he said, pointing toward Dorset, “I anticipate that you’ll need three hundred men-at-arms and nine hundred archers. Also, it is imperative that we send the sick men home. We can’t afford to feed them, and we can use the royal ships still here in the harbour to begin transporting them. We’ll need an accounting of how many are ill and how many can continue to serve.” 

“I’ll do so starting today,” Dorset said.

Satisfied, Henry turned to the rest of us. This was too major a decision to ignore everyone’s advice; these men were, after all, his council. Taking a deep breath, Henry looked at Clarence. Our brother was such a warmonger that Henry expected him to go along with his suggestion. But much to his chagrin, Clarence shook his head. “It’s too risky to go overland to Calais. We’ve lost too many men.” Most of the others nodded in agreement.

The king frowned. “We don’t have the shipping to send back our whole army from here. Since most of the vessels that brought us are gone, how long would we have to wait for transport? And all the while more men fall sick with the bloody flux.”

It was a good argument, but not convincing.

Erpingham cleared his throat. “Since the French are gathering at Rouen, their numbers increase daily. They are nearly strong enough to confront us and they may outnumber us many times over.”

“We would be like sheep in a fold,” interjected York.

Henry shrugged. “They have outnumbered our forces before.”

It was Warwick’s turn. “I agree with Clarence,” he said simply. “The risks are just too great.”

Erpingham was more judicious. “We may have a fight on our hands. But whatever you decide, Sire, I will follow.”

Three others agreed with Clarence. Henry was having trouble restraining himself when I got up and stood beside him. “I say we go to Calais,” I said. I was behind the king all the way.

“Surely you can’t be serious, Henry,” Clarence butted in. “You will put everything we have gained at risk!”

“Brother, we have planned this all along!” I shot back. “Why else would we have brought an army too large for a siege?”

“It’s no longer too large, by any count. We don’t have enough men to confront the combined French forces!”

“We do and we shall,” declared Henry. “God will determine the course of events. I would rather trust to His will than give our enemy grounds for calling me a coward by running away.” 

“How do you know you are not offending Him by your conceit?” His face flushed, Clarence started to rise from his chair. But he fell back again, gasping for breath. He was in the grip of his illness.

The king’s mouth worked for a moment until he brought himself under control. “I have noted your objections but we need no more discussion.” He paused. “Besides, did you forget that the prisoners are to meet us at Calais on 11 November after they have raised their ransoms? Of course, we will be there. In seven more days, if we do not hear from the Dauphin, the men who are still fit to travel will ride with me. Sir Thomas Erpingham, I charge you to make sure each man carries eight days’ rations. And you, brother,” he added, turning to Clarence, “I believe it would be best for all if you would retire to Calais by ship, so you may recover your health. At the same time, have them prepare to send troops to guard the Somme crossing for us at the old Roman ford of Blanche-Tacque.” 

Trying to recover his composure, Clarence swallowed. “The same used by Edward III before Crecy.”

“Exactly.” As we all knew from Edward’s glory days, the ford at low tide was wide enough to accommodate twelve men across. At the mouth of the Somme, the sandy crossing stretched a mile from one side to the other. It was on the direct route to Calais.

“I rely on you to make this happen,” Henry said, brooking no argument. He didn’t need Clarence constantly disagreeing with him and causing discontent in the ranks. “Take the first ship so it can immediately return with food and wine for our troops here.” 

They stared at each other in the gathering silence. My brother knew that Henry was getting rid of him, but perhaps it was just as well. Swallowing his pride, Clarence finally nodded. I suspect he was thinking that there was no point in them both going down if a disaster happened. After all, he was next in line to the throne.

Buy Links:

This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.Universal

Buy Link: https://books2read.com/u/mq70Ze

Mercedes Rochelle is an ardent lover of medieval history, and has channeled this interest into fiction writing. Her first four books cover eleventh-century Britain and events surrounding the Norman Conquest of England. The next series is called “The Plantagenet Legacy” and begins with the reign of Richard II. 

She also writes a blog: www.HistoricalBritainBlog.com to explore the history behind the story. Born in St. Louis, MO, she received by BA in Literature at the Univ. of Missouri St.Louis in 1979 then moved to New York in 1982 while in her mid-20s to “see the world”. The search hasn’t ended!

Today she lives in Sergeantsville, NJ with her husband in a log home they had built themselves.

Author Links:

Website: https://mercedesrochelle.com/

Blog:  https://historicalbritainblog.com/

Twitter / X: https://x.com/authorrochelle

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/mercedesrochelle.net

Book Bub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mercedes-rochelle

Amazon Author Page:  https://www.amazon.com/stores/Mercedes-Rochelle/author/B001KMG5P6Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1696491.Mercedes_Rochelle

Comments (0)

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *