The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 22 The Herring War

"I have a question for you. What if Marshal Attil is put in command and he hands us all over to the British?"

In the army camp, Albrecht was addressing the assembled generals. Before he could finish speaking, someone stood up and shouted:

"You little brat, if you want to cause trouble, get out of the tent! This is where we hold meetings!"

Albrecht wasn't angry at his words; instead, he continued with a smile.

"General John, last winter, Marshal Arthur was adamant that the British would attack Angers. We believed him and transferred all our troops to the west. And what happened? The British have Count Dunois trapped in Orléans for months." Albrecht's gaze was fixed on Arthur's face. "Orléans cannot be attacked suddenly. From spring to autumn, you haven't sent a single soldier. Now, after a whole winter's siege, Marshal, you haven't been able to lift the siege. How can I be at ease?"

John's face flushed red: "Albrecht, do you have any conscience?! Who was it that led the cavalry to support Dinois last year? If it weren't for us—"

“If it weren’t for you,” Albrecht interrupted, “the British would have withdrawn long ago. Thousands of men besieged the British for months. Were we just going to sit here and watch them dig trenches around Orléans? Count Dunois was besieged for months and didn’t let a single Englishman onto the walls!”

"you--"

"Enough." Atil raised his hand to stop John, his voice perfectly calm. "Earl Albrecht, this is a discussion about how to intercept the British convoy. You can question me, but wait until after this battle. If you continue speaking like this, I will ask you to leave."

Albrecht softened his tone slightly: "Marshal Attil, that's exactly what we're discussing. The key to breaking the siege lies in successfully intercepting the British convoy; we must choose a commander who satisfies everyone."

He turned to a middle-aged man sitting upright and said, "I recommend His Excellency the Duke of Bourbon as the commander-in-chief of this allied force. The Bourbon family has been loyal to the royal family for generations and has brought the most reinforcements. The Duke himself has a distinguished military record and is hailed as a paragon of chivalry."

John opened his mouth, but Artil's gaze silenced him.

"I also agree that the Duke of Bourbon should serve as the commander-in-chief of the allied forces. Now, I would like to ask the Duke to arrange how to deal with the enemy."

The Duke of Bourbon remained seated on his horse, silent for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you for Marshal Attil's recommendation. Albrecht is young and impetuous; please bear with him. I appreciate your hard work in the previous battles, but the situation is urgent now, and we cannot afford to be leaderless. My biggest question now is: where did the intelligence on the British convoys come from? Is it accurate?"

Atil hesitated for a moment: "I cannot disclose the source of the intelligence, but I did learn of it personally from a reliable person a month ago. I have sent out a large number of scouts to confirm that a large convoy is indeed heading south from Paris and will arrive in Roufray around tomorrow. Judging from the size of the convoy, the escorting British troops will not exceed two thousand men, and I suspect that most of them are militia."

The Duke of Bourbon nodded, turned to the map, studied it for a moment, and asked, "Albrecht, you've been operating around Orléans for a long time. If we set off early tomorrow morning, can we intercept this convoy?"

Albre leaned closer to examine the map, then nodded and said, "No problem, Your Grace. Although Ruff is lingering on the north bank, as long as we build the pontoon bridge tonight, we can definitely intercept them before noon tomorrow."

John finally snapped, "It just snowed today, and you're supposed to escort thousands of people across the river and walk several miles in one morning? Do you think this is springtime? And you're likely to be spotted by the besieging army and ambushed!"

The Duke of Bourbon returned to his seat: "General John is right, so we'll build the bridge and set off tonight. Our greatest advantage is that these four thousand warriors from the south are fresh and skilled in marching. I've specially brought small cannons from the territory for easy transport; we'll definitely teach the British a lesson!"

Before John could reply, the Duke of Bourbon immediately began issuing military orders: "Albrecht, you are the vanguard, and the bridge-building is your responsibility. You must get the army across tonight; Marshal Arthur, please hand over the infantry to me, and I will have my good-for-nothing son command this battle; you and I will have to work hard, leading the cavalry to monitor the defenders and be ready to attack at any time. What do you all think?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, except John, whose neck was red from holding back. Atil pressed him down again, and he bowed to the Duke, indicating his willingness to cooperate.

The Duke of Bourbon nodded in satisfaction and announced the execution of the military order, but most of the nobles surrounded him, asking him all sorts of questions. Artier pulled John away from the main tent, mounted his horse, and headed towards their own camp.

John didn't leave the camp until he finally lowered his voice and cursed, "How could you hand over command to him? What battles has he ever fought? Aside from fighting a few bandits in his own territory, he has no real military achievements to speak of! He didn't even go into battle himself, letting his son reap the rewards!"

"The Duke brought two thousand men," Atil said without turning around, "and a few cannons. Besides, without him, could I command these nobles' private armies? These four thousand men don't listen to me anyway, so let Bourbon command them; it'll be easier for us to cooperate with him."

Before John could say anything more, Attil said sternly, "I know you don't like him, and neither do I, but you must obey orders tomorrow. This is the best chance to relieve the siege of Orleans."

John was so angry he didn't want to talk. He cracked his whip hard, leaving Atil behind.

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The next morning, the allied forces were already marching north of the Loire River, dragging their crooked and shaky column.

The royal cavalry led the way, the only column maintaining any semblance of order. Behind them, the ranks were a sorry sight—most men huddled together, slowly inching forward; even among the few orderly formations, the infantry moved at varying paces. Loud complaints arose from the ranks, with some shouting that they hadn't slept a wink, and others demanding to exchange winter clothing. However, whenever someone became too disruptive, the officers patrolling the ranks would approach with whips, using them to restore order.

Several cannons were being pulled by oxen, their wheels grinding deep furrows in the snow and mud, and they were almost in front of the infantry.

John, riding on his horse, kept looking back at the ranks and then up at the sky. Finally, he couldn't resist walking to the middle of the ranks to find the "commander-in-chief".

In the middle of the procession, a large group of knights and nobles surrounded Albrecht and a young man. When the young man saw John arrive, he smiled and said, "General John, why are you alone at the front? Come and join us! Earl Albrecht is telling us how he and Lord Denois flooded the English."

John frowned, pushed aside several people blocking his way, and said to the young man, "Earl Clement, the Duke of Bourbon sent you here to command the troops, not to chat. We are marching too slowly and may miss the English column. You'd better get your troops here faster."

Count Clement also looked back, then turned back somewhat embarrassed and said, "I'm sorry, General John, this is my first time leading a large army. I'll have someone urge them on."

He began giving orders to the few knights around him, who then led away most of the cavalry. At the knights' signal, the squires directly used their lances to drive the infantry forward, forcing them to line up and move faster.

Several mercenaries retorted and even took a few steps outside. A knight roared and ordered his squire to stab them through the neck.

These men were beheaded on the spot, and their heads were held up by their attendants and displayed to the infantry in the army formation.

John watched the scene with some surprise. Whether out of command or fear, the infantrymen did indeed march in an orderly fashion and gradually caught up with the royal cavalry.

Count Clement nodded in satisfaction and invited John to join them again. John declined and returned to the royal cavalry.

Looking at the company commanders who hadn't said much throughout, he felt comfortable for some reason.

But they were still too slow, or perhaps the British should have discovered such a large army in the first place. By the time they arrived at Ruffray, the British army was already in battle formation.

Hundreds of large wagons were arranged in a huge circle, with the shafts facing outwards and the wheels buried directly in the ground, unable to move. The outer perimeter of the wagon formation was densely covered with sharpened wooden stakes, the tips pointing outwards. On the wagons, a large group of longbowmen could be seen in position, surrounded by many militiamen nervously holding crossbows.

The British command flag hung on a long pole in the center of the vehicle formation, fluttering lazily in the wind.

The French army wasn't too surprised, after all, they had a full four thousand men and were preparing to launch a strong attack on the supply train. Count Clermont sent a knight to persuade them to surrender according to protocol, but the knight was shot back immediately.

He shook his head helplessly and told the gunners to drag the cannons up and set them up.

"Fire!" Count Clement ordered.

The cannons fired, sending stone projectiles flying from several barrels simultaneously, sweeping across the outer perimeter of the wagon formation. Several wooden stakes were broken, the wheels of a large wagon were shattered, and a corner of the wagon's deck collapsed.

The nearby militiamen were startled, and several dressed as cart drivers even ran away shouting. The longbowmen had to come out from behind the carts, catch the running men, and herd them back behind the cover.

This time, without any further orders, the cannons began to bombard the area continuously.

Several rounds of shelling finally destroyed another wagon. The shells pierced the deck and smashed into the contents of the wagon, spilling out a large amount of beans along with herring. The longbowmen who had been hiding behind it emerged covered in dust, but none of them were seriously injured.

John glanced through the gap and his expression changed drastically.

He spurred his horse up to the group of nobles: "Clermont, cannons won't break through! The English have more than one layer; they have a line of wagons behind them! Let me lead the cavalry in a charge, first using the cannons to create a path from the side of the wagon formation—"

"No way." Albrecht refused before Clermont could speak. "A cavalry charge? Who knows how many longbowmen are hiding on the other side. So what if there are two wagons? Keep bombarding them with cannons, we have plenty of ammunition."

"You idiot!" John snapped. "You're firing cannons! Even if the British troops in the nearby outposts are blind, they can't be deaf, can they? Their reinforcements are definitely on their way. If this drags on, we'll be attacked from both sides!"

Clement frowned slightly upon hearing this and looked at Albrecht.

Albrecht gritted his teeth: "Let's bombard them again and see the results. When has a forced charge against the longbowmen ever ended well?"

John watched the artillerymen cool down their cannons and then fire again, finally smashing several more wagons.

This time, the British were no longer panicked. Instead, they began to organize the pushing of the vehicles behind them, filling in the wreckage and building a "wall".

"This won't work!" John's voice rose. "The cannons won't break through, and the cavalry are afraid the longbowmen will hurt their horses, so let the armored men charge! Are you here to fight the English, or to watch them eat fish?"

Albrecht's face darkened instantly: "John Stuart, mind your place! You are merely a representative of the Royal Cavalry, not the commander-in-chief of the Allied Forces. The Earl will make his own decision!"

Clement finally spoke: "We can't charge straight in. Before we came, my father told me that these four thousand men are our last reinforcements. Even if we can't stop the supply train, we can find other ways to get out of the siege. General John, you said the British have a stronghold nearby, so we need to have an escape route."

John stood there, his chest heaving, his fists clenched so tightly they cracked.

He turned and walked back to his own line.

"gather!"

His voice boomed across the wilderness, and a group of red-haired Scots gathered around, their halberds raised like a forest.

John dismounted and walked to the front of the armored men. He put on his helmet, covering his red hair that was flying wildly in the wind, and held a longsword high in his hand, the blade reflecting the white light in the sunlight.

"All armored warriors, follow me!"

They charged forward, waving iris flags and roaring.

The English were clearly taken aback; the longbowmen hadn't even had a chance to unleash a few rounds of concentrated fire before the armored soldiers charged forward. They kicked down the wooden stakes, stabbed the wagons with halberds, and the militia behind them fled in terror, clutching their crossbows.

Those redheads, like moving flames, burned into the British army's wagon formation.

The British reacted quickly, and some of the better-armored longbowmen dropped their bows and arrows, drew their axes, and rushed forward to intercept the frenzied armored warriors.

Count Clement raised his hand, then lowered it.

"Cease the shelling!" He turned to Albrecht and asked, "Should we go in?"

Albrecht stared at the chaotic crowd, his lips twitching slightly, but he remained silent.

John also charged into the wagon formation, thrusting his longsword into the deck of a large wagon, causing the longbowmen hiding behind it to scream in pain.

He kicked open the carriage door and saw English longbowmen with axes closing in from both sides. He laughed and shouted for Finley to go meet them.

But then the cannons roared – not from the French, but from the British, who had hidden organ cannons behind the wagon formation!

With each cannon shot, several armored soldiers fell, and John had to order the remaining armored soldiers to find cover.

Looking around, he suddenly had a flash of inspiration. He led dozens of people to start pulling up the wooden stakes, shouting to the rear as he cleared the area.

Although he couldn't hear clearly, Albrecht immediately understood his meaning. He put on his helmet and asked Clermont, "My lord, this is the opportunity! Send the cavalry through that gap, and the battle will be won!"

Clement nodded blankly: "Then Lord Albrecht, you shall go. All the knights are in your hands."

Albrecht led his knights into a simple formation, then, lances in hand, began to accelerate toward the gap.

John watched the charging cavalry, laughing as he snatched his second-in-command's flag and waved it vigorously to indicate the direction.

But what arrived before the cavalry was a hail of arrows—the English longbowmen had somehow formed ranks behind the wagons and, together with the militia that had been reorganized, unleashed a volley of arrows at the knights.

The knights' horses fell one after another, even blocking the path of their charge—after all, the gap was only a dozen paces wide.

John's expression changed drastically. He dropped the flag and organized the armored soldiers around him to charge into the wagon formation under the cover of the organ cannons and suppress the archers. But at that moment, the ground began to tremble—it was the cavalry charge.

That was an English cavalry charge: a knight carrying a flag, leading a group of mounted longbowmen armed with lances! They secretly pushed aside their wagons and lined up, heading straight for the gap.

Although there wasn't a single true knight, they charged into the ranks of the armored soldiers without hesitation. A spear pierced John's breastplate, knocking him to the ground. When he rose again, he was covered in blood, indistinguishable between his own and others'. The entire ranks were in complete chaos; the surviving armored soldiers, like John, wildly brandished their weapons, while the cavalry had been brought back into formation, seemingly preparing for another charge.

"John! Retreat!"

Albrecht shouted behind him and led only a few dozen riders to the gap. They squeezed through the opening they had previously created and dragged John and a few armored men out of the wagon formation.

John was hoisted onto horseback and galloped away. He glanced groggily at the wagon formation and noticed that the mounted longbowmen weren't giving chase, but remained within the ranks. Several arrows pierced the air nearby, but he felt nothing, and couldn't even hear the familiar clanging sound.

The British began piling debris into the breach, cramming the armored soldiers' corpses haphazardly between the wagons and the wooden stakes, some red hair mixed in with the mud, like clumps of extinguished fire.

Clement sighed as he watched Albre return.

"Let's withdraw our troops," he said.

Albrecht paused for a moment: "My lord—"

"My father instructed me to prioritize preserving our forces." Clement had already begun signaling to the artillerymen to put away their precious cannons.

"For now, it's fortunate that we only lost some armored royal cavalrymen. If we attack again, we'll have to use our own men. Besides, didn't we also lose a dozen or so knights? That's enough to give the royal family an explanation. It's time to withdraw."

Albrecht said nothing more.

More than three thousand men fled in disarray, barely cleaning up the battlefield. Cheers erupted from the British wagon column, but officers immediately began clearing the roads, unloading wagons, and preparing to continue transporting supplies.

John was carried to the rear camp. By the time Atil arrived, he had already fainted.

Atil stood at the tent entrance, looking at John on the bed. His face was as white as paper, his lips were blue, but his chest was still heaving.

"He shouldn't die. He was wearing double armor, so the lance didn't pierce him," the doctor said.

Atil nodded but did not go in.

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A few days later, at a meeting in the camp, Albrecht stood beside the Duke of Bourbon, his voice booming as if he were shouting commands on the battlefield.

"Your Grace, the failure to intercept the British supply convoy this time was entirely due to John Stuart's disobedience and unauthorized charge, which disrupted the entire plan. He inflicted heavy losses on the armored soldiers and prevented the allied forces from continuing the fight. I suggest that the participation of the royal cavalry in the allied forces would lead to command confusion. It would be better to send Marshal Attil to the western Borjansi area to monitor Talbot."

Atil glanced at him but didn't speak immediately. He turned his head and found everyone staring at him.

"What does Marshal Attil think?" the Duke of Bourbon asked.

"Then let's do as Albrecht says," he finally said.

Atil lost interest in the rest of the discussion. When he came out of the tent, the sunset had turned the entire camp blood red.

"My lord." Roland led the horse over.

Then he mounted his horse.

"Walk."

The royal cavalry was five hundred men short; they seemed to have been prepared to leave long ago, setting off directly from the camp towards the west.

Behind Athletic, the walls of Orleans receded into the twilight, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared behind the gray horizon.

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Sir John Fastolf, a historical figure, was a professional soldier, and there were indeed some rumors of cowardice during the later stages of the Hundred Years' War; however, Shakespeare's portrayal of him is defamatory. Some figures don't need to be reinvented—Sir John Fastolf is one of them, remaining one of the best and most visionary English commanders of the Hundred Years' War.

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Encyclopædia Britannica by Colin Richmond