L.F-Hist.Novelist Chapter 41 The End of an Era
Chapter 41 The End of an Era
Alanson and La Hire, leading their vanguard cavalry, had been searching the dense forests and hills for an entire morning. The sun was growing increasingly scorching, even the chainmail they wore was scorching hot, like sheet metal pressed against a furnace wall, and the horses' breathing was becoming heavier and heavier.
La Hire reined in his horse, wiped the sweat from his brow with his iron glove, and shouted to Alençon, "We can't keep searching at this slow pace! The Marshal's orders are for a full-scale search. Didn't the scouts say the British are not far ahead? Get the cavalry fully armored and heading north at full speed along the main road. If we run into the British, we'll engage them immediately!"
Alençon shook his head and spurred his horse closer. "No way. This awful weather, coupled with this terrain, if we charge now, even if we find the English, how many horses will we have left? When Miss Joan of Arc asked me about the situation at Verneil, she said we didn't conserve our horses enough during the charge." He glanced behind him; the cavalrymen, though exhausted, were still sitting steadily on their horses. "Let the soldiers put on their armor first. The English are carrying baggage; they can't possibly be faster than us."
La Hire tugged at his collar in frustration, but didn't insist any further. Alençon ordered the troops to don their armor in place in the woods, then dismounted himself. As his squire tightened the straps of his breastplate, he instructed the officers around him: "Perhaps the British want to go to Jeanville, not Paris. Spread the troops out a bit and search the woods to the east, remembering to guard against ambushes."
After assembling their ranks, the 1,500 cavalrymen began to spread out eastward along the main road into the woods. The trees were so dense, with branches drooping low, frequently brushing against their helmets and shoulder armor. The French soldiers' vision was completely obstructed, only occasionally catching glimpses of the distant sunlight through gaps in the tree trunks. Alençon, walking in the middle of the column, muttered as he parted the branches in front of him, "This forest... we can't see anything."
Suddenly, the bushes ahead rustled. La Hire gripped his sword hilt and saw several deer leap out of the thicket, led by a male. Startled by the French horses, they pricked up their ears and hesitated for a moment before galloping off westward.
Just as Alençon was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a cheer suddenly erupted from not far to the north—not in French, but in English, mixed with laughter and noisy shouts.
The two men exchanged a glance. LaHale's lips curled into a grin: "The English!"
Alenson tried to keep his voice down, but couldn't hide his excitement: "The British don't know we're here! This is our chance! Order the whole army to spread out as far as possible, ideally encircling them from the north. Charge only when you hear my bugle!"
Several messengers obeyed and left. The two men stared nervously in the direction from which the cheers were coming, and the commotion grew louder and louder. Judging that the messengers had arrived, Alanson suddenly sat up straight, grabbed the horn from his waist, and blew it loudly.
Fifteen hundred cavalrymen kicked their spurs almost simultaneously. The sound of hooves thundered through the woods, sending dry leaves rustling down from the branches. The low bushes did not stop them—the horses neighed, smashing through the undergrowth, their hooves crushing the branches. When they emerged from the thicket, they saw only a group of longbowmen who were still bewildered. Without hesitation, the cavalrymen advanced like a wedge from the flank towards the longbowmen's position.
The longbowmen had just heard Talbot's command; some were still crouching on the ground, binding deer legs, their bows leaning to the side. When the sound of hooves suddenly drew near, many didn't even have time to look up.
The scattered wooden stakes and low bushes did nothing to stop them. The first rank of cavalry charged straight into their ranks. Shouts, screams, and the sound of snapping bowstrings mingled together. Most of the longbowmen were scattered before they could even fire an arrow; those who reacted slowly were cut down on the spot, and many dropped their bows and ran wildly through the forest.
But soon, a shout rang out from the British ranks: "Don't run amok! Hold the line! Retreat to the northwest hills; the main force is up there!"
Alençon and La Hire also leaped out of the bushes, hearing the order. Alençon scanned both sides of the road and saw that the British troops had barely regained order and were beginning to retreat into the woods. He hurriedly ordered, "Have the troops ignore those who have run far away, assemble, and drive the routed soldiers up that hill!"
The French army regrouped and formed a semi-encirclement. The British army lost its last chance to regroup and was forced to abandon its lines and begin to retreat.
The fleeing soldiers who tried to escape to the sides were almost completely surrounded by the French troops on both flanks and pushed towards the hillside. They, in turn, disrupted the still orderly ranks. Before long, in the open area below the hill, no matter how much the commanders shouted, all the troops had lost their order.
Seeing this, Lahail grinned maliciously, "Let the troops charge! There are probably a thousand men here; we can wipe them all out!"
Looking at the dark mass of British troops and the rows of banners atop the hill, Alanson said slowly, "How come I didn't know you had such a small appetite? You think an appetizer is enough to fill you up?"
Lahail frowned. "You want to just charge up there? There must be three or four thousand people up there, right? Aren't you afraid of breaking your teeth?"
Alenson nodded: "The infantry are less than half a league away from us; at least we can hold them off. Besides, the charge doesn't necessarily have to be done by our own men."
Before La Hire could reply, Alanson ordered: "Form a horizontal line and advance slowly. Any British soldiers who dare to flee to the flanks are to be killed on sight—push them up the hill!"
La Hire then realized what was happening and led his troops to form a horizontal line of about three ranks, pressing towards the still chaotic British army. The British were somewhat bewildered, but soon realized that whether they fled or knelt to surrender, they would still be stabbed to death with a single spear thrust. Finally, they panicked and began to flee for their lives on the hillside behind them.
The British commander did not sit idly by. A company on the mountaintop advanced down to the ridge, seemingly intending to encircle the fleeing soldiers and allow them to bypass the mountaintop position from both flanks.
Alenson looked up and continued to order, "Speed up!"
The French cavalry suddenly shifted from a slow pace to a rapid advance. This change came too suddenly. The company had only just descended the ridge and begun hastily deploying; some cavalrymen had just dismounted and formed their battle lines, and the longbowmen hadn't even started driving in the stakes—the formation was utterly disorganized. But the fleeing soldiers were truly terrified, frantically trying to squeeze through gaps in the lines, even drawing their swords when officers tried to stop them. Before long, the company itself had lost all order, swept along by the fleeing soldiers, and was about to charge the main British position on the hilltop.
Alençon and La Hire eagerly awaited the complete collapse of British order. But the British commander was not about to sit idly by—he issued a brutal order.
The longbowmen unleashed a volley of fire, targeting the fleeing soldiers.
Three volleys of fire left the routed soldiers dead, their bodies strewn across the field. The remaining survivors stood frozen, bewildered. A squad of English knights emerged from the ranks and began slaughtering the remaining stragglers. Several messengers on the hilltop shouted, "Avoid the lines and regroup at the rear! Otherwise, show no mercy!"
The French troops were stunned by the brutal scene and halted on the hillside. La Hire turned and asked, "Who is that man on the hilltop? Isn't he afraid of being punished for killing his own people like this?"
Alanson shook his head: "No matter who it is, we definitely can't break through. Let the troops spread out and kill more fleeing soldiers, shall we?"
La Hire thought for a moment and nodded. He left half of Alençon's cavalry to stay on the ridge to monitor the main British force, while he led the scattered cavalry to pursue the fleeing soldiers.
Alençon frowned as he looked at the main British force on the hilltop. Their knights had dismounted and formed several horizontal lines, seemingly trying to press down and force the French to withdraw from the battlefield. They had also sent out several small cavalry units to intercept the French and rescue the fleeing soldiers. Alençon realized that the British commanders had probably guessed they were only a vanguard and were preparing to launch a counterattack.
Just as Alençon was hesitating whether to order his troops to retreat down the ridge, a deafening cheer suddenly erupted from the French cavalry below. He turned to look—a huge white fleur-de-lis flag appeared at the end of the road to the south, beneath which stood a dense line of infantry.
Beneath the banner stood a familiar silver-armored figure from Alanson. She had clearly also spotted the battlefield, and as with every battle over the past month, she never missed an opportunity. The cavalry leaped out of formation, charging towards several groups of fleeing soldiers to the north; the infantry, on the other hand, turned directly, heading straight for the hill.
The British troops on the hilltop became restless, and the dismounted knights at the front of the formation were somewhat at a loss. A figure dressed as a commander stepped out of the ranks and looked at the large banner. Finally, at his command, the knights returned to their ranks, mounted their horses, and the entire British army on the hilltop began to slowly retreat northward.
As the last British flag fled the battlefield, the routed soldiers finally collapsed, abandoning all resistance. They threw down their weapons, leaving their armor and shields scattered on the ground, and began to scramble for their lives.
Alençon had no intention of pursuing the main British force. He scanned the battlefield below the hill, looking for a prey worthy of his status. He soon found one—a British force was still putting up a fierce resistance. It was an exceptionally elite cavalry squad, struggling to break through to the north, and it seemed there might be a high-ranking commander among them.
He led his cavalry in pursuit of the group of knights. But the English troops were indeed formidable, especially the lead knight, who was exceptionally brave. His personal guards fell one after another, yet he showed no fear, charging ahead. After breaking his lance, he brandished his longsword, slashing at every French soldier who charged, and it seemed he was about to break through the French encirclement.
Just then, a knight in silver armor led a troop of heavily armored cavalry from the east, flanking them and blocking their path. The breach was completely sealed, and Alanson breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing that the British troops seemed to have lost their morale, he urged his troops to speed up, his mind already calculating the ransom.
But the leading, valiant knight did not give up. He straightened his helmet and raised his longsword high toward the silver-armored knight—he issued a challenge to a duel.
The silver-armored knight didn't reply, but simply straightened himself, ordered his troops to make way, and raised his lance high—he had agreed. The valiant knight happily dismounted, retrieved a lance from the ground, removed the deformed spur from his boot, jumped back into his saddle, and leveled the lance. Without a word, the two charged at full speed simultaneously. In the instant their paths crossed, the silver-armored knight deflected the opponent's lance with his own and thrust it forward first—his aim was for the opponent's horse. The poor horse, pierced by the lance, let out a great wail and collapsed. The valiant knight fell with his horse, crushed beneath its carcass.
Alençon leaned over and had his attendants help drag the valiant knight from under the horse's carcass. The knight was surprisingly still conscious, and with a feeble effort, removed his helmet, asking weakly, "I am Commander Talbot of the British Army. Your martial prowess is unmatched; may I ask who you are?"
The silver-armored knight approached, removing his helmet—it was Artirie. He said calmly, "I am a fox who only knows how to shoot arrows from the shadows. Count Talbot, are you satisfied with the outcome of this duel?"
Upon seeing who it was, Talbot felt a mouthful of blood well up in his mouth, his vision went black, and he fainted instantly.
Atil ignored him and turned to Alenson: "Did I steal your prey? You can keep his ransom."
Alanson was somewhat embarrassed and didn't know how to respond. As he looked around, he saw that the deer carcass from before had been hung on a tree branch by someone—presumably someone had deliberately placed it there to prevent it from being trampled by the cavalry.
He pointed at the stag and grinned, "Cousin, this is my biggest prey today. With it, I'll be completely satisfied."
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…The Battle of Parthi ended the myth of the invincibility of English longbowmen in field defense. …
…This proves that, without fortified positions and effective command, longbowmen are equally vulnerable to heavy cavalry raids. …
…This marked a significant step forward for the French army, inspired by Joan of Arc, in overcoming their “Anglophophobia” and daring to actively seek out and annihilate the main British forces. …
…The Battle of Parthi, in a sense, marked the end of the English longbowman era.
—The Wars of the Middle Ages by Matthew Strickland