A Field in France by Tom Fynes

 

Charlie checked his Longbow and the amount of armour piercing shafts he had available for the coming fight.

He was sick. Physically and mentally. They all were. Henrys half-starved army had watched, with great trepidation, the French army that had been tracking them for days. And soon they would clash and be destroyed. They were outnumbered and had no energy for the coming fight. This was not what Charlie and his group of archers had signed up for. They had slim pickings on their way to this place. And tomorrow, it looked like they would never see home.

Henry was still pushing them on. He had a lot of balls oul Henry. After his great war speech, the boys would follow him to the ends of the Earth. And it was looking like that end was coming up very quickly.

Charlie studied Henry as his entourage rode past. He nodded at Charlie. A King recognizing a common soldier was a big boost to morale.

“You and the boys OK Charlie?”

“Yes Sire, we’re ready for those French Frogs.”

“They’ll end up as French Hedgehogs, with the amount of shafts we will stick them with,” came a shout from Billy No-name.

Henry gave out a loud laugh. “That’s the spirit boys.” And rode on.

Young Jamie Green came and stood beside him. He looked scared. As he should be.

“How will it end, Charlie. Ya think we can win?”

Charlie just looked with pity at this wasted sickly youngster.

“They will advance in force, a frontal assault, and flank us from each side. We will hold for a bit. Then we will break and run. And they will run us down and butcher us like lambs to the slaughter.”

Charlie watched as Jamie turned an even paler colour than he was already.

“Or they will fuck it up,” said Big Sam, “those Frogs always manage to fuck it up. And then we will see who runs and who gets slaughtered.”

This broke the tension, and the whole group started to laugh. A forced laugh at first, but gradually it spread like a ripple through the camp. Interspersed with coughing.

Henry stopped his horse and looked back. To see who, or what was the source of this merriment. And then rode on.

Next morning they stood shoulder to shoulder and watched as the French did indeed fuck it up. Charlie and his band pumped those arrogant bastards with more precision placed arrows than deemed possible. The flower of the French Aristocracy and their war-steeds fell and died in the mud. As their suicidal attack formed a perfect bottleneck, and a killing field for Charlie’s archers.

The heavily armoured French Knights should have carried the day. But the Longbow was a great leveller. A common English soldier equipped with this war-bow, could bring down a Knight, a King, and even a whole country. 

And as the French Bluebloods with their vain glory and their ignorant peasant soldiers died in their hundreds in the mud, in that field of Agincourt. it struck Charlie, that death too, was a great leveller.