I Serve by Rosanne E. Lortz Read Free Book Online Page A

faces of the advancing foe. Philip and his army of sixty thousand men had arrived at last to do battle on the plains of Ponthieu. From half a mile away, I could pick out their great red-orange standard fixed on a lance and flying overhead. It was the Oriflamme, the battle flag of the French kings. Philip had unearthed it from the vaults of Saint Denis and brought it to Crecy, hoping that its golden stars would shine brightly on the house of Valois and that its tongues of fire would speak victory for the French. I wondered who carried the Oriflamme that day, for only the pick of French chivalry were allowed to touch that hallowed banner.
     
    *****
     
    No sooner had we sighted their troops than the battle began. The French did not advance in any regular order. From the hill opposite, it was difficult to tell whether they had any leadership at all. Our men, on the contrary, were still arranged in tight formation. At one word from the prince, we arose from our seats on the ground, gripped our weapons, and girded up our loins.
    “ They are disorganized!” said I, and my anxiety at being so grossly outnumbered began to abate a little.
    “ So is an avalanche,” replied Chandos soberly, “but it can still crush whomever it falls upon.”
    A large company of crossbowmen broke off from the rest of the French army and headed for our ridge at a run. “Here come the Genoese,” said Chandos. “The French were always wont to hire their bowmen.”
    “ Best to hire an Italian,” boomed Audley, “because a Frenchman always aims crookedly.”
    “ With arrows as well as with words,” said Warwick with a laugh.
    “ Good God, these fellows are excitable!” said Chandos, as we watched the Genoese come forward. They ran across the field in short spurts, using most of their energy to send up a great hooting and howling.
    “ If bravery was located in the lungs, why then these Italians are the bravest men alive,” said the prince.
    Again they ran forward and again they stopped to taunt us with their cries. For our part, no man said a word, but each stood silent with hand on sword or arrow on string. They came on a third time, and this time they let loose a volley of arrows as well as a volley of shouts. I saw one or two of our men flinch, but the bulk of the barrage fell short. Not a man fired in response; stoic silence continued to reign across our lines.
    “ Their bowstrings are wet from the thunder shower,” declared Chandos assessing the cause behind the ineffectual volley. The Genoese had halted now in the field, winding their crossbows for further fusillades. The prince looked questioningly at Warwick, and the earl nodded gravely.
    “ Let the archers stand forward,” ordered the prince, and his voice assumed an unusual roughness. “And on my mark, let them fire in unison.”
    Signals circulated throughout the line, and the company commanders barked out his highness’s orders. The archers fired directly on cue, using the full strength of their longbows to put their arrows in flight. I heard men say later that the sky looked like it was filled with snow. The shafts flew so thick that they snuffed out the sun like a candle. The Genoese wore armor on head and breast, but it was as much use to them as a satin doublet. Our arrowheads pierced through the plate like a tailor’s needle through a lady’s gown.
    The English silence was broken now, not only by the cheers of our archers but also by the thunder of our new engines. The king had brought several cannon from England;we had carted them across Normandy all the way to this battlefield. The engines themselves were metal instead of wood, and when lit on fire they shot great iron balls and sent out a deafening rumble.
    The arrows and gunstones did their work. A wail went up from the wounded Genoese, and they tried to exit the field of battle in even more disarray than they had entered it. The French king, however, would not let his mercenaries earn their pay so easily. French