The Constable, seeing that he could not attack the English to advantage, continued his march for a mile or so, and halted across the road by which the English must march to Calais, between the little villages of Agincourt and Tramecourt, the English camping almost where they had halted to offer battle, in and about Maisoncelles. There was much rain in the night, to the great discomfort of the English, who had little shelter, and had had more than a fortnight of continuous and fairly hard marching, with rather scanty supplies of food. The rain proved in truth a valuable ally, when the French assailed them next day over the soft wet ground.
Early on the 25th Henry arrayed his little army in order of battle. In accordance with custom, the vanguard for marching purposes formed the right of the line, the rearguard the left: the former was commanded by the duke of York, the latter by lord Camoys, the king himself taking charge of the main body in the centre: the total number was too small to admit of a reserve. Accounts differ as to the exact formation adopted, though there is perfect unanimity as to the English men-at-arms having all dismounted, and left their horses in rear with the baggage, such as there was. Nor is there any doubt that the archers carried each man a six-foot stake, to plant in the ground in front of the line, so as to form a sort of palisade. These stakes we are expressly told had been cut by Henry's order immediately before crossing the Somme, when he knew that an attack from superior numbers was at any time possible. It seems to have been his own idea, and to have become the regular practice after Agincourt. Some writers state that the archers were entirely on the flanks, so that when the line had advanced to where it came into collision with the French, the archers lined the woods on each side of the open ground, which was crossed by the dismounted men-at-arms. This view however must be rejected for more reasons than one. The distance from the wood skirting Tramecourt on the English right to that skirting Agincourt on the left was over half-a-mile.[34] This is too great a distance to be covered by arrows from the sides, even with the long-bow at its best, and it is certain that the arrows did deadly execution all over the battle-field. Moreover Henry had at the most only 1000 men-at-arms, probably under 900. This number in single rank would hardly suffice to cover half-a-mile, and of course they could not be in single rank: there is no reason to doubt what is stated by every authority who mentions the point at all, that they were four deep. It is necessary therefore to adopt the other view, that each of the three divisions had its separate formation, dismounted men-at-arms in line in the centre, and the archers on each flank of them. The archers were formed in wedges (cuneos), says Henry's chaplain. The formation already described in giving account of Crecy was no doubt by this time the regularly established one for an English line: its merits were obvious, and well tested. The differences between Crecy and Agincourt were only that in the latter case the front was in three divisions instead of two, and the archers were protected by an improvised palisade, besides being separated by shorter lines of spearmen. These differences would obviously all tend to make them more destructive.
The numbers of the French army are told so variously that it is impossible to state them with any confidence. They are usually given by comparison with the English, and the proportion varies from six times as great down to three times. Henry had perhaps about 10,000 in all, as has been stated above; he may well have had less, but cannot have had more.[35] The French were drawn up in three divisions, one behind the other, each having a continuous line of dismounted men-at-arms. One contemporary, who says that the English were four deep, says that the French were thirty deep, which may possibly have been true of the men-at-arms, who formed a much larger proportion of the French army than of the English. The front line, at any rate, cannot have had more than 600 in front at the outside, for a small body of horsemen was placed on each flank to charge the English archers, and the whole space available was but half-a-mile, though it is true that they were much crowded together. There were archers, or at any rate cross-bowmen, in the French army: how they were posted does not appear, except that they were never given a chance of being useful. The knights, we are told, refused to let them have the post of honour in front, behaving thus with the usual feudal vaingloriousness, which had cost the French so dear at Crecy. Similarly we are told that the French had cannon, but certainly no use was made of them, perhaps for the same reason.
The highest nobility of France was well represented on the battle-field: in fact there were so many semi-royal personages that it was a difficult task for the Constable, whose authority they barely recognised, to distribute the honour of command so as to satisfy them. Ultimately the first division, which was to have the brunt of the fighting, and expected to carry off all the glory, comprised (it would be a farce to say it was commanded by) the Constable, the Marshal, the dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, the brother of the duke of Brittany, and the count of Eu. The second division had at its head the dukes of Alençon and Bar, the count of Nevers, youngest brother of the duke of Burgundy, and the count of Vaudemont, brother of the duke of Lorraine. The rear division was under men of less note: some or all of the men-at-arms belonging to it remained on horseback. The front line of the French was drawn up a little north of the cross-road which now (and possibly then) leads from Agincourt to Tramecourt. Here they were on rising ground, and had a wider space than further to the south, the woods which bound the ground which was the actual scene of conflict trending back a little on each side. Consequently when the French advanced, the men were crowded more together. We cannot be wrong in assuming that the taking up of this position was the Constable's doing, as he had throughout been averse to attacking the English in the field: they had but to hold it, and Henry must attack, with everything against him. If the French authorities are correct, Henry so fully recognised this that he tried to negotiate, but the terms offered were such as he declined to accept. This is not improbable in itself, though the English writers do not mention it: and it is all the more likely to be true, as the battle did not begin till some three hours after sunrise.
Less than a mile separated the two armies, over ploughed land, gently rising towards the French, and soft with the recent rain, the upper part at least doubtless already trodden into mire by the French, who had been stationary thereabouts since the previous afternoon. There was no alternative but to advance, as the French did not: but Henry possessed in his archers a means of stinging them into action, and the class pride of the French nobles had led to the adoption of an order of battle which gave them no means of replying. Towards ten o'clock the king gave the word, "In the name of Almighty God and of St. George, advance banners." For a moment, the English line knelt and touched the earth with their faces: then with a cheer they moved forward. As soon as they were within bowshot of the enemy the line halted, the archers fixed their stakes in the soft ground and began to shoot. Obviously the French could not stand to be riddled with arrows: the horsemen who had been placed on the flanks of the front line on purpose to "over-ride" the archers, were ordered to charge, but were unable even to reach the English and were driven back in confusion. The Constable now led the men-at-arms forwards, separating them apparently into three masses, to attack the three lines of English spearmen. Weighted with armour, they sank to the calf at each step, and the archers took them more and more in flank as they advanced. Still, they managed to reach and even to press back the English men-at-arms: but then the archers, taking to their bills, quitted the protection of the stakes, and closed on to the flanks of the helpless struggling mass, who were far too closely wedged together to use their spears. The Constable was killed: all the other noble personages figure on the list of prisoners: of one of them, the duke of Orleans, it is expressly said that he was taken out after the battle from a pile of dead and wounded; and probably the same fate befell others. Wounded or not, they could not move to escape from the ghastly heap, sunk deeper and deeper in the struggle into the miry soil. Pushing a little forward, Henry attacked the second French line, doubtless in the same manner, and with equally decisive result. The slaughter of the second division was presumably even greater, for all its leaders, with the duke of Brabant, who arrived with reinforcements during the battle, were found among the slain. Most of the third line fled without resistance; the counts at its head made a last desperate charge at the head of a few hundred men, and found the death they expected.
The battle was now won, and the English had time to secure the prisoners. Suddenly a body of French fugitives who had rallied, threatened a fresh attack: how many there were is not stated, but the total number of fugitives was two or three times as great as the whole English army. It was impossible to guard the prisoners while repelling the attack, and a slaughter of them had begun, when the enemy withdrew. Of the total French loss the estimates vary greatly: the names of the most important nobles who fell have been given already. It is perhaps worth mention that the grandfathers of two of them perished at Crecy, the then count of Alençon, and the then duke of Lorraine. Between slain and prisoners, the French nobility suffered enormously; in fact the blow to the Armagnac party was for the time crushing, though it may be doubted whether the loss was not a disguised gain to France, as leaving room for the far more competent professional soldiers, who conducted the last stages of the great war.
On the English side king Henry fought like the meanest soldier, with his own hand saving the life of his young brother Humphrey. His helmet still hangs in Westminster Abbey, with more than one dent from a sword-stroke, doubtless received in the great battle. The list of English slain is preposterously small; just thirteen men-at-arms, though among them was included the duke of York, last surviving grandson of Edward III., and about a hundred others. One need realise very fully the conditions of the battle, the absurd mismanagement of the French leaders, and the helplessness of their masses, not to multiply tenfold the numbers given, which nevertheless are authentic.
An illustration of the imminence of the danger from which the English escaped, is furnished by the fact that during the action the baggage was plundered by French stragglers. As the army left Harfleur without a waggon, with nothing but what could be carried on horses or by the soldiers themselves, there cannot have been much: but the king lost some articles of plate and jewellery for his own personal use, including the seals of his chancery, which however were most of them recovered afterwards through the instrumentality of a French noble who had been taken prisoner in Harfleur. Henry's crown he wore fixed on his helmet, and a portion of it was cut away in the battle.
Henry V. was too wise to imagine that his small force, even after victory, could achieve great things. He returned in triumph to England, leaving the French factions to tear the country to pieces. In 1417 he landed again in Normandy, and set to work systematically to conquer that province, which was left to defend itself, while the princes pursued the much more interesting employment of quarrelling with each other. After capturing Rouen, and organising the government so thoroughly that Normandy remained in English hands for thirty years, Henry marched on Paris. In face of this pressing danger the French factions began to negotiate, and an interview was arranged on the bridge of Montereau: but the Armagnacs seized the opportunity treacherously to murder the duke of Burgundy in the presence of the Dauphin. Naturally his son at once went over to Henry's side. The Dauphin was entirely in the hands of the Armagnacs, who were as incapable as they were base. In Paris, which was always inclined to the Burgundian side, the feeling spread that Henry of England, especially if he married a French princess as he proposed to do, would be better than the Dauphin. In a few months the treaty of Troyes was agreed to, by which Henry was to be regent during the lifetime of Charles VI., and succeed to the throne on his death, on condition of his marrying the princess Catharine. Unfortunately Henry died two years later, just before Charles VI. The infant Henry VI. was proclaimed king of both countries, and his uncle Bedford ruled vigorously in his name. The death of Charles VI. however made the Dauphin no longer a quasi-rebel, but the legitimate king: and the national feeling of France declared for him. Roughly speaking, the English ruled all north of the Loire, thanks to the Burgundian alliance; the south more or less ruled itself, for Charles VII. was indolent and unwarlike. His cause was not without support in the north, while his Scottish allies were there, but two bloody defeats at Crevant and Verneuil inflicted enormous loss on the Scots. In the latter battle the archers played a very conspicuous part: we find some of the archers, left to guard the horses and baggage while the men-at-arms fought on foot, beating off unaided the body of French horse which had been sent round to attack the English rear. Though no more fighting on a large scale took place, it was not till 1428 that Bedford saw his way to the definite forward step of besieging Orleans.
This city is usually spoken of as being of paramount importance, the "key of the south"; it is assumed that its capture would have been equivalent to the final overthrow of Charles VII. A glance at the map will show that, although the possession of Orleans would have been an undoubted advantage to the English, it would have only been one step towards the conquest of the southern half of France. It might with more justice be asserted that until Orleans was taken, the English were far from secure in their hold on the north. However this may be, the siege of Orleans did in fact witness the first English failure. One of the most remarkable characters in history appeared quite suddenly on the scene, and turned the scale against them.
Orleans stands on the north bank of the Loire, with a long bridge connecting it with the south bank. At the time of the siege the inhabitants destroyed the suburb on the south bank, retaining only a fort commanding the bridge-head, called the Tournelles, which they covered with a boulevard.[36] The English under the earl of Salisbury began the siege on October 12, 1428. Their camp was pitched on the south of the Loire, and the first operation was to construct a little fort on the ruins of the Augustin convent, whence their cannon were directed mainly at the Tournelles. A mine was run from thence under the boulevard in front of the Tournelles. For some mysterious reason the English did not wait to fire the mine, but assaulted the boulevard, and were repulsed. This waste of life might well have been spared, for the French not only abandoned the outwork, but, the Tournelles being injured by the cannonade, evacuated that also after offering almost nominal resistance to an assault. The French broke down an arch of the bridge next to the Tournelles, and proceeded to construct a new boulevard on a small islet near the south bank of the Loire, over which the bridge passed. So far the siege had progressed successfully and rapidly: but on October 27 Salisbury was mortally wounded by a cannon-shot from the city, while reconnoitring from the top of the Tournelles. The death of so experienced a soldier was a great blow to the besiegers: but his successor Suffolk carried on the work with energy. Bringing the army over to the right bank, he left Sir William Glansdale in command of the Tournelles and the other forts on the left bank. His purpose was to complete the investment by a series of small forts all round the city; but the weather delayed his operations, and it was not till the end of the year that the city was actually invested. Even then it was not impossible to run the gauntlet of the forts, or to steal into the city by the river: scarcity however began to be severely felt. In February 1429 a relieving force, attempting to destroy a convoy of provisions on its way to the English camp, was totally routed on the "Day of the Herrings," so called because a large part of the provisions consisted of salt herrings (Lent was just beginning). Sir John Fastolfe, who commanded, and who had a force partly English, partly French of the Burgundian party, had time to form his waggons in square,[37] within which extemporised fort his men stood on the defensive, the English archers guarding one of the issues, the French spearmen the other. The attack was begun by a body of picked men who had come out of Orleans, and who had cannon with them. Obviously Fastolfe's defence could not long have been maintained against even the inefficient cannonading of that age: but the vanguard of the relieving army came up in time to save the day to the English. Throwing themselves from their horses, in obedience to the unreasoning superstition which had cost the French so dear on greater fields, they rushed at Fastolfe's lager. The Scots were shot down by the archers, the Gascons impaled themselves on the spears: when the rout was complete, the little English army issuing from behind their waggons slaughtered as they pleased. Such a disaster was calculated to drive the men of Orleans to despair. As a last chance they offered their city to the duke of Burgundy, who naturally would much have liked such an addition to his dominions: as naturally, the English would not listen to the proposal for a moment. One of the regent's council said in the duke's presence that the English were not made to chew morsels for the duke of Burgundy to swallow. Bedford himself put the same point with less vulgarity, but equal force, saying that he was not going to beat the bushes, for some one else to catch the birds. Burgundy had no answer to make: he was not yet prepared to break with the English, though this disappointment helped no doubt to increase the growing coolness between him and Bedford. Orleans had no prospect before it but starvation or surrender, when its doom was averted by a miracle.
The deliverer who appeared at this critical moment was Jeanne d'Arc, a peasant girl from Lorraine. Her imagination had been deeply impressed by the miseries of the war: for years she had heard voices, as she called them, telling her that she was to save France, and gradually becoming more frequent and more specific in their commands. At length her profound enthusiasm made such an impression on her neighbours that she was able to make her way to the young king, to whom she announced herself as sent by God to deliver France, and conduct him to Rheims for his coronation. Charles was naturally inclined to be incredulous, but she convinced him of her good faith, and won so great an influence over courtiers and soldiers alike, as to put down for the time the prevalent profligacy and irreligion. We are told that the roughest of the French soldiers of fortune, notorious for bad language, accustomed himself, to please the Maid, to swearing only par mon bâton.
The immediate and pressing business was to save Orleans. Clad in armour, Jeanne accompanied a force which obeyed her inspiration, though it could hardly be said to have been under her orders, to convey provisions from Tours. In her simple faith she wished to attack the besiegers in the most direct way; but the leaders, thinking it safer to set about their difficult task in the fashion most likely to succeed, brought her opposite Orleans on the south side of the Loire. She was indignant at the deception, but the incident only served to increase her influence. The intention was to send the provisions into Orleans by large boats, which were to be sent up the river to a convenient spot, and run the gauntlet of the besiegers back again, under cover of an attack from the relieving force. The wind however blew down stream, and the boats could not move against both wind and current. Jeanne however confidently declared that the wind would change, as it in fact did, and she herself entered Orleans. Nothing was so far gained but the immediate relief of urgent need: but in this case the first step was emphatically everything. The French were roused to confident enthusiasm by the belief that the Maid was their divinely-appointed deliverer, the English were correspondingly depressed. The consciousness of superiority, that mysterious but very real feeling which often plays a great part in war, changed sides. "Before the Maid arrived," said Dunois, one of the bravest of the French leaders, "200 English would put to flight, in a skirmish, 800 or 1000 of the king's army: after she came, 200 French engaged all the strength of the English, and forced them to shut themselves up in their forts." This was an exaggeration, but no more. One by one the English bastides were assailed, and fell into the hands of the French. Sometimes the defence was but feeble, sometimes it was for the time successful. The truth was that the English superiority was due to their tactics in the field, for which there was obviously no place in the attack and defence of fortifications, not to greater courage, except so far as repeated defeats had cowed the French and led them to expect failure. Jeanne d'Arc had changed all that: her own perfect courage, and calm conviction that she was under the guidance of Heaven, roused her excitable countrymen to irresistible enthusiasm. At length came the turn of the Tournelles: the relieving army, with the Maid at their head, assaulted the boulevard which protected the little fort on the south. The English defended themselves desperately, and for three hours kept the enemy at bay. Jeanne was wounded by an arrow, and this caused such general discouragement that the leaders of the French were on the point of retreating. The Maid herself however had not lost heart; "See," she cried suddenly, "my banner touches the wall, the place is yours," and returned to the assault. Roused to madness by her example, the French renewed the conflict, some of them shouting that they could see St. Michael in the air beckoning them on, others that they saw the white dove of the Holy Spirit alight on the Maid's standard. Some of the garrison of Orleans pushed planks across the broken arch of the bridge, and took the Tournelles in rear. The boulevard was carried, and as Glansdale the commander was retiring into the Tournelles, a cannon-ball broke the bridge of communication, and he was drowned in the ditch. With his death all resistance ceased: the relics of the garrison of the Tournelles were taken prisoners. The besiegers, seeing that the game was finally lost, abandoned the siege.
Apart from the personal interest awakened by the first exploits of Jeanne d'Arc, who is a character unique in history, the siege of Orleans has some military interest. In it we see the mediæval and the modern[38] conditions of a siege more or less combined. Cannon are employed on both sides, and at first with some effect; the English capture of the Tournelles is due to the damage done by their fire: Salisbury could have been killed from the town by no other means. The bastides erected by the besiegers are in mediæval style, belonging to a state of things when walled towns had to be starved out: it does not seem to have been regarded as possible to batter Orleans itself. The boulevard of the Tournelles on the other hand is modern, an outwork formed expressly for the use of cannon. The hand-to-hand fighting of the assaults is of all ages, down to very recent times. Whether, in face of all the engines of destruction that can now be brought into play, a storm like that of the Tournelles, or even like that of Badajos, will ever be possible again, is another question.
The failure of the siege of Orleans marks the beginning of the decline of English power in France. Jeanne d'Arc is reasonably called a saint and a heroine: her career, brief and ultimately disastrous as it was, had a great immediate effect in stimulating French patriotism generally, and especially in rousing Charles VII. to a sense of his duty. But it is entirely a mistake to rank her first and greatest exploit as an event of supreme importance.[39] One may see any day on the sea-shore the tide at its height lapping round the base of a bit of rock which it never entirely covers: but one does not therefore suppose that the rock caused the turn of the tide. The nominal submission of France to Henry V. at the treaty of Troyes had been due to France being divided against herself, to one party being so bitter against the other as to be willing to league with the foreigner. The superiority of Henry, and of his brother the regent Bedford, to any of their immediate opponents, was most marked; the excellence of the English soldiers and tactics gave them every advantage. Yet even so they could not conquer France. Such a state of things could not last; competent soldiers, rulers who were not slaves of faction, were sure to emerge sooner or later. The duke of Burgundy had only to change sides, which as a matter of fact he did out of personal grudge against Bedford, to weight the scale heavily. The ultimate failure of the English attempt to conquer France was inevitable: whether the process of expelling them should be long or short must needs depend on the amount of capacity shown on each side.
The superstitious awe inspired by Jeanne d'Arc did not last long; in that age all the world was ready to believe in her having supernatural powers, but these might as easily be diabolical as divine. Naturally the French regarded her at first as divinely inspired; and her piety, honesty, and perfect simplicity, which were conspicuous to them, might well have roused a more lasting enthusiasm. The English as naturally regarded her as a witch, and put her to a cruel death as such when she fell into their hands. The victory of Patay, won by the French during the period of her influence, was due mainly to the English commander being attacked before he had time to form his line, though to Jeanne may doubtless be ascribed the unusual promptness of the French in attacking. The Maid fulfilled her word, and had Charles VII. crowned in Rheims: but otherwise the war dragged on indecisively till the regent Bedford died, just when the duke of Burgundy had found it worth his while to go over to the French side. Thenceforward the English had no competent head in France: the government at home was weak and torn by dissensions, which led to the claims of the duke of York. Nevertheless the war lasted nearly twenty years longer, steadily tending in one direction, but marked by only one notable event. This was the battle of Formigny in 1451, which was the final blow to the English power in Normandy. Formigny was lost because the English leaders applied the tactics which had won Crecy and Agincourt under conditions to which they were not applicable. They took up a defensive position, and stood to await attack, when their business was to force their way onwards. The French had a couple of cannon, and the English broke their lines to try and seize them. They nearly succeeded, but the result was that the two armies engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict, in which the archers could not use their bows. Another French force coming up and falling on the rear of the English completed their destruction: of the 5000 men engaged, 3700 were counted dead on the field.
That England gained anything by the Hundred Years' War, except military repute, no one would dream of affirming: even that was evanescent, for gunpowder presently drove the bow out of use. France gained, at a frightful cost of suffering, her national coherence, but she gained it in the disastrous form of a monarchy virtually absolute. The war almost destroyed the feudal nobility, and left nothing strong but the crown. What might have been the history of France if she had not gone through this fiery trial, if the nobles had remained petty princes as in Germany, can hardly be conjectured; the Hundred Years' War fixed the destiny of France for her. The political lessons of the war are glaringly obvious. A nation in the modern sense is indefinitely stronger than a feudal kingdom: conquest of a people that chooses to resist persistently and with judgment is impossible. The military lessons are equally clear: discipline will counterbalance almost any odds: the chief means of tactical success lies in the skilful combination of different arms.
The Wars of the Roses were in more ways than one the outcome of the great French war. Formally they were an appeal to arms to decide a disputed succession to the crown: substantially they were a revolt against a weak and discredited government, of whose incompetence the unsuccessful conduct of the war in France had been the most conspicuous evidence. Henry VI., or those who bore rule in his name, had neither the sagacity to make peace and save some portion of the French territory at the price of abandoning claim to the whole, nor the energy to carry on the conflict vigorously. The absurdly scanty numbers of the English troops in France during the last fifteen or twenty years of the war testify alike to the feebleness of the government at home, and to the respect which English military skill and prowess inspired abroad. The marriage of Henry VI. was arranged in the hope of propping up his failing cause in France. And the personality of Margaret of Anjou is on the whole the most important in the Wars of the Roses. On the one hand her energy and daring alone sustained the cause of Lancaster, which without her would have collapsed; on the other hand her extreme unpopularity helped the cause of York. The accident that she was eight years a wife before becoming a mother contributed to the same end. The duke of York had so long been in the position of next in succession to the crown,[40] that when a direct heir was born to Henry VI. the disappointed partisans of York began to say that in strict hereditary right he ought to take precedence of the boy. They could not bear to see the predominance of the hated French queen assured, and her offspring barring for ever the hopes of their leader and themselves. This was perfectly natural under the circumstances, but it does not therefore follow that the claim of York was sound. Those disaffected to an actual king naturally look for a rival claimant, the support of whom may serve to disguise rebellion. There can be no doubt that, on the principles of succession now legally established, the next heir to Richard II. was the young earl of March, or that his claim passed eventually to the duke of York. On the other hand it is equally certain that in the fifteenth century there was no established law of succession, and that the substitution of Henry of Lancaster for his cousin was in accordance with the traditional rule of election. If Henry V. had lived to old age, nothing would ever have been heard of the pretensions of the house of York. Those pretensions were in accordance with the legitimist ideas which were then gaining ground elsewhere, as the natural corollary of absolutism, but which have never been really accepted in England except by Jacobite fanatics.
When the war at length broke out, ample material for the armies was supplied by the soldiers whose occupation in France was gone, by the overplus of a population not industrially prospering, and most of all by the personal following of the nobles. Though on the whole the cause of York was favoured by the towns, by the merchants, by the most prosperous and civilised elements of the nation, while the backward regions of the north and west supported Lancaster, yet the differences were not deep enough to affect the conduct of the war. Both sides were equipped and fought after the same fashion; both used cannon more or less; both knew the deadly effect of the cloth-yard arrow, and therefore sought to come to close quarters; both fought with the obstinacy of their race, and often with the special fury which civil war is apt to engender. Hence there is much similarity between the battles, and not much interest, in spite of the remarkable vicissitudes of fortune, except in the three great battles won by Edward IV. in person. To what extent Edward deserves the credit of Towton, the first and greatest of them, cannot be determined; he had the co-operation of the earl of Warwick, and he was still very young. Barnet and Tewkesbury were clearly his own.
Late in 1460, as the result of a Yorkist victory at Northampton, a compromise was arranged by which Henry VI. was to retain the crown for his life, and Richard duke of York was recognised as his successor. Queen Margaret, however, would not surrender the rights of her son without a struggle: the nobles of the north rose in arms again, and the duke of York was obliged to march against them. On December 30 he was defeated and slain at Wakefield; his second son, and his brother-in-law the earl of Salisbury, Warwick's father, perished with him. The victory cost the Lancastrians dear: the barbarity of decapitating York's dead body, and placing the head, crowned in mockery with a paper diadem, over the gate of York, strengthened the feeling of hatred and contempt for the north-countrymen, as little better than savages, already growing in the south. Moreover, York, who had displayed no particular capacity, was replaced by his son Edward, who, with all his faults, proved the best soldier of the war. Warwick also, who was an abler man than his father, and who already held the great inheritance of the Beauchamps through marriage with the heiress, succeeded to his father's wide domains, and so concentrated in his own hands by far the greatest independent power ever possessed by an English subject. Margaret advanced southwards, won a battle at St. Albans, but found London unassailable, and was obliged to return to Yorkshire, her soldiers plundering and destroying on the way in a manner ruinous to her cause. Meanwhile the young duke of York, after crushing the Lancastrians of the Welsh border at Mortimer's Cross, had reached London, and had been proclaimed king as Edward IV. Without delay he and Warwick marched northwards to bring the contest to a decisive issue, and fought on Palm Sunday 1461 the greatest battle, in respect of the numbers engaged, ever fought on English soil.[41]
The great north road, dating back to Roman times, crosses the river Aire at Ferrybridge, and the Wharfe at Tadcaster, twelve or thirteen miles further north, and nine miles from York. The Lancastrians intended to defend the passage of the Aire, and encamped near Towton, between the two rivers, but fully nine miles from the Aire. They were apparently in complete ignorance of the rapid advance of the Yorkists, who seized the important bridge unopposed. Somerset, who commanded the Lancastrian army, if any one can be said to have had supreme command, sent forward Lord Clifford to attempt to regain Ferrybridge. The Yorkists still more inexcusably were in their turn surprised and cut to pieces. Again Somerset blundered, and left Clifford unsupported. The Yorkist vanguard, under Lord Falconbridge, was sent up the Aire, and crossed it unopposed by the ford, difficult and dangerous in spring when the rivers are full, three miles up at Castleford. Clifford, in danger of being cut off, retreated on the main army, the enemy making no attempt to pursue him: but within little more than a mile of the camp his force was surprised and annihilated by Falconbridge. When we remember that English armies had been fighting in France down to 1453, under conditions which ought to have developed the utmost care in never neglecting a precaution or an opportunity, and that they had been fighting at home almost ever since, it seems scarcely credible that such a series of astonishing blunders should have been committed by both sides.
The Yorkists, marching by the two roads from Ferrybridge and Castleford, which unite at the village of Towton, halted on the evening of Saturday March 28, a couple of miles from the Lancastrian position. The one thing which every Englishman who pretended to be a general in that age understood, was how to take up a position tactically strong for standing on the defensive. Somerset's army was however far too large for his capacity: he drew up his 60,000 men on a front of a mile, thereby throwing away his advantage in numbers. For a third of his force, awaiting an attack from a fairly equal enemy, the position would have been excellently chosen, assuming that he was not going to be forced to retreat. The Lancastrian army was posted facing south on a plateau, their right resting on a little stream, the Cock, which in summer is a mere thread of water, but was at that season in flood, and quite impassable. In rear of their left was Towton village, to which the great road ran at the bottom of a tolerably steep slope of from 50 to 80 feet from the edge of the plateau: the slope down to the Cock on the other flank was impracticably steep. In front was a slight depression known as Towton Dale, from which the ground rose again on the south to a similar plateau. Thus the right was perfectly secure; if the enemy attempted to turn the left they would have to attack up a steep ascent: even in front they would have the ground against them. Somerset had only to place some of the useless thousands that overcrowded his line of battle in observation on the plain east of the high-road, ready to strike at the enemy's flank, and he could hardly have been assailed successfully. The weak point of the position was that the Cock bends round the rear of it, a serious obstacle in its flooded state to retreat in case of need, the more so as the old road from Towton descended very steeply to the only bridge. The country being at that date all open, retreat was possible north-eastwards, in rear of the left, without crossing the Cock, more or less in the direction of the modern road, which only crosses the Cock close to its junction with the Wharfe, very near Tadcaster. Obviously, however, should the enemy turn or defeat the left of the army, this resource would be cut off, and defeat would mean destruction.
Warwick and Edward advanced at dawn on the Sunday morning, though their rearguard, under the duke of Norfolk, delayed by the crossing of the Aire, was still some miles off. Their numbers, though far inferior to those of the enemy,[42] were amply sufficient for covering a front of a mile.
The Lancastrians, having chosen their ground, naturally did not oppose the Yorkists' advance. The latter climbed the southern slope, and marched across the plateau, a fall of snow preventing either party seeing the other until they faced each other at a distance of a quarter of a mile across Towton Dale. From this time, if not before, the snow was driving in the faces of the Lancastrians, and Falconbridge utilised this advantage very cleverly. He ordered his archers to advance and begin shooting at the enemy, whom they could dimly see: as soon as the Lancastrians, annoyed by the arrows which they could not see coming, began to reply, he withdrew his men a short distance, and let the enemy waste their shafts on the open ground. Presently the hail of Lancastrian arrows slackened, as the supply ran short, and Falconbridge once more sent his archers forward, and so galled the defenceless enemy that they advanced to come to close quarters. The Lancastrians had thus to attack up-hill through the blinding snow, instead of compelling their antagonists to assail them at a disadvantage. A hand-to-hand conflict all along the line followed. Both sides fought stubbornly: orders had been given on both sides, so the chronicler says, to give no quarter. How long this continued it is hard to say: the armies may very well have been face to face by seven in the morning, though one account names nine o'clock. The losses on the victorious side, enormous for a hand-to-hand battle, in which the front lines only can fall, prove that it must have lasted a long while. About noon Norfolk, coming up at length from Ferrybridge by the great road, took the Lancastrians in flank. Still it was only gradually that they gave way: the battle had lasted for ten hours before the Lancastrians finally broke and fled by the only way open to them, towards the narrow bridge over the Cock. The swollen stream was scarcely fordable, the bridge was soon blocked, thousands were trampled down in the water, till the latest fugitives escaped over a causeway of their comrades' bodies. In modern times many thousands of the defeated army would have been taken prisoners, as happened at Blenheim when Marlborough pinned the French right against the Danube. The fury of civil war in the fifteenth century allowed very few prisoners to be made. Over 30,000 corpses are said to have been buried near Towton, of whom about a quarter were Yorkists. How many more found their last resting-place in the river cannot be guessed; all we know is that the Lancastrian army was to all intents and purposes annihilated.
After the battle of Towton the Lancastrians would never again have been able to shake Edward's throne, had he continued on good terms with his great supporter Warwick. It would be irrelevant to discuss the causes of the quarrel between them: it suffices to say that the breach ultimately became irreparable, and that Warwick determined to restore Henry VI. Before the vast power of the house of Neville, in alliance with the Lancastrian party, and strengthened by others whom Edward's conduct had offended, the king was helpless, and fled the country without striking a blow. For some months Warwick reigned in the name of the imbecile Henry VI.; but in March 1471 Edward was enabled by his brother-in-law, the duke of Burgundy, to land with a small force at the mouth of the Humber. He deliberately perjured himself by solemnly swearing in York Minster that he would never again claim the crown, and that he only came to claim his ancestral lands, and then marched southwards to try his luck. He conducted his enterprise with great skill and audacity, but his enemies also played completely into his hands. Northumberland, perhaps out of jealousy of the Nevilles, made no attempt to move southwards with the forces he raised in the extreme north. Montagu, Warwick's brother, who held Pontefract, apparently did not deem himself strong enough to attack Edward without Northumberland's co-operation. The earl of Oxford moved from the eastern counties upon Newark, but shrunk back in alarm when Edward turned to attack him. Somerset was far away in the south-west. Warwick was doing his best to gather an army in the midlands, and was at Coventry when Edward, who had by this time accumulated a respectable army, moved from Leicester. As he knew that Montagu was following Edward from the north, and Oxford threatening him from the east, as he was every day expecting his son-in-law the duke of Clarence to join him from the west, Warwick chose to play a cautious game, and let Edward pass Coventry without fighting. The next news that Warwick heard was that Clarence had joined Edward: without principle to keep him true to any cause, without judgment to discern his own best interest, Clarence was always ready to plunge into a new treason. Edward now deemed himself strong enough to march on London, where his cause had always been popular, and on April 11 took possession of the capital without a blow. Hearing that Warwick was approaching, he moved out on the 13th to meet him, and on that night the two armies bivouacked opposite each other north of the little town of Barnet. Warwick had been joined not only by Montagu and Oxford, but also by Somerset: Edward had drawn considerable reinforcements from Essex. Of the numbers on each side very conflicting accounts are given, but from the narrative of the battle it would seem that there was no very great disparity, though probably Warwick had some little superiority; neither side can well have had 20,000 men, possibly much less.
The contemporary narratives are not more valuable than most mediæval chronicles in determining topography with precision, and the battle-field of Barnet has now been so much enclosed and built over that little can be discovered from examination of the ground. In the fifteenth century Gladsmuir Heath, as it was then called, was open ground, as the name implies: nor is there any trace in the narratives of the battle having extended over the rough broken ground which lies east of the great north road towards Monk's Hadley. The only topographical point made in the official Yorkist narrative is that Warwick, who was first on the field, arranged his men more than half-a-mile north of Barnet "under an hedge-side." There can nowhere have been a great length of hedge, sufficient to protect even a large part of Warwick's front; but he may well have taken up a line of which the southern boundary of Wrotham Park would form nearly the centre.[43] Nothing however turns on the exact shape of the ground: the battle was, like most others of the age, a straightforward engagement all along the line. Edward was anxious to make sure of fighting on the morrow: he had nothing to gain by delay, and might lose much, for Lancastrian forces were gathering in Kent. He therefore under cover of the darkness moved up so near to Warwick's line, that it would be impossible for either party to retire without engaging. So near did he venture that Warwick's guns, which were kept firing during the night, sent their shot harmlessly over the heads of the Yorkists. When day dawned on Easter Sunday, April 14, Gladsmuir Heath was enveloped in so thick a mist that neither party discovered at first that each army outflanked the other on the right.[44] The battle began in the usual way with an ineffective cannonade and some flights of arrows, and then they came to close quarters. As might be expected, Montagu and Oxford on the Lancastrian right defeated Edward's left, which fled through Barnet, pursued by Oxford, though Montagu seems not to have quitted the line of battle. In the centre the king in person engaged in an obstinate struggle with Somerset, and slowly gained some advantage. Warwick on the left was partially outflanked by Gloucester, but held his ground fairly well, though he was gradually forced back on the centre. In the thick fog nothing could be seen a few hundred yards off: thus Warwick remained ignorant of the success of Oxford, who, in his turn, was so completely bewildered by the fog that when he turned back, after driving his own immediate opponents through Barnet, he lost his way completely, and instead of taking Edward in rear as he presumably aimed at doing, went past the contending lines, and came upon the reserve of his own side. Here occurred the fatal mistake which ruined Warwick's chance of victory. In the mist the silver star of the De Veres was mistaken for Edward's cognizance, a sun with rays: Oxford's men were received with a volley of arrows. Instantly the notion of treachery arose: the jealousy between the old Lancastrians and Warwick's supporters blazed out. Oxford fled at once: Somerset followed his example. Some of the old Lancastrians turned their arms against the Nevilles, and Montagu, it would seem, was killed by his own friends. Warwick saw that all was lost: but in determining to fight on foot, in his heavy armour, he had made flight impossible, and he was beaten down and killed, apparently unrecognised. When Edward saw that the victory was gained, his one anxiety was to know whether Warwick had fallen. The corpses of Warwick and Montagu were found, and exposed for three days in St. Paul's Cathedral, in order that there might be no doubt about the great earl being really dead. Edward was quite right: the cause of Henry VI. was bound up with Warwick's life. Unlike as Warwick was in personal character to the typical feudal noble, he was in a very real sense "the last of the Barons." The quasi-despotic monarchy of the Tudors and Stuarts was founded on the field of Barnet.
On the day of the battle of Barnet, queen Margaret with her son landed at Weymouth. She soon learned the fatal news, and was joined by Somerset and other fugitives. The Beauforts and Courtenays, strong in their hereditary influence in the west, were far from believing that their cause was ruined: and the fact that Edward waited at Windsor till he was sure that they were not moving eastwards towards London, implies that he at least thought them not too weak to attempt it. The ultimate and undoubtedly more prudent resolution of the Lancastrian leaders was to make for Gloucester, and form a junction with the earl of Pembroke, who was raising forces in Wales; but their purpose was not certainly apparent until they left Bath, and instead of seeking battle with the king, who was by this time at Cirencester, moved on Bristol. Still it was not quite certain that they were avoiding battle. On May 2, Edward, who was well served by his scouts, was informed that the enemy were in position at Sodbury, some dozen miles north of Bristol. He hastily moved towards them, but on reaching Sodbury towards evening found no trace of the enemy. The Lancastrians marched all night, and on the forenoon of May 3 approached Gloucester, hoping to occupy the town and there cross the Severn. The governor of Gloucester was however a Yorkist, and refused them admission, and the wearied Lancastrians had to continue their march, for they knew that Edward was not far off. There was no bridge over the Severn nearer than Worcester: but if the Avon could be crossed at Tewkesbury they might hope to reach Worcester unattacked, or even to pass the Severn by boats at some nearer point. Accordingly they struggled on ten miles further to Tewkesbury, and there halted for the night, utterly overcome by fatigue, after marching forty-four miles since the preceding morning. All day Edward had been marching along the Cotswolds on a line parallel to that followed by the Lancastrians, but some distance in rear, though gradually gaining on them. Towards evening, in passing through Cheltenham, he heard positively that the enemy were in Tewkesbury; and he also halted for the night about three miles off.
The author of the Arrivall of King Edward, who obviously accompanied his master to Tewkesbury, takes great pains to describe what he saw. Like many other writers, he has no names but "hill" and "valley" for trifling inequalities of ground, but otherwise he writes with unusual precision, and there is no reason whatever for distrusting his authority. The Lancaster position, he says, was "in a close, even at the towne's end, the towne and abbey at their backs, afore them, and upon every hand of them, fowle lanes and depe dikes with hills and valleys, a ryght evill place to approache." Their leaders doubtless deemed it impossible to escape across the Avon without fighting, and as they were certainly not seriously outmatched in numbers,[45] they had no reason to avoid a battle. As usual in that age they took up a position well chosen for fighting on the defensive; but it had a muddy brook between them and Tewkesbury, and the Avon beyond the town, so that defeat involved total destruction. Sir John Ramsay[46] gives a very good map, which shows all the ancient lanes, as well as the modern road and other things which have materially altered the ground. It is of course impossible to discover exactly which enclosures are ancient, and there are now no "depe dikes." The small numbers engaged could not have covered nearly the length of front possible according to the topography; but the left flank must have been near the easternmost of the ancient lanes, for the author of the Arrivall speaks of Somerset having "passyd a lane" in his attempted turning movement in the battle, which can have been no other. Whatever the exact position of the Lancastrian line, king Edward brought his own troops up opposite to them, except that he posted two hundred spears "near a quarter of a myle from the fielde," to watch a wood by means of which he thought his right flank might be threatened. The battle began with some cannonading and "shott of arrows," in both of which the Yorkists had rather the advantage. The position was however very difficult to assail at close quarters, and the Lancastrians might apparently have held it successfully, had not Somerset attempted a counter-stroke. He, we are told, "somewhat asydehand the king's vaward, and by certain paths and ways therefore afore purveyed, and to the king's party unknown, departed out of the fielde, passyd a lane, and came into a faire place or close even afore the king where he was embattailed, and from the hill that was in that one of the closes, he set right fiercely upon the end of the king's battaile." There must have been a gap between the king's division in the centre and the vaward, or right, for this to be possible. However the centre and right united in pushing back this attack, and the two hundred spears above-mentioned, falling unexpectedly on Somerset's flank, completed his defeat. The king was then able to advance, attack in flank the Lancastrian centre, and so rout the whole army, which broke and fled in all directions. The only local name that survives as a memorial of the battle is the "Bloody Meadow" by the Avon below Tewkesbury: this may well mark a place where many fugitives of the right wing, cut off from the only escape into the town, were slaughtered by the victors. Prince Edward, the last heir of Lancaster, was killed in the battle or the pursuit—there seems no foundation for the story which Shakespeare used, that he was taken prisoner and killed in cold blood. Somerset, Devon, nearly all the remaining Lancastrians of note were killed, or were executed after the battle. Except for the Tudor interest in Wales, the Lancastrian party was annihilated. It required the early death of Edward IV., and the murder of his nephews by Richard of Gloucester, before Henry of Richmond could resuscitate it.
The invention of gunpowder was slower in making itself felt than most of the other great discoveries which have turned the course of history. There is no intrinsic impossibility in the statement of a contemporary Italian writer, that Edward III. had cannon at Crecy, though in the absence of any other testimony it is not generally believed. He had them at the siege of Calais immediately afterwards, though they were of little use. The earliest firearms were of very clumsy make, slow and difficult to load, short in range and allowing no accuracy of aim. From the nature of the case, cannon[47] were made practically useful earlier than hand weapons. As soon as ever gun-carriages of a tolerably movable form were devised, it was possible at least to use them on the battle-field, though a very long time had still to elapse before they became important; in the battles of the English civil war of the seventeenth century artillery plays a very minor part. Naturally they were much more effective in sieges, where mobility was not required, and the slowness of fire less important. By the end of the fifteenth century, if not sooner, it was perceived that gunpowder had effected a revolution in this branch of warfare. In the early middle ages a well-walled town or castle was proof against such modes of battering as were then in use. Unless escalading proved possible, the besiegers could only reduce the place by starvation. With that inevitable reservation the defence was stronger than the attack. Hence a feudal noble, possessed of a well-situated castle, could defy the crown, for a time at least; hence in Italy the cities could make themselves independent. With the introduction of cannon all this was changed. The crown, and as a rule the crown only, could afford to maintain artillery that could be used against a fortified city or castle, and with its aid could reduce with certainty every place which had walls of the mediæval type. To fortify in a fashion that would give a reasonable chance against cannon was out of the power of most nobles. Thus artillery contributed largely, perhaps more than any other single agency, to the great political change which marks the close of the middle ages, by which the crown becomes, at least as against the nobles, virtually absolute.
Firearms to be used by hand were far slower in their development, as was natural, owing to their greater complication. The earliest were mere tubes, elevated on a stand, miniature cannon in fact. For a very long while they could not be fired from the shoulder, but required to be supported on iron rests fixed into the ground, which added seriously to the weight to be carried. Musketeers, if one may apply the term to the soldiers who bore the earlier firearms before the musket properly so called was invented, were quite incapable of standing alone. They might fire one volley at charging cavalry, but long before they could be ready for a second, the horsemen would be cutting down their defenceless ranks. Hence pikemen, who should do the defensive part of the work, were a necessary adjunct to musketeers: obviously also the pikemen alone could come to close quarters in attacking. It was not until the invention of the bayonet enabled the musketeer to be, so to speak, his own pikeman, that infantry equipped with firearms could become the real backbone of an army.
It is doubtful whether a musket bullet[48] was ever so deadly a missile as the clothyard arrow, all points taken into account. If a bullet struck armour obliquely, it would penetrate, instead of glancing, at a greater angle than an arrow point.[49] And it would also be likely to make worse wounds, by driving in bits of the metal. On the other hand the arrow was noiseless and smokeless, merits which are reckoned important by modern authorities who are seeking after smokeless powder. It had greater range than the musket bullet, admitted of much greater accuracy of aim, and had probably at least equal direct penetrating power, except at very short distances. England however was the only country in the latter middle ages which used a missile weapon that would bear comparison even with the clumsiest firearms. Naturally musketeers, with their pikemen, were developed rather on the continent than in England, though everywhere the development was slow, and the process of superseding armour and hand-to-hand weapons very gradual.
The ultimate political tendency of the invention of gunpowder was obvious. By rendering discipline more necessary for the efficiency of the soldier, it threw power into the hands of the state, which alone could maintain and organise bodies of trained men, as against individuals. By making infantry the one indispensable arm, it tended to make oppression less easy: the class which furnishes the fighting strength of a nation will in the long run have at least its full share of political power. It may be only a coincidence, but it is at any rate symbolical, that England, the country in which, thanks to the long-bow, infantry became earliest of paramount importance in war, is also the country in which aristocratic privileges in the strict sense of the word, as distinguished from aristocratic influences, were of least extent and soonest reduced to insignificance. It is also the country in which the nation as a whole earliest felt its strength, and taught its kings to respect the national will.
The establishment of Scottish independence, in the teeth of English claims to supremacy, not unnaturally led to a feeling of opposition to England, and of consequent alliance with France, which on the whole worked disastrously for Scotland. Unfortunately also the policy of hostility gradually developed in the smaller people a feeling of bitter animosity towards their neighbours, which the English on their side hardly felt. On the borders mutual injuries stimulated personal hatred, but only rarely affected the relations of the two states. The English government had no motive for hostility to Scotland, no passion to indulge: it would at any time have been glad of firm peace with Scotland, but was apt to try to secure this by establishing its influence over Scotland, rather than by relations of equal friendliness. While the long contest with France lasted, England had obviously every motive for desiring to be free of a troublesome enemy in the north: but Scotland was ever hostile. Sometimes a Scottish army invaded England more or less in concert with the French, as when Nevil's Cross followed hard upon Crecy. Later, Scottish nobles and soldiers swarmed in the French armies: the defeat of Verneuil was a heavier blow to Scotland than to France.
Unfortunately for the success of the Scots in their many encounters with the English, Bannockburn had been too great a victory. The spearmen had on that day so decisively defeated the English mailed horsemen that the Scots seem always to have assumed that nothing could be more effective. Time after time the English archers inflicted crushing losses on the Scottish armies. Halidon Hill (1333), Nevil's Cross (1346), Homildon (1402) are the chief instances, but not the only ones, before the day of Flodden, the last great victory of the bow, and perhaps the most overwhelming defeat which a kingdom ever suffered.
From the accession of the house of Tudor, the English policy was directed, more systematically than ever, towards gaining over Scotland. The difficulty was obvious, that an alliance between the two countries must needs mean Scotland following in the wake of England, which was galling to Scottish pride, and distasteful to their hereditary hatred of the English. Henry VII. succeeded, with the help of Spain, in bringing Scotland for the time into his circle of allied powers, and in cementing that union, as he hoped, by the marriage of his eldest daughter Margaret to the young king of Scots. Personal ties, however, seldom count for much as against national interests and prejudices, or even against the passions of kings: as soon as ever Henry VIII. entangled himself in a war with France, his brother-in-law followed the traditional practice of his predecessors and attacked England. There were plenty of small grievances on both sides, which might be used as pretexts; but the only adequate reason for war was to be found in the Scottish king's own disposition. James IV., with the virtues of chivalry, carried to great lengths its fantastic follies, including total indifference to his own wife, and susceptibility to the fascinations of other women. Scottish chroniclers say that James was greatly influenced by a letter from the queen of France, sending him a turquoise ring and a sum of money, and begging him to take three steps on English ground for her sake: and whether this be true or not, it is in accordance with his character. The war was not altogether welcome to Scotland: some at least of the king's advisers thought the venture dangerous, or desired to maintain friendly relations with England. More than one attempt was made to work on James' well-known superstitiousness, the most daring being the midnight voice from the Cross at Edinburgh which Sir Walter Scott describes in Marmion. James had however gone too far to recede: he invaded England with an army which is said to have amounted to 100,000 men, and which certainly comprised every great noble in Scotland who was capable of bearing arms.
On August 22, 1513, the Scots crossed the border. The king seems to have had no definite purpose beyond gratifying his taste for knight-errantry. Norham Castle surrendered a week later, and there was no English army as yet ready to dispute his further advance: he might have penetrated far into England if he had chosen. Instead of this he occupied himself in taking Wark and other small castles, "enterprises worthy of a border chieftain," as a Scottish historian contemptuously remarks, and in devastating the country, to his own speedy detriment. Unless all the chroniclers were in a conspiracy to calumniate him, James was guilty of a far worse folly, quite in keeping with his character as a knight-errant, but absolutely unpardonable in a king and a general conducting a great war. After taking Ford Castle, he fell deeply in love with Lady Heron of Ford, and loitered day after day near Ford for her sake, until it was too late to advance. Meanwhile his army was suffering, provisions were failing, and the season was rainy. The army melted away by desertion to something like a third of its original strength: the numbers that fought at Flodden seem to be ascertained with tolerable certainty at not much over 30,000 on each side. The spirit of chivalry prevented the nobles leaving their king in the field, whatever the common soldiers might do: they stayed with James without influencing his conduct, and shared his fate.
Meanwhile the earl of Surrey, who had been entrusted with the defence of England during the king's absence in France, had gathered an army, which would have been largely overmatched at first if James had not wasted his opportunities. Surrey knew the man he had to deal with, and as soon as he felt himself strong enough, sent to the Scottish king a formal challenge to fight a battle on a given day, Friday, September 9. Of course the crowned knight-errant accepted the challenge, and thereby precluded himself from fighting earlier, as would have been to his obvious advantage. The aged earl of Angus, the famous Archibald Bell-the-Cat, who had played a great part in Scottish history for the last half-century, is said to have vainly implored the king not to accept: the only answer he could get was, "Angus, if you are afraid, you can go home." After such an insult, the old man could but go; but two of his sons remained to die with the king.