Part 7 1338-1453 The Hundred Years War - More than meets the eye
Ok, the hundred years war. Firstly I would like to begin by asking the historians how they came up with that one. It lasted well over a hundred years and was in three separate parts. Anyway, it lives as the longest military conflict in the history of man, and I really don't want to get into the politics of the war. I was not interested back when I was a part of it, and I'm just as uninterested now.
We arrived in Dover as a somewhat bedraggled group, all except for Menteith, who somehow was able to appear in a new set of armour each time he met with us. The rest of us looked a real state. Our once proud matt black armour was pitted and in places corroding. Our cloth wrappings were in a worse state, dampened by the weather and eaten at by time itself. When I looked at Smith and Lenster I felt somewhat ashamed. We looked more like street urchins than the finest warriors of the English crown.
As we walked toward the harbour in Dover we were met with many stares. Could the state of the Kings army be so poor as to be suiting its men in such dated equipment? I think Menteith caught the meaning in these looks because he pulled us to one side of the street. It was the middle of the day but there was a steady rain falling which blocked the sun, allowing us to walk freely amongst the people. However, we were accustomed to covering our skin, even when it wasn't necessary. Only at night would we walk the streets without our armour.
"You men are a disgrace." He told us, staring in wonder, only now realising how dated our uniforms were. "Come with me." He said, leading us off the high street and into a small military compound. How he knew these places even existed amazed me. I was struggling to remember the way to the docks.
He led us through the compound to the armoury where we were able to pick new uniforms. The quartermaster informed us that most of what was here had been returned by other knights, but there were some new items buried in the pile.
I found a new helmet that gave me a clear sight, chainmail body protection and a tunic of yellow and black with a crest on the front. The crest looked familiar and when I asked him, the quartermaster told me it was the crest of the Kings Longbow-men. That settled it then. The other two picked up their own choices, Lenster going for something very strange looking. He had somehow combined various pieces to come up with a lightweight covering that offered him complete protection. Smith, on the other hand, took the bulky, old style horse riding knight approach. For a mortal this choice would have been poor, but Smith was so strong he could easily walk in this bulky armour.
Next we boarded a ship which took us to the other side of the channel. This was not a direct journey, however, as we laid waste to several French galleons that were waiting to attack the English side of the water.
Once on land we discovered we were amongst the first units to land, and that we would be staying just outside of Calais until more men arrived. Then we would either move South to Gascony or North towards the low countries. We arrived at the camp under cover of darkness and the four of us hustled into a tent, eager to beat the sunrise. There was a man already in the tent, a wizened old fellow with white hair and beard, sucking gently on a pipe. He regarded us with cold eyes. Eyes that had seen everything there was to see.
"The king is sending the undead to fight his battles now, then?" He said, with a knowing grin.
"What are you talking about old man?" Asked Menteith, always protecting us and our secret.
"Oh please. Your stench filled the tent before your bodies even did." He laughed to himself. "I ask you not to be complacent out there. Our people may be ignorant to your kind, but the French?" He shook his head, smoke billowing from his pipe. "Their aristocracy is full of your kind. You are no secret weapon to these people. Handle yourselves with care."
We took the old man at his word, making sure to be fully covered when we were outside during the day. The locals were observant, and I had a feeling that any information they could find would be relayed to their army.
Then, after a couple of years of just sitting around watching people age, things finally happened. Since we were living in more of a camp now we were able to listen to bits of news such as that of the king moving on the French following their allegiance with the Scots. There was word that he was in fact the rightful heir to the throne of the kingdom of France, and that was not something the French wanted. They were already upset that he claimed Gascony as part of the English empire. We had heard of various battles around both England and France, and we really were becoming agitated with our inaction. Menteith came into the tent one night and sat cross legged, completing our circle. We had taken to spending time in this fashion to meditate. It was peaceful and we didn't have to make conversation. However, our leader clapped his hands to gain our attention.
"The war is starting to heat up gentlemen, and I have been asked to deploy each of you. Before we begin with your assignments, know this." He looked each of us in turn straight in the eyes. He was deadly serious. "We are the only vampires in the English army. The only others in our country that I know of are the gentry who refuse to fight alongside the soldiers."k
"I knew it." I breathed.
"For the love of god Castor, not now!" He hissed through his teeth. "Now do you want your assignments or not?" The three of us nodded. "Very well. Smith, you are going it on foot with the pikemen. I have told your new captain that you have severe burns, and will need to keep your armour on."
Smith nodded. "Any restraint in battle sir?"
"Show no mercy." There was a moments silence. "Lenster, you will be joining the sappers. They are in need of a good engineer. Just keep your mouth shut and stay loyal to the crown."
Lenster smiled and placed a fist over his hear. Then Menteith turned to me. "As for you Castor, you finally have your wish. Kings longbow-men." I joined Lenster with a satisfied smile. At last I would be part of a real unit.
"One last thing lads. Remember this. Take utmost care when and where you hunt. I shall no longer be around to keep an eye on you, so be vigilant at all times."
I gulped. "Forgive me sir, but where are you going?" I just couldn't help myself.
"That is really none of your business." He looked at me with his blazing red eyes cold and devoid of emotion. "However, should you need to contact me, I will be in the kings personal guard. Something known as Chivalry is being discussed and I am likely to be a part of it. Now go and find your new units."
The four of us shook hands and said goodbye. As much as I had grown to dislike these three other men I would find life difficult without them being there every single day.
That night I walked to the encampment at Marquis and met up with the infantry unit based there. The army was not quite the organised machine it would come to be, more a collection of small militia owned by the various landowners of our country, so I was merely hopeful of becoming part of the correct group. Fortunately for me I found the correct place quickly. I was spotted with my bow and the crest on my tunic by one of the guardsmen standing outside the camp. He pointed the way for me, and soon I found myself standing before a lithe fellow with a clean shaven face and dark, sunken eyes. He regarded me calmly.
"So you would be the new recruit, would you?" He asked. Since the answer was rather obvious I chose to remain silent, gently nodding. "Then I welcome you to the house of Lancaster. I am Captain Walters. You join a fine group of archers, but if you are half as good as your sergeant told me then I feel you shall fit right in." He clapped his hand onto my shoulder and lead me into the main part of the camp, where he pointed at a yellow tent. "This will be your home." He said, and turned, moving into the night quickly.
I opened the flap and three faces stared out at me, pale with wide eyes. They moved aside as I entered and then crowded around me. One by one they introduced themselves. I don't recall their names and to be frank it is not important.
For the next ten years I travelled with the bowmen. I was involved in several battles, and my name began to be know throughout the group, as I not only handled my bow excellently, but in the skirmishes that proceeded the main battles I unleashed my inner animal. This was not by choice, you understand, but when the sweet stench of adrenaline flowed into my nose I was powerless to stop myself.
We marched South towards Paris itself, then we marched North, pillaging as we went. But then the black death struck and the tide of war was stopped cold in it's tracks. I found the plague to be an ally, as my fellow soldiers who were beginning to age must have started to notice my unchanging features. New men were unfamiliar with me, and I generally kept myself apart from them where I could. It was, however, a difficult time for everyone, including me. The lack of healthy people meant that my food source very quickly diminished. I found hunting in small villages almost impossible, as the healthy were protected, and hunting in cities was a terrible idea because everybody was dying of the disease.
It took a long time for the plague to pass, and when it finally did, the war resumed. I had been stationed in Northern France all through the duration, and was glad to be on the move.
There had been stories that the King had sent forth his son, known as the Black Prince to lead us, to drive the nail of the English crown into the heart of the French aristocracy. When I heard these tales, and those of his exploits, I had no idea that I would soon meet him. And I was in for a shock.
The morning was cold and misty, and the rest of the men were fast asleep in their tents. I was outside of the perimeter, walking as I did on most mornings, when I heard hoofs. There before me was a magnificent steed with a rider who was clad entirely in black armour. He gave off a feeling of such power I had to fight the urge to kneel, but then he pulled off his helmet.
"Menteith?" I was astounded. The prince slid off his horse to look me in the eye.
"Please, call me Edward. And yes. It's a long story, but the king does not want his son to die in battle. This is my personal favour to him." We shook hands as old friends do. "How is being one of the men?"
"In truth I feel somewhat isolated. Maybe more than I did when we were a unit." I sighed. "But I get to fire my bow and fight, which passes the time."
We parted then, and I spent the next century moving around the French countryside. When news reached me of the death of the black prince I feared for my friend, until I realised that he would not have been the one to die. In fact, stories of the decline in health of the prince did not match his actions on the battlefield. It made the story clear in my mind. The prince was dead, Menteith was not.
The war raged on, with the English advancing and being pushed back. I found myself more often than not alone in the woods, scouting and looking to pick off leaders from a distance. The more I did this, the more I enjoyed it. However, the death of Hart had taught me to always be on the move. Never camp for too long.
In 1415 I was given a message upon my return from a scouting mission. King Henry V was in dire trouble. His army was outmanned, and under supplied. They were about to be routed in Agincourt. I left atonce, bow in my right hand, blade on my belt. When I arrived, the battle had begun. I could see the English were not faring well at all, and the French were closing in on all sides. This gave me an idea. Moving as fast as my legs would allow, I circled around the rear of the advancing French and gradually took their supplies from them by setting fire to the carts. I stole the flammable bows from their own archers and used them, rupturing great holes in their lines. Finally I joined my brothers in the pitched battle on the ground. We destroyed them that day, and the king ordered the execution of many prisoners. I made sure my actions were never known, leaving the king to believe it was one of the great victories in history thanks to his battle techniques.
In 1428 I was in a villiage called Patay when I saw something that made me flee. There had been much talk of Joan of Arc and her amazing rally to win the city of Orleans, and the subsequent push she had lead to force the English army back. At Patay I saw her in action. I was in the line of long bowmen when there was a terrible roar. Armour clashed and bodies sailed through the air. I turned to see a wolf, some seven feet in length, with pure black hair, tearing into my fellow bowmen. I was able to get myself out of the fray, taking a few French out along the way, but when I was clear of the battlefield I turned for a reason I cannot explain. I saw the wolf beast, still quite clear with my vision, as it suddenly became the figure of a beautiful young woman. An aide handed her a bundle of chain mail and she dressed, filling perfectly the description of one Joan of Arc.
I didn't stop retreating until I was back within the walls of Warwick Castle.