What were the main military objectives of the participants of the war and, in particular, what were those of the English, the aggressors? The names of the battles are known, some better than others; for most these are the moments in the war which stand out. A rather closer look at the diary of military events easily conveys the impression of times of intense activity, followed by periods when little or nothing seemed to occur. If military methods were as aimless as they may appear, should we not concentrate on those moments, perhaps the decisive moments, of violent action when the armies of the two sides clashed in battles which have become part of national myth?
It takes little knowledge of history to appreciate that relatively few of the battles recorded in history have had a decisive effect upon the future of those involved. This is certainly true of the Hundred Years War, and it is as well to remember that at Crécy, Poitiers, and Agincourt, although the English emerged as victors, on each occasion they were not entering the French kingdom to attempt its conquest, but were actually leaving it, heading for the coast in search of transport to take them back to England, the main aim of the expedition already fulfilled. If each success brought reputation (as it did) to the victors, and loss of men and morale to the vanquished, none brought immediate territorial advantage.
Was an army’s main aim, then, not to draw the enemy to battle? The chevauchée may have been seen as a challenge to the enemy’s pride and ability to defend his territory, but it is doubtful whether the leader of a chevauchée, often at the head of but a few thousand men, and needing to make the expedition profitable through the taking of booty and prisoners, was seeking battle. In fact, the opposite was nearer the case. Vegetius’s teaching on war was not likely to have been interpreted in terms of trying to draw the enemy onto the field so that he might be met and defeated. Furthermore, a battle was regarded by many as an invitation to God to intervene in human affairs, and God had the disconcerting habit of bringing defeat upon those who faced the prospect of victory with over confidence. In a word, rather than seek battle, it was better to avoid it. Such a doctrine would be formally expressed late in the fifteenth century by Philippe de Commynes who displayed an unheroic attitude to war and a marked preference for diplomacy. In the meanwhile, we may perhaps see here a reflection of a decline of noble and, possibly, of literary influence on the place accorded to the battle in war, in which it was no longer regarded as the great opportunity for individual acts of courage, but more as the culmination of a military process whose aim was the achievement of a particular political goal.
If battles, in themselves, did not usually lead to the achievements of such goals, what would? What were the enemy’s weaknesses (not necessarily military ones) which could be attacked? In the middle years of the fourteenth century French kings had such weaknesses. For instance, how widely were they accepted as the legitimate kings of France? Propaganda could be used to undermine their subjects’ faith in their legitimacy, while a war of successful raids (or chevauchées) might shake that confidence yet further by showing that, as kings, they lacked the power to fulfil one of their prime roles, the defence of their people against the English. In this way their credibility would be undermined and their power weakened. The chevauchée, then, had as its prime aim the undermining of the enemy king’s authority by challenging his military effectiveness. The campaigns of the Black Prince in 1355 and 1356, the defeats of French armies at Crécy and Poitiers (not to mention that at Brignais in 1362) served to underline that lack of effectiveness and to increase the fears of the doubters.
French weakness could be emphasised still further by taking the war to the non-combatant population. The civilian became the soldiers’ main target. Eventually, it was hoped, this would lead to a demand for peace which could not be ignored, at which moment the stronger party would be able to dictate the terms it wished. Secondly, wars which involved civilian targets were less dangerous and cheaper to organise, but very costly for the defender. Not only was there an imperative to respond to threatened attacks by diverting much time, energy, and, above all, money into defence, principally into the building of urban fortifications and castles; when the raids occurred the defenders’ means of production (crops, fishponds, mills, barns) were among the prime targets for destruction, so that their economic capability was seriously undermined. With their material resources diminished, and fears for their physical safety dampening such vital initiatives as rebuilding and continued cultivation (for who would carry out such tasks when the risks of further loss and destruction were high?), civilians became a political, and even a financial liability to their king. What was more they could not, or claimed they could not, pay taxes, direct or indirect, so that the king of France soon came to feel the impact on his fiscal policy of English raids into certain parts of his kingdom. That was what the chevauchée was intended to achieve.
What of the French response? Failure to react would allow the English to think that they could do as they wished. Inaction would likewise be taken as a sign of weakness by the French people themselves. At a time when neither the French army nor fiscal arrangements to meet its needs had been sufficiently developed to respond to a new military situation, the only possible response was none the less to call traditional forces together to form an army with which to intercept and, it was hoped, to defeat the English. By 1356 such a way of approaching the problem had clearly failed. Less than twenty years later, however, things had changed. The French army had become relatively small and manageable; it was now comprised of picked men; its leaders, too, were the best available; and its task was the specific one of taking the initiative and winning back the areas of land ceded by the terms agreed at Brétigny – and more, if possible. Instead of trying to confront the English in pitched engagements, the French tried the tactic of clearing towns and castles of their garrisons, employing units of mounted – hence mobile – troops to do this. The system worked well. In the 1370s the English, lacking good leadership and the necessary commitment of men and money to defend a long frontier (available money might have been better spent on defence than on more popular campaigns through France), soon lost the ground which they had gained by treaty.
Treaty. The word serves to remind us of the importance of that element so far not introduced into the discussion: diplomacy. Its role could have been vital, for in theory skilful negotiators might have made the most of military situations which, at a given moment, greatly favoured one side rather than the other. In 1360 French weakness (and in particular the capture of King John) gave the negotiators reason to make some fairly radical alterations to the map of France. In 1420, French weakness and Anglo-Burgundian strength were to settle the question of the succession in favour of the English king. At no other time, however, did the current military situation make its impression deeply felt upon diplomatic bargaining. Yet even in 1360 the French royal council did not feel weak enough to be obliged to accept the terms ceded by the captive king in London. The use of the ‘half-peace’ (with each side making a major concession which left neither side fully satisfied)1 and of the truce were proof of the failure of military pressure to force a final settlement of the war, one way or the other, through diplomatic negotiation.
Such, briefly, was Henry V’s inheritance from the fourteenth century. How did he change it? Of Henry, as of Edward III, we must admit that we do not know what his precise political ambitions in France were. Yet no doubt exists about the different approach of the two kings to the conflict with France. From the first, Henry V set out to conquer, and then to maintain, that conquest. Harfleur was taken by siege and, in the year which followed, everything was done to ensure that it should not be lost. In 1417, Henry began the more systematic conquest of Normandy. Places which felt they could resist did so, were besieged, and were taken. Henry’s new subjects were asked for their loyalty on oath; those who refused were expelled, and their properties confiscated. An administration to rule in his name was also set up. Garrisons were established to police the conquered area and to act as islands of English authority, attempts being made to keep the soldiery under some discipline. Castles also acted as bases for field armies which were used to extend and defend the frontier with Valois France. In every way, Henry V acted as if all that he did was to be lasting in its effects. It was from this position of moral and physical strength that he negotiated the treaty of Troyes, whose terms suggest that he wanted to change as little as possible. Only the dynasty would be new. Normal life would go on as usual if people accepted him as heir to the French crown. He was using the treaty not so much to conquer as to acquire legitimately what he regarded as his own by right.
Once again, we ask what was the French response? We need scarcely remind ourselves that the 1420s marked the nadir of French fortunes. A flash of hope after the unexpected success at Baugé in 1421; but Cravant and, in particular, Verneuil put paid to hopes of a quick revival. As the English moved southwards into Maine and Anjou, so French prospects grew bleaker. Reconquest would take time, in particular if diplomacy did not come to their help. In the end, it was geography (in the form of the river Loire) and Joan of Arc that saved them. Charles VII’s rule was legitimised by his coronation. Valois morale slowly began to rise, while English morale, in particular after the loss of the Burgundian alliance, declined.
The French were to win the final set by a combination of factors. They appealed increasingly to popular opinion: Charles VII was now the true king who should be supported by all loyal Frenchmen. Then his military successes, modest at first, increased in number. The career of John Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury, shows that in the late 1430s and 1440S the English were waging an increasingly defensive war: now a stronghold here, now a castle there was coming under attack and being lost.2 Over a decade (so reminiscent of the 1370s in the south-west) English military power, together with its dependent legal and administrative authority, was eroded away. English morale sank further, and both its political and military commitment to the war declined. It is notable that, on the final French campaign of 1449–50, carefully and confidently organised by the king, and carried out by a much-reformed army, the majority of fortified places did not resist, preferring to open their gates to the side which not only controlled more firepower but claimed with greater vigour to represent legitimate and effective rule. In Aquitaine, between 1451 and 1453, French armies did indeed meet with resistance: but the fact remains that the battles of Formigny (1450) and Castillon (1453) only finished off in dramatic fashion processes which were all but complete when the opposing armies met. It had been shown that the essentially non-dramatic tactic, slow as it might be, was in the last resort the one which brought results. And results were what war was increasingly about.