Crécy Read online

  Contents

  Crécy:The age of the archer

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Historical note

  Other books by Griff Hosker

  Crécy:The age of the archer

  Book 1 in the Sir John Hawkwood Series

  By

  Griff Hosker

  Published by Sword Books Ltd 2020

  Copyright ©Griff Hosker First Edition

  The author has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  Cover by Design for Writers

  Dedication

  To Michael Joseph Hosker, my latest grandson. Welcome to the family!

  Real People Used In The Book

  King Edward Plantagenet

  Prince Edward of Wales and Duke of Cornwall- his son

  Lord Henry Plantagenet- Earl of Derby, later Earl of Lancaster and Duke of Lancaster

  Ralph, Earl of Stafford

  Earl Ralph Neville

  King Philip of France

  Charles Count of Alençon – His brother

  Blind King John of Bohemia

  Étienne de la Baume- Grandmaster of Crossbows and Constable of Cambrai

  Prologue

  Essex 1335

  My father was a rich and prosperous man, and I should have had an easy life. I should have had a choice of the sword, the church or the family business but he did not like me, and, instead, I had a living hell. He preferred my elder brother Gilbert who was named after him and it was obvious that I was not wanted. I constantly wondered what I had done wrong. My brother would do something for which he would receive a shake of the head and when I committed the same infraction then I would be beaten. I could never please my father and whatever I did was wrong. Had it not been for my mother, whom I loved and who loved me in return, I think that I would have run away from home long before I did. My mother, who was a gentle born lady from a high-born family, tried to protect me, and I think that aggravated the situation for my father was a brute of a man. Whilst I was in the family home or within her sight then I was safe, and I would not be harmed. Once I was with my father and my brother then ill-treatment would follow; at best it was a clip or a blow but sometimes it involved a serious beating which would leave me bleeding with bones which felt cracked. It toughened me up and made my body hard. When my sisters were born then it became harder for, oft times, my mother would be busy with them and I would be subject to the wrath of my father and brother. I was lucky in that my father’s business became so successful that he spent increasing lengths of time away from the family home in Sible Hedingham in Essex. I never knew exactly what his businesses were, for he had a number, but I knew he had a tannery and his tenants raised cattle on the lands he owned. To be honest, I was just happy that half of my pain ended when he was not there.

  My mother tried to help me all she could, but I had younger sisters who demanded her time and Gilbert was two years older than I and, at that time, much bigger. She helped me by sending me to work with my uncle, her brother and my namesake, John. It seemed to satisfy everyone. I only came home each evening to sleep. I had some peace and my brother and father were rid of me. My uncle was a kind man and I often wished that he was my father. He was a simple farmer but the days I spent with him changed me. I helped him on the farm and his sons were understanding. I begged my mother to allow me to live with him, but she dared not cross my father who seemed determined to punish me. I never discovered the reason for that antipathy towards me.

  I became bigger and stronger. Even by the time I had seen ten summers I was the same size as Gilbert but working with my uncle had made me stronger. Not only that, but he had also taught me to use a bow and that exercise broadened my chest. When I visited my home, Gilbert was no longer able to bully me, and I was able to run fast enough to evade my father. The result was that I was thrown out of the family home. I think my father began to fear me. I was getting so big and my arms and hands were so strong that I think he thought I would be violent towards him. There were tears from my mother and my sisters when I left the family home and went to live full-time with my uncle.

  I suppose if I had had a more reasonable father then I would have continued to live with my uncle and to enjoy life as a farmer. That was not meant to be. When I had seen more than twelve summers, perhaps even thirteen, I was not sure, my uncle, who was a tenant of my father’s was ordered to throw me from the land. That he did not wish to do so was immaterial. I did not know what prompted this although the fact that at the Sunday morning archery practice I had been seen to have a real skill, perhaps made him fear me and that I would do him or my brother some harm. Uncle John and my aunt, not to mention my cousins, were all angry and distraught in equal measure. They did their best for me and I had clothes, a longbow and arrows, a dagger and four pennies not to mention a cloak and blanket when I took the road from my family home. There was but one place to head, London.

  I did not intend to become a tailor’s apprentice. That decision was taken for me by Fate or God, or I know not who. When I reached London, having spent three days walking there, I was so hungry and exhausted that after walking around the Chepe, London’s market seeking food I took the first kindness that I could. The fact that it was not true kindness was, perhaps, the story of my life. I walked from the Chepe down Needlers Lane and saw the tailor sitting outside his shop, sewing. He looked up and when I had eye contact, I begged him for some food. I am not sure if he would have offered me any had Megs, his wife not been emptying the night slops into the pot outside.

  He lifted his hand and said, “Away with you gutter rat! Find charity with the monks!”

  His wife emptied the last of the slops into the pot on the corner and pointed the vessel at him like some sort of weapon, “Jack the Tailor, you cannot let the poor bairn wander into the Chepe alone and starving! There are villains there and gangs, as you well know!”

  Stephen the Tailor shrugged. He was a runt of a man and rarely smiled. I never like him, but I liked his wife. “We have little enough as it is, wife!” She stared at him and he wilted a little before her baleful look. “If you feed him then he does a day’s work for me!”

  I nodded for I was eager to please and food would be welcome. “Yes, master! I will work for food!” I knew not what I would do in London, but it seemed to me that food and a roof over my head were priorities. “I will work hard, Master Tailor, for I am not afraid of labour and I am strong!”

  Stephen the Tailor spat into the street and said, “Aye, and hands like shovels! Still, you can lift, and you can fetch. Feed him!”

  Megs put her arm around me, shaking her head at her husband, “Come with. What is your name?”

  “John Hawkwood.”

  “Well John, I am Megs and the creature you spoke to was John, my husband. He is not a pleasant man a
nd I know not why I stay with him except that the men who live in London are, by and large, worse than he is. Had not the plague killed my family then I would be in the country still. Put your things in the corner by the fire and sit you at the table. We have little enough, but you shall share it.”

  As she ladled the food into my wooden bowl, I examined the room. It was just one room. There was a table and two chairs and a bed. The fire was on one wall and the bulk of the room was taken up with bolts of cloth. I could see why the tailor sat under the awning outside. I deduced that there were no children for I saw just the one bed and no sign of them. Megs looked to be too old to have children and I thought to ask her why she had no children and then thought better of it.

  As I ate the thin stew and barley bread she chattered like a magpie and I discovered that she stayed with her husband because he was a good tailor and made money. She was the brains behind the business, and she was the one who saved the money and made plans. “One day we shall move from here and travel closer to Windsor. The King and his court spend more time there and it is his lords and courtiers who will pay good money for John’s clothes. He is a magician with the needle.” She rambled on at length about her husband’s skill and having gone two days without food I nodded and ate three bowls of the bean stew. It might have had meat in it at one time but not recently.

  Even as I was finished, the tailor put me to work and I was taken to Candlewick Street and the drapers there. Megs took me and she explained, “My husband pays his bills at the end of the week; Friday night is when every purse is full in Chepe Side. The Draper, Tom Robinson is paid then. I will introduce you so that you can go on your own. I confess that having you in the house will make my life easier.” I realised that she was telling me then that I would just be carrying the goods back to the workshop and I would not be handling money. It also told me that the Chepe would be full, on a Friday night, of men with full purses!

  I suddenly realised that, for good or ill, I now had an employer. I think John saw me as cheap labour and Megs? Perhaps I was the child she had never had. Coins had not been discussed and so I decided to work for two days and fill my belly. Then, if there was to be no payment, I would leave and find employment elsewhere. The Draper seemed unworried that I was not even a youth and when I saw the bolts of cloth I would have to carry my heart sank, for they looked heavy and cumbersome. Looking on the bright side. It would make me stronger.

  I made four journeys on that long afternoon but I must have impressed Stephen the Tailor for he said, after we had eaten and he had shown me the corner of the room where I could lay my blanket, that he would offer me an apprenticeship. He said it as though he was making me a knight and he put the papers of indenture before me.

  “Seven years you shall study with me and then you will be a master tailor.” His rat-like face grew what appeared to be an affliction, but I later discovered was what passed for a smile. “My wife has told me how hard you work and if you work hard then we shall feed you, clothe you and give you a roof over your head. If that is not Christian, then I do not know what is!”

  I did not relish the prospect of a life as a tailor but, equally, I did not want to sleep rough anymore and so I nodded and signed; thankful that my mother had taught me to read. I knew that a runaway apprentice could be severely punished, but I was young, and I was confident. My father had created me and given me my faults. My uncle had given me skills and values but my whole life was made complicated by my start in life and I did not know why people seemed to like me for I never liked myself.

  That first night gave me a taste of my future. Stephen the Tailor might have had neat hands when it came to tailoring but there was nothing neat about the way he shovelled food into his mouth and spoke while he did so. There was no chair for me, and I sat on a stool which meant my head was at mouth level and I became very adept at dodging gobbets of food. I think that when I became a swordsman those early skills helped me for I learned to avoid objects flying towards me. I was exhausted and I looked forward to a warm dry night but after half an hour of grunting, groaning, heaving and shouting from Megs and her husband as they coupled in their bed, I was ready to go back to the road!

  My first half-year in London was an education and I learned skills which would stand me in good stead when I was older. I learned to cut cloth and to sew. The stitches I learned were the simple ones. I would never be able to make the fancy clothes demanded by people who paid but I could make breeks, shirts and tunics. The poor of London would trade for them and my work brought in eggs, fowl, cabbages, beans and the like. I made them from Stephen the Tailor’s offcuts. There were also other skills which I learned and they were nothing to do with sewing. I found other apprentices. Some I liked and some I did not. The ones I did not like soon learned to respect my fists and the ones I liked became part of a gang which I led. I did not plan to be a leader, but it happened that way. I fell in with Robert who was a cordwainer’s apprentice and lived not far away in Cordwainer Street. I had often seen him coming from the skinners on Rudge Row. Both of us were normally burdened. It seemed to me that apprentice was a sort of human beast of burden and in six months all I had been taught was how to sew and rough cut. I think Stephen the Tailor planned on eking out the skills over the whole seven years.

  I had learned that the happy couple with whom I lived liked to retire early and indulge themselves. Once that was done then they fell into a noisy sleep. I took to slipping silently out during the initial, noisy manoeuvres and I would wander the streets of Chepe Side. Again, those skills helped me when I became a warrior. I had no money and so I just wandered the streets looking for the odd coin or drunk lying in the gutter. If I was lucky then the drunk might have a purse with a few coins in. On the rare occasions that happened, I saved half and spent the other half on ale that was better than that served in the tailor shop. It was one such night when I had been unlucky and not seen any opportunities that I heard an altercation. I crept closer as it did not do to interfere unless there was something in it for me.

  It was down Old Fish Street, which thanks to the smell was always empty at night, that I spied Robert. As I said I had seen him before, and we had waved to each other. I knew his name and he knew mine. He was half my size and more fitted to his apprenticeship than I was. Two bigger youths had him pinned to the wall and were, for some reason, attacking him. I might have walked on had not one of the youths said, “Go on, Gilbert, stick him!”

  Gilbert! My father’s and brother’s name! It was not my brother but it mattered not and was enough; I bent down to pick up a broken piece of wood which had come off a fish crate. I ran up to the nearest youth and smacked him hard on the side of the head with the wood. He fell in a heap. The other made the mistake of looking down at his companion and I turned him by his tunic and head-butted him. As he fell at my feet, I stamped hard on his hand. I heard the bones break. I did the same with the other. I said nothing to Robert, but I searched the two of them. I found two long and narrow knives; they were the kind used for filleting fish and I found a few coins. I put them in my purse and stood.

  “Thank you!”

  I turned to Robert. It was almost as though I had not seen him.

  I smiled, “That is all right. What was that about?”

  If he wanted to tell me he could follow me.

  I began to walk back to Needlers Lane, and he hurried after me. Cordwainers Street was on the way. “They work at the fish quay and gut fish. They asked me to steal a pair of shoes for them. I had not managed to do it yet, and they were punishing me. I shall stay indoors from now on.” I nodded. “Of course, if you came with me, I wouldn’t be afraid.”

  I laughed, “And why should I do that?”

  “I can pay you.”

  “But you are an apprentice! You don’t get paid, do you?”

  It was his turn to laugh, “You don’t need to be paid to get money.”

  He then proceeded to tell me the tricks of the trade and how all apprentices learned to make money. S
ome of them were unique to shoemakers but I saw how they could be adapted to me. I also agreed to protect him from those like the fish boys. I was not worried about the likes of them for I had beaten them once and I was bigger, but I decided to gather other apprentices to become members of my own guild, the guild of self-preservation! After two months had passed, I had six others in my unofficial guild and we met at night and, sometimes, during the day. The other event which enhanced my reputation was the Sunday morning archery practice on the common ground north of the Aldersgate. Apprentices, along with everyone else, were given Sunday off but the men had to attend archery practice after church while the boys were forced to watch. I did not relish that and so I took my bow and joined the men for practice.

  When I first appeared, some men laughed. I saw the two fish boys, both still showing the mangled hands which had resulted from my attack and they laughed and jeered too. I did not mind for I knew that I had skill. The captain of the London archers was a huge man called Philip of Lincoln and he did not jeer like the others. He glared at the men near to him and then said, “Come here, boy, and stand next to me. Let me see you string your own bow!” My uncle had taught me to do that. The bow, while not as long as one used by a fully grown man, was made of yew and was as long as me. It would not be long before I needed a longer one. I did so to Philip’s satisfaction, for there is a right way and a wrong way to do so. He said, “Choose an arrow.” Again, my uncle had taught me that the first arrow should always be the best and I carefully picked the best. I licked the fletch to smooth it and nocked it. “Good, so far.” He glowered at some of the men who had laughed, “I can remember some who could neither string a bow nor choose an arrow when first they came to me.” He pointed at the butts which were a hundred paces from us. “Now let me see how close you can get to that!”

  I was suddenly aware that every eye was on me and that silence had fallen over the practice ground. I went through the routine Uncle John had taught me. I tested the wind, I pulled the bowstring and I focussed on the target. Then, with a comfortable stance, I drew the arrow back until it touched my right ear. As I released, I breathed out and watched the arrow soar. I was lucky and I knew it for my arrow managed to strike the bottom of the butt. My gang all cheered and even some of the men murmured their approval.