Just Wars and Moral Victories: Surprise, deception and the normative framework of European war in the later Middle Ages

Just Wars and Moral Victories

History of Warfare Editors

Kelly DeVries Loyola College in Maryland

John France University of Wales Swansea

Michael S. Neiberg University of Southern Mississippi

Frederick Schneid High Point University

VOLUME 55

Just Wars and Moral Victories Surprise, Deception and the Normative Framework of European War in the Later Middle Ages

By

David Whetham

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

Cover illustration: The Tree of Battles, by Sarah Jane Gillman, www.dragongarden.co.uk. All rights reserved. This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Whetham, David. Just wars and moral victories : surprise, deception and the normative framework of European war in the later Middle Ages / by David Whetham. p. cm. -- (History of warfare ; 55) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-90-04-17153-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Military art and science--Europe--History--To 1500. 2. Europe--History, Military--To 1500. 3. Surprise (Military science)--History. 4. Deception (Military science)--History. 5. Chivalry--Europe--History--To 1500. 6. Middle Ages. I. Title. II. Series. U37.W44 2009 355'.47409024--dc22 2009015146

ISSN 1385-7827 ISBN 978 90 04 17153 4 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

This book is dedicated to the women in my life—my wife Sarah, my mother and my sister Kirsty. It is also dedicated to Alfred and Lily who have made all our lives richer.

CONTENTS I.

Introduction ....................................................................................1

II.

Metaphysical and Moral Context ................................................34

III.

The Role of War as a Legal Instrument in the Middle Ages .....71

IV.

The Epitome of Military Science ...............................................114

V.

The Works of Geoffroy de Charny .............................................166

VI. Froissart: The Management of Chivalric Expectation ............197 VII.

Conclusion ....................................................................................235

Bibliography .............................................................................................253 Index ........................................................................................................263

CHAPTER ONE

INTRODUCTION Warfare is the Way (Tao) of deception. Thus although [you are] capable, display incapability to them. When committed to employing your forces, feign inactivity. When [your objective] is nearby, make it appear as if distant; when far away, create the illusion of being nearby. The tactics of the Medium D Tank are based on the principles of movement and surprise, its tactical object being to accentuate surprise by movement, not so much through rapidity as by creating unexpected situations. We must never do what the enemy expects us to do; instead, we must mislead him.

The first extract is from the classic work The Art of War completed at some time during the fourth century BC by the Chinese philosopher Sun-tzu.1 The second, by J.F.C. Fuller, was written during the Great War about a weapon that was still under development—the tank.2 Today, the principles espoused in the extracts are, or at least appear to be, taken for granted by the military organisations around the world. The utilisation of surprise and deception are part of the arsenal any competent military leader would attempt to draw from. As these extracts illustrate, this appears to have been true for thousands of years. Today, one would probably be considered irresponsible not to use them if the chance for effective employment of them arose. The fact that these techniques are used does not mean that such use is completely without reservation, even in today’s world. Some feel that there is a stigma attached to these methods—they do not appear to be “fair” somehow. To give a modern example: Put simply, asymmetric threats or techniques are a version of not “fighting fair, ” which can include the use of surprise in all its operational and

1 Sun Tzu, The Art of War, trans. Ralph D. Sawyer (Boulder, Colo.: Westview, 1994), p. 136. 2 J.F.C. Fuller, Memoirs of an Unconventional Soldier (London: Nicholson and Watson, 1936), quoted from Gérard Chaliand, The Art of War in World History: From Antiquity to the Nuclear Age (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California Press, 1994), p. 925.

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chapter one strategic dimensions and the use of weapons in ways unplanned by the United States.3

There is a certain unease associated with the use of ‘underhand’ tactics. Using surprise or deception appears unsporting or even cowardly— after all, one chooses a victim rather than an adversary in an ambush.4 This does not appear to be altogether right somehow and reservations about such methods are not new. For example, qualms can be seen in the writings of Homer, Herodotus and Thucydides, summed up by Euripides: A brave man thinks it unworthy to kill his enemy by stealth; he meets him face to face … Do not praise the clever spear of one who steals victory.5

Although this may be the case, it is still accepted that ‘unpalatable’ means do have to be adopted sometimes. However, some types of deception are not merely frowned upon, they are actually prohibited according to the laws of war in use today: ‘Dishonourable (treacherous) means, dishonourable expedients, and dishonourable conduct during armed conflict are forbidden’ .6 This states what is known as the ‘principle of chivalry’ and stems directly from the very foundation of the laws of war—the acceptance that ‘the right of belligerents to adopt means of injuring the enemy is not unlimited’ . 7 All other conventions, protocols and agreements that seek to moderate armed conflict come from a recognition of this assumption.

3 Peter Wilson, ‘Asymmetric Threats’, Strategic Assessment 1998: Engaging Power for Peace, Hans Binnendijk (Ed.) (Washington: National Defense University Press, 1998), p. 169. 4 This sentiment was expressed by the French military writer, Ardant du Picq. See Du Picq’s Battle Studies, trans. John N. Greely and Robert C. Cotton (Harrisburg, Penn.: Stackpole, 1946), p. 43. 5 Euripides, Rhesus 510–11. See also Homer, Iliad 6.242–3 and 11.384–95; Herodotus 1.212.2, and; Thucydides 4.86.6. 6 United States, Department of the Navy, Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, The Commander’s Handbook on the Law of Naval Operations, quoted from Adam Roberts and Richard Guelff (Eds), Documents on the Laws of War, 2nd Ed. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 5. The same sentiments can be found in the US Army law code. See The Law of Land Warfare: Department of the Army Field Manual FM2710 (US War Office, 1956), Section V. 49, 50 and 52. 7 This is the most fundamental customary principle of the laws of war, being incorporated into the 1874 Brussels Declaration and the 1880 Oxford Manual. Later, it was formally codified in the 1899 and 1907 Hague Regulations, the 1977 Additional Protocol to the 1949 Geneva Conventions, and in the Preamble to the 1981 UN Weapons Convention. See Roberts and Guelff, Laws of War, pp. 4 and 409.

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While the laws of war are an attempt to moderate or restrain many different aspects of armed conflict, central to any chance of them being widely respected is the idea that adherence to them does not impose an intolerable burden upon the parties involved. The laws are attempting to regulate a situation where many customary norms and international laws have already broken down and a law of war that prohibited any kind of violence whatsoever would not work for obvious reasons. If the utility of adhering to the laws was completely prejudicial to the conduct of military operations then Cicero’s famous adage would quickly become true—inter arma silent leges (in war the law is silent).8 Rather, the laws of war attempt to limit the ‘chain reaction of negative reciprocity’ towards complete anarchy by installing some barriers setting out certain minimum standards of the conduct of war.9 Concerning the theme of this work, the laws of war that are in force today do not exclude the whole area known as “ruse”. This area of legitimate deception includes things such as the use of camouflage, decoys, mock operations and the spreading of misinformation, these all being means intended to mislead an adversary or to induce him to act recklessly: Historically, military deception has proven to be of considerable value in the attainment of national security objectives, and a fundamental consideration in the development and implementation of military strategy and tactics. Deception has been used to enhance, exaggerate, minimize, or distort capabilities and intentions; to mask deficiencies; and to otherwise cause desired appreciations where conventional military activities and security measures were unable to achieve the desired result.10

The employment of certain clandestine measures necessary for obtaining information about the enemy, the enemy’s military operations or their country are also accepted in law.11 While some measures therefore

8 To those that would claim that this was indeed the case, I simply draw their attention to the widely respected practice of recognition of prisoner-of-war status, the immunity generally afforded to medical personnel and, despite their widespread proliferation and the number of conflicts that they could have been employed in, the fact that chemical weapons have rarely been used following the First World War. 9 Georg Schwarzenberger, The Frontiers of International Law (London: Stevens, 1962), p. 257. 10 Headquarters, Department of the Army, FM 90–2, Battlefield Deception (Washington, DC: GPO, 1978), iii. 11 See 1907 Hague Convention IV, Respecting the Laws and Customs of War on Land, II.1.22, and; 1977 Additional Protocol I to the Geneva Conventions, III.1.37.2. Quoted from Roberts, Laws of War, pp. 53 and 409.

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appear acceptable, the treacherous or dishonourable means referred to in the principle of chivalry relate to a type of deception seen as perfidious. This is not allowed under any circumstance. It is an act or behaviour that is contra fidem and involves the use of the law of war itself to deceive one’s adversary. It includes cases such as the feigning of an intent to negotiate under a flag of truce or surrender, or the feigning of an incapacitating injury with the intent to kill, injure or capture an adversary.12 One of the reasons behind this prohibition is that perfidy potentially erodes trust in the actual laws of war designed to moderate the excesses of conflict. In addition to this it makes the return to peace ‘unnecessarily difficult’, by damaging the prospects of any future negotiated settlement.13 Condemnation of this type of treacherous or dishonourable means can be found in the Penitentials of Theodore, written in the latter half of the seventh century and used, adapted and repeated by many later English and Frankish sources.14 In book 1, paragraphs 6 and 7, Theodore sets out the situation with regards to manslaughter: One who slays a man by command of his lord shall keep away from the church for 40 days; and one who slays a man in public shall do penance for 40 days … if through anger ye shall do penance for three years; if by accident for a year; if by a potion or any trick seven years.15

It is quite clear from this extract that to kill somebody by stealth or in an underhand manner was considered a very serious matter, especially when contrasted with the punishment for killing in an open or public conflict. Such a view reflects that found in Deuteronomy—‘A curse on him who smiteth his neighbour in secret’ .16 Such deeds were contrary to the faith and honour of the military classes because they were ‘essentially acts of treachery and cowardice’ .17

12 See A.P. 1. III.1.37.1. Quoted from Roberts, Laws of War, p. 409. See also: pp. 5, 52, 54, 127, 128, 409, 412 and 482. 13 Antonio Cassese (Ed.), The New Humanitarian Law of Armed Conflict (Naples: Editoriale Scientifica, 1980), p. 78. 14 Theodore of Tarsus was appointed Archbishop of Canterbury in 669 and died in 690. The Penitentials were written at some time in between. For biographical details, see John Cannon (Ed.), The Oxford Companion to British History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 918. 15 Theodore of Tarsus, Penitentials, Bk.1, §6 and 7. From Michael A. Meyer and Hilaire McCoubrey (Eds), Reflections on Law and Armed Conflicts: The Selected Works on the Laws of War by the Late Professor Colonel G.I.A. Draper, OBE (Hague/Boston/ London: Kluwer Law International, 1998), p. 23. 16 Deuteronomy 27:24. 17 Meyer and McCoubrey, Reflections on Law and Armed Conflicts, p. 157.

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The current laws of war are based upon a codification of existing practices and codes, and as such, have been and still are open to revision as time passes. The laws on perfidy can be seen as a vestigial sense of chivalry, demanding a minimum level of fairness in attack and defence, based upon the idea of a mutual respect between antagonists. In this principle there remains some sense of past honour, even if other aspects of chivalry, in particular the notion of a fair and open fight, have been undermined by, amongst other things, the use and recognition of irregular forces. Irregular forces avoid direct confrontation and employ asymmetric tactics, forcing states to also adopt alternative methods to counter them: Older rules about the “openness” of the conduct of warfare, the avoidance of stealth or trickery, born of the ideals of chivalry and honour, and the practical and humanitarian need to recognise the adversary, meet … the claims of nationalism and military needs.18

The idea of open, “straightforward” war is essential to our conception of chivalry and this idea still informs our opinion and judgement about certain types of behaviour, even though in practice, it is only the charge of perfidy that remains from this body of rules. For example, in response to events in Iraq, the UK Defence Secretary, John Reid, in February 2006 stated that: We can’t continually have an uneven battlefield for our troops, where we are facing an enemy, unconstrained by any legitimacy, any morality, any international convention and at the same time, subject our troops to a level of scrutiny, accountability, media intrusion, questioning and taking every conceivable opportunity to criticise them.19

He was speaking in response to the type of insurgent activity that sought to use the laws of war against those who adhere to it. In basketball this would be called ‘drawing the foul’, where one deliberately positions oneself in such a way that the opposing player cannot avoid initiating an illegal contact, thus conceding a penalty. In war:

18 Ibid., p. 73. The idea that nationalism undermines the restraints on warfare by raising the stakes is a relatively common theme and is not restricted to the period following the Middle Ages. For example, see Josiah Ober, ‘Classical Greek Times’, in Michael Howard, George J. Andreopoulos and Mark R. Shulman (Eds), The Laws of War: Constraints on Warfare in the Western World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), pp. 17ff. 19 http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk_politics/4692572.stm last accessed 23rd October 2008.

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chapter one this tactic involves a conventionally weaker side’s attempt to neutralize the technological and/or numerical advantage of its enemy by shaping the conditions of combat so that the enemy cannot act without violating the rules of jus in bello.20

Effectively, this is a kind of perfidy. The insurgent tactics of deliberately targeting the civilian population while disguising themselves as those very civilians violates international humanitarian law, and seeks to provoke a response from the coalition forces by undermining the normal assumption of non-combatant status which will then be seen to undermine them when they break the very rules they are there to uphold. However, as long as perfidy is not involved, surprise and deception, while not necessarily options that everyone is comfortable with, are not in any way banned. Commanders are free to employ all the tricks in the book to outwit or overcome their opponents, safe in the knowledge that they will not be judged harshly for employing such underhand tactics. Practicality and military usefulness supposedly over-rule any lingering doubts that come from the moral sphere of reasoning. Camouflage, night attacks, decoys, feigned retreats, lightning raids, the spreading of false information, ambushes; all are weapons that form the arsenal of competent soldiers. However, what about the period that was supposedly dominated by the code of chivalry from which today’s ‘watered-down’ laws of war evolved? Although the clever use of stratagems involving the use of surprise and/or deception have doubtlessly been employed throughout history, as has been seen above, it is widely believed that there was a period when warfare was conducted in a rather different way. Until fairly recently, the Middle Ages were seen as a unique time in which certain things were simply not done. Warfare conducted in western Christendom fitted the Achilles model of face-to-face confrontation and the use of open force was contrasted with that of the East where a more Odyssean ethos asserted the superiority of clever strategies, trickery and cunning to outwit opponents in a more indirect manner where possible.21 Deception was simply not something that the knights of medieval Europe practised. Neal Wood contrasts the

20

Michael Skerker, ‘Just War Criteria and the New Face of War: Human Shields, Manufactured Martyrs, and Little Boys with Stones’ , Journal of Military Ethics, Volume 3, Issue 1 (2004), p. 28. 21 E.L. Wheeler, ‘Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery’, Mnemosyne Supplement 108 (Leiden: 1988), p. xiii.

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inhibitions of the period of chivalric warfare with the pragmatism of Machiavelli in the period that immediately followed it: Between medieval foes there was the bond of Christian conduct and gentlemanly behaviour … [so that they] did not make full use of the stratagems that had been a common part of the classical military leader’s repertoire. Conversely, the medieval commander seemed particularly susceptible to the employment of deception and trickery by a ruthless and unchivalrous opponent.22

The proud chevaliers were bound in their behaviour by the rigid code of chivalry that meant that honour above all else was the thing for which men fought. Even if they had wished to, the use of effective surprise was simply impossible. It was believed that knights fought essentially as individuals so this simply did not allow the level of co-operation that the effective use of surprise required. Thus the argument that if surprise happened, it was probably down to pure accident or lack of effective reconnaissance rather than design. The organisational structure of medieval knighthood clearly had inherent organisational limitations and the individualism at the core of chivalry was an expression of this. Chivalry provided additional restrictions, sometimes distancing its adherents from the requirements of the battlefield. This explained how knights were so categorically defeated when they were challenged by those who did not respect or adhere to the rules that chivalry dictated. Supposedly, they were simply incapable of adapting and so were swept away by the tides of change. This was the view of medieval warfare that, until recently, dominated understanding of the period. It was blatantly wrong and based on a number of false assumptions. The people largely responsible for this erroneous understanding were influential authors such as Charles Oman and Hans Delbrück. They were writing around the turn of the twentieth century, a period dominated by interpretations of the works of Carl von Clausewitz, “the philosopher of war” .23 This led them to see

22 Niccolo Machiavelli, The Art of War, Neal Wood (Ed.) (1990). Taken from Matthew Bennett, ‘The Knight Unmasked’, Military History Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 4 (Summer 1995), p. 9. Bennett dispels many of the myths associated with these outdated views in this brief but excellent survey of the subject and demonstrates many of the positive aspects of chivalry for the conduct of war. 23 Hans Delbrück, History of the Art of War Within the Framework of Political History Vol. III: The Middle Ages, trans. Walter J. Renfroe Jr. (Westport, Conn.: Greenwood, 1982) and Charles Oman, The Art of War in the Middle Ages, 2 vols. (London: Methuen, 1924).

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the primary military objective of any campaign as the destruction or overthrow of the enemy’s forces in order to impose one’s will on him. This meant an almost exclusive focus on battles because they were how this primary military objective was supposed to be satisfied. The idea that warfare could be dominated by a different conception of strategy was simply not entertained. The result was that other aspects of warfare in the Middle Ages like sieges or raids, while they were acknowledged as present, were then practically ignored as they did not appear to contribute to what was considered important. This also had the effect of concentrating attention exclusively on knights for it was they who supposedly dominated the battlefield. For the knight, courage was the sole requisite for victory so any kind of organisation or planning did not fit into this simplistic picture. It was taken for granted that ‘the young Frankish noble deemed his military education complete when he could sit on his charger firmly and handle a lance and shield with skill’ .24 Knights, the only important type of soldier, fought essentially as individuals and ‘from the start of the battle on, knights were moved only by the instincts of the mass itself ’ .25 This fascination with battles meant that Oman and Delbrück both failed to see that they were largely irrelevant to the type of logistical and economic warfare that was actually being conducted. When Oman noted that the twelfth century did not actually see many battles he then explained this by citing the widespread development of fortifications that made the defensive supreme and denied the possibility of largescale confrontation.26 This whole century and important campaigns such as those of Bertrand du Guesclin against the English in the fourteenth century were therefore practically written off as there was nothing of interest here for Oman or Delbrück. Unfortunately, they were ignoring some important evidence—the unproductive nature of battles was demonstrated by the eventual French victory in the Hundred Years War, even after their huge defeats at Crécy, Poitiers and Agincourt. It was not necessarily who won the battles that was important, but who controlled the land at the end of the day. Oman saw the guerrilla campaign of Du Guesclin, like the construction of fortifications, as essentially negative because it denied the opportunity for decisive

24 25 26

Oman, Art of War, Vol. 1, p. 172. Delbrück, History, p. 158. Oman, Art of War, Vol. 1, p. 380.

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confrontation. He thus ignored the fact that it was a very successful period for the French.27 Delbrück, too, saw battle-avoidance as a failure to appreciate open battle’s function as a ‘truly decisive action’ and ignored the successes that came from exactly this strategy.28 This ‘failure’ was supposedly down to the general lack of strategic thought in the Middle Ages and the idea that a radically different conception of war was actually being pursued was simply not entertained. The strategic culture of Delbrück’s age did not fit comfortably with the aims of the warfare in this period and it is easy, with hindsight, to see why the period was dismissed as backward in many respects. It is also hardly surprising that the subtler elements of strategic and tactical thought were also ignored. Ruse, surprise, deception or clever tactical or strategic ingenuity simply do not fit into this picture and it became the accepted view that the art of war in the West was practically nonexistent from the fall of the Roman Empire to the Renaissance.29 The idea of chivalry itself reinforced this view by being seen as ‘emptyheaded bravery and foolish courtesy to the enemy, completely undermining the necessary cunning of the art of war’ .30 This view was challenged in the 1950’s with the publication of two works: Verbruggen’s Art of War in the Middle Ages, and Smail’s Crusading Warfare.31 Verbruggen’s excellent revisionist account dispelled many of the erroneous beliefs associated with the warfare of the Middle Ages, directly challenging the view that the knights of the Middle Ages were blundering amateurs with no kind of organisation, strategy or even tactics. Under the subtitle ‘Weaknesses of modern military historians in discussing medieval warfare’ he cited a number of authors whose historical methodology was questionable by the standards that were being 27 See J. Cuvelier, Chronique de Bertrand du Guesclin, E. Charrière (Ed.), 2 vols (Paris: 1839). 28 Delbrück, History, p. 325. 29 This is reflected in the way that many books on the history of strategy or the art of war just skip straight over this period in the West. For example, W. Murray, M. Knox and A. Bernstein (Eds.), The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States and War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Although it considers seventeen case studies, the only chapter devoted to a period covering nearly eighteen hundred years is about the development of Chinese strategy between the fourteenth and the seventeenth century. 30 Bennett, Knight Unmasked, p. 16. 31 J.F. Verbruggen, The Art of War in the Middle Ages (London: North Holland, 1977). Originally published as De krijgskunst in West-Europa in de Middeleeuwen, IXe tot begin XIVe eeuw (Brussels, 1954). A new 1996 edition in English includes more of the annotation that was heavily abridged in the 1977 translation. Also, R.C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193, 2nd ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995).

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set for historical research even in the fifties. Oman and Delbrück were amongst those whose views were directly challenged.32 Most critically he noted that the individual nature of combat in many battles had been overemphasised thanks to incorrect reading or misuse of the source materials: In many instances … historians, due to a preconceived notion or plain prejudice, have simply not read certain passages in their source carefully. They have kept the name of the prominent nobleman who fought at the head of his unit, but … they forget the words cum suis, avec sa gent, cum sua acie, with the result that the fighting of entire formations is represented as a duel fought out by two champions.33

It was this type of ‘misreading’ that had helped to strengthen Delbrück’s thesis regarding the rudimentary military and political organisation at the time. By demonstrating that military organisation was, in fact, highly developed in the Middle Ages, Verbruggen not only assumed that surprise and deception were used throughout the period, he even gave the topic of surprise its own, brief, sub-heading. He gave examples demonstrating that the practitioners of war in the Middle Ages were clever enough to utilise this powerful weapon in their plans of attack and were well aware of its effects. He gave cases of night attacks and ambushes, all treated in much the same way that we would view surprise now—as another weapon in an army’s arsenal.34 The whole topic was handled in a very matter-of-fact way. The implications of Verbruggen’s examination of the warfare of the period were enormous and this helped force a thorough re-evaluation of the subject as a whole. Of course, in such a groundbreaking work, it was impossible to explore every aspect of the subject and some areas were not covered particularly well. For example, while he noted that the small size of armies and the widespread use of fortifications meant that

32

This has been a popular activity for medieval historians since then. One recent paper goes as far as to claim that Delbrück ‘should now be given an honourable burial’: Bernard S. Bachrach, ‘Medieval Siege Warfare: A Reconnaissance’ , Journal of Military History, Vol. 58 (1994), pp. 119–33. Verbruggen saw that while the subject had attracted a fair amount of attention, ‘it [was] not easy to be deeply versed in the military problems of the period and at the same time to possess considerable knowledge of medieval historical writing, with its particular problems of historical criticisms’ . Verbruggen, Art of War, p. 1. 33 Ibid., p. 19. 34 Ibid., pp. 253f.

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war aims were often limited, he did not pursue the implications of this any further. Like Oman, he saw castles and fortifications as negative things, ways of avoiding battles rather than as an essential part of a strategy based on control of territory. Smail, on the other hand, was the first amongst the growing number of historians who saw raids and sieges in the context of attritional warfare aimed at undermining the economic base of the enemy and gaining control of the means of producing wealth. First published not long after Verbruggen in 1956, Smail too noticed that battles were actually very rare in the Middle Ages but he attributed this to the type of warfare that was being conducted. Fortifications were merely a symptom of this rather than a cause because they were what made the control of the land possible. Land was the essential basis of Latin dominion. The policy of the Latin rulers centred on its possession, and war, as an instrument of policy, was employed in the interests of territorial expansion or defence.35

Although battles could still be important, the primary military objective was normally the control of fortifications because they were the key to controlling the land. It was not to destroy or overthrow the enemy in order to impose one’s will on him. This is the approach that most scholars have taken following these two great works. It gradually became taken for granted that the level of organisation and skill involved in medieval warfare was actually very high and the period as a whole saw many advances in military technology. The Middle Ages were no longer seen as simply a period of stagnation between the fall of the Roman Empire and the “intellectual awakening” of the Renaissance. The new framework of analysis allowed many aspects of warfare to be re-evaluated.36 For instance, the repeated chevauchées that were so common during the conflict known as the Hundred Years War, could now be seen as having some kind of strategic purpose, rather than being dismissed as mere mounted plundering expeditions. While the acquisition of plunder was an undoubted part of any commander’s plan if he intended to keep his followers contented,

35

Smail, Crusading Warfare, p. 24. E.g. some historians chose to move away from the actual study of the conduct of hostilities and instead focus on the way it was organised and financed. See H.J. Hewitt, The Organization of War Under Edward III, 1338–62 (Manchester: Manchester, University Press, 1966). 36

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by being able to move unchallenged through an area, one could demonstrate one’s opponent’s inability to defend the land and people. The literal translation of chevauchée is procession rather than raid as it is often translated and this speaks volumes about what its role actually was.37 In a period that had a very positivist conception of rights, if one was unable to defend something, one did not have a right to it.38 Therefore a chevauchée could be used to, very publicly, call into question the legitimacy of the position of the impotent lord and demonstrate the justice of one’s own cause at the same time. If an army intercepted an invader then a battle might result, but the defeat of an army was merely another means of achieving the actual military aim, which was in this case to weaken the moral and economic base of rivals (the conception of chevauchée will be explored further in Chapter Three).39 Apart from rapid raids and chevauchées, it gradually became accepted that the mounted knight, while important, often played only a supplementary role to that of the infantry or got off their mounts and became infantry. However, while the opportunities for mounted knights to be tactically decisive during a siege were extremely limited, they were still indispensable for the supplementary role of maintaining lines of communication and patrolling the countryside to defend against (and conduct) raids and skirmishes which formed part of the logistical war to reduce the material resources of rivals.40 It was this

37 Alfred H. Burne, The Crecy War: A Military History of the Hundred Years War from 1337 to the Peace of Bretigny, 1360 (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1955), p. 245. Burne did not develop the implications of this important point although he is the only historian before Rogers to argue that the Crécy chevauchée was actually intended to bring about a battle. 38 E.g. Edward III’s refusal to accept the surrender and allegiance of the people of Bayeux until he could protect them from harm: “meas il ne lez voleit receiver pur ascuns enchesouns et tantqe lez purroit salver de damage.” As Rogers points out, this act also served to highlight Philip VI’s failure to do the same. See Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327–1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000). 39 Compare this with Delbrück’s denial that William had deliberately devastated the countryside after his landing at Hastings because that would have contradicted the basic political idea of the campaign: ‘In no case can they have had any strategic significance’ (History, pp. 154ff.). Although Verbruggen did not focus on this issue, and indeed saw many chevauchées as mere ‘plundering expeditions’ devoid of any strategic purpose beyond the quest for booty (Art of War, p. 285), the alternative (complementary?) function of the raids only strengthens his broader thesis. 40 This is a point that Carroll Gillmor focuses on in ‘Practical Chivalry: The Training of Horses for Tournaments and Warfare’, Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History,

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kind of campaign that was advocated by the most widely distributed and read ‘manual of warfare’ to be found in the West during the Middle Ages—Vegetius’ Epitome of Military Science. For example, in the first decade of the fifteenth century, Christine de Pizan paraphrased Vegetius to instruct that battle should only be joined ‘in a playne feld’ if one has a decisive advantage over one’s enemy and this should be determined after carefully comparing the forces and calling a council of war.41 If the enemy are discontented through lack of food or money or if they are not used to hard living, then there should be no hurry to battle, but instead: moost secretly that he can he shal sende hys men in to busshementys for to ouer take hem vnbeware there as they shal passe by … grete proffyt cometh to a captayne of an oost that wysely can sett busshementys.42

Although this is obviously not how “the Age of Chivalry” is often portrayed, within the context set out above, surprise and deception clearly had an important role to play. Guerrilla warfare and its associated methods of sudden and unexpected raids and attacks in the least likely places, was an excellent weapon for disrupting the enemy’s economic plans. A chevauchée, such as that conducted by Edward III in 1346, relied upon just the effect that Fuller speaks of in the opening quote when he said that one must ‘accentuate surprise by movement, not so much through rapidity as by creating unexpected situations. We must never do what the enemy expects us to do; instead, we must mislead him’ .43 Fitting with this perfectly the English historian (and retired colonel) Alfred Burne noted that Edward refused to allow foreigners to leave English ports ahead of his invasion force and kept his destination secret so that the French would not know where he was

Vol. XIII (1992), pp. 7–29. She goes somewhat further by claiming that the high level of skill required for mounted combat could not have been justified by the rare number of times it was actually put into practice. Rather, tournaments must have had a far greater role than was previously thought, and knights may have had something approaching the role of our contemporary professional athletes, ‘admired by his peers for his athletic ability in a rough sport’ (p. 20). 41 The original can be found in Vegetius, Epitome of Military Science, trans. N.P. Milner (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1993), book III, chapter 9. In addition see chapters 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, 10, 18, 22 and book IV, chapters 26, 27, 28, 37 and 45. 42 Christine de Pizan, The Book of Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye: Translated and printed by William Caxton from the French original by Christine de Pisan, A.T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. 61. 43 Fuller, Memoirs, p. 925.

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to land.44 The French historian Perroy claimed that it was this surprise that allowed the English force to take Caen straight away and then travel through Évreux right into the heart of Capetian territory.45 In this respect, both Burne and Perroy pre-empted Verbruggen by allowing a fair degree of sophistication in the military campaigns of the Hundred Years War. Burne noted (with some satisfaction) that secrecy was paramount in the Earl of Derby’s attempt to raise the siege of Auberoche in 1347. Even foraging was forbidden in case it gave away the presence of the troops before their surprise descent upon the superior numbers of unsuspecting besiegers.46 Neither of these examples caused Burne to ‘raise an eyebrow’ and he treated them as if they were simply examples of behaviour that was to be expected, conforming to the general behaviour of the times. Chivalry was simply not a code that interfered with the mechanics of war when it came to situations such as this. What has become know as the Gillingham paradigm47 argues that battles were rare in the Middle Ages precisely because the same effect (or better) could be achieved with a chevauchée employing such methods. This allowed you to undermine your opponent’s political support, economic base and his moral position through demonstrating his inability to protect his subjects and make yourself rich through plunder at the same time. Therefore obviously it would be better to avoid battle, follow Vegetius’ advice on avoiding a fair fight, and the rewards will follow. With the changes in the way the whole period was portrayed by historians, chivalry came to be seen in brutally pragmatic terms rather than as a “brotherhood of arms” where chivalric honour and duty dictated behaviour. While proving one’s right to resort to violence was obviously important, it became widely accepted that it was the legal

44 Burne, Crecy War, pp. 137f. Orders were given to the ship captains in sealed envelopes, not to be opened until the ships were at sea, and an extensive disinformation campaign was launched aimed at convincing the French that the landing was to be in Gascony. See PRO C76/23, m. 23v. (Chancery, Treaty Rolls) for the orders sent by Edward to the officers in charge of the various ports. Henry V was to take similar precautions before the Agincourt campaign, see J.R. Alban and C.T. Allmand, ‘Spies and Spying in the Fourteenth Century’, in C.T. Allmand (Ed.), War, Literature, and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), p. 78. 45 Edouard Perroy, The Hundred Years War (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1965), pp. 118f. (This English translation from the original French is the revised edition.) 46 Burne, Crecy War, pp. 106ff. 47 Following the ongoing debate in the pages of the Journal of Medieval Military History, Vols. 1 and 2 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2002 and 2004).

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phraseology in the rediscovered Roman law rather than the spirit of the just war that actually counted. If a cause could be justified using the correct legal jargon, it helped ensure popular support for military action. Once the Aristotelian political philosophy elucidated in Aquinas’ works became widely accepted and the basis for the independent secular state had been established in his Summa Theologica, it was only a matter of time before sovereigns were claiming to be acting in the interests of “the common good”, justifying just about any action on the grounds of raison d’état.48 While the ius ad bellum (the laws governing resort to war) came to be seen in a purely legalistic light, the ius in bello (laws governing behaviour once a conflict was underway) were also seen to be eroded or discarded. The period in which the knight in his armour was practically invulnerable was ending by now thanks to ‘all kinds of ungentlemanly, free-thinking innovations by centralizing monarchs and urban patricians’ .49 So what had happened to the idealism associated with the code of chivalry? While the fact of its actual existence was not seriously challenged, it came to be seen as merely a veneer to cover purely financial interests: beneath the high idealism of chivalric honour, war continues much as before, as cruel, atrocious and thoughtless as ever. Knighthood becomes a kind of guild of warriors, who may put the ordinary soldier and the civilian to the sword, but who rarely kill each other intentionally on the battlefield, and who see to it that military enterprises have a suitable financial reward. The occasional feat of arms is a diversion from the more serious business of pillage and destruction, and chivalry owes more to the pen than the sword.50

While medieval chroniclers may have tried to cast a ‘golden spell of chivalry’, the reality of Medieval warfare remained an extremely 48 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), p. 286. Thomas Aquinas has been attributed the ‘rediscovery’ of Aristotle and the incorporation of his ideas into a Christian framework. For further reading, see Bertrand Russell, History of Western Philosophy: and its Connection with Political and Social Circumstances from the Earliest Times to the Present Day (London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 444ff. 49 A.T. Hatto, ‘Archery and Chivalry: A Noble Prejudice’, Modern Language Review, Vol. 35, No. 1 (1940), pp. 40ff. Hatto is, of course, referring to the large-scale use of missile weapons that threatened the knight, his social position and way of life. He also refers to the use of short knives by the fourteenth century, to dispatch fallen riders once they had been brought down, their horses having been shot out from under them. 50 Richard Barber, The Knight and Chivalry (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1995), p. 246. This view is discussed from pp. 241ff.

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unpleasant business—‘Chivalry was in fact compatible with stark, ruthless slaughter’ .51 Certain aspects of the violence were simply restrained for a time as those who considered themselves as belonging to Christendom’s knighthood generally respected the code relating to the laws of ransom. This was thanks to a professional class of fighters who successfully employed agreements that limited their potential losses in what was, for the most part, a financial exercise.52 Knights were not unchivalrous for not attempting to limit the effects of war on anyone else for ‘as a code, chivalry had next to nothing to do with ordinary people’ .53 This, then, was what chivalry was about. There was no idealism or romantic sentiments here, just hard-nosed business sense.54 Within this context, honour can be seen as simply the way of holding together this business relationship. Most disagreements likely to arise during conflict could be seen as questions of contract, either between men who were fighting on the same side or between a victor and his prisoner. As the finer points of legal theory were unlikely to appeal to soldiers, the whole system was enforced and maintained largely through the institution of honour (although more drastic measures could be employed in certain circumstances). This acted as a type of guarantee, for to lose honour was to expose oneself to the public charge that one did not “play by the rules”55 and those rules were important, arising from the need to have an ‘agreed mode of conduct in recurrent situations’, such as when surrendering a town.56 Infamy meant exclusion from “the game” which had both financial and health implications if 51 H.J. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expeditions of 1355–1357 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958), p. 10. 52 While the Welsh were regarded as rebels during the Owen Glendower uprisings of the early fifteenth century and therefore could expect little comfort from the laws of war, Prestwich notes that it was probably purely financial motives that led to many prisoners being killed by the English. Nothing was actually to be gained from ransoming the Welsh for they had little or no money. Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996), p. 104. 53 Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 185. 54 The implications and mechanics of this system are excellently covered in M.H. Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965). 55 Keen, Laws, p. 20. 56 H.J. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expeditions of 1355–1357 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1958), pp. 10f. Hewitt also makes the subtle distinction between the laws of war and chivalry itself which can be seen to ‘soften the formal relationships created by law’ .

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one continued to fight without the safety net of ransom being offered.57 The laws of war and chivalry, the code of honour which buttressed these laws, therefore came to be seen as essentially pragmatic damagelimitation devices, and ‘one cannot, indeed, help wondering whether the law of arms would have meant anything if it had not been for the financial stakes at issue in battle’ .58 The romance of chivalry has now been firmly put in its place, but is this really a fair reflection of how things really were? Can chivalry and the romantic imagery the concept invokes really be dismissed quite so easily? Scholarship since Verbruggen’s masterpiece has largely accepted the relative sophistication of the medieval military machine. It has therefore become taken for granted that surprise and deception were weapons used alongside many others on and off the battlefield by men who were well aware of the effects of their use. The attitude of the medieval warriors has been assumed to be similar to that of today’s— while perfidy was unacceptable, other forms of deception were perhaps frowned upon but otherwise accepted due to the necessities of the battlefield. A cursory examination of some of the source material of the period will appear to agree with this view. For example, Honoré Bouvet’s late-fourteenth century account of the laws of war, better known as The Tree of Battles, after much moral discussion, reaches the conclusion that: according to God and the scriptures, I may conquer my enemy by craft or fraud without sin, once the war has been ordained and declared and ordered between him and me, and I have given him defiance.59

Bouvet then cites biblical precedent by giving the example of how God himself commanded Joshua to set an ambush for his enemies.60 However, while this type of deception was to be allowed, one was not to break one’s word, particularly if one’s word was in connection with the laws of war themselves. Thus it would be a ‘condemnable deception’ for one to give one’s promise to meet an enemy for parley and then make

57 Contamine notes the reciprocity evident in the practice of medieval warfare. See Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, p. 256. 58 Keen, Laws, p. 244. 59 Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles, trans. G.W. Coopland (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949) pp. 154ff. 60 Joshua 8.2, Old Testament (Authorised Version): ‘ … lay thee an ambush for the city behind it.’

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him a prisoner. Due to the breaking of faith, this would clearly go against God Himself.61 It would also clearly be against God and reason, for example, for anyone to take a town during a truce ‘for the laws say that once a pledge is given to one’s enemy it must be kept’ .62 The case of perfidy aside, once it became accepted that the practitioners of medieval warfare were in fact highly competent at the type of war that was being conducted through the Middle Ages, then it also became accepted that they could not have failed to use such important tools as deception and surprise. This is demonstrated by famous cases such as Edward III’s Crécy campaign, already mentioned above. Here, Edward, a well-respected soldier, used subtlety to gain the upper hand over an opponent who was fooled into believing that the English were within their grasp. The situation arose through King Philip of France challenging the English ruler to a duel.63 Rather than immediately replying with the customary defiance, Edward took some time over it, burning the Parisian suburbs in the meantime.64 Using this as a cover, he had a group spend this time constructing bridges further downstream. When he did finally send his (sarcastically worded) reply it was at the end of his first days’ march across the river giving him a considerable head-start on the pursuing French force. Alfred Burne, writing in

61

For the belief that God would not favour the perjured, see M.J. Russell, ‘Trial By Battle and the Writ of Right’, Journal of Legal History (London: Frank Cass, 1980), p. 111. 62 Bouvet, Tree, p. 153. This is view that can clearly be seen in the writings of the chronicler Froissart too. See Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.), 29 vols. (Brussels, 1867–77), V pp. 97ff, where an enemy knight’s passport of free passage is interfered with by the king of France and one of his own knights, whose word has been effectively broken, refuses to serve him until the situation is resolved. 63 This challenge comes from a long list where the two kings manoeuvred around each other in a bid to present legitimacy to their actions and demonstrate the lack of conviction the enemy obviously felt when the offer was refused. Despite the reputation of Edward III in the lists, Philip, probably due to the necessities of domestic politics, needed to demonstrate that while he was unable to halt the devastation and plunder of his rival, this was due to Edward refusing, as he surely would, the offer of judicial combat. Edward could be presented as not playing by the rules therefore the legitimacy of his actions could be dismissed. It was also probably the only face-saving option that Philip could come up with, holed-up in Paris but unwilling or unable to defend its suburbs. Indeed, by all accounts, Edward was not interested in actually fighting if he could help it. An earlier offer was to Edward III in person, but this particular one was for a set battle between the two armies on mutually agreeable ground. Considering the numerical superiority of the French, it is hardly surprising that Edward declined the offer. 64 Contamine describes Edward’s actions delightfully as ‘a question of intimidating the enemy … Snapping one’s fingers at him’ . (War in the Middle Ages, p. 222).

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the 1950’s, appears almost proud of the king’s deception: ‘Thus Edward had completely outwitted Philip’ .65 He sees no problem with this example of deceit in warfare and accepts it as just that, for ‘deceitful it was. One of the maxims of war is to deceive your opponent, but the good cleric of the Abbey of St. Denys would not be conversant with such maxims’.66 The ‘good cleric’ of which he speaks was the author of the Grandes Chroniques, which take a rather different view of the king’s behaviour. The chronicle stigmatises the King’s conduct due to his apparently calculated deceit that gave Philip a false impression regarding the English force’s whereabouts. After apparently agreeing to give battle Edward instead crossed to the north bank of the Seine, leaving the French king in totally the wrong place and ‘greatly angered’ . As the King of France raced north he told everyone in his path that he had been betrayed: ‘and the king doubted whether otherwise he could have been led back and forth thus. The people murmured too, and said that such a way of going and returning would not be without treason’ .67 It may have been that the author was seeking to justify his own king’s behaviour by giving him an excuse for his dallying in the city but the moral language of the writings clearly seeks to place Edward’s actions in the area of one who has used deceit to gain an unfair advantage. This is the contradiction between chivalric literature and the actual realities of war which writers such as Maurice Keen and Johan Huizinga noted.68 While prescriptive texts such as Geoffrey de Charny’s Book of Chivalry might preach against the use of ‘excessive subtlety’, the reality was that if subtlety was required, then theory quickly gave way and weapons such as surprise and deception were certainly not to be ignored.69 This was borne out by the very example of Geoffrey de Charny himself who attempted to seize Calais from the English, during a truce, by clandestine, subtle and very questionable 65

Burne, Crecy War, p. 154. Ibid. 67 Grandes Chroniques de France, Jules Viard (Ed.) (Paris: Société de l’histoire de France, 1920–53), Vol. 9: pp. 274–82. From Clifford J. Rogers (Ed.), The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1999), pp. 126ff. 68 Keen, Laws, p. 244 and J. Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages: A Study of the Forms of Life, Thought and Art in France and the Netherlands in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries (London: Edward Arnold, 1924), pp. 56f. 69 Richard W. Kaeuper and Elspeth Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996), p. 151. 66

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methods.70 In another example, Keen noted that while the laws of war stressed the importance of unfurling one’s banners and using heralds before a battle, it was also accepted that ‘the exigencies of war’ could make these formalities impossible: ‘A captain who planned to take a town by escalade at night did not send a herald round in the afternoon to announce his intentions’ .71 In effect, if a situation was going to be “tactically embarrassing”, then Keen believed that in the majority of cases the law or custom was simply put aside. Adherents to the ‘Gillingham paradigm’, mentioned above, suggest that competent practitioners would adopt precisely this type of behaviour, seizing advantage where it could be found, as advocated by Vegetius, rather than engaging in anything that resembled a ‘fair’ fight. However, not all historians are quite as eager to ignore the chivalric literature or dismiss the trappings of chivalry as mere “business law”. Perroy, for one, was actually fairly reserved in his attitude towards the use of such tactics and was not ready to claim that resort to ruse was done without second thought. He considered that the behaviour of the English knights at Crécy, and again at Poitiers, was unworthy of their position. The use of concealment, ambushes and feints, along with archery aimed at the knights’ mounts broke the rules that governed warfare of the time.72 Pragmatically, he accepted that for Edward to have attempted any other kind of engagement at Crécy, although it may have been more acceptable to his contemporaries, would have been ‘unpardonable folly’ given the position he was in. However, this acceptance of the realities facing the English king did not change his view that it was a clear breach of custom and that Edward, himself a chivalrous knight, recognised the laws of war and ‘was somewhat ashamed’ of his improvised ruses.73 Although he did accept that the laws gave way under the pressures of real combat, Perroy is not alone in having reservations. Other authors who accept the relatively high level of strategic and tactical competence of the practitioners of medieval warfare, are still not totally happy with

70 Froissart, Chroniques, Ms. Rome, George T. Diller (Ed.) (Genève: Droz, 1972), pp. 861–71; E. Maunde Thompson (Ed.), Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), pp. 103–8, and; Jean le Bel, Chronique, J. Viard and E. Déprez (Eds.), 2 vols (Paris: 1904–5), ii, pp. 176–82. See Chapter Five for an analysis of this episode. 71 Keen, Laws, p. 103. 72 Perroy, Hundred Years, pp. 118ff. esp. pp. 119 and 131. 73 Perroy, Hundred Years, p. 119.

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the supposed use of deception and surprise even though common sense appears to state that they go hand-in-hand. While in one respect they are trying to convince readers that the military organisation of the Middle Ages was actually extremely advanced, in another respect, there are obviously still some reservations about medieval soldiers actually using all the weapons that were at their disposal. For example, Christopher Allmand talks of the Free Companies—mercenaries who lived off the French countryside—developing skills different to ‘more conventional soldiers’ . These men did not work within the same framework as those concerned with national expeditions or conflicts and they did not respect the “traditional” way of waging war as a result. They specialised in mobility and war of surprise where ‘the dawn raid was more effective than the siege’ .74 Implicit here is the view that this was unconventional war. Even though the ‘regular’ soldiers of the day were tactically competent, they did not generally fight in this way. The success of the Free Companies speaks for itself, so this was obviously an effective way of conducting war. Why was it the preserve of “irregulars” or mercenaries to fight this way? Another author, while happy to concede that ‘most late medieval knights seem to have adopted a … practical attitude when engaged in the more mundane aspects of warfare’ was also convinced that chivalry was not a meaningless veneer, glossed on to accounts of battles after the fact: chivalrous notions often had a significant effect upon the way real battles were fought. Not only individual knights … but commanders … and princes … commonly exposed themselves to unnecessary dangers and sacrificed strategic and tactical advantages in order to maintain their heroic reputations or avoid the possibility of appearing less than honourable.75

The last author appears to have been considering cases like that involving Henry “the Bastard” before the battle of Najerá where he supposedly gave up an advantageous position against the advice of his captain so that no-one could accuse him of acting unfairly or unchivalrously (he then lost).76 Another example would be the refusal of John Talbot 74 Christopher Allmand, The Hundred Years War: England and France c.1300–c.1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 74. 75 D’Arcy Jonathan Dacre Boulton, The Knights of the Crown: The Monarchical Orders of Knighthood in Later Medieval Europe 1325–1520 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1987), pp. 14f. 76 Mildred K Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Eds.), Life of the Black Prince, by the Herald of Sir John Chandos (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910), editors’ notes, p. 212. This case has

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to wear armour in the last battle of the Hundred Years War due to an oath not to appear against the French in arms. Talbot, a successful and highly effective soldier who excelled in ‘the tactics of surprise’, appears to have unfurled his banner before having a full appreciation of the strength of the enemy force facing him at Castillon. However, despite this, he chose to continue the attack rather than safely withdrawing in the face of the overwhelming numbers and was killed in the engagement.77 This reluctance to accept that advantage would always be sought and then grasped was even demonstrated by Burne who had happily stated that ‘one of the maxims of war is to deceive your opponent’, but then, later, appeared to hold a somewhat different view.78 When he was exploring reasons for why the French neglected to employ a flank attack at Crécy, he concluded that they were obstructed by terrain and that the rear of the English force could not be attacked because ‘such things were not done in the pitched battles of the time’. 79 Clearly Burne felt that while certain types of deception could be and were employed, in pitched battles one did not surprise an opponent by making him think you were engaging him in the front while attacking him unexpectedly from the rear. This is again curious, as no competent leader of troops in the present era would hesitate to attack an enemy in the flank or surprise him in the rear if that were possible. If the practitioners of war in the Middle Ages did not see how effective this was, how could they be so advanced? Even if flank attacks were employed in the period, and there is much evidence to support the idea that they were, the point here is that the otherwise pragmatic Burne, so fond of his “inherent military probability”, still allows himself to be influenced by perceived notions of chivalry.80 The whole concept of chivalry as a restraining influence on warfare is certainly not wholly dismissed.

echoes of the (much earlier) Battle of Maldon in 991 where Anglo-Saxon alderman and his levies allowed the Viking invaders to come across an easily held causeway so that they could have a fair fight. The Vikings proceeded to defeat the outnumbered AngloSaxons. See Magnus Magnusson, Vikings! (London: Bodley Head, 1980), p. 268. 77 See A.J. Pollard, John Talbot and the War in France 1427–1453 (Royal Historical Society, 1983), pp. 67 and 137–9. 78 Burne, Crecy War, p. 154. 79 Ibid., p. 203. 80 For example, Geoffrey Le Baker claims that the Battle of Poitiers was decided by a rear attack on the French force by the Captal de Buch combined with the Black Prince’s frontal charge: Thompson, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker, p. 151. Also, the chronicler Monstrelet speaks of a group of two hundred English archers sent by their King to

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There are other areas that do not appear quite straightforward. For example, the French chronicles of the period are highly contemptuous of the way that the Welsh conducted their war against the English. The Welsh were the allies of the French at the time of the Glendower uprisings but the few French soldiers that were supplied to aid the rebellion were supposedly disgusted with the surprise attacks and ambushes used against the English—this was not how they thought war should be conducted.81 The idea that the chronicles that record this disgust were keen to promote an ideal rather than actually discuss the real brutality of the battlefield is compelling if it were not for the fact that in other cases they are happy to list examples that certainly do not glorify chivalry (at least in the way that it is popularly understood). For example, that most famous of chroniclers, Froissart, tells matter-of-factly of how a squire and his master deceived some knights as to their identity in order to make them appear to be allies. Once the deception had been carried out and the two parties were marching together, the knights were taken by surprise and captured.82 When surprise and deception were used, this chronicler obviously did not shy from discussing it and in these particular instances no moral objections appear to have been raised. Yet when King Edward used subtlety on his successful chevauchée in 1346 his behaviour was roundly criticised in the Grandes Chroniques (see above). There appear to be some inconsistencies here— why should this type of behaviour be acceptable on one level and yet not on another, or is it simply a matter of different authors having different views? Another area that appears to pose problems for the idea that medieval commanders were far more proficient than previously thought is that they appeared very keen to announce their intentions to the enemy. One cannot help wondering, if the concept of surprise was so well understood, why military leaders felt it necessary to send defiance and attack the rear of the French line at Agincourt: Enguerran De Monstrelet, La Chronique: en deux livres avec pièces justificatives 1400–1444, L. Douët-d’Arcq (Ed.) (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1859), p. 105. It should be noted that partisanship may have influenced these accounts. In the case of Monstrelet, it is possible that he was seeking to shift the blame of the defeat away from his Burgundian masters and towards the unfair tactics of the English (the Burgundian contingent had not been at Agincourt). 81 R.R. Davies, The Revolt of Owain Glyn Dwr (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 195. 82 Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.) 29 vols (Brussels, 1870–7), VI, pp. 225ff.

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attempt to arrange a time and place for hostilities to commence. Considering the time required to marshal a medieval host, why announce one’s intentions in advance when surprise might result in an easier victory? To illustrate this point: before the battle of Neville’s Cross, the Scottish army issued a challenge to battle and then supposedly waited for the English to arrive at the site and deploy themselves. No attempt was made to disrupt this even though the Scots were obviously ready to fight long before the English force was properly deployed.83 One cannot imagine a modern commander waiting for his enemy to finish their breakfast before attacking! The mutual arrangements made before the battle of Verneuil and the pains taken to meet the specific terms of the agreement provide another example that seems to defy common sense when so many potential advantages were passed over.84 Froissart also gives the confusing example of Sir Walter Manny’s expedition into France to surprise and capture the town of Mortaigne. As part of the expedition of Edward III, Froissart was adamant that Manny did not ‘chevaucha secretement’ into France to surprise the town until the King of France had received a challenge and defiance from the English King.85 Again, it appears that surprise was acceptable on one level but not on another as the town was still going to be surprised by the attack, even if King Philip, presumably miles away, was not. Any attempted analysis of the concept of chivalry appears to be confronted with these and many other strange inconsistencies. There is an obvious difference between the way that some medieval campaigns were apparently conducted and the way that modern military thinking would see the same situation. It might be considered that once the focus on battles had been abandoned, and the proficiency of the people involved had been accepted, the military activity of the period made more sense. However, it is clearly not as straightforward as this, thus the problem with applying such concepts as Inherent Military Probability without first appreciating the different

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Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V, pp. 124ff. Michael K Jones, ‘The Battle of Verneuil (17 August 1424): Towards a History of Courage’, War in History, 9 (2002), pp. 375–411. 85 Froissart, Chroniques, Ms. Amiens, George T. Diller (Ed.), 4 vols (Genève: Droz, 1991), I, p. 253; Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), II, pp. 485f. 84

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conceptual framework in operation at the time. This problem demonstrates that there are definitely still areas that require some thought and analysis if the military campaigns of the period are to be properly understood. Chivalry is a somewhat all-embracing concept, ‘tonal rather than precise in its implications’86 and even if one attempts to focus on its military function, it still embraced moral, religious, social and legal codes of conduct. It is clearly an enormous, or even ‘impossible’, subject to attempt to try and cover comprehensively.87 Therefore, this work will “step back a little” from the enormous subject and employ the twin ideas of surprise and deception to provide a methodological tool by which the whole world of medieval warfare can be viewed. An analysis of the relationship between the use of surprise and deception and the conduct of armed conflict is an excellent way of illuminating the complicated concepts embraced by the term chivalry. As has already been noted above, surprise and deception are widely considered to be opposed to the concept of chivalry although their relationship with both the theory and practice of the military code appears somewhat more complex than this simplistic view allows. This work will examine the restraint, or lack of restraint, in the employment of surprise and deception in both the theory and practice of medieval warfare, by looking at the way that the terms are used, the contexts within which they operate and the different attitudes to them that are expressed by different sources. However, before this can be tackled, it is necessary to address the problem of how we are actually to define the terms: what do surprise and deception mean in a linguistic and technical sense? This question, as it will quickly become obvious, is not a simple matter as the terms are extremely value-laden. A very good illustration of this is provided by looking at an example from an earlier time. The Roman author Valerius Maximus gave the example of Tarquinius’ capture of Gabii. This feat was made possible through the efforts of Tarquinius’ son, Sextus, who infiltrated the enemy in the guise of a refugee. This apparently acceptable form of deception is contrasted with Hannibal’s ‘tricks’ at Cannae which, being carried out by a non-Roman against a Roman army were clearly unfair and detestable.88 Valerius ‘portrays the common Roman bias that trickery against the Romans is base, but trickery 86 87 88

Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 2. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, p. xii. Valerius Maximus, 7.4.2 and 7.4 ex 2.

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by the Romans is prudence’ .89 Specific actions can be judged to be either of these depending on the perspective (and allegiance) of the interested party and the language used to describe them will change as a result. Thus it will be necessary to try and reach a working definition that minimises the subjective element as far as possible, allowing specific examples to be judged clearly as cases of surprise and deception or not, regardless of one’s perspective.90 This should in turn allow a qualitative assessment of the behaviour surrounding examples that clearly fit into our model. While it is conceded that the grey area here may be substantial, this area may also prove to be the most interesting. The use of the word “trickery” in the quotation above leads us onto the other question that this chapter will discuss. There are clearly words that are, or have been used as, synonyms for surprise and deception and there are other words that are so inextricably linked to these concepts that they cannot be ignored. It will be necessary to look at these and clarify which terms and definitions are going to be employed in this study, either explicitly or implicitly. Only then can this thesis successfully explore the way that these concepts were understood in the Middle Ages. The word ‘surprise’ has a number of related meanings, only some of which are relevant here.91 Surprise can mean the act of encountering or discovering someone or something unexpectedly or suddenly by chance. As this is essentially a passive sense of the word and carries the implication of an accidental rather than intentional encounter, it really falls outside of the scope of this study. Although there are surprise meetings that can result in military confrontation, they are only of interest to this work if that confrontation comes about due to the 89 E.L. Wheeler, ‘Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery’ Mnemosyne Supplement 108 (Leiden, 1988), p. 13. This mentality rejects the traditional propagandist view accepted by historians such as Giovanni Brizzi that the Romans were a morally upright people who abhorred trickery and stratagems until the Second Punic War where they learnt the value of these skills from Hannibal. See Wheeler, Statagem, p. x. 90 This process of moving towards an objective position from a personal and therefore subjective one is set out very clearly in Thomas Nagel, The Possibility of Altruism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978) and is further developed in The View From Nowhere (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989). Nagel’s argument points out that, not only is it impossible to reach a genuinely objective viewpoint, it is also undesirable as information about the world must be related to something we know or it is useless. The important thing is to move away from the purely personal while keeping the subjective and therefore meaningful information. 91 The Collins English Dictionary (HarperCollins, 1994), s.v. ‘surprise’ .

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conscious efforts and considerations of one of the two parties or if an otherwise surprise meeting for both sides is then consciously exploited by one side to the disadvantage of the other. The sense of surprise that is most pertinent is when it refers to a conscious attempt to capture or attack (someone) suddenly and without warning. The medieval author Christine de Pizan gives a Biblical example of where God commands Joshua to ‘surpyse and ouercome hys enemyes’ using an ambush.92 In Froissart we find an example of a French force attempting to attack an English one at night so that they would be surprised and unable to arm themselves properly.93 These examples clearly fall within the meaning of surprise that this work is focusing on, as is the idea of surprise into, where someone is provoked into an unintended action through a trick etc. Clearly one cannot surprise somebody cautiously and sedately and “suddenly” appears to be a prerequisite of surprise. To deceive is to intentionally mislead either by lying or by failing to correct a false belief, while deception is either: a) the act of deceiving someone or the state of being deceived, or; b) something that deceives such as a trick. There are types of deception where, for example, an enemy is misled through the spreading of false intelligence, or fooled into believing that a particular plan is being implemented when there is no such intention. An example of intentionally misleading someone by lying would be the case of William of Graville who assured the governor of the castle that his gate could be opened without fear and then split his head open with an axe the second the gate was unlocked.94 An example of deception brought about by failing to correct a false belief would be Sir Galahaut de Ribemont concealing his pennant (by which he would be recognised) and also failing to raise his helmet visor so that Sir Reginald de Boullant would continue in his false belief that Galahaut was a friend.95 There are also other types of deception that go further than this and, certainly according to contemporary opinion, appear to undermine the very basis of the minimum standard of conduct in military affairs. That is to say deception that is contra fidem and involves the use of the law of war itself to deceive one’s adversary.96 A modern example of this that

92 93 94 95 96

Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, pp. 9f and pp. 201f. Froissart, Chroniques: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), III pp. 200f. Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI p. 28. Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 228ff. See discussion above.

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would also be applicable to the medieval period would be the feigning of an intent to negotiate under a flag of truce or surrender. There can clearly be a very fine line between some types of behaviour that are universally judged as acceptable, acts of war that are strictly speaking permitted (but not necessarily condoned) by the codes or even the spirit of the law, and clear acts of perfidy. The keeping of good faith appears to be one of the key points in distinguishing which category particular acts of war are judged to fall into and this will be a theme that is repeatedly brought up throughout this work. Where this line is thought to be and, therefore, what actions are considered acceptable in the warfare of the late Middle Ages should prove to be extremely enlightening. The term stratagem is of relevance to this work where it is employed as a collective term for various types of surprise and particularly deception in a military context. The term will be defined as: attempts to gain military advantage over an opponent through the employment of acts intended to mislead, cause confusion or to be unexpected so as to catch that opponent in an unprepared or disadvantaged state.97 I will leave the question of what exactly constitutes a military advantage for the moment as I do not believe that it can easily be reduced to a simple formula. It instead includes tangibles such as the occupation of a specific territory or achievement of an objective through to such intangibles as relative morale and psychological states. As such, I do not feel that leaving the exact definition slightly open in this way is unwarranted. The phenomena of surprise and deception will be analysed in the period broadly covered by what (much) later became known as the Hundred Years War, c.1337–1453.98 This period coincides with the formation of the exclusive orders of knighthood like the Order of the Garter in England (following the much celebrated victory of the English at Crécy) and, shortly afterwards, King John’s Order of the Star in France.99 The body of rules that make up chivalry are seen to be

97 This is adapted from the excellent definition provided by Wheeler in his analysis of the Greek and Roman language of military trickery. Wheeler, Stratagem, p. x. 98 As Kelly DeVries points out, ‘the Hundred Years War was not fought only during the period 1337–1453 … nor was it fought only by England and France’ . See ‘The Hundred Years Wars: Not One But Many’, in L.J. Andrew Villalon and Donald J. Kagay (Eds.), The Hundred Years War (Part II): Different Vistas (Leiden: Brill 2008), p. 3. 99 Juliet Vale, Edward III and Chivalry: Chivalric Society and its Context 1270–1350 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1982), pp. 76–91.

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institutionalised, to some degree, through this period.100 The line drawn between public and private warfare came into sharper focus as the central, royal control of violence became increasingly monopolised. The war offered ‘the catalyst for the increasing formulation and development of such rules of conduct, reflected by the production of tracts concerned specifically with the ethical and juridical aspects of warfare’ .101 At the same time it is widely perceived as the period in which the laws of war were challenged by a number of factors such as the rise of professional mercenaries not interested in the “discipline of chivalry”, increased use of archery and the “popular wars” of the Flemish Communes and the Swiss Cantons.102 It is difficult, perhaps impossible, to separate out the moral, legal and metaphysical understanding of the purpose and practice of medieval war. It is therefore a given that there will be some overlap in areas of each chapter because of this. I beg the indulgence of the reader as, without this approach, it would be a matter of presenting everything at once and this, obviously, is not possible. Therefore, to begin to determine the role, importance and perception of the use of surprise and deception in the warfare of the late Middle Ages, Chapter Two will begin by exploring the evolution of the Just War Tradition up to this point. Once this context has been established, it will analyse the popular work of the Benedictine monk Honoré Bouvet, the Tree of Battles, a vernacular account largely based on the earlier John of Legnano’s Tractatus de bello, de reprisaliis et de duello. This was written in the late fourteenth century and, because Bouvet was interested in what was wrong with contemporary chivalry, he gives us examples of how things were being done in an incorrect manner before demonstrating the correct course of action. The work came to be considered as an authority on the legal conduct of war and it was quoted alongside other written laws in legal

100

For example, Anne Curry, ‘Chivalry’, in Cannon, British History, pp. 202f. Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: the Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press), p. 32. 102 E.g. James Turner Johnson, Ideology, Reason and the Limitation of War: Religious and Secular Concepts 1200–1740 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975). Johnson uses the case of the institution of truce to illustrate this point. According to him, in the Middle Ages a truce was a complete cessation of hostilities, like an adjournment, for the purposes of arbitration etc. By the Thirty Years’ War, a truce had become a tactical thing, to be used for military advantage (p. 62). However, there is good reason to suppose that truces could be used for tactical purposes in the Middle Ages too. 101

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disputes by the end of this period.103 Christine de Pizan based an important part of her Book of Fayttes of Armes and Chyvalrye on Bouvet’s work. This popular work was intended for the military education of the Dauphin himself and, when taken as a whole, was intended as a practical guide for the practising knight. The section in which Christine employs Bouvet’s help follows his legalistic arguments and clarifies them for the reader, highlighting certain examples and exploring them further. Both Bouvet and Christine demonstrate an understanding of a strong moral and metaphysical role for warfare. Chapter Three will build on the ideas presented in Chapter Two, examining the legal framework that governed the use of violence in the Middle Ages. It will examine the feud, the duel and trial by battle to demonstrate how war was perceived and what its place in society was. Together, these chapters provide a strong foundation on which to build the next stage: what could one actually do in war and how did this relate to the use of surprise and deception? Building on the previous chapter, laws, in theory, reflect the values of the society within which they are created. If there were what we would now call laws, did they cover cases such as surprise, deceit and related areas such as ambush and ruse de guerre?104 How was the law or code of conduct and its relationship with this kind of behaviour actually perceived by different people? The following chapters will determine if there was a difference in the perception about what one could and could not do in warfare between scholars, canon and secular lawyers, chroniclers and, perhaps most tellingly of all, those who actually did the fighting. Chapter Four moves from the metaphysical and legal to the pragmatic and practical. The Epitome of Military Science by Vegetius proved to be one of the most popular texts to survive from antiquity into the Middle Ages and many copies were made. The majority of these were in the original Latin, but as with The Tree of Battles, the work was also

103

E.g. the duke of Norfolk vs. the duke of Somerset in 1453. See Bouvet, Tree,

p. 23. 104 An obvious question that comes from this type of analysis is what difference did these laws or codes of conduct actually make? The strong counterfactual element of this particular enquiry is difficult to contend with. However, if one believes that laws do tend to reflect the values of a society then the laws themselves do not necessarily have to be a motive for action themselves, they may merely articulate motives already present. In other words, one does not always obey the law simply because it is written down, but because it is consistent with the values of the society of which one is a member.

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translated into a large number of vernacular languages.105 Vegetius’ work provided an epitomization of Roman authorities on the successful conduct of war and was basically a handbook on how to conduct military operations. It is the changes made to the contents of the various copies to make them more concurrent with medieval belief and experience that are of particular relevance to this work. After seeing what the original has to say on the subject of surprise and deception, the chapter looks at three popular medieval adaptations of the Epitome, beginning with John Trevisa’s 1408 translation made for Thomas, Lord Berkeley. The Poem of Knighthood was completed in the closing years of the Hundred Years War and translated the Epitome into verse form. The Epitome was also paraphrased extensively (and adapted) in Christine de Pizan’s Book of Fayttes Armes and Chyvalrye. Some of the changes or adaptations are subtle but are also highly illuminating of medieval attitudes. Chapter Five contains an analysis of the works of Geoffroy de Charny who, according to one of his contemporaries, was ‘a knight more skilled in military matters than any other Frenchman, so that his fame was widespread’ .106 His eminently practical works include the Demandes and the Book of Chivalry both written in the mid-fourteenth century. The Demandes is of particular interest as it consists of a list of questions addressed to the knights of King John’s Order of the Star, concerned mainly with technical questions regarding how they, as experts in these matters, would interpret various rights and duties. Geoffroy’s pragmatic concerns were for how the actual practice of the rules in operation affected him and other knights.107 This provides a strongly positivistic approach and each of Charny’s works has some genuine contributions to make for the purposes of this thesis by discussing the type of behaviour that was not only expected of knights, but was also practised by them. Chapter Six turns to that most famous of medieval chroniclers, Jean Froissart. Froissart provided us with one of the most important and

105 See Charles S. Shrader, ‘A Handlist of Extant Manuscripts Containing the De Re Militari of Flavius Vegetius Renatus’, Scriptorium, 33 (1979), pp. 286ff. 106 Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, Edward M. Thompson (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), p. 103: ‘miles plus quam aliquis Gallicus, ut fama ventilavit’ . 107 N.A.R. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bouvet and the Laws of War’ in C.T. Allmand (Ed.), War, Literature, and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), p. 22.

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detailed accounts of the later Middle Ages and his exposition of chivalric and courtly ideals is peerless. Along with many of the other chronicles that have survived, Froissart’s tends towards normative or prescriptive accounts. This can make many of the chronicles, including Froissart, dubious as an exact historical record. However, it does allow a strong impression of contemporary attitudes. In addition to some historical inaccuracies, the medieval chroniclers also tend to be prejudiced towards those of rank. Again, this can be useful because as they were generally written with a particular audience in mind, they ‘provide insights into the aristocratic mentality which the records can rarely offer’ .108 Although in some respects Froissart’s Chronicles can give a false impression, they do not simply portray an ideal and do not avoid criticism of behaviour when it appears justified. Froissart goes some way towards bridging the gap between the theoretical, prescriptive advice offered by Bouvet and (in places) Christine de Pizan, and actual medieval practice by utilising the beliefs and shared expectations of the expected audience while narrating historical or relatively contemporary events, thus providing us with illustrated examples. Essentially, Froissart provides a framework for the management of chivalric expectation. The structure is intended to move from the more abstract or theoretical to the practical and real world application. In doing so it is hoped that the implications of the belief system that underpins the practice of later medieval warfare will be appreciated, and medieval strategy can be understood within its cultural construct. By necessity, this work cannot cover every possible source of evidence, nor is this an attempt to forensically examine a single aspect, text or event. All of the major sources referred to in the following chapters deserve their own study on this scale. An analysis of the normative aspects in the work of Froissart on his own would fill several volumes. However, I have tried to do each of the major sources justice while accepting that one can only look at part if the idea is to explore the broader context that is the aim of this work. To make the work more accessible to the general military historian, rather than expecting the reader to be able to fluently read medieval French and Latin, English translations have been provided

108 Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Battle (London: Routledge, 1985), p. X.

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alongside the original text.109 As such, the approach will probably not satisfy some specialist medieval historians but hopefully the result should be of far more practical use to those interested in shedding some light on medieval strategic thought, its theory and practice. Through focusing on surprise and deception in the medieval theory and practice of warfare, this work will provide a window through which to view the whole period. If the accepted laws of war did in fact pragmatically allow deceit and surprise to be employed then what does this say about the way that we view medieval knighthood and the warfare of the Middle Ages? If the laws do not accept the unconditional use of these weapons, when and where were they acceptable and by whom? Did the rules about surprise and deception change depending upon the parties or the situation involved? Can chivalry really be seen as simply a way of regulating business relations, a code of conduct motivated purely by self interest? The work will provide insights into the relationship between restraint in medieval warfare and the role of chivalry. The complicated and, occasionally, seemingly contradictory role played by surprise and deception in the warfare of the Middle Ages has clearly not been satisfactorily explained before. This work will argue that the rules governing the use of surprise and deception were not actually applied haphazardly or ignored when the situation demanded it, but that they were simply applied at different levels at different times depending upon the legal and moral context within which they were employed. Through taking this approach, chivalric war can be seen for what it is—a framework of understanding or system of rules that allow a result or decision to be reached which is accepted by both sides.

109 I have employed recognised translations or my own translations combined with careful additional cross referencing with the original editions to ensure that the spirit as well as the literal meaning of the original is captured. My grateful thanks to those who have assisted in this task has been acknowledged where appropriate but any errors in the translations are my own responsibility. I hope that any found will not detract from the broader arguments presented.

CHAPTER TWO

METAPHYSICAL AND MORAL CONTEXT Before it is possible to examine the laws or codes of behaviour that were accepted or expected to govern the conduct of warfare in the Middle Ages, it is necessary to provide the context within which those restrictions (if they existed) operated. This chapter will explore the origins and development of the medieval Just War Tradition and how this relates to the metaphysical understanding of the way that the Divine Plan was unfolding on Earth. Once this has been established, the chapter will look at two authors in particular, Honoré Bouvet and Christine de Pizan and their contribution to chivalric thought in this area with specific reference to the way that they viewed the use of surprise and deception in this context. While it is true that elements of the Just War Tradition can be found beyond Europe,1 for the purposes of exploring the origins of medieval Just War thinking in Western Europe, it is prudent to start with Ancient Greece. In the Republic, Plato reports the thoughts of Socrates’ as he sets out his idea of a perfect society. Part of this is his view about warfare and the limits that should be observed in disputes between Greeks. These disputes were properly not to be considered true warfare at all. Unlike conflict with the non-Greek “barbarians”, which could properly be called warfare and might involve enmity and hatred, ‘Greeks … are still by nature the friends of Greeks when they act in this way, but that Greece is sick in that case and divided by faction’.2 As such, these types of quarrel should always be conducted with a view towards reconciliation, where both sides can return to a state of harmony. The practical implications of this were that the ‘other side’ should not be enslaved or their homes and farms destroyed for, although taking food was acceptable, one should not destroy the means of producing that food. One was to

1 For example, see P. Christopher, The Ethics of War and Peace: An Introduction to Legal and Moral Issues (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall, 1994), pp. 9f. 2 Plato, ‘Republic V’, line 470, Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns (Eds.), The Collected Dialogues of Plato (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1989), p. 709.

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act merely as a ‘corrector’, meaning that only those who were actually at fault for the quarrel should be considered guilty of anything and therefore deserving of punishment. Whilst Socrates’ view was intended as an ideal, it is widely held that until the late fifth century BC, strategies based on the destruction of an enemy’s social and economic system were effectively banned by the informal system of rules adhered to by the Greek city states. This system was undermined by the Persian Wars in which national survival became an issue. Then the system was effectively shattered by the Peloponnesian Wars between Athens and Sparta, where the existing rules favoured the organisation of one state over another, and were therefore abandoned by the disadvantaged side.3 It is certainly commensurate with this attitude that up until the break down of these rules, Hellenic law banned stone monuments to a military victory as they would be a permanent reminder of strife and discord. Even the maintenance of wooden monuments, themselves essential to the process of recognising victory (see Chapter Three) was prohibited, meaning that they would deteriorate and disappear over time, so that the memory of a conflict should not be perpetuated unduly and factions could be successfully reconciled.4 Following on from Plato, Aristotle stated some of the most important principles of the Just War Tradition, even using the exact term “Just War” for the first time. He saw force as ‘not without virtue’ with war a possible means to higher goals such as peace.5 He also set out five legitimate grounds for conducting war: in self defence, vengeance against those who have injured us in some way, to aid an ally, to gain an advantage for one’s own community by procuring advantage or resources, and to maintain authority over those who could not rule themselves.6 The last two criteria look alien to us today in the context of contemporary Just War Theory, but demonstrated Aristotle’s understanding that there was a natural order in which people had their own natural position. Some people were simply not capable of governing themselves

3 See Josiah Ober, ‘Classical Greek Times’, in Michael Howard, George J. Andreopoulos and Mark R. Shulman (Eds), The Laws of War: Constraints on Warfare in the Western World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994), pp. 17ff. 4 Coleman Phillipson, The International Law and Custom of Ancient Greece and Rome (London: MacMillan, 1911), p. 296. 5 Aristotle, ‘Politics’ from J.L. Ackrill (Ed.), A New Aristotle Reader (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), I, 6.1255a5–25 and VII, 14.1333a30–35. 6 Alex J. Bellamy, Just Wars: From Cicero to Iraq (Polity Press: Cambridge, 2006), p. 18.

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and therefore a war that could restore or maintain order was a legitimate undertaking.7 The Roman attitude to war was rather different to the Greek and was firmly grounded in the idea that Rome needed to satisfy certain procedures in order to ensure that the gods were on her side. At least in the early Republic, Rome’s declarations of war against her public enemies were cast in the form of a trial process. The high-ranking fetial priests responsible for the correct conduct of international relations would set out Rome’s grievance publicly and demand redress.8 Peaceful relations could be maintained where possible by applying a due process to be followed in such cases of disagreement. This was made possible through common religious traditions even if they did not share similar political institutions.9 If redress was not forthcoming through these procedures then warfare was the legitimate way of pursuing the disagreement further. This process shared the same general form as a private legal process, rather than a criminal one: ‘it would be inconsistent with the dignity of the approach to regard the enemy as a criminal; rather, the opponent is treated as being on the same level’ .10 As Rome expanded and changed from Republic to Empire, there was a shift in emphasis in the way the procedure outlined above was applied. The fetial priests still remained for some time, as did the formalities required for a declaration of war. However, in effect, the fetials had become ambassadors as the whole just cause requirement fell into the background. The formal declarations of demands may still have been made, but they were increasingly outrageous and to the people who faced Rome, it could be argued that war and subsequent defeat could actually be considered equal to or even better than the terms and total humiliation being offered. It would therefore be easy to dismiss the procedure (particularly from a sceptical 21st century perspective) as merely a ‘legal veneer’—formalities done to legitimise an otherwise unjust process.11 However, it should not be underestimated the degree 7 M. Hamburger, Morals and Law: The Growth of Aristotle’s Legal Theory (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1951), pp. 172–5. 8 This assumes, at least before Rome became so astonishingly successful, that the state or people against which redress was sought also used fetial priests to regulate their international affairs. 9 Alan Watson, International Law in Archaic Rome: War and Religion (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp. 4ff. and 43. 10 Watson, International Law, p. 20. 11 D. Whetham, ‘What did the Romans do for U.S.?’, Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, Vol. 146, issue 6 (December 2001).

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to which the psychology of the process was important for those taking part in it. It was essential to Rome that her wars were cast in the form of legally defensive and therefore morally justifiable acts even when they might have been launched on what would be regarded today as mere pretexts, and Rome was not without those who suggested that there was more to the process than merely the legal articulation of it. While not alone in doing so, the influential Roman orator and statesman Marcus Tullius Cicero (106–43 BC), contributed much to the canon of thought that went through into the Middle Ages. He insisted that any declaration of war was made by a legitimate authority, partly because this was essential to the legal status of the procedure, and partly as a way of minimising the potential for civil wars. He also articulated a general presumption against war: Wars, then, ought to be undertaken for this purpose, that we may live in peace, without injustice, and once victory has been secured, those who were not cruel or savage in warfare should be spared.12

While not necessarily found in the legal formalities of the procedure, Cicero made it clear that even wars fought for glory must be motivated by this desire to live in peace and be prosecuted with less brutality than wars fought for the very survival of the state. Echoing some of the reasoning of Aristotle, Cicero felt that wars for expansion could be justified because they could ‘enlarge the boundaries of peace, order and justice’, thereby bringing about greater peace, prosperity and happiness than would otherwise have been the case.13 It was this issue of right intention or disposition that was the main preoccupation of the next major contributor to the Just War Tradition that this chapter will look at. A combination of Greek and Roman thinking went through into the Middle Ages, but they did so transmitted through and shaped by the writings of the early Christians, in particular, St. Augustine (353–430), bishop of Hippo in North Africa and one of the most influential theologians in Church history. The early Christians were faced with a very real problem—how to reconcile the clear pacifism of the New Testament with the realities that surrounded them. Augustine was faced with a threat that brought an immediacy to

12 Cicero, On Duties, M.T. Griffin and E.M. Atkins (Eds.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 14–16. 13 Of course, such a view meant that one could be motivated by peace and still seek to fight expansionist wars. See Bellamy, Just Wars, pp. 19f.

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his deliberations. In three days that had sent shock waves around the known world, Rome itself had been sacked by Alaric’s Visigoths in 410. Rome was not the only city at risk—the whole Empire appeared to be threatened with Augustine’s own city of Hippo being besieged in 430 when he died. It was this frightening context that prompted Augustine to become what has been described as ‘the reluctant just war theorist’ .14 Augustine agreed with St. Ambrose (ca. 339–397) that killing in self defence might satisfy temporal law, but that it was still incompatible with Divine Law. However, now that Rome itself was a Christian Empire (following the conversion of Constantine following his victory at Milvian Bridge in 312 that helped him secure its leadership), Christendom itself was under threat and clearly needed defending. In response, Augustine reconciled the pacifistic doctrine of the New Testament with the reality of his environment by looking at the role played by intention or inward disposition in relation with one’s actions. While Christians did not have the right to defend themselves as individuals from violence, they could use violence to defend the innocent from evil and this was how Christians could defend the Roman Empire—‘the intention rather than the hostile act was normative’ .15 Therefore it was not the killing that made war sinful (after all, it only shortened the lives of people who were going to die anyway), rather, the sin lay in being motivated by the wrong intentions—love of violence, revengeful cruelty, hatred, greed and lust for power.16 As long as it was motivated by love or charity, it could be conducted without sin. Echoing the views of both Aristotle and Cicero, Augustine argued that ‘without law and society there could be no organised Christianity and thus no chance of divine redemption’ .17 Therefore, using violence to defend either another person who was being threatened or the state itself was not only justified, it was a moral duty. Rulers had an obligation to maintain peace, and it was this obligation that gave them the right or even duty to wage war in order to maintain peace. War still required a declaration by a legitimate authority, be it God Himself, the 14 Gregory M. Reichberg, Henrik Syse and Endre Begby (Eds.), The Ethics of War: Classic and Contemporary Readings (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), p. 71. 15 Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 17. 16 Augustine, Against Faustus the Manichean, bk. XXII, ch. 74. In Ernest L. Fortin and Douglas Kries (Eds.), Augustine: Political Writings, trans. Michael W. Tkacz and Douglas Kries (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1994), p. 222. 17 Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 27.

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Church (in order to defend orthodoxy) or a ruler.18 If war was declared by a legitimate authority, citizens were required to participate. To refuse to do so was to commit treason because, as Paul the Apostle makes clear in Romans 13, no government rules unless God wills it so.19 There was therefore very little room to manoeuvre for one who was ordered to do an unjust thing, but it was the sovereign, monarch or other legitimate authority that would face Divine retribution for launching an unjust war rather than the soldiers who participated, even if they had substantial doubts.20 In addition to this, injustice was a greater evil than war, and it was clearly proper to carry out a lesser evil if it would prevent a greater evil: Wars are defined as just when their aim is to avenge injury, that is when that people or city against whom war is to be declared has neglected either to redress the injuries done by its subjects, or to restore what they have wrongfully seized.21

This way of thinking broadened the legitimate scope of warfare because now it was also equated with righteousness. While the idea of securing redress and compensation is to be found in both Cicero’s and Augustine’s account, now God had to be given his due too for the injury to the moral order. Instead of merely seeking a return to the status quo ante bellum, war as an act of justice could now legitimately involve physical punishment in order to chasten pride: Punishment inflicted as redemptive penance actually upheld the principles of selfless Christian love for fellow human beings. In this way, Augustine’s moral theory harmonized a righteous spirit of aggression with the fundamental Christian principles.22

The correct motivation or ‘disposition of spirit’ for such acts was charity as it was the presence or absence of this that determined the normative

18 The definition of legitimate ruler was straightforward when one lived in the Roman Empire as it was clear that no private citizen, Christian or not, had this authority. It got more complicated as we approach the Middle Ages. See Chapter Three. 19 Augustine, Against Faustus, bk. XXII, ch. 75. 20 Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 28. 21 Augustine, De Civitate Dei, XIX.7. Quoted in Keen, Laws, p. 66. 22 Jane Marie Pinzano, ‘Just War, Joan of Arc, and the Politics of Salvation’ in L.J. Andrew Villalon and Donald J. Kagay (Eds.), Hundred Years War: A Wider Focus (Leiden: Brill, 2005), p. 371.

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value of the actual action.23 As Russell so eloquently put it, ‘love for one’s neighbour could legitimate his death’ .24 Although Augustine does not guarantee victory to the righteous, later works prompted or inspired by him see divine aid favouring those with a just cause. The influence of this way of thinking on the Middle Ages was enormous and its logic can be seen in many areas including judicial ordeals, the feud (see the following chapters) and the religious crusades. All were seen as attempts to realise an ideal of justice and righteousness. The Middle Ages As we have seen, a number of different strands of thought can already be found contributing to the medieval thinking on the normative aspects of war and its correct conduct. The intertwining and overlapping of different ideas continued. The Church attempted to regulate and limit the destruction wrought by the endemic violence of the period through initiatives such as the Peace of God movement that spread out of central and southern France at the end of the tenth century. It forbade acts of war or vengeance against unarmed priests, deacons or clergymen, the pillaging of the poor as well as the violation of churches.25 Although having some initial success, this movement began to wane by the mid eleventh century and a new initiative was established with the Truce of God. This called for cessation of violence on certain days of the week, during religious festivals and other days in the Holy Calendar.26 The Truce also reaffirmed the list of protected persons, adding women, travellers, merchants, farmers and shepherds as well as livestock and crops such as olive trees.27 However, although both movements spread across much of Europe and contributed greatly to later thinking on issues such as what would later be referred to as non-combatant immunity, there is not much evidence that they had much impact on the

23 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), p. 265. 24 Russell, Just Wars, p. 18. 25 ‘Peace of God, proclaimed in assembly at Charroux, 989’. In Reichberg, Ethics of War, p. 95. 26 Reichberg, Ethics of War, pp. 95f. 27 Previous influences such as Deuteronomy and the works of Plato can clearly be seen here.

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actual conduct of medieval warfare. For example, as the following chapters will attest, the deliberate spoiling of agricultural land and the terrorisation of the peasantry remained key elements of war fighting, while attacks against the clergy and church property continued.28 This work is not focused upon the crusading movement, its impact, justifications or detailed history. However, it would be remiss of this chapter not to recognise the intertwining of themes and the impossibility of divorcing the development of the Just War Tradition in the Middle Ages and elements from the idea of Holy War. While we would today draw a distinction between wars (just or not) and crusades, this sharp demarcation is not as appropriate to the Middle Ages.29 Indeed, the crusading movement drew from such ideas as the Peace of God movement.30 The term ‘crusade’ was not necessarily one that would even have been recognised at the time, certainly not in the earlier years of the period.31 The principle difference to other types of conflict in the period was simply where the authority to conduct it was derived from. Clearly, the highest and most important source of legitimacy was authorisation from God Himself. Under Popes Alexander II, Gregory VII and Urban II, the Church (or rather the papacy itself) established its right to act as God’s mouthpiece on Earth.32 At first, Christian knights were simply urged to help rid Spain of its Islamic occupiers. Alexander and his successor Gregory promised remission of sins in return for carrying out God’s work, and this proved popular to the extent that the Muslim presence in the Iberian Peninsula was almost expelled. However, going further than this did not originally arouse much interest among the nobility of Europe. This famously (or perhaps infamously if one is interested in the longer term impact) was to change in 1095 when Pope Urban II received an enthusiastic response at the Council of Clermont to his exhortation to go to Jerusalem and liberate the Church of God.33 The enthusiasm with which the diverse range of people of Europe responded to Urban’s call has led some people to assume that the motivation for embarking on a crusade was probably, at its core, financial, 28

Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 32. Normal Housley, Contesting the Crusades (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), p. 146. 30 Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 44. 31 J. Riley-Smith, The First Crusaders, 1095–1131 (Cambridge: CUP, 1997), p. 67. 32 D.S. Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War c.300–1215 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2003), p. 106. 33 Riley-Smith, First Crusaders, pp. 60f. 29

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just as the primary motivation for warfare in the rest of Europe was supposedly basically financial.34 However, as Chapter Three will explore in more depth, the primary motivation for much of the warfare that took place in Europe was more closely aligned with a positivist understanding of rights, and the importance of pursuing one’s causes and fighting for what one had a right to. If one were not willing or able to do this, then the right was going to be lost. There is no doubt that this could, and most often did, result in some sort of financial gain for the victor, but it is far too simplistic to assume that this was therefore the primary motivating factor. This is where the complex interplay and intertwining of themes within the Just War Tradition and the Holy War idea can be seen. To say that such endeavours within Europe were all reducible to economics comes up against the same problems as reducing chivalry to simply a branch of business law. In the same way, and perhaps even more so, the economic factor as the prime motivation for embarking on a crusade simply does not stand up to scrutiny. It was an incredibly expensive activity and many people had to sell everything to take part. The risks were great and the temporal rewards were uncertain at best. The prolonged absence from estates was not a safe option, even if the Church could ensure that no legal claims were decided upon in one’s absence.35 The prospect of salvation provides a more convincing explanation for the motivation for those who risked so much to embark on the crusades. Even if in some cases redemption was not itself the sole motivation, the fact that ‘doing the right thing’ and upholding the rights of Christendom would have this as a consequence must have been a significant factor. But how was redemption to come from killing, itself clearly an act of sin? While Augustine had already provided a justification for the taking up of arms by good Christians providing their inward disposition or intent was good, ‘given the pacifist thrust of much of Christ’s teaching and the condemnation of war to be found in many Church Fathers, the Church’s readiness to promote a wide range of military conflicts is striking’ .36 At the same time, at the very height of the crusading movement, there were also substantial efforts to codify

34

Such an argument can be found in R.C. Finucane, Soldiers of the Faith: Crusades and Moslems at War (London: JM Dent and Sons, 1983). 35 J. France, Victory in the East: A Military History of the First Crusade (Cambridge: CUP, 1994), p. 7. See also Riley-Smith, First Crusaders, p. 47. 36 Housley, Contesting the Crusades, p. 145.

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and develop legal thinking and ethical reasoning in this area.37 One of the most significant aspects of this was the attempt to redefine homicide itself. No matter how just the cause or legitimate the authority, traditional thinking followed the Augustinian logic that killing was still a sin and required a penance to be carried out. Clearly the sin was greater if one were to kill in a battle not authorised by a legitimate prince and the penance would therefore be more severe. However, the sinfulness of homicide was reaffirmed by penitential ordinances again and again, even if in practice the context could permit a large degree of mitigation.38 This tradition was challenged and transformed through the efforts of Alexander II and his successor Gregory VII. Not only would soldiers fighting and killing the Saracen have the obligation to conduct a penance lifted by the Pope, he would also grant them a remission peccatorum—remission of their sins—for taking part in such a campaign. ‘Simply put, Alexander was asserting de facto that killing could be understood as a means of reconciling oneself with God and thereby obtaining eternal salvation’ .39 The two exceptions to the prohibition on killing were the punishment of crime and the fight against the infidel, the latter actually being a praiseworthy act in which the intentions of the individuals involved were no longer relevant due to the overwhelming justness of the cause itself. The implications of this line of reasoning would not remain limited solely to war against the infidel. Such reasoning promoted the general understanding that God would grant victory to the side that was most just. In a Holy War, who constituted ‘the just’ was fairly straightforward, but in normal warfare too, people would see God’s hand shaping events. Medieval society genuinely believed that God could and did intervene in human affairs. The taking of mass, confession and appeal for divine intervention in prayers before battle were manifestations of this general belief and these prayers were often supported with consecrated flags, weapons or relics that were intended, somehow, to increase the support received.40 The period saw churchmen not only legitimating,

37 This link is made by several influential historians. For example, Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, p. 106. 38 For example, the penitential ordinance issues by the bishops of Normandy following William’s success at Hastings contains thirteen clauses to deal with the different situations that life may have been taken in during the battle. For this and other examples of penitential, see Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, pp. 98–106. 39 Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, p. 103. 40 Ibid., p. 107.

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but participating in wars, no doubt influenced by the transformation in attitudes promoted by the Church. ‘It would appear that the grant of remissions of sins to crusaders may have provided a model to bishops seeking additional means of raising morale … strengthening the resolve of their troops. ’41 Public expressions of piety by rulers ‘blended propitiation with valuable political theatre’ .42 By the later Middle Ages, both national causes of the Anglo-French struggle were supported and promoted by the clergy on each side.43 Such activities would have had the very real consequence of giving soldiers greater confidence in the justness of their cause and therefore their chances of success. If they were to die in the process, they were also secure in the belief that their eternal souls were safe due to the redemptive nature of their struggle. Reflecting some of these developments, a Camaldolese monk named Gratian made a significant contribution to canon law and the maturation of Just War thinking in the twelfth century when he produced a monumental textbook called the Concordia discordantium canonum. More frequently referred to as the Decretum Gratiani or simply the Decretum, the work was a collection of papal pronouncements and commentaries and quickly became a widely consulted manual on canon law for both lawyers and theologians wishing to discuss legal and moral issues.44 Causa 23 in particular is of relevance to the development of the Just War thinking, drawing together developments and refinements in this area.45 Here, Gratian tackles the various objections to arise from the Gospels regarding if Christians can even engage in warfare at all by echoing Augustine’s distinction between one’s inner disposition and the manifestation of it in the outward action. If one was motivated by a correct intention, one was permitted to take up arms. One should be motivated by the desire for peace. The entitlement to self-defence as well as the defence of others started to be enshrined into Just War thinking as well as practice at this point. However, while anyone was allowed to defend themselves to resist injury, an act intended to inflict punishment still required a public authority for it to be considered legitimate. Building on previous thinking, Gratian explored 41

Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, p. 187. Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: the Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 62. 43 Housley, Contesting the Crusades, p. 145. 44 Reichberg, Ethics of War, p. 104. 45 Gratian, Corpus iuris canonici, Aemilius Friedberg (Ed.) (Leipzig, 1879). 42

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this theme at some length over 42 canons of Question Five of Causa 23, arguing that no sinfulness was attached to killing in the course of one’s legitimate public duty. Therefore, holy men and public authorities who waged war were not transgressing the commandment against murder. It was clear, therefore, that a soldier following legitimate orders from such authorities was ‘permitted not only to beat the wicked, but to kill them as well’ .46 This distinction between a limited defensive struggle and an authorized, public offensive war, and what was permitted in the latter, had a profound impact on later understandings of the legal framework of war. The influences of a combination of Roman legal thinking, scripture, the developments in the thinking behind papal proclamations and, of course, the writings of Augustine can all be seen throughout the Decretum. For example, all of these can be seen coming together when Gratian explores if it is of concern to justice whether one fights openly or by ambushes: Our Lord God himself gave the order to Joshua to set up an ambush behind him, that is, to arrange his warriors so as to trap the enemy in an ambush. This teaches us that such things are not done unjustly by those who fight a just war; so that the just man doesn’t need particularly to worry about this, except that war be undertaken by one who has the right to do so. For this right does not belong to everyone. Yet when a just war is undertaken, it does not affect justice whether one fights openly or in ambushes. Just wars are usually defined as those which have for their end the avenging of injuries, when it is necessary by war to constrain a nation or city which has either neglected to punish an evil action committed by its citizens, or to restore what has been taken unjustly. But also this kind of war is certainly just which is ordered by God, who knows what is owed to everyone; in which case the leader of the army or the people itself are not to be deemed authors but agents of the war.47

While clearly the importance of legitimate authority was central to this conception of the Just War, it was also not entirely clear who this referred to anymore. When Augustine was writing, even with the political upheaval that surrounded him, the question of legitimate authority was easily resolved—there was only the Roman Emperor (and his designated governors), the Church and God. By the twelfth century, things were not this simply and the Decretum can be read to 46

Bachrach, Religion and the Conduct of War, p. 106. Gratian, Decretum, part II, causa 23. Translation in Reichberg, Ethics of War, p. 113. 47

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suggest that in addition to the Church and the Emperor, kings, princes, barons and even their vassals could all now legitimately prosecute wars in certain circumstances and this was certainly the de facto situation (see Chapter Three).48 While he probably had relatively little impact during his lifetime, there can be no doubting the longer term influence of St. Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) on many areas of thought, but crucially, for the development of attitudes towards the use of violence. As with Honoré Bouvet and Christine de Pizan (see below), Aquinas took a scholastic approach, combining logic, metaphysics and semantic analysis in an attempt to reconcile the philosophy of the ancient classical philosophers with medieval Christian theology as a method of learning. Scholasticism takes as its premise that what may initially appear to be contradictions will, on further examination, turn out to be in agreement. This was particularly important for resolving the many apparently conflicting statements in the Bible, but was also pertinent to exploring the works of great mind’s such as Aristotle, which appeared to contain much at odds with the medieval understanding of the world, particularly from a theological perspective. Once the original sources and the specific points of apparent disagreement were laid out, through a series of dialectics, the two sides of the argument would be explored and then ‘made whole’ when it was demonstrated that they were in fact in agreement. The most famous system of questions from the period was Aquinas’s Summa Theologica, which covered the ‘sum’ total of Roman Catholic theology.49 Building on earlier thought, Aquinas developed and simplified the ideas of Augustine and Gratian in particular, and in the process identified right authority, just cause and right intention as the key moral criteria for assessing the resort to the use of force. These remain the ‘basic architecture according to which discussions of just war are carried on even today’ .50 Many have noted that Aquinas says surprisingly little on what we think of as in bello considerations—what can legitimately be done in war and who it should involve.51 However, the ‘conceptual

48 Russell, Just Wars, p. 71. The implications of this for the legal framework are explored in the next chapter. 49 Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica. Translated by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. Revised Edition. Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, 1981. 50 Reichberg, Ethics of War, p. 169. 51 For example, Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 40.

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economy’ that allowed thinkers such as Augustine and Aquinas to identify a relatively small number of key principles is precisely because they expected those principles to work harder than we would expect today because they could mean something subtly different then.52 This is particularly the case when one considers the idea of right intention. This was not seen as an abstract rule, difficult to pin down and even harder to be objective about, as it is often seen today. Instead, to Aquinas, right intention stood for a ‘certain moral character (comprising habits, attitudes, sentiments and prejudices) that disposed belligerents to limit both their recourse to war and their conduct of war’ .53 With this commitment to right intention in place, the other in bello considerations that we are familiar with today, discrimination (or distinction—that people not directly involved in hostilities have the right not to be targeted deliberately) and proportionality (that the damage caused by a military attack or operation should not be out of proportion to the expected military utility of the objective), should have taken care of themselves. Effectively, intent and motive were bound together so that the thing that compels us to do something also shapes what it is that one is trying to do.54 It was considered that if one had the wrong intention to begin with then no additional rules or considerations would be sufficient to prevent the ‘descent into the moral abyss of war’ .55 Aquinas is also credited with the articulation of the Doctrine of Double Effect. Again, the actual idea was not necessarily completely new and could be seen in elements of the thinking that preceded him. However, he set it out in such a way that it was clear and easily explicable, helping to make sense of what was still a very real moral issue for Christians—killing in personal self defence. The Doctrine of Double Effect is the idea that individuals are not morally responsible for a foreseeable, yet unintended side-effect of an otherwise legitimate action: Nothing hinders a single act from having two effects, only one of which is intended, while the other is beside the intention. Now moral acts get their character in accordance to what is intended, but not from what is beside the intention, since the latter is incidental … Accordingly, the act

52 Anthony Coates, ‘Culture, the Enemy and the Moral Restraint of War’, in Richard Sorabji and David Rodin (Eds.), The Ethics of War: Shared Problems in Different Traditions (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), p. 215. 53 Ibid. 54 J.D. Tooke, The Just War in Aquinas and Grotius (London: SPCK, 1965), p. 151. 55 Coates, Moral Restraint in War, p. 215.

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chapter two of self-defence may have a double effect: the saving of one’s own life, on the one hand, and the slaying of the attacker, on the other. Since saving one’s own life is what is intended, such an act is not therefore illicit.

Of course, one may only use as much force as is necessary, and to use disproportionate force would be to ‘exceed the limits of a blameless defense’ .56 Today, this is what is known as collateral damage and while it is often seen as merely a euphemism for dead women and babies, the rationale for differentiating between a legitimate act with regrettable side effects and a straightforward act of murder is clearly set out in both the laws of war and our appreciation of the normative values that underpin them. For example, ‘there is a difference between killing an innocent person accidentally and deliberately targeting them’ .57 With his clear articulation of right intention, just cause, right authority, in addition to his framing of the idea of proportionality and double effect, it is clear how influential Aquinas has been to the development of thinking within the Just War Tradition.58 Having established the context within which medieval thinking on the moral position of war developed, this chapter will now look at two authors in particular who are considered to be amongst the most influential of the contributors to the moral thinking of the chivalric tradition, both not necessarily presenting new or original ideas, but drawing on what came before them and, importantly, presenting those ideas in a format that was accessible to, and therefore popular with, those for whom it was needed. The Tree of Battles Honoré Bouvet’s account of the laws of war, known as The Tree of Battles or simply the Tree, was completed in the last quarter of the fourteenth century.59 Compared to some of the authorities discussed in 56

Aquinas, Summa Theologica Qu. 64, Art. 7, pp. 1465f. D. Whetham, ‘Killing Within the Rules’, Small Wars and Insurgencies Vol. 18.4, December 2007, p. 727. 58 Bellamy, Just Wars, p. 40. 59 It was generally thought that the Tree’s author was called Bonet until G. Ouy published an article in 1959—‘Honoré Bouvet (appelé à tort Bonet) prieur de Selonnet’, Romania, lxxxv (1959), pp. 255ff—which established the now accepted spelling. A copy of the original French text was published in 1883 by Ernest Nys. This remains the only modern edition of the work in French and was based on a fifteenth century MS. by the famous calligrapher, Aubert, one of four MSS. of the Tree in the Bibliothèque 57

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later chapters, Bouvet is less concerned with the private rights of knights and more concerned with public interest. The result of this is that the Tree provides a highly prescriptive account of how things should be, which also allows us to see what things are actually like from Bouvet’s perspective. As such, it provides a fascinating insight into the role played by surprise and deception in medieval warfare. After establishing that the Tree was indeed an important medieval authority, the chapter will briefly cover Bouvet’s metaphysical appreciation of the role of war in the Divine plan, before examining in detail the way that he views the use of surprise and deception. The second half of this section analyses the part of the Fayttes of Armes and Chyvalrye by Christine de Pizan that was based specifically upon Bouvet’s Tree. This popular work was intended for the military education of the Dauphin himself and, when taken as a whole, was intended as a practical guide for the practising knight. The section in which Christine employs Bouvet’s help follows his arguments and clarifies them further for the reader. Between them, the two authors provide a good understanding of the different levels on which surprise and deception may or may not be employed in medieval warfare. The author of the Tree was born in Provence c.1343. He became a Benedictine monk and went to Rome in 1368 before being made Prior of Selonnet in the diocese of Embrun in 1382. In 1389 he was attached to a Royal Commission, headed by a Pierre de Chevreuse, and found himself being sent to replace Jean de Berry as the governor of Languedoc (Berry had been charged with maladministration). Due to his opposition to a legacy claim, Bouvet himself was to be driven from this post at sometime after 1390 by Raymond Roger, Viscount of Turenne. Bouvet retired to Paris and completed the satirical Apparition de Jehan de Meun, criticising abuses of politics and religion and detailing some of the events he had recently been witness to. The Tree was an earlier creation and was written during, or slightly before, 1387 while Bouvet was still Prior. This can be deduced from the dedication to Charles VI and this being the last year of a civil war in Provence alluded to in the text.60 Royale in Belgium. See Honoré Bouvet, L’Arbre des Batailles, Ernest Nys (Ed.) (Brussels and Leipzig, 1883). References below are from Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles, trans. G.W. Coopland (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949). Coopland relies on the Nys text with a comparison of the Seillière MS. in a few places (see pp. 221f.). 60 Christine de Pizan, The Book of Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye: Translated and printed by William Caxton from the French original by Christine de Pisan, A.T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), ‘Introduction’ p. xlvi.

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Bouvet drew upon contemporary legal sources, particularly John of Legnano’s De Bello, de Represaliis, et de Duello which was completed in about 1360.61 Bouvet also drew upon the knowledge and experience of knights with whom he talked in his youth, and personal experience of living in a period marked by civil strife from which he could not have remained isolated. The result was a widely distributed and therefore presumably popular work (see below). While printed editions of the Tree were being produced in Paris and Lyons after 1477, further broadening the work’s accessibility, by that time it was already available in manuscript form in at least four different languages besides its original French—Anglo-Scots, Castilian, Catalan, and Provençal.62 The fact that it was originally published in French is immensely important because it indicates the intended audience of the work. If it was intended to be an academic piece, concerned with fine subtleties of semantics but somewhat divorced from actual practice, then it would have been written, or at least published, in the language of scholars, i.e. Latin. Instead, it appears safe to infer that Bouvet was writing with a far wider audience in mind. As Coopland eloquently puts it: ‘He is writing for the

61 Bouvet, Tree, pp. 18–19. John of Legnano held the Chair of Civil Law at the University of Bologna and Bouvet borrows extensively from his work in both form and content although he himself appears familiar with Canon Law, and to a lesser extent, Civil Law (see Bouvet, Tree, pp. 25–36). Bouvet himself may have become a Doctor of Decretals in 1386. See Raymond L. Kilgour, ‘Honoré Bonet: A Fourteenth-Century Critic of Chivalry’, Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, I (1935), p. 352. 62 The British Library has three copies of the MS.: Old Royal and King’s Collections 15. E. VI, 20. C. VIII (the Berry MS.), and Add. MSS. 22768. Edinburgh University Library also has one copy. In France, the Bibliothèque Nationale has 27 copies of the MSS: f.fr. 587, 673, 674, 1260–1277, 1695, 5389, 9690, 9691, 17184, 23020. The Musée Condé has two, one is at Aix, one at Soissons, and one at the University of Lyons. Other copies can also be found in Belgium and Spain. See Bouvet, Tree, pp. 217f. See also N.A.R. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bouvet and the Laws of War’, C.T. Allmand (Ed.), War, Literature, and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), p. 13. The translations of Sir Gilbert of the Haye, dated 1456, and preserved in a single volume now in the collection at Abbotsford, are the earliest examples of Middle Scots vernacular prose. The first of these translations is The Buke of the Law of Armys, or Buke of Bataillis, based on the work of Honorè Bouvet. The second translation is The Buke of the Order of Knichthood, following L’Ordre de Chevalerie and the last is a version of the pseudo-Aristotelian Government of Princes. See The Cambridge History of English and American Literature in 18 Volumes (1907–21), Volume II: The End of the Middle Ages, XI, 17 (http://www.bartleby.com/212/1117.html). Coopland believed that Gilbert of the Haye’s version was so accomplished that ‘No modern translator can hope to equal this in life and dignity’. Bouvet, Tree, p. 11. It was published in: Gilbert of the Haye’s Prose Manuscript (1456), J.H. Stevenson (Ed.) (Edinburgh: Scottish Text Society, 1901), vol. 1.

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layman in the vulgar tongue’ .63 The way that the Tree found its way into other vernacular languages, such as Anglo-Scots, is further evidence of the work’s accessibility and popularity. As was the custom at the time, Bouvet sent copies to King Charles of France, as well as his uncles, in the hope of patronage. In a period where the Sovereign and other senior nobility were still expected to lead troops into battle, the work may well have met an appreciative audience who found it of specific interest. Bouvet was rewarded by Charles VI with a pension and an appointment of trust.64 It was in no way unusual for works to be presented in this way. For example, Walter of Milemete, a chancery clerk, gave Edward III a military treatise in 1327.65 The importance of military training was not lost through this period and the need to ensure that those who would lead armies were well versed in military matters was certainly recognised. Royal patronage had other benefits too. It was an excellent way of gaining publicity as royal interest would guarantee a wider demand for the work. The royal family were expected to set an example and were always likely to be copied by sycophantic courtiers. What went on in the court was bound to become popular elsewhere in the kingdom. Whether or not this can be put down to patronage, the Tree certainly achieved a high level of popularity in the century following its original publication. One author noted that ‘there was hardly a single aristocratic library which did not contain a copy of Vegetius, Bonet or Lull’ .66 It was known to a wide range of interested parties including heralds, officers and clerks of the military courts in Paris and London, as well as the aristocracies of England, France and Spain.67 To give two examples, the commanders of rival English and French forces in the fifteenth century had copies of the work: archive sources indicate that John II, duke of Bourbon, and the Constable of France, Arthur of Brittany, both had copies, as did their opponent John Talbot, the Earl of Shrewsbury.68 63

Bouvet, Tree, p. 21. Kilgour, Honoré Bonet, p. 352. 65 Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996), p. 161. 66 R.F. Green, Poets and Prince Pleasers: Literature and the English Court in the Late Middle Ages (Toronto, 1980), p. 144. 67 Wright, Tree, pp. 12–31. 68 Ibid., p. 12. Talbot gave a collection of material to Margaret of Anjou which included knightly romances and the Abre des batailles. See Alison Lee, Thomas Malory and Fifteenth Century Chivalric Literature (Unpublished Ph.D. thesis: New College, Oxford, 1989), p. 4. 64

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John Holland, Duke of Norfolk, also had a copy and took it on an expedition to Scotland in 1481.69 One of the first questions to be asked is whether or not it is safe to infer from the large number of extant copies, that the book was, in fact, widely read, or indeed, if the work was read at all. Just because notable men like the redoubtable John Talbot had a copy, does this mean that they actually looked at it? Could it have been, in other words, a medieval coffee-table book? Some commentators have implied this by asserting that the Tree was essentially a theoretical treatise at the time that it was written, knightly practice falling somewhat short of the ideals set out in the work.70 It follows from this view that even if it had been read, little or no notice would actually have been taken of what it contained— perhaps an interesting conversation piece, but no more. Perhaps the work was viewed in the same way as the tales of King Arthur. Again, these were popular, but it is doubtful that many expected contemporary behaviour to exactly match the tales of how things were supposed to have been for the knights of the Round Table. Others have taken a different tack, preferring to see the Tree as an authority on correct soldierly custom for the period in which it was written. This implies that the reason a man like John Talbot had a copy was to refer to it when a query about the correct course of action arose.71 The truth is probably somewhere between these two positions. Just because everyday behaviour may not always have accorded with the code of behaviour set out in the Tree, this does not mean that the laws were meaningless. Any normative body of rules will invariably be broken, perhaps on a small scale or perhaps even on a much larger one, but this does not stop it from being a law in the sense of a prescription towards adopting a particular mode of behaviour, or an articulation of accepted values. That is the essential difference between a prescriptive social law and a scientific descriptive law, the latter relating to subjects such as physics rather than social behaviour. If a law was never broken then it would simply become descriptive in the scientific sense—the law of gravity does not say how things ought to be, it describes things as they are in the physical world according to an accepted scientific

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Lee, Thomas Malory, p. 29. J. Huizinga, The Waning of the Middle Ages (Harmondsworth, 1968), pp. 101f. 71 For example: M.H. Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), esp. p. 157. This view can also be found in Kilgour, Honoré Bonet, p. 353. 70

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paradigm. Bouvet did not claim to be creating a new body of rules to govern warfare. Rather he was attempting to interpret or ‘find’ the law that he believed was already present, even if it was not always adhered to. While it appears fair to question the influence of theoretical treaties on the actual conduct of hostilities, the work was clearly taken seriously. For example, in the early fifteenth century, Christine de Pizan took the work very seriously (see below) when she paraphrased many passages into her popular work the Livre des faits d’armes et de chevalerie, as did the author of the Boke of Noblesse addressed to Edward IV of England in 1475.72 As well as influencing several other works, it was also quoted alongside other written laws in legal disputes, a clear indication of the standing the work was to have only half a century after it was written.73 It defies belief that a military man such as John Talbot would go on campaign with a fictional account of the laws of war (see above) and he was clearly not alone in regarding the Tree’s contents as more than mere fantasy. This suggests that not only were there many copies of the work in circulation, they were also being referred to and taken seriously as an authority on military matters. The Tree reflects the medieval view that war was part of the manifestation of the divine will. All events, not just conflict, were perceived as an insight into a divine purpose above and beyond that being playedout in the world. Collingwood elucidates extremely well the way that history was perceived by those in the Middle Ages: History, as the will of God, orders itself, and does not depend for its orderliness on the human agent’s will to order it. Plans emerge, and get themselves carried into effect, which no human being has planned … [and the] … duty of the individual is to become a willing instrument for furthering its objective purposes.74

With this in mind, it is hardly surprising that the place of conflict is of special interest. Bouvet states: We must understand that war comes from God, and not merely that He permits war, but that He has ordained it. … Our Lord God Himself is lord and governor of battles and for this reason we must accept and grant that 72

See Bouvet, Tree, pp. 21ff. E.g. the Duke of Norfolk vs. the Duke of Somerset in 1453. See Bouvet, Tree, p. 23. 74 R.G. Collingwood, The Idea of History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994), p. 53. 73

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chapter two war comes from divine law, that is, the law of God: for the aim of war is to wrest peace, tranquillity and reasonableness, from him who refuses to acknowledge his wrongdoing.75

In this way, warfare formed an essential part of the medieval constitutional structure; a way of ordering society and ensuring it conformed to the natural order identified with Divine Law: War is nothing other than discord or conflict that has arisen on account of certain things displeasing to the human will, to the end that such conflict should be turned into agreement and reason.76

War was to be found throughout nature and was even found in Heaven itself. It was here that the very first war was fought ‘when our Lord God drove out the angels’, referring to the casting out of Lucifer and his adherents.77 Although the world was obviously going according to this divine plan, this did not change the fact that things did not always appear to be in accord with what was perceived as just to man. This was clearly a problem that Bouvet wished to address, either to reassure his readers that things really were going to plan, or perhaps to convince himself. In a chapter concerned with whether the just or sinners were stronger in battle, Bouvet is concerned that the just do not always appear to win. After providing a list of sinners who overcame their opponents, he concludes that as in the case of David and Goliath, the just will surely overcome the unjust unless the Divine plan ordains that things should happen otherwise. ‘A very wicked man’ may occasionally set a good man low but this was due to God’s will and was intended to give the defeated man patience or to test his virtue. This was obviously what had happened to St. Louis when he was made prisoner in the Holy Land, for there was no doubting the justness of his cause in the medieval mind.78 75

Bouvet, Tree, p. 125. Ibid., p. 81. The influence of earlier thinking is clear throughout the Tree. Here, it is easy to see echoes from Plato here, with Christendom rather than the Greek world being likened to a body that is ill. 77 Ibid., p. 81. 78 Ibid., pp. 156f. Other worthy protagonists clearly vindicate their arguments with the support of God. For example, Villani, commenting on the success of Edward III: ‘Oh Holy of Holies, Our Lord, God of Hosts, how great is your power, in heaven and in earth and especially in Battle!’. Giovanni Villani, Cronica 400–401. Translated in Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327–1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 271. 76

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The very purpose of war was to pursue justice so while evil deeds may have come from ‘false usage’ of war, they did not come from the nature of war itself which was just part of the process assuring that the natural order ordained by God was maintained. This, of course, is a very different attitude to conflict than the one that we are familiar with today. With the legacy of two world wars behind us, contemporary thought tends not to be that sympathetic to the idea that war is simply a way of ordering the world in accordance with the Lord’s wishes. However, this is precisely what has to be borne in mind when examining accounts of warfare in the Middle Ages. The Tree is no apology for war, for no apology was seen to be required.79 Once the author’s explanation of war itself and his history of the world has been set out, the Tree moves on to an examination of the correct way of conducting this important and necessary activity. However, Bouvet does not present his work as a definitive account of the laws or customs governing the regulation of warfare, but rather as an appeal to how things ought to be if the standard of conduct was as it should have been. For example, he states that although the law prohibits the taking of excessive ransoms, ‘God well knows that the soldiery of to-day do the opposite’ .80 Bouvet has similar reservations about the actual observance of restraint during feast days and also the respect due for the immunities that should have been extended to foreign scholars and their visiting relatives.81 The Tree, therefore, does not necessarily set out contemporary customs that were actually in use, but rather, is concerned with how these customs ought to be.82 This, however, does not diminish the importance of the Tree and if anything, makes it even more useful as a source for the purposes of this study. By setting out standards which were perhaps higher than those actually practised at the time, and by telling us when behaviour did fall short of that

79 As already explained, Bouvet is not presenting anything particularly original here, but rather he is presenting earlier arguments and positions in an accessible way. For example, Bouvet’s understanding of the metaphysical role of war is clearly heavily reliant on Legnano, here and elsewhere. See Giovanni da Legnano, Tractatus de Bello, de Represaliis et De Duello, Thomas Erskine Holland (Ed.) (Oxford University Press, 1917), pp. 224–9. 80 Bouvet, Tree, p. 153. 81 Ibid., pp. 155 and 181. 82 In this sense, it quite different from pragmatic works such as Geoffroy de Charny’s Demandes written in the mid-fourteenth century. See Chapter Six.

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expected, he provides us with an invaluable insight into military practice at the time.83 Bouvet, deliberately or not, brings out the tension within his society caused by the complicated structure of law in the Middle Ages combined with the strengthening of the central authorities both in England and France and the crisis of sovereignty that this implied for the nobility.84 The very right to wage war was becoming increasingly limited to the monarchy itself.85 War, or rather the legal process of employing violence in pursuit of justice, requires the licence of a sovereign as ‘a man cannot take upon himself to do justice on another who has wronged him, but the prince must do justice between these men’ .86 This did not just apply to individuals—Bouvet makes clear that whole cities are to be treated in the same way if they fall under the jurisdiction of the same sovereign.87 Bouvet was writing from a perspective heavily influenced and informed by the type of thinking set out in Thomas Aquinas’s works which provided the philosophical basis for the independent secular state, seeing the ruler acting to further the common good.88 The idea that only the king or emperor could act as a superior authority in all disputes within their territory was not quite the case in practice when Bouvet completed his work, but the trend was definitely in this direction, with different geographical areas moving at different speeds.89

83

On the curious attitude to the difference between chivalric practice and theory at the time see Huizinga, Waning, pp. 48 and 56ff. He stresses the essentially static view of the nobility, meaning they continued to receive the respect supposedly due to their station even when their actions did not accord with the behaviour expected from their position. Huizinga also notes the way that authors could glorify knights and speak of chivalric ideals even as they list their acts of treason and cruelties. 84 See Keen, Laws, pp. 220f., and Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), in particular p. 298. 85 Bouvet does not dispute the right to legitimate self-defence that comes from the Law of Nature. One may lawfully defend oneself against anyone, even one’s lord, the only exception being one’s judge. Here the only legitimate defence is to appeal above the judge to a senior authority (Bouvet, Tree, pp. 137ff and pp. 170ff ). 86 Bouvet, Tree, p. 129. 87 Ibid., p. 151. 88 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages translated by Michael Jones (Paris: Blackwell, 1992), esp. p. 286. For further reading, see Bertrand Russell, History of Western Philosophy: and its Connection with Political and Social Circumstances from the Earliest Times to the Present Day (London: Routledge, 1994) pp. 444–54. 89 Bouvet is not convinced that the King of England, Spain and others actually have the right to declare war, give marque or allow trial by battle. His concern stems from the idea that only one with no superior can do these things and their position with regards to the Holy Emperor was not totally clear (while of course the French King was in

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Rather than being concerned with only individual rights, Bouvet writes with the distinction between public and private rights clearly in mind. He expresses that private interests should never be allowed to run counter to the public interests of the crown, even though they often did.90 In part three Ch. VII Bouvet asks ‘Whether a man should prefer death to flight from battle’?91 Depending upon the circumstances, Bouvet does not have a categorical ban on fleeing the battlefield but the distinctions that he raises and adds to his discussion of accepted views are interesting. For example, if when fighting Saracens the battle is clearly lost and nothing can be done to retrieve it, then it is permissible to escape the hands of the enemy. However, one must never flee if flight might mean the losing of a battle against the Saracen or if fleeing would not save the life of the warrior anyway. If one was in the service of a lord then fleeing was not permissible either as this would be to break one’s oath: ‘for since he has pledged to him his faith and oath he must die in defence of him and his honour, and thus does he maintain in himself the virtue of courage, so that he fears nothing that may befall in fighting for justice’. The difference here would be that the justice of one’s cause versus the Saracen was a given and could not be called into question through one’s own conduct, whereas for more earthly causes where justice was not perhaps as clear cut or God’s will was not immediately obvious, to flee was to undermine the whole legal process of trial by combat. I say that for nothing in the world should a man do what is dishonourable and reprehensible. But it is plain that to flee is wicked, and brings great reproach and shame … to flee and quit the right thing is an evil thing92

This is very interesting as it is far more illuminating than the simple clichés about courage and bravery, but actually places that into the context of justice and conviction in one’s cause. Fitting in with this idea of the exercise of justice, Bouvet is keen to promote this idea of discipline and obedience in pursuing it. As such he appears to accept that the marshal or constable should have unconditional control over the a different position as far as Bouvet was concerned). He does however point out that this made little practical difference as they all actually did these things anyway (Bouvet, Tree, pp. 178f). 90 Wright, Tree, p. 26. 91 This discussion can be found in Henry of Ghent’s Quodlibetal Questions on Moral Problems, Roland J. Teske, SJ (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 2005). 92 Bouvet, Tree, p. 122.

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assembled host. However, he also pragmatically accepts that if orders are disobeyed but the outcome is favourable to the cause, then the punishment should not be too severe or the knight should even be pardoned: ‘A deed of great utility should excuse disobedience to the sovereign’s command, and because of the happy issue he should not lose his head’.93 A recurring theme presents itself here—that it is not necessarily the act itself that is to be judged right or wrong, but the context within which it is done (and in this case, the result).94 Given Bouvet’s attitude to warfare itself and the laws that he sets out in the Tree, the way that he treats the whole subject of surprise and ambush (along with ruses and stratagems) is not what one might expect. One would think that although actual practice might not always concur, Bouvet would at least state that to take one’s opponent unawares would be contrary to the expected behaviour of the knightly classes. This initial attitude is reflected at first when Bouvet raises the issue of the use of deceit or subtlety by a king or prince to overcome his enemy. As part of the scholastic process, Bouvet begins that although the Scriptures show that war is just under certain circumstances, ‘a just thing must be performed justly’ .95 Redress must be sought in the correct way, which means appealing to the superior of one who has committed a wrong, not by using ‘force, craft, or fraud’. Jesus had spoken to the world ‘openly and without concealment’, condemning all work done in darkness. A victory won using craft, subtlety, or deception was therefore ‘won in obscurity and deceit’. It follows from this that to use such means must be against reason, i.e. that which accords with the Lord’s wishes. Anyone who feels that their cause is sufficiently just should have faith and rely on the Lord not trickery. Finally; according to the Holy scripture, a man should not do to another what he would not wish another to do to him. But no one in the world would wish to meet another who conquers him in battle by subtlety, so how can a man conquer his enemy by fraud or craft without offence to God?

This is the view that one expects from a work on the place of warfare within God’s creation. The generally preconceived notion of chivalry that is so ingrained in our thinking on the subject accords with what

93

Bouvet, Tree, pp. 122f. The interesting subject of moral luck is explored in Bernard Williams, Moral Luck (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 95 Bouvet, Tree, pp. 154ff. 94

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Bouvet has to say on the topic, so far. However, as the next part of the scholastic process, Bouvet then asserts the contrary view: there is no possible doubt that, according to God and the scriptures, I may conquer my enemy by craft or fraud without sin, once the war has been ordained and declared and ordered between him and me, and I have given him defiance.

Bouvet then gives the familiar example of how God himself commanded Joshua to set an ambush for his enemies.96 Here, Bouvet is articulating and building upon the position of Legnano and the earlier thought of Aquinas, Gratian (above) and Augustine, but doing so in such a way that puts it into language and a framework that would be clearly understood by his readers.97 In effect, as long as the correct procedure had been followed, and both appellants were aware of the situation through the sending and receiving of a properly worded defiance, both parties were free to employ the means necessary to pursue their case. This meant that in regular warfare, with the correct legal procedure followed, an ambush aimed at taking prisoners set in the place where the enemy was known to make his recreation was perfectly acceptable and is treated in the same way as ensuring that the enemy had the disadvantage of the terrain or the sun in his eyes. This also brings out the distinction between strategic and tactical surprise, for if the correct procedures had been followed, strategic surprise was, in effect, curtailed. A just cause must be present and defiance must have been physically given and accepted meaning both sides were, at least in theory, aware of what is going on and likely to happen in the near future. However, once the actual process of the dispute was under way, the use of tactical surprise against an enemy was viewed as just another weapon to be used in the pursuit of justice. Consistent with this, Bouvet makes clear the sentiment that the Lord helps those who help themselves: although the King of France may have a good cause against the King of England, yet he must not trust in God without doing what in him lies, by diligence, and by taking good counsel, to overcome the enemy. When he

96 Joshua IIX.2, Old Testament (Authorised Version): ‘lay thee an ambush for the city behind it.’ 97 See Aquinas, Seven Questions concerning the Heptarch and Gratian, Decretum, Pt. II, causa 23, Q2, Canon 2. Gratian states that when fighting a just war (which can only be fought by those with authority and just cause), ‘it does not affect justice whether one fights openly or by ambushes’. Reichberg, Ethics of War, p. 113. See also Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Qu.40, Art.3, pp. 1353–7 and Legnano, Tractatus, p. 271.

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chapter two has done what he can, wisely and discreetly, then for the rest that lies beyond his power he must put his whole hope in God.98

Clearly, not everything could be left up to the Divine judgement as one had to prove oneself worthy of the decision by doing everything within one’s power to ensure the result would be favourable. Interestingly, although one must attempt everything in one’s power to ensure that the enemy was overcome, certain things were not acceptable, even in the pursuit of a just cause. In a close parallel with our modern laws of war, Bouvet is strictly opposed to the use of perfidy on or off the battlefield. There was a clear moral difference between the types of deceit that could be used—while using certain types of deception were acceptable, one was not to break one’s word.99 Thus it would be a ‘condemnable deception’ for one to give one’s promise to meet an enemy for parley and then make him a prisoner. Due to the breaking of faith, this would clearly go against God Himself.100 It would also be against God and reason for anyone to take a town during a truce ‘for the laws say that once a pledge is given to one’s enemy it must be kept’ .101 This means that if a truce in the king’s name—a ‘royal surety’—was broken, and a fortress or town or some other site was taken, it was the king’s duty to restore it. Without this path of action, how would the people be safe under the king’s protection? The king’s surety would have become worthless or at least been undermined.102 Bouvet claims unequivocally that the penalty for breaking the king’s peace should be death, and as far as he was concerned, no ‘warning’ penalty was acceptable in this case. The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry Just as Bouvet had drawn upon earlier works and presented them in a more populist way for his audience, Christine de Pizan used Bouvet’s 98

Bouvet, Tree, pp. 154ff. The same argument can be seen in Legnano, Tractatus, p. 271 and Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Qu.40, Art.3. 100 For the belief that God would not favour the perjured, see M.J. Russell, ‘Trial By Battle and the Writ of Right’, Journal of Legal History Vol.1 (1980), p. 111. On a related theme, Bouvet also argues that wearing another’s coat of arms was also a form of fraud and should be punished as such. Bouvet, Tree, p. 205. 101 Bouvet, Tree, p. 153. This is a view that can clearly be seen in Froissart’s Chronicles too. 102 Ibid., pp. 189ff. 99

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account of the laws of war extensively in her own works, written around the start of the fifteenth century. Her colloquial tone and conversational prose made the ideas and writing of her predecessors accessible to an even wider audience by paraphrasing and restating their words into vernacular French. In doing so, she played a vital role in disseminating just war ideology to society beyond the narrow world of scholars.103 Although Italian by birth, Christine de Pizan became a leading medieval French author. She was the daughter of a scholar and statesman active in Bologna and Venice, who later became the astrologer to the French King Charles V. Christine was provided with an excellent education by her father, the type normally reserved for boys. She married Etienne du Castel, the king’s notary and secretary, and after his death in 1389, and with three children to support, concentrated on her own writings under the patronage of the French King and the Dukes of Burgundy. Her early work consisted of the creation of popular prose and verse, but later turned to more didactic themes. Her main works were written at the start of the fifteenth century, including a history of Charles V, tracts ‘in favour of the honour of women’ and suggestions for their literary education. Christine’s patron, John the Fearless, Duke of Burgundy, was appointed official governor of the Dauphin on 28th December 1409.104 With his new office, one of the Duke’s main concerns was the military education of the Dauphin. The young man was made captain of the royal château of Creil in an effort to give him experience of command. It appears that Christine was appointed by the Duke to produce the Deeds of Arms at about this time. The mention of the battle of ‘Hasbain’ or ‘Lyege’ happening ‘awhyle a goon’ suggests that the book could not have been completed before 23rd September 1408.105 Although Christine demonstrates 103 Pinzano, Just War, Joan of Arc, and the Politics of Salvation, p. 378. Johnson referred to her as a popularizer of the Just War doctrine. See James Turner Johnson, Ideology, Reason and the Limitation of War: Religious and Secular Concepts 1200–1740 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975), p. 72. 104 This appointment was made after the Duke had recovered his reputation following the assassination of the Duke of Orleans. John had commissioned a long oration based on the arguments of the Italian jurist John of Legnano (a source also used by Bouvet—see above), setting out permissible action to be taken against a tyrant. A formal pardon was granted following the delivery of this oration, and the Duke’s reputation was re-secured with his victory over the rebellious citizens of Liège. see Charity Cannon Willard, Christine de Pizan: Her Life and Works (New York: Persea Books, 1984), pp. 182f. 105 Christine de Pizan, The Book of Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye: Translated and printed by William Caxton from the French original by Christine de Pisan, A.T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. 82.

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some concern at her lack of expertise in the subject, ‘the Duke of Burgundy’s plan for the Dauphin’s military education was certainly the inspiration for this manual on warfare ’.106 Interestingly, many copies of Christine’s work had her gender disguised, probably in disbelief that a woman could have produced such a text or as an attempt to disguise the authorship for fear of detracting from the work’s appeal in some way. Although the author’s name appears many times in Books 3 and 4, these are replaced with the masculine forms ‘l’aucteur’ or ‘le disciple’. An address to Minerva is also omitted in these copies.107 While Christine wrote her work in French, the Fais d’armes et de chevalerie was translated into the English Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye by William Caxton for Henry VII in, or just before, 1489. It was published in printed form in the following year.108 According to the epilogue, this was done so that: every gentylman born to armes & all man ere men of werre captayns, souldiours, vytayllers & all other shold have knowledge how they ought to behave theym in thefayttes of warre & of bataylles.109

After looking at the general flavour of the Fayttes of Armes, the end of this chapter will specifically focus on Christine’s handling of Bouvet’s Tree of Battles (her treatment of Vegetius’ Epitome of Military Science is dealt with in Chapter Four). Christine was not interested in writing for a learned audience and makes it clear from the very beginning that she is writing for the practitioners of war who could not be expected to be well-versed in the Latin classics: Inasmuch as it is fitting for this matter to be discussed factually, diligently, and sensibly, rather than with subtlety or polished words, and also in consideration of the fact that military and lay experts in the aforesaid art of chivalry are not usually clerks or writers who are expert in language, I intend to treat the matter in the plainest possible language so that, with

106 Willard, Christine de Pizan, p. 183. Christine’s concern is demonstrated in her opening chapter which begins with an explanation of her presumption to deal with such matters. Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, pp. 5ff. 107 Manuscripts that have the authorship omitted include: Ms. 824 Bodleian, Oxford; Ms. 10205 Bibliothèque Royale, Brussels, and; French Mss. 585, 1242, 1243 and 23997 Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris. 108 This was less than two years after the work was first published in printed form in Paris in the original language by Verard. See introduction to Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, p. xxvi. 109 Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, p. 291.

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God’s help, I may make clear and comprehensible to all readers the doctrine set forth by the several authors whose works I have consulted.110

Christine was attempting, in effect, a popularisation of respected material on the conduct of various aspects of war although she was doing more than merely pilfering from classical sources. As well as the contemporisation of much of this advice, there are also many original passages that appear to be by Christine herself. She employs the advice that Vegetius gave in his Epitoma Rei Militaris extensively in the majority of chapters in both book one and two. The Strategemata by Frontinus is also used in book two and this is supplemented with the Facta et dicta memorabilia by Valerius Maximus. An anonymous authority on siege warfare is also consulted in book two to provide a detailed account of the provisions and ordnance required for the siege of a fortress. Bouvet’s law of arms is used at the beginning of book one and makes up most of books three and four, which concludes with a short treatise on heraldry. In book one Christine discusses the circumstances which justify war and chapter ii repeats Bouvet’s discussion about the nature of war as well as justifying her choice of topic. Whilst she is in no doubt that ‘many great wrongs, extortions, and grievous deeds are committed, as well as rapine, killings, forced executions, and arson’ can come from war, she also echoes and rearticulates the familiar medieval belief that God is ‘the Lord and Governor of Hosts and battles, and that wars and battles waged for a just cause are but the proper execution of justice, to bestow right where it belongs’ .111 War itself is not evil, but evil can come through initiating or participating in war with an incorrect motivation, or wrong disposition as Augustine would see it. Thus, such evils committed in war ‘are not the result of what is right in war, but of the evil will of people who misuse war’ .112 Chapter iii confirms the previously articulated position that legitimate wars can only be waged by sovereign princes who are the heads of their jurisdictions and have no temporal superior, clearly articulating the view, as one would expect given her royal audience, that legitimate authority for conducting war now

110 This chapter will employ a more contemporary translation of Christine’s work below. Christine de Pizan, The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, Sumner Willard (Trans.), Carity Cannon Willard (Ed.) (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), p. 12. 111 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 14. 112 Ibid.

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resided with a select few. Chapter iv sets out the possible causes of a just war: it was clearly lawful to wage war to ‘maintain law and justice’, to withstand ‘evildoers who befoul, injure, and oppress the land and the people’, or to recover ‘lands, lordships, and other things stolen or usurped for an unjust cause by others’ .113 However, somewhat going against the trend that had been developing in medieval just war thinking for almost a millennium (see above), Christine argued that it was wilful and wrong to wage war for such things as the pursuit of revenge or aggressive acquisition of foreign lands that one did not have title to.114 This was because it was wrong to seize that which does not belong to you and because vengeance is something reserved for God alone. Christine goes to some lengths to make sure that the justness of one’s cause was determined before going to war. For a prince to take up personal justice, impartial advisors should first be consulted and arbitration should be attempted before a war could be considered truly just, conforming to what would later be seen as the criteria of last resort. However, again, confirming the position developed over the previous thousand years, in certain cases, a war was automatically considered just, such as when fighting for the church or for the oppressed. Before war, Christine suggests calling a council of the ‘four estates of the realm’. ‘Elder nobles’, who are knowledgeable in war, ‘law clerks’, to ensure the war is just, ‘burghers’, the merchants who will need to contribute the fortifying of towns and cities and can persuade the common people to support the cause, and ‘the craftsmen’, for if they are consulted, they will be more inclined to support their lord with their goods.115 While the whole operation is supposed to be in pursuit of justice, it is very interesting that the Church is not mentioned here at all. Chapter vi discusses the pros and cons of the king taking part personally in war. Although there are advantages such as the boost to the courage of the men through the glorious examples of royal prowess, the realm can suffer if the king is killed or captured in battle. Therefore, except during civil wars where his presence against the enemy is required to ‘rob them of their courage on seeing themselves arrayed against the one they ought to help’, the king should instead be represented by a constable when he seeks to pursue his just cause.116 Chapter 113 114 115 116

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 16. Ibid., p. 17. Ibid., p. 20. Ibid., pp. 22–3.

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xiv, although in the middle of a section dominated by Vegetius, takes a passage from Bouvet xxxiv which states that pillage should not be permitted in friendly territory.117 This sentiment is repeated in book three chapter xiv which discusses the permissibility of pillage. It is clear that this element of war should only harm those who are connected with the cause of the other side and this links strongly with her limitation of the causes that were considered proper in initiating a war in the first place: ‘it is dangerous in time of war for an army to be more driven by greed for pillage than by the intention to preserve the rightness of their cause or the honor of chivalry or to gain praise’ .118 This is again strongly linked with the whole medieval concept of right disposition and the way that this shapes action. The material from The Tree of Battles is introduced properly in book three and continues through much of book four. Christine uses the clever and particularly medieval device of a dream sequence to clarify, agree or disagree and discuss the contents of the Tree with Bouvet, in which he invites her to pluck fruit from his tree to help her own task.119 Whilst Christine, employing the now familiar scholastic method, frequently initially disagrees with her master, it is invariably through the ensuing discussion that what Bouvet was trying to say is made clear for the reader. Stevenson points out that it is Bouvet’s ‘scholastic method of stating each argument in turn’ that makes this possible as Christine can rearrange his material to suit herself in the form of questions and answers.120 Various sections from Bouvet are discussed, from the duties required of followers and rewards to be expected as a result, to questions on returning borrowed armour. An interesting section is in book three chapter vii where Christine agrees with Bouvet (xxxvii) that any man may take wages in a just war but it is up to the individual to enquire into the justice of the cause: ‘every man who quite properly wishes to expose himself to war should, before he becomes involved, be well informed of the nature of the quarrel in order to know whether the challenge is just or not’ .121 This has the implication that although it is up to the sovereign prince to establish the justness of his own cause, individual conscience is also now an important

117 118 119 120 121

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 41. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 41. Ibid., p. 144. Gilbert of the Haye, Prose Manuscript, p. lxxxv. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 152.

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consideration, showing how the position set out by Augustine had changed or evolved over time.122 Chapter xiii of book three turns to the subject of wiles and deceptions, first touched briefly upon in chapter ii of book one with a passing reference to God’s instruction to set an ambush for his enemies.123 Christine asks ‘is it reasonable and right for a king or prince to resort to trickery to subdue and overcome his enemy, whether in battle or elsewhere?’ .124 After much discussion (as in the Tree’s original text), ‘Bouvet’ clarifies for Christine that this is acceptable (and of course widely done) as long as the cause is just and that both parties have been notified in the correct manner. Christine again gives the familiar example of the Lord’s instruction to Joshua how ‘by wile he could surprise his enemies’ .125 However, even though an ambush might be employed, there were still certain types of behaviour that remained unacceptable. To give one’s assurance of a safe meeting and then to take or slay one’s opponent would be ‘right evil treason’, as would feigning a truce or peace. This would be evil and ‘bring dishonor and reproof ’. Echoing Bouvet (xliv), Christine makes clear that one should always keep one’s faith, even to one’s enemy. However, ambushes ‘or other sorts of tricks’ were perfectly acceptable as long as they were not ‘contrary to promises or assurances that have been given’ .126 Chapter xiv returns to the subject of pillage, which is not to be permitted and was considered an unacceptable activity for paid troops. Christine is particularly concerned that this is something that is common in France and claims that it is not in the rights of war to do this, being instead ‘wicked and violent extortions visited on the common people’. Christine again echoes Bouvet (xxxiv) by conceding that, if it proves absolutely necessary to take provisions, as little damage as possible should be done to the poor labourers: ‘they should not be like wolves, who are not satisfied with one sheep when they enter the fold,

122 That Christine was writing for the future king of France is interesting given this sentiment. There is little doubt that the growth of centralised power led to raison d’état replacing the traditional just cause criteria. That a guide for the future monarch himself would still provide the right of his subjects to question royal motives is interesting and it is questionable if this idea would still be found a century later. 123 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 14. 124 Ibid., p. 163. 125 This refers to Joshua IIX.2, a reference that was very familiar to those who preceded Christine. 126 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 164.

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but must kill the whole flock’ .127 Christine makes clear that the common people should only be imprisoned if they are assisting the enemy. While it would not be hard for a medieval (or a modern) commander to link the labours of civilians with intentional or non intentional contributions towards a military effort (provision of food, economic base, taxation to support war effort etc), there is at least an attempt here to limit the suffering of the peasantry. This attitude does appear to be in contrast with that of the practitioners of medieval warfare, as we shall see in later chapters. Perhaps having seen the suffering caused by devastations and chevauchées across France, Christine is simply trying to state that while this may be how things are done, they should be done differently. Christine agrees with Bouvet on when it is permissible for a prisoner to escape, which was to be only if he has not given his word or if he is mistreated. In the latter case, his captor will therefore have broken his own oath first, and the principle of reciprocity dictated that ‘one who first breaks and oversteps the custom deserves to be treated likewise’ .128 Oaths may only be broken if it was to avoid a significantly greater evil, because while it is ‘wrong to perjure oneself, it is even worse to carry out such an oath’ .129 In this case the lesser of the two evils should be taken. Therefore, one’s word should even be kept with the Saracen as long as no Christian was disadvantaged by it. Safe conducts, like truces, should not be abused for military advantage and could only cover those of equal or lower rank. Christine, like Bouvet, deplores that safe conducts were now routinely broken and ‘the time has come that when fraud and ruse are called subtlety and cleverness’ .130 This repeats the common medieval sentiment that things were getting worse and standards were declining. What is particularly interesting here is that Christine is clearly stating that the boundaries of acceptable behaviour were being pushed so that actions that were at one time condemned, such as fraud, were now simply referred to as subtlety, demonstrating that there must have been a fine line dividing the two categories. Such subtleties should categorically never apply to the use of truces. Truces should never be broken as they were a royal assurance, offering safety to goods and a hope of future peace (Bouvet, ciii). Again Christine reiterates that 127 128 129 130

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 166. Ibid., p. 181. Ibid., p. 182. Ibid., p. 189.

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lawful stratagems do not involve treachery. However, she does agree that once one party has broken a truce, the other party is no longer bound by it (Bouvet, cvii).131 Conclusion The Tree of Battles must be seen in the context of the just war thinking that preceded it and informed it. The metaphysical beliefs that underpin the medieval conception of the universe and the way that the Divine Will is manifesting itself on Earth are clearly presented in both works, with the Deeds of Arms drawing upon the Tree, rearticulating and ‘repackaging’ its material to further the potential dissemination of this vital source of information. Within both works, we have a fascinating and informative view of the role and purpose of warfare and the use of deception, ambush and surprise within it. Bouvet was concerned with how things ought to be as well as how they actually were. The Tree continually stresses that the private rights of individual soldiers must not run counter to the public rights of the crown. While custom took precedence over written law, this was only in cases where the crown approved. To Bouvet, it appears that custom was less important than how knights should behave. This shows a radically different focus and different concerns to those of the practising knight Geoffroy de Charny. Instead of a third of his work being concerned with booty (as in Charny’s Demandes—see Chapter Five) it gets one single paragraph in the Tree where all booty should be handed over to the duke of the battle for him to share out according to their valour. Only four of the Tree’s questions deal directly with the scale of ransom or the terms of parole, while at least twenty others are concerned with the class of people entitled to immunity from imprisonment etc. The Tree (and to an even greater extent, the sections of the Deeds of Arms it inspires) was not intended as a means for protecting the rights of practising soldiers, but for protecting society from those soldiers.132 As such, Bouvet stresses things such as the exemption of students from hostilities, or the restraint of conflict on feast days. However, although he is quite happy to let his reader know of the things that he sees going on and disagrees with, he does not appear at all concerned with the use of trickery or ruse de 131 132

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 192. Wright, Tree, pp. 22f.

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guerre to overcome one’s opponent in a tactical situation once a war has been declared as just. Biblical precedent is quoted and it is taken for granted that this is how conflict is conducted. Even though the text is in places highly prescriptive, Bouvet does not appear to think that this is something that ought to be different to contemporary practice. Above this level, both surprise and deception had no place as the correct procedures had to be followed before a war was considered just. This involved the possession of authority which was very closely bound with Bouvet’s conception of just cause. Deception would have been very hard to fit into this part of the process (and Bouvet’s equation of social position with justice makes it impossible for him to ascribe anything but the highest of motives to princes and kings). The sending of a correctly worded defiance effectively meant that surprise at this level was also impossible as one simply could not launch a just war without giving notice of one’s grievance. While he places great stress on the importance of just authority and cause, once a conflict or feud had been decided upon and notice had been given, the means to be employed were fairly unrestrained as long as treachery or perfidy was not involved and the various immunities were respected. Christine de Pizan took Bouvet’s work and presented it in a new and even more accessible format. By clarifying and drawing out the meaning of the original legalistic arguments, Christine explained the Tree’s legal and metaphysical ideas to a new audience. She is also concerned with how things ought to be although she clearly accepted that the real world did not live up to these standards. Christine took time to question the validity of certain motives such as revenge or aggression in the just cause of a war, stressing the importance of negotiation in the ongoing legal process, highlighting the laws of ransom, and asserting the rights of the common people and non-combatants. She made it clear that even in a public war, the responsibility remained with the conscience of the individual—therefore further stressing the importance of the just war and effectively warning her future king that support of his follows was not necessarily unconditional—his wars must be seen to be just. Christine also made it very clear that she agreed with Bouvet that once a just war was under way, as long as it was being conducted by a legitimate authority and that one’s word was not being broken, surprise and deception were perfectly legitimate weapons of war when employed at the tactical level. This may simply reflect the notion that the Tree and the ideas that were represented by this way of thinking were more concerned with ius ad bellum than ius in bello. However,

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given the importance placed on intention and the medieval appreciation of the full implications of how this shaped action, this may be more to do with the way that a modern audience approaches the same material, perhaps not appreciating the link between motivation and action in quite the same way. Even if this is accepted, it may simply be that it was taken for granted that surprising an opponent and taking him off guard was a clever, legitimate and prudent move as long as it took place within the framework of legitimately motivated and conducted warfare. Clearly, drawing upon a long history of medieval thinking, both authors feel that within the metaphysical and legal framework governing the use of force in medieval society, God helps those who help themselves.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ROLE OF WAR AS A LEGAL INSTRUMENT IN THE MIDDLE AGES It is only really possible to understand the legal context of medieval warfare in light of the moral and metaphysical understandings that underpinned it. As such, this chapter will draw on the ideas explored in the previous chapter and show how they manifested themselves in the legal frameworks that provided the rules and shaped the expectations of those concerned with war in the Middle Ages. This chapter will concentrate upon two related areas, beginning with an examination of the concept of the feud, the legal reasoning behind it and the way violence was used and increasingly restricted within it. From here the chapter will move on to look at the rise and fall in the use of the judicial ordeal, concentrating in particular on the duel and its relationship with the feud. This will set up the legal context of medieval warfare that can then be explored from the different angles explored by each of the following chapters, and tested, where appropriate, with the different perceptions of surprise and deception within this framework. Force or might of arms has always been used to resolve disputes but in the Middle Ages, certain types of violence came to be placed within a formal context. Feuds were an accepted way of recovering or asserting legal rights. Battle, whether between individuals or groups, was seen as a legal contest with extensive rules governing its use. Alternative legal procedures were gradually developed to replace both of these instruments. However, the contest itself was not necessarily abandoned but merely moved into an alternative, and more restricted, environment. The formation of the modern state is closely linked to the way that the right to resort to violence for private ends was gradually restricted and monopolised until it was only an accepted legal practice when carried out with a king’s authority. Background The period in question is long and extremely complicated. The geographical area of Western Europe encompassed a multitude of legal

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systems that developed at different rates and were influenced in different ways by local conditions. The fall of the old Roman state led to its division, in the west, among several Germanic tribal kingdoms. While culture became dominated by the Roman church and the Latin language, the legal systems here returned (where they had changed at all) to local and customary Germanic law. The development of feudal law from about the eighth century onwards, with its stress upon personal relations, landed property and lack of written, formal legislation, is related to this rather than Roman Law.1 The canon law of the Church was the only legal code that did not vary considerably from place to place. Even so, for a long time it was primarily concerned with church affairs and in particular administrative matters, and so had little influence upon most people’s lives. However, ecclesiastical law did become increasingly important when the church began to extend its influence into secular areas. With the crowning of Charlemagne in 800, ‘the entwining of the interests of church and state … [became] a distinctive and a fundamental element in the organisation of medieval society’ .2 The Church’s law was based upon Roman law but had a flavour of its own thanks to its distinct rules and ideas. This meant that Roman law was never entirely lost. As intellectual life began to blossom once more with the growing prosperity towards the middle and end of the period, Roman law again became increasingly important, fusing with customary and feudal law, and gradually incorporating their values into written law once more. Thus the distinction between the different kinds of law is not always clear and any generalisation needs to be seen in this context with the recognition that Western Europe cannot be seen as a single legal entity but rather as a complex mosaic where many things may look similar but may also have a specific, and local, flavour or articulation as different areas developed in subtly different ways and at different speeds. The complicated situation was further confused by ‘vertical dividing lines’ that separated freemen from serfs, townsmen from countrymen, churchmen and students from laymen, and members of guilds from those who were unaffiliated. Each group had a distinct network for applying their rules, it being the norm that ‘everyone should be tried by

1 R.C.Van Caenegem, An Historical Introduction to Private law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), pp. 16ff. 2 Ibid., p. 22.

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his peers’ .3 There was certainly no single set of laws in the Middle Ages and it took some time for the tribal law, based on people bound by blood-ties and kinship, to develop into territorial law covering anyone within its area regardless of their personal relations. This was demonstrated by the way that official titles began to change in England in the thirteenth century, later elsewhere, from ‘king of the English’ , to ‘king of England’ . The crown now, in theory, constituted the sole government within the territory. This was what we would now think of as public law, for it applied to every-one within the territory over which the king ruled.4 Until then, and even then for some time afterwards, the nobility kept their own network of courts, just as the rising burgher class had their own municipal courts. Villagers were still likely to have had their disputes settled by whatever manor court was in their area meaning different laws were being invoked in different areas.5 Aquinas explains this by saying that: human law may be divided according to the categories of men who perform specific tasks for the common good, as priests who pray on behalf of the people, and knights who fight for their protection.6

Demarcation disputes between the different laws may have been frequent but all law, whether it had originally come from a Christian, Roman or Germanic background, was fundamentally seen to be based upon reason. It appears that although there may have been different ways of looking at the law in the Middle Ages, and varying ways of applying it, it was more a question of looking at the same underlying law from different perspectives rather than the application of totally unrelated laws. While we now may consider law to be an instrument of social regulation, this idea was alien to the early Middle Ages. Law was considered ‘an unwritten and unchanging eternal norm’ that could not just be changed or adapted for social reasons; it was society.7 While the law may have been clarified or interpreted by various authorities, it was unthinkable (until the centralised monarchies of Europe consolidated

3 R.C. Van Caenegem, Legal History: A European Perspective (London: Hambledon, 1991), p. 118. 4 R.C. Van Caenegem, An Historical Introduction to Western Constitutional Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 72ff. 5 Van Caenegem, Legal History, pp. 115ff. 6 Aquinas, Summa Theologica, I, 2ae, Q.xv, Art.4. Quoted from M.H.Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), p. 15. 7 Van Caenegem, Legal History, p. 123.

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their power over territorial areas) that anyone apart from God made the law. Kings might declare the law just as judges found the law or ecclesiastical lawyers discovered the law from the Bible, but nobody could make it. The natural order that God intended upon earth was the legally ordered society that actually existed and any infringement of this order was ‘a blow against God and law’ .8 ‘Nothing is more selfevident in medieval thought than the idea that all law is rooted in God’ .9 Needless to say, to go against the law was automatically to go against morality, for the law came from God and therefore was equated with that which was moral. Within this way of thinking, custom was everything and to say that a law was new was to question its validity. The Magna Carta was an attempt to restore traditional laws that had been ‘perverted by the king’s arbitrary rule’ .10 Custom, of course, did change or progress would have been impossible, but it did so in different places at different speeds, often unconsciously or even imperceptibly over time. The Feud From the earliest of times, men knew that killing brought vengeance from the kinsmen of the deceased. In the absence of what Hobbes referred to as the Leviathan—an authority capable of exercising justice on one’s behalf—this was how wrongs were righted (or at least prevented as fear of retribution must have been an important mechanism for restricting violent acts). Lesser wrongs could be avenged in person and the attempts at regulating these blood-feuds and preventing them from spiralling out of control form the basis of the first laws. As kin extended to sixth cousins, disputes could involve whole communities and there were obviously incentives to sort out internal tribal problems by a system of ‘honourable compensation’ rather than just recourse to violence that could prove damaging to the community as ‘tit for tat’ cycles of violence were bound to escalate in this environment. In the sixth century Ethelbert, a local king in Kent, wrote down the ancient custom of his subjects in the form of laws. These consisted of the various

8 Otto Brunner, Land and Lordship: Structures of Governance in Medieval Austria (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992), pp. 24 and 118. 9 Ibid., p. 114. 10 Van Caenegem, Legal History, p. 120.

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levels of compensation payable to those wronged, or their families, based on the nature of the wrong and the social status of the person whose rights had been violated along with a fee payable to the king himself because of the violation of his personal peace.11 Such compensation, effectively policed by the community itself, would allow honour to be satisfied and justice to be seen to be done without the same risk of a spiral of violence. If the person who had committed the wrong refused to suffer arbitration then he would be declared an outlaw and would lose the protection that the community offered. In such cases, a state of enmity then appeared in which the bonds of peace and friendship that had existed between the individual and his community were dissolved leaving the way open for the wronged party to bring the perpetrator to justice themselves.12 While we might now see revenge as something negative based on emotion, it was considered a moral duty into the Middle Ages, for law came from God and represented the natural order of things. To violate it was to act against God as well as the person whose rights had been violated and this could not be left to pass. Peace, the state where no rights were being challenged or asserted, could not exist between the two parties until vengeance or compromise leading to reconciliation had been achieved. Until then, the state of enmity that existed between two feuding parties was the same as that which existed between two enemies in a state of war. There was no legal distinction between the two until the very end of the period. All political actions involving force were essentially feuds in the sense outlined above and considered as such. There is no doubt that there has been ‘a thoroughgoing revision’ of the whole notion of what may or may not have constituted ‘feudal society’, or even if the term ‘feudalism’ is appropriate.13 This is a fascinating debate but not one that this work seeks to engage with.14 The term ‘feud’ is employed here simply as a word to describe a specific type of legal argument and the way that it was conducted in a martial sense.

11

Alan Harding, A Social History of English Law (London: Penguin, 1966), pp. 13ff. Brunner, Lordship, pp. 16f. 13 Normal Housley, Contesting the Crusades (Oxford: Blackwell, 2006), p. 36. 14 This work, therefore, has no intention of discussing the detailed etymology of the term, or any relationship of this process with the complex social phenomenon that is, rightly or wrongly, still widely referred to as feudalism. For such analysis, see, for example D. Barthélemy, L’An mil et la paix de Dieu: la France chrétienne et féodale, 980–1060 (Paris: Fayard, 1999) and Susan Reynolds, Fiefs and Vassals: The Medieval Evidence Reinterpreted (New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 12

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Within the context described above, both feuds and wars were really struggles for right and the resumption of peace where no rights were in dispute. The only real difference was normally the size of the resources used. Even a king fighting a king had to begin with a challenge to feud as a matter of law and this took the same essential form as any other challenge.15 The Hundred Years War was no exception. In May 1338 Henry Burghersh, Edward III’s senior diplomat/advisor and Bishop of Lincoln, delivered a letter of defiance (written several months before) to King Philip in Paris. In the letter Philip was addressed merely as ‘Philip of Valois’ and Edward asserted his own right to the throne and the intent to claim it through force of arms.16 The same procedure can be found throughout the Middle Ages, from life in Bruges in the early 12th Century (see below) to the 15th Century with the diplomatic exchanges between Henry V and the Dauphin. The Gesta Henrici Quinti portrays the new king’s attempts at securing a lasting peace or pacem perpetuam between England and France through noble concessions. These proving unsuccessful, his just cause was assured: Aliud non videns remedium seu medium per quod as ius suum venire posset, ad supremi iudicis convolavit sentenciam, censiens sub ipsius auxilio sui iusti mucronis vibrare potenciam, et inculpati gladii execucione expetere quod Francorum culpabilis et iniusta violencia, tam longo tractu temporis, usurpare et detinere contendit. 17

At length, not perceiving any other remedy or means by which he might attain his right, he hastened to seek a ruling from the Supreme Judge, deciding to wield, with His help, the power of his just sword and by us of this blameless sword to exact what the French, by their blameworthy and unjust violence, have for so long a period of time striven to usurp and withhold.

Prohibiting or abolishing the feud within society was not simply an act, but required a fundamental structural change in both law and politics. For much of the early Middle Ages, the lack of any Leviathan entity and the consequent absence of centralised authority meant that there was something akin to the ‘State of Nature’ suggested by

15

Brunner, Lordship, pp. 34f. Sumption, Trial by Battle, p. 232 and 294; Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), i. pp. 403ff, and; Chronographia regum Francorum, H. Moranville (Ed.), 3 vols (1891–7), ii, pp. 38ff. 17 Vita et Gesta Henrici Quinti, trans. Frank Taylor and John S. Roskell (Eds.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1975), p. 14. I have employed Roskill’s translation. 16

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Hobbes.18 As most organised fighting, for most of the Middle Ages, ‘emanated in the Germanic custom of settling judicial disputes through Blutrache (vendetta) and faida (feud), private warfare seemed incessant’ .19 The feud had to be made superfluous by legal institutions backed by sufficient power to enforce them.20 Therefore self-help in the form of the feud remained a legal process where there was a lack of central power.21 In most cases the right to feud was restricted to certain people who were considered to have sufficient authority (see below). This authority became increasingly qualified as time went on, and the feud came to be seen as an alternative form of attaining justice rather than the only way. The feud could go to arbitration, in or out of court, at any point and a truce would be called to allow the dispute to be resolved. As the law and its institutions developed, it is easy to see how the idea of a struggle or battle between the two parties dominated jurisprudence, for in effect the two parties were still in conflict but one that was simply suspended from the battlefield. This relationship between the two parties can still be seen in today’s legal thought: ‘Smith v. Jones or Rex v. Jones’ .22 For a feud or a war to have legal consequences and actually be a legal process, it had to have a particular form. While originally this would have been bound by local custom, it came to be set out in the formal code of arms, the ius militare; a product of, amongst other things, feudal law, custom, chivalric ideals and religious thinking. A necessary starting point for looking at conflict in the Middle Ages as a legal process is the Roman legal tradition as articulated by Cicero in the first century BC.23 However, to understand the ideas that inform this, it is prudent to go back even further than this and examine the legal code and system of war in the ancient Greek world first. 18 Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, Richard Tuck (Ed.) (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 89f. 19 Udo Heyn (Ed.), Peacemakingin Medieval Europe: A Historical and Bibliographical Guide (Claremont CA: Regina Books, 1997), pp. 21f. 20 Brunner, Lordship, pp. 28f. 21 While recognising the caveats mentioned above, Brunner notes that the feud was not replaced as a legal instrument in Austria until after the 15th century, remaining the main way that the nobility solved its disputes. Brunner, Lordship, p. 43. While Brunner may underemphasise the importance of the continuation and influence of Roman legal practices, the points he raises here are still valid in this context. 22 Harding, English Law, p. 123. 23 Cicero was by far the most popular Roman source to survive into the Middle Ages. See Philippe Richardot, Végèce et la Culture Militaire au Moyen Âge (V e–XV e siècles) (Paris: Economica, 1998), p. 193.

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To the Greeks, warfare was considered quite natural and was ‘simply one aspect of a much vaster power at work in all human relationships and even in nature itself ’ .24 In Athens in particular, all political decisions, including the decision to engage in, and the preparations for conducting warfare, were made in public by those eligible to vote (admittedly a fairly limited franchise, but still a very significant minority within the community). At least before the Peloponnesian War, conflict between the city states was seen as a contest in which force of arms in a ritualised clash replaced verbal argument. In an attitude that would have been familiar to many in the Middle Ages, the complete destruction of the opposition side was not the intended result of military confrontation.25 Rather, the aim was to achieve a moral supremacy, forcing the other side to acknowledge one’s superior strength and therefore justice of one’s argument. It was not necessary to annihilate the opposition to do this so a pursuit of a fleeing enemy was superfluous: by then, the victory was already achieved as it was ‘sufficient that their line should not have held, that one should remain in control of the field, that they should have sought permission to gather up their dead and that a trophy should have been set up’ .26 The holding of the field, the building of the trophy and the fact that the losing side needed to return and ask for a truce to collect their dead meant that there were clear and unambiguous criteria for demonstrating which side was the winner and which the loser. The contest itself was also limited in a number of other ways. Through the highly biased representation of the land-holding middle classes in the hoplite ranks (the poor were limited to the secondary and largely ineffectual role of skirmishing and the nobility tended to be more concentrated in the cavalry, which again did not appear to have a decisive role), it has been suggested that society itself was stabilised.27 It was mutually beneficial to limit the season within which hostilities were conducted so that agricultural life was affected the least and this 24 Jean-Pierre Vernant, Myth and Society in Ancient Greece, trans. J. Lloyd (London: Methuen, 1992), p. 19. 25 Hans van Wees demonstrates that limits on pursuit were practical rather than necessarily moral, but that does not change the fact that the acceptance of victory by both sides did not require the annihilation of one side by the other. See Hans van Wees, Greek Warfare: Myths and Realities (London: Duckworth, 2005), p. 135. 26 Vernant, Myth and Society, p. 27. 27 The Spartan model was an exception to this system as it relied upon a professional warrior class. See J.K. Anderson, Military Theory and Practice in the Age of Xenophon (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1970), pp. 5–6.

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approach also favoured a single, decisive confrontation conducted along clearly defined and accepted lines, to settle the argument. The amateur nature of the combatants meant that a simple yet effective tactical grouping known as the phalanx was adopted. The spearmen could stand shoulder to shoulder, several ranks deep, with the best fighters in the front and rear ranks, the worst in the middle. This allowed the more faint-hearted to be led by those in front and pushed on by those behind.28 The symbolic nature of the phalanx cannot be overestimated: ‘the line of citizen-soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder were there to defend the territory of the polis, and were the visible statement of the boundary of that territory’ .29 It was through the energy, discipline and staunchness of their phalanx that the community demonstrated its cohesion and commitment to their cause.30 Polybius felt that for an encounter to be accepted as decisive, a hand-to-hand struggle at close quarters was required. Although missile weapons were used, they were employed as part of the preliminaries to the real test and were not expected to result in a decision on their own. Polybius also notes how utterly useless the phalanx was in any kind of engagement other than a very limited, head-to-head confrontation with little tactical manoeuvring.31 Despite this, no serious effort appears to have been made to establish a strategy of defending the mountain passes to defend the lands of the various city states before the hoplites even arrived at the plains for the battle. It was the struggle of the two opposing phalanxes (and all the moral forces that they represented) that was required to settle the matter.32 At least until the informal rules of Greek warfare broke down from the last third of the fifth century BC, the contest of phalanxes decided the issue at stake. Warfare was effectively limited in scope by both sides to allow a clear result to end the conflict.

28

Homer, Iliad iv. 297–300. Hugh Bowden, ‘Hoplites and Homer: Warfare, hero cult and the ideology of the polis’, War and Society in the Greek World, John Rich and Graham Shipley (Eds.) (London: Routledge, 1993), p. 48. 30 See D. Whetham, ‘What did the Romans do for U.S.?’, Journal of the Royal United Services Institute, Vol. 146, issue 6 (December 2001). 31 Polybius, 13.3.2–7 and 18.31.2. From W. Kendrick Pritchett, The Greek State at War, Vol. II (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), p. 173. 32 Van Wees argues that battles between phalanxes were not actually arranged in advance so they were only superficially duel-like. However, both sides would still have to want for an engagement to take place and this does not change the fact that until the tactical innovations of Alexander’s day, the phalanx was effective in only a very specific type of confrontation that required both sides to want to fight in this way. 29

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The Roman attitude to war was rather different with the influential Cicero writing from a perspective dominated by Roman legal thinking and its particular view of just causes for military activity by the state. In this respect he was primarily interested in contractual obligation and the parallel between civil law suits designed to recover damages and injuries, and relations between city-states who enjoyed similar rights although they were acting as both judge and party. If the citizens of one state injured the citizens of another state in some way and they were not punished by their own state, then the whole state could be punished by war. This process shared the same general form as a private legal process, not a criminal one: ‘it would be inconsistent with the dignity of the approach to regard the enemy as a criminal; rather, the opponent is treated as being on the same level’. Roman law (at least in theory) treated both parties as equals.33 War was seen as an extraordinary legal procedure designed to seek justice and could only be waged to recover lost goods (whether these were tangible or incorporeal rights), in defence or as punishment.34 Given the very strict legal definition, any war waged without recognised legal cause and due process was piracy. Legally, a formal and authoritative declaration of war from the Emperor was also required, but this could not come until between thirty and thirty three days after a formal demand for redress had been made and not met.35 This delay was consistent with the domestic legal procedure for private actions, after which a debtor could be physically brought before the magistrate and either find a guarantor or face chains. However, in the civil procedure, the delay was intended to provide time for a judge to be decided upon and agreed by both sides. In the international procedure, the god Jupiter had already been chosen as the judge. If redress was not forthcoming, the people involved were called unjust and a council was called to determine the best way of obtaining right. The judgement itself had already been given and, as long as the ritual had been satisfied, judgement favoured the Romans. The legal consequences of war itself were supposed to be limited by mercy in the case of those who were not

33 Alan Watson, International Law in Archaic Rome: War and Religion (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. 20. 34 Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), pp. 4ff. 35 There is a split in the sources between thirty and thirty three days. For thirty, see: Livy, 1.22.5, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, 2.72.7. For thirty three, see: Livy 1.32.9.

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guilty of resisting Rome. Otherwise, the declaration of war meant that there was no longer an obligation to respect the enemy’s rights. Capture of civilians, plunder and devastation were all permitted and many of these ideas passed straight into the Middle Ages. One of the problems facing legal theorists in the Middle Ages was that of determining or defining a legitimate authority. For the Greeks, legitimacy came from the decision of the polis, whilst when Roman law was written the problem did not exist because there was only one recognised authority; the Emperor. This was no longer the case with the fall of the empire and the resulting dispersal and devolution of power. The Germanic tradition of self-help, a practical response to a lack of centralised authority, allowed anyone to seek vengeance for a wrong done to them or their family. The right to conduct this process directly was gradually concentrated in the hands of the nobility who were seen as the protectors of society. Eventually this right was to disappear completely with the growth of centralised power and the state’s monopoly of legitimate violence. As noted in the previous chapter, when Gratian was writing his influential compilation of twelfth century canon law known as the Decretum, he saw the Just War as a legal procedure employed by a competent authority in defence of rights and justice. What exactly constituted a competent authority was not made clear however reflecting the lack of clear definition at the time.36 Canonic law debates in the thirteenth century focused upon the problem of determining what exactly constituted a valid authority, some seeking to limit it to the Emperor or Pope, and some to those with no superior which was itself a problem with the growing assertiveness of the new territorial kings and in turn their efforts to limit the powers of the nobility.37 In reality there is a long period of time when it is impossible to distinguish between those who did feud and those who were theoretically entitled to do so, according to the different laws. Certainly the nobility believed that they had a mandate to conduct their own legal process. While this view may have conflicted with other theories of law, in practice they continued to conduct feuds for as long as they were able to, using the rules set out in the ius militare. As individual monarchs struggled to concentrate power in their hands, there was an attempt to assert more control over the process of

36 37

Russell, Just War, p. 71. Ibid., p. 298.

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the feud. The right to conduct a feud was qualified by the introduction of a licensing system where one was supposed to appeal for special permission to conduct a feud only once the offending party had refused to submit to arbitration. Upon his accession in 1272, Edward I had it announced on his behalf (he was on crusade) that: we are and will be prepared, by the authority of God, to give full justice to each and every person in all cases and matters concerning them against any others great or small.38

Although the actual prevalence of illicit knightly violence continued regardless of these efforts, the alternative process for seeking justice continued to develop, at varying speeds in different places. It was regulated by statute by the time of Henry V, both in England and in France. Now redress had to be sought from someone with authority over the defendant, and it was only after this form of legal process had been conducted and resisted that a letter of marque would be awarded to allow the challenger to restore his rights and recover his losses.39 Only when the state itself was in a position to conduct the whole process was the type of private violence referred to here as feud finally obsolete. Even in the ius militare, burghers and peasants retained for some time the right to conduct blood feuds as retribution for a killing, wounding or mortal injury, probably thanks to the strength of tradition and custom.40 French townspeople claimed the characteristic chivalric right to what was effectively private war through much of the Middle Ages. French knights indirectly recognised such rights by following the process of issuing formal challenges of war against these ‘collective lordships’ .41 There was no right to feud at all for those considered unarmed such as the clergy, women or children. They could, however, seek redress through their right of protection and safeguard resting with their lord who could, and had a duty to when necessary, pursue a feud on their behalf. Along with the challengers, a feud could include their kin, patron when necessary and subordinates depending upon the severity of the claim. Thus a king’s feud was likely to involve far more people than a minor noble with little support. 38 Quoted in Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 107. 39 Keen, Laws, pp. 220f. 40 Brunner, Lordship, p. 16. 41 Richard W. Kaeuper, War, Justice, and Public Order: England and France in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford: 1988), p. 190.

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In the same tradition as Cicero and Augustine (and many other contributors over the centuries), the feud had to have a legally recognised cause otherwise it was legally (and implicitly morally) wrong. A lawbreaker became an enemy of the individual or community whose rights had been violated and it was this that allowed the challenger to seek redress. If it was found that the cause was in fact not a just one, then it could be the challenger himself that found himself being pursued for violating rights. While quarrels may often have been motivated by purely material considerations, if a feud had no legal foundation then it could be classed as criminal. For example, Nicholas of Tudeschi voiced the legal view that ‘knights who take part in a war without just cause should rather be called robbers than knights’ .42 It was a concern for the specific legalities of the situation that led to Count William of Hainault’s apparently strange position in 1339. While he was content to fight Philip VI on Imperial territory, if the defending force he was part of invaded French territory, he would be obliged to cross over and defend Philip instead as he was the vassal of the French King for his own lands held in France.43 It was essential for a legitimate feud to have a just claim regarding retribution and reparation for violation of rights. It appears that even if the ideology was not accorded constant attention, the legal phraseology of war was essential—it had to be seen to be legitimate by the correct application of, and adherence to, the established code of conduct.44 There is no doubt that many got away with the most tenuous of legal causes, however the penalties could be severe. For example, in 1391 Mérigot Marchès was surrendered (presumably forcibly) by his cousin and tried before a panel of judges at the Châtelet in Paris on the charge of making war unjustly. In the summing up the judges stated that he had ‘by way of treason, taken, raised, and levied appatiz 45 and ransoms in the king’s realm and [had] done so since the truces were cried’ .46 It was determined that he was a French citizen and so had no right or authority to conduct open war against the French, and even though the land was disputed between the French and the English, the fact that the 42

Quoted in Keen, Laws, p. 65. Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327– 1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 165. 44 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), p. 284. 45 Tribute extracted through threats of devastation. 46 Quoted in Keen, Laws, p. 99. 43

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acts of war had been conducted during a truce to which he had agreed meant that no adequate defence remained. He was found guilty and beheaded. The actual means that the feud involved varied with the end it was aiming to achieve. Rather than the complete destruction of the enemy, the goal of the feud was to get the other party to accept the challenger’s view of what was right thus restoring the peaceful state. This could be achieved through tactics designed to compel the other party—what in peace time would be regarded as criminal acts such as forced contributions, arson, plunder, injuries, destruction of property, ransom, or in the most serious cases, manslaughter. Aspects of this are referred to by Girart, Duke of Burgundy when he talks of the local warfare that was going on around him in the Chanson d’Aspremont: If my neighbor starts a quarrel with me, With fire burns my land to cinders; And I, his, on all sides; If he steals my castles or keeps, Then so it goes until we come to terms, Or he puts me or I put him in prison47

The chevauchées of various English kings during the Hundred Years War, designed to undermine the strength and prosperity of regions of France and show the impotence of the French monarchy, can be seen in this light. For example, Chandos Herald records the actions of the English army between the Seine and the Somme in 1346: ‘the English to disport themselves put everything to fire and flame. There they made many a widowed lady and many a poor child orphan’ .48 The important thing to note is that while motivations may have been varied, contrary to what many historians have written on the matter, these actions were not considered an end in themselves.49 This was not simply a devastating raid and plundering expedition, but was actually a means of achieving the goal of forcing one party to accept the argument of another. As such, the means were supposed to be proportionate to the injury suffered. The influence of the Scriptures can also be seen in

47 Quoted in Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 177. 48 Chandos Herald, Life of the Black Prince, by the Herald of Sir John Chandos, Mildred K. Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Eds.) (Oxford: Clarendon, 1910), line 236–9. 49 See Clifford J Rogers, ‘The Vegetian “Science of Warfare” in the Middle Ages’ in Bernard S. Bachrach (Ed.) The Journal of Medieval History Vol. I (Boydell Press, 2002).

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limitations placed upon the means used. For example, produce could be taken but the means of producing it could not be touched (there is little doubt that this was often ignored).50 The chevauchée could also be used as a powerful demonstration of moral right. In a period dominated by a positivist attitude towards law, the chevauchée or procession through hostile territory demonstrated the justice and moral superiority of one’s claim, undermining the position of the impotent lord who was clearly not capable of defending that which he claimed. Christine de Pizan made it clear that to counteract evildoers or recover lost property, ‘it is not only permissible for the prince to start a war or to maintain it, indeed he is obliged to do so, through the obligation incurred by his title to lordship and jurisdiction in accordance with his proper duty’ .51 Understanding such considerations, Prince Edward refused 250,000 gold écus not to burn the new town area of Carcassonne in 1355, claiming he had ‘come to seek justice, not gold’ .52 There was a bigger prize at stake than just plunder—the recognition that only by satisfying the rightful claims of the Plantagenets could the people regain their security.53 Much as the swift, devastating raids of the Scots had left the north of England in smoldering ruins and compelled the young Edward III to accept the Bruce’s sovereignty over Scotland, so the chevauchées of the English reduced much of France to smoke and cinders, and forced Jean II to cede an expanded Aquitaine to Edward III in full sovereignty.54

The chevauchée was simply one of the instruments for physically carrying out the process of the legal dispute. The result of the feud could come about in a number of ways, through agreement forced by the means used, or the parties could agree to go to arbitration, either privately or through submitting to the judgement of the appropriate court. While actual direct confrontation appeared fairly rare compared to other means, this approach could also force the issue by putting the other party in a position where offering battle was the only appropriate

50

Deuteronomy, XX.19–20. Christine de Pizan, The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, Sumner Willard (Trans.), Carity Cannon Willard (Ed.) (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), p. 17. 52 Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, E. Maunde Thompson (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), p. 133. 53 Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, p. 313. 54 Ibid., p. 6. 51

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response to the challenge implicit in the other party’s actions. The pressures of this type of behaviour are beautifully illustrated in the Gesta Henrici Quinti where the author describes the effect on the French nobility of Henry’s ride through France: Tam nobilis olim fortudo et milicia Gallicana, si adhuc esset cor vel aliqua humanitas in eis, non possent tolerare tanti dedecoris maculam quod diceretur de eis per mundum ad sempiternum opprobrium, eos tam excordes et ignaves crevisse et tantum degenerasse a nobilitate antiqua quod in Regem Anglie venientem in terram eorum, diu moram facientem, villam obsidentum et capientem, et tandem cum tam pauca familia et diminuto excercitu abinde in tam longa distancia eorum patriam populantem, non auderent immo timerent vires extendere militares.

The military strength and armed forces of the French, once so noble, could not possibly (if they still retained any heart or manliness) bear the stain of the great dishonour which, to their everlasting reproach, would be attributed to them throughout the world, namely, that they had become so irresolute and cowardly and had so much fallen away from their ancient nobility of character that against the king of England (who had entered their land, remained there for so long, besieged and taken a town, and, at length, with so small a following and so reduced an army, laid waste their country at so great a distance from it) they did not dare, nay rather feared, to exert their military strength.55

The actions of Henry did indeed prove too much for the French nobility to stomach and the result was the battle of Agincourt. If the issue was decided by battle, this in itself could be seen as part of the arbitration process rather than as part of the feud itself (see below). At the end of the engagement, the challenger who held the field for a specified number of days was considered the victor and therefore vindicated in a practice that was ‘handed down over the centuries’ .56 When a cause was regarded as just, defeat could sometimes be explained by referring to God’s temporary displeasure with the people involved rather than their actual cause. This explains how campaigns could continue even after a set-back or defeat. If one of the challengers were actually killed then it was a clearer judgement on whose side the just cause lay.

55 Vita et Gesta Henrici Quinti, trans. Frank Taylor and John S. Roskell (Eds.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1975), pp. 64f. 56 Contamine, Warfare, p. 261.

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By the later Middle Ages the feud had started to become differentiated into varying forms depending upon the authority on which it was declared. ‘Real’ war was starting to become recognisable as something distinct from the feud. In the thirteenth century, Pope Innocent IV, adding to the work of his predecessor, differentiated between different levels of licit violence. It is not clear whether this described the situation at the time, the trend in contemporary views, or an ideal that had yet to be reached (although the differing rates of development of different areas meant that all of these ideas could be true simultaneously). Defence against attack was always justified and did not constitute war (or feud) because it was a right that did not depend upon authority. If an immediate defence was impossible, then a feud could be waged with the superior authority of a prince to recover a violated right. In the case of a revolt by a subject or subjects, a lord could declare war although this was not really war but rather the exercise of the lord’s jurisdiction and authority. Finally, ‘real’ war was that declared by an independent prince with no superior, against enemies that were outside his jurisdiction.57 This way of thinking was gradually accepted into the ius militare which eventually restricted the right to conduct all-out feuds to the rising regna. This was now regarded as public or open war (what we would regard as war today). Private war was still permitted but it was now limited in even more ways. Not only did redress have to be sought through other legal channels first, but if a letter of marque was awarded, it only permitted the challenger to fight, wound and kill without blame. Burning or the taking of spoil was limited to public wars. Thus when Geoffrey de Charny took his revenge on Aimery de Pavia as a traitor to his word, Aimery was decapitated and then quartered. To demonstrate that it was a private matter of justice and not a breach of the truce in place at the time, Charny was at pains to only punish Aimery himself and did not claim or damage his property as this would have been exceeding his rights.58 This, of course, had the consequence that only the king could now use the feud or warfare for profit. This would have strengthened the position of the monarchs by making their causes very popular as the only legal way to take plunder through violence, but it 57 Russell, Just War, p. 146. These views were echoed by Thomas Aquinas in his Summa Theologica, IIa IIae, qu.42, art.1. 58 Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.) 29 vols. (Brussels, 1867–77), V, pp. 271–4.

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also demonstrates that they had more power anyway by this time to be able to make this kind of restriction. Bouvet tells us that in his experience it was still acceptable to recover goods or rights through the principle of self-help in the fourteenth century,59 but the idea of further punishment or the taking of compensation and damages now appears to have become the sole right of a sovereign king.60 This was a major change in thinking for it now saw the established territorial kings as having a different relationship with the law. By the end of the period it was becoming accepted that, as they were considered emperors in their own realm, kings could actually make laws. The trends of political thought moved slowly in this direction aided by works such as Thomas Aquinas’s Summa Theologica, written at the end of the thirteenth century, which provided the philosophical basis for the independent secular state, with the ruler acting to further the common good (see Chapter Two).61 This meant that the king could act as a superior authority in all disputes within the territory over which he had jurisdiction. This power was to eventually make the principle of selfhelp redundant so the feud was no longer a necessary process in the pursuit of justice within the state. The attractions of private justice were drastically reduced once ‘one was not only liable to be defeated by one’s private enemies but to be punished by public authority as well’ .62 Disputes between sovereigns, however, could not always be resolved by a ‘supreme decision-making authority’ . Technically the Pope filled this role, for example acting as arbiter between Emperor Frederick III and the Austrian Estates in 1452. But in practice, this authority was very limited. Secular powers seemed only to refer to it when it was to their advantage and the Church was rarely able to enforce its decisions.63 In 1337 it took an assortment of threats including excommunication to persuade Edward III to accept a truce, and even then, it was not a formal truce, but merely a “cessation” that was finally agreed.64 The lack of a truly effective temporal arbiter meant that the basis for the principle of self-help was still valid in disputes between sovereigns, so the feud continued on past the Middle Ages in the form of what we 59 Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles, trans. G.W. Coopland (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949), pp. 155f. 60 Keen, Laws, p. 104. 61 Contamine, Warfare, p. 286. 62 Keen, Laws, p. 74. 63 Ibid., pp. 122f. 64 Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, p. 144.

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would now recognise as inter-state warfare. The nature of the king’s authority meant that while in theory his feuds were still expected to conform to the same legal requirements as before, in practice his authority alone was all that was needed because he was generally seen to be acting for the common good.65 Nearly all wars could be justified on the grounds of raison d’état which gradually eclipsed the idea of war as a legal procedure, thereby changing its very nature. The Judicial Ordeal The origins of the judicial ordeal lie in the development of alternative means of resolution to the feud. While we have seen that the feud itself was a legal process, the law also developed in another way by providing a framework for resolving disputes when a feud had been suspended for arbitration or bypassed completely. The ordeal was used by the court as a means of reaching a decision in cases of a particularly difficult nature. Most disputes would never get to this stage, having been resolved through clear evidence on one side or the other, or perhaps having been successfully arbitered by an agreed referee outside of the court. However, in some cases, there was a lack of evidence, lack of credible witnesses, or simply the two parties both had what appeared to be valid arguments. When this happened, use of an ordeal was often the only acceptable way of obtaining a satisfactory outcome to the dispute. The ordeal, like the feud, was also really a contest and had several forms. It could be ‘fought’ with oaths (sworn by the accused and accuser and perhaps also oath-helpers, or compurgators, who would vouch for the parties); proven unilaterally by the ordeals of fire or water (in which the accuser who was proved wrong could face the punishment he had hoped to see inflicted), or; it could be literally fought by a duel with weapons. The testing character of all of these ordeals is clearly evident, with God’s judgement coming after He had searched the challenger’s hearts in the contest. The human judge of the ordeal might have been a member of the local clergy, the lord of the area, or an appointed royal official depending upon the time and place. The main duty of this judge was to decide the form of proof that would be acceptable to the court as the actual judgement was supposed to be unequivocal. 65

Keen, Laws, p. 71.

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Oaths, while not being immediately equated with the notion of an ordeal, were considered a contest in much the same way as the other forms. They were ‘the cornerstone of medieval judicial procedure’, with one’s reputation being of paramount importance to the case. Notoriety could be a dangerous thing and often could be ‘as good a reason for condemning a man as proof of a particular crime’ .66 In other cases a man could clear his name if enough people could be convinced to vouch for one’s good character, the number of people required varying with the nature of the allegations, reputation of the accused and the customs of the area.67 One’s word was considered a serious thing and perjury had its own, non-temporal punishment for those guilty of it.68 A perjurer could also have a more immediate punishment if he was found wanting during the trial, with death or mutilation being possible outcomes. It was part of the testing character of the ordeal that oaths required ‘strictly prescribed words and ritual gestures’ . Nervousness could clearly affect these, especially surrounded by the words and ceremony ‘calculated to inspire a salutary fear in the heart of the criminal’ . A stutter could be enough to decide an issue, for a person’s conduct reflected the state of his soul. Lack of confidence was indication of a guilty conscience.69 Such procedures can appear a little un-challenging to those who have grown up in a post-modern era in which deference to authority is no longer considered an automatic position and people are exposed to a wide variety of circumstances and situations, either directly or through various forms of media. However, even in today’s secular age, anyone who has given evidence in court or sworn an oath of office for a public body will be very aware of how nerve-racking such an experience can be. If one was also in genuine fear for one’s mortal soul, it is all too easy to understand how this was indeed an ordeal for the people involved. The other forms of the ordeal appear mostly to have been employed only when there was no other way of obtaining proof to solve a legal dispute within this framework. In twelfth century England, it was pronounced that ‘the ordeal of hot iron is not to be permitted except where the naked truth cannot otherwise be explored’ .70 Ordeals were only 66

Keen, Laws, p. 22. Robert Bartlett, Trial by Fire and Water: The Medieval Judicial Ordeal (Oxford: Clarendon, 1986), p. 30. 68 Harding, English Law, p. 24. 69 Van Caenegem, Legal History, pp. 77f. 70 Quoted from Bartlett, p. 26. 67

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used in cases where tangible evidence or witnesses were lacking, or when the reputation of the accused meant his word could not be trusted. Certain cases needed resolving for society to function. Sexual issues such as adultery or disputed paternity needed to be settled with a definite verdict for vital questions of inheritance to be determined, while other charges such as stealth-murder, clandestine theft, heresy or trials of faith often had no other proof than public belief. For many cases uncertainty was intolerable for necessary social functions to be carried out and the ordeal allowed a decision to be reached in these difficult situations.71 Apparently of Frankish origin, the ordeals based on fire and water date back to at least the sixth century. Van Caenegem attributes their spread to a ‘widespread barbarization of Roman practices’ after the fall of the Empire.72 The ordeal of the cauldron is mentioned in Salic law around 510 and by Gregory of Tours about 580.73 This involved retrieving an object from boiling water, the judgement being made after a set number of days depending upon the degree of healing of the scalded limb. Other trials included walking on hot irons, complete immersion in water or holding a hot iron for a set amount of time. These different ordeals had two features in common: they were usually undertaken by only one party, and; they all required a natural element to behave in an unusual way, for example not burning or scalding or water not allowing the guilty to sink. The first century of the Carolingian dynasty saw a growth in the use of the ordeal and a multiplication of its forms as it was encouraged by successive leaders. The Carolingian influence spread it into neighbouring areas that had previously resisted the Frankish custom. Trial by duel or battle was another form of ordeal but it was different in a number of important ways. Although it was just as much an appeal to God for a decision in a matter, it was not unilateral but involved both parties. It also relied upon a very straightforward struggle in which both sides risked mortal injury as a verdict, rather than relying on an element acting unnaturally to provide the required evidence. If both sides were asserting that they were right, one of them must be lying. Might really was right in such a contest for it was generally considered

71 72 73

Bartlett, Trial, p. 33. Van Caenegem, Legal History, p. 74. Bartlett, Trial, p. 4.

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that ‘God would never favour the perjured’ .74 According to Nicholas Upton, the author of the mid-fifteenth century legal treatise De Studio Militari, the judge overseeing the ordeal by battle had to ensure that the fighting did not begin until the oaths had been taken to demonstrate that each party believed its cause to be just. Both parties that were willing to fight to prove their version of the truth would have to swear that they were not using deception or other dishonest motivation for the action: ‘that as far as they knowe ther cause or quarell ys trew, & that they scholde use no frawde, Guyle, or deceyte’ .75 In Lombardy this oath had the special Latin term of ‘iuramentum de asto’, or oath of standing by what one has said, much like the oath taken by a plaintiff and defendant in court. As well as being fought for the right reason, without craft or fraud as a motivation on either side, the duel also had to be conducted in a clear and open manner. The weapons to be used had to be inspected by the judge ‘that he may examen them whyther they be lawfull wythowte fraude or deceyte’ .76 The actual weapons themselves clearly also had to be “above board” and something like a concealed knife would clearly not be acceptable in such a context. Deceit about one’s motivation was clearly possible if one was prepared to take the risk of perjuring oneself. The use of deceit actually in the contest would have been harder to practice given the presence of a judge and other spectators. Surprise about the ordeal actually happening would have been impossible as both parties had to agree to or at least be instructed about the time and place of this form of arbitration before it could take place. Employing surprise within the actual ordeal would have also have been difficult, with the weapons being checked by

74 M.J. Russell, ‘Trial By Battle and the Writ of Right’, Journal of Legal History, Vol. 1 (1980), p. 111. 75 Nicholas Upton was the precentor of Salisbury Cathedral from 1446 until his death in 1457. He was a priest with degrees in both Roman and canon law, and previously had been a clerk in the service of the Duke of Gloucester, travelling with his master in France during the conflict. De Studio Militari is a treatise on international law and heraldry and was completed before 1446 as it was dedicated to the Duke who died on the 28th February in that year. The English translation was completed by John Blount while a student at All Souls College, Oxford, at the very start of the 1500s. See Nicholas Upton, The Essential Portions of Nicholas Upton’s De Studio Militari, John Blount (Trans.), Francis Pierrepont Barnard (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1931), pp. 10f. 76 Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 13ff.

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the appointed judge. However, it is less clear what the result would be if one were able to employ some kind of stratagem once the fighting had begun.77 The role of the judge in the conduct of the trial or ordeal by battle is repeatedly stressed in the Studio Militari and Upton makes clear that the fighting only continues for as long as the judge says so ‘under payne off perpetuall dishonowre’ .78 If the duel was not concluded within the day then it was also up to the judge to appoint another day for it to continue. Just as in the feud, agreement was often reached before the actual battle or even during it, although this was restricted to the more private cases and excluded such crimes as treason (a case particularly suited to trial by combat for it involved the accusation of bad faith meaning oaths could not be accepted as evidence).79 In the case of more private issues such as land rights, a payment may have been payable to the crown or the presiding court for the privilege of settling once the duel was underway, and this was considered binding on both parties. If a compromise was not reached but one party surrendered instead, this was considered a terrible disgrace. The court or the victor then had the power to decide the fate of the vanquished, although this appears to have varied with the time, place and nature of the dispute. Disputes over private rights became increasingly fought by champions, while what we would now think of as criminal cases, such as charges of murder, were resolved in person (or by the closest relative if this was impossible) if this form of the ordeal was deemed suitable by the court and was accepted by both parties.80 The actual death of the protagonists or their champions during the struggle appears to have become rarer with time although the punishment afterwards continued to fit the crime so the whole process did not necessarily become any less dangerous for the protagonists.81 Cases of seisin (disputed property rights) were one of the areas often tried by judicial duel. Most dealings with regards to property were conducted verbally even after the written word had become more widespread. This meant that there was much scope for disagreement over 77

These themes will be explored in greater depth in subsequent chapters. Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 13ff. 79 Bartlett, Trial, p. 108. 80 M.J. Russell, ‘Trial By Battle and the Appeals of Felony’, Journal of Legal History Vol. 1 (1980), p. 145. 81 Russell, Writ of Right, pp. 123f. 78

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the exact nature of a particular right, a serious matter in a society where land meant power. The right of seisin further complicated matters referring to the length of time somebody had spent on a piece of land. The longer the time, the greater the claim, although by its very nature this was a right that was rarely presented in a written form.82 It was the property-owning nobility who were most likely to have this type of dispute and as the class consisted of many trained fighters, they naturally favoured a system of trial by combat to decide many of them.83 Challenges were not particularly aristocratic until the later Middle Ages. However, it did became established early on in that the unfree could not challenge the free (unless the serf had been especially enfranchised) for one was only supposed to be able to challenge one’s social equals. For example, in Galbert of Bruges’ account of Flemish life in the twelfth century, the unpopular new count is accused of acting wrongfully by a subject and replies: I wish, then, to make myself your equal by rejecting the homage you have done to me, and to challenge you without delay to combat, because as count I have thus far acted rightly and reasonably in every way.84

While other forms of ordeal were of particularly Frankish origin, the notion of trial by battle is to be found in many of the Germanic peoples’ codes of law. It appears to have been a widespread custom of the Burgundians, Lombards, Alamanni, Bavarians, Thuringians, Frisians and the Saxons, while it seems to have been introduced to England by the Normans.85 It probably dates from the time that every able bodied man was expected to be able to protect his tribe and thus any man could be expected to defend his rights by his body if necessary. It was certainly encouraged, along with the other forms of ordeal, by the Carolingians who ‘regarded it as an essential and regular part of judicial procedure’ .86 This way of thinking was still very clear in the mid fifteenth century when Upton stated that the procedure came directly from the law of nature where a man has the right to prove himself through ‘hys bodly strength’ .87 It was thought that it limited the danger

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Harding, English Law, p. 45. Van Caenegem, Legal History, p. 77. 84 Galbert of Bruges, The Murder of Charles the Good, trans. and ed. by James Bruce Ross (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1991), p. 269. 85 Bartlett, Trial, p. 103. 86 Ibid. p. 105. 87 Upton, Studio Militari, p. 6. 83

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of perjured oaths by backing them up with combat to halt the ‘detestable and wicked custom … whereby those who do not fear God and are not afraid to perjure themselves, make acquisitions by their oaths with the appearance of legality’ .88 The range of cases where trial by combat could be employed was probably as broad as for the other ordeals, although it does appear to have been used more frequently by the nobility as time went on, while other forms of the ordeal were preferred by other social groups. The Liber Papaensis, an eleventh century Italian law book, lists twenty-three ‘actions which may result in judicial duel’ .89 These included challenges to documentary evidence, property cases, treason, adultery, arson and poisoning. This list had not radically changed by the fourteenth century when Bouvet listed sixteen cases that could be settled by combat in his Tree of Battles.90 By the mid fifteenth century, Upton lists twenty cases which could result in trial by combat. The continuity over time is demonstrated here by the fact that these are taken from the laws of Lombardy and contain the same type of cases.91 Just as in the other ordeals, judicial duels appear largely limited to those cases where the allegations were of a serious nature but there was little or no tangible evidence or witnesses. They still had the juridical function of reaching a decision in cases that could not otherwise be satisfactorily decided. The nature of the duel became increasingly ritualised as time went on. While before the ordeal was Christianised it may just have been a way of resolving disputes with the strongest taking the spoils, it later came to be seen as much more than this although in effect it retained the same purpose. By the thirteenth century, the formal proceedings had become increasingly exclusive with duels being bound up with the codes of chivalry and the ius militare. This appears to have reflected social change for the right to duel became restricted to the nobility even as others were voicing their preference for alternative means anyway.92 Rules had developed for the expected behaviour of spectators, and the type of weapons to be employed were largely determined by

88

Otto I, in 967. Quoted from Bartlett, Trial, p. 106. Quoted from Bartlett, Trial, p. 106. 90 Bouvet, Tree, pp. 195ff. 91 Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 17ff. 92 Keen, Laws, p. 19. As early as the eleventh century, the Doomsday book shows that there were always alternatives and that clerics were automatically exempted. See Russell, Right, pp. 113f. 89

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the social status of the combatants, although the custom of shield and club remained ‘remarkably resistant to change’ in some areas.93 A clearly demarcated spot had to be agreed upon by both parties and different points of the compass appear to have been appointed to the champions. A chance encounter would simply not suffice as this could imply a lack of agreement on the part of one of the agents.94 And when the day apoynetyd to fyght ys come A great wyde & playne place schall be provydyd for them, other wythyn the cyte or withowte, whyche schal be closyd abowte wythe ropes & cordes or els strongly raylyd. & ther proclamation schall be made under payne off losse bothe of body and goodes that no man be so hardy to make eny soche clamoure, noyse, or owtecry, whereby eny of bothe paretyys may be dyscomfyrte or hynderd.95

Any interference in the judicial process was punished severely and this could include even an inappropriate shout by a spectator. This was enforced by knights or other men appointed by the presiding judge.96 This was presumably to ensure an equal contest. Despite the growing ritualisation, and Upton talking of the presence of trumpeters and minstrels at the event, the duel itself was not a theatrical event, but a deadly affair.97 Galbert of Bruges describes how the ‘strong knight’ Herman the Iron challenged Guy of Steenvoorde to single combat for betraying his lord. The place had clearly been agreed in advance and their knightly status was demonstrated by the fact that they began the duel on horseback, until this was made impossible by the death of Guy’s horse. Rather than keeping the advantage of fighting on horseback, Herman dismounted to continue the fight with Guy on equal terms. Now there was a continuous and bitter struggle, with alternate thrusts of swords, until both, exhausted by the weight and burden of arms, threw away their shields and hastened to gain victory in the fight by resorting to wrestling. … Herman seized [Guy] by the testicles, and summoning all his strength for the brief space of one moment he hurled

93 Bartlett, Trial, p. 110. See also William H. Jackson, Chivalry in the Renaissance (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1990), pp. 82ff, for an account of the kolben, a wooden club used up until the 15th century in Germany. 94 Upton, Studio Militari, p. 9. 95 Ibid., pp. 13f. 96 Russell, Writ of Right, p. 115. 97 Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 14f.

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Guy from him … so that Guy, now prostrate, gave up, crying that he was conquered and dying.98

Guy was hanged for his crime, although some would not even survive the process of the duel itself. Froissart tells us of a well-known case in 1387 that aroused public interest in Paris and can tell us much about what the processes involved by this time. His account tells us that while John de Carogne was undertaking a voyage to the Holy Land, it appeared that James le Gris, being influenced by the devil’s ‘divers and perverse temptations’, took advantage of John’s wife: ‘Il profita de la solitude pour abuser d’elle, lui ordonnant de garder le silence, sous peine de déshonneur’ . She told her husband upon his return and the matter was taken up with their joint lord, the count d’Alençon. James proved ‘by the household of the count’ that he could not have done what he was charged with, and the count decided in his favour. However, at the obvious risk of incurring the count’s displeasure, John de Carogne went above the authority of his lord and appealed directly to the parliament at Paris. After much pleading and because they could not produce any evidence other than the lady’s word, the matter was decided in the tilt-yard, by a ‘duel judiciaire’ for life or death. All were imprisoned until the event, and it was implicitly accepted that the wronged party would be punished by death, by burning in the case of the lady. Many people gathered, perhaps because of the notoriety of the case or because duels of this nature were by now becoming rare, and even the king was present. By the way that Froissart speaks, it appears that a compromise would normally have been reached by now but the nature of the matter meant that John could not back down without dishonour. The lady was subsequently vindicated with a clear result in the death of James.99 Here the last resort nature of the duel is clear, with the authority of the lord being sought first, then a higher temporal authority, and finally, God in the verdict of the duel. Parliament only decided upon this form of proof because of the lack of any other form of evidence. The nature

98

Galbert, Murder, p. 212f. Jean Froissart, Chroniques de J. Froissart: Tome Treizième 1386–87, Léon Mirot and Albert Mirot (Eds.), (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1957), XIII, pp. 31ff. Although a well-known example, it is no less relevant for that fact. Other examples that could be cited include Thomas de la Marche, bastard brother of King Jean II, who travelled to London to successfully fight a duel before Edward III. See Le Baker, Chronicon, pp. 112–14 and Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), iv, pp. 123–5. 99

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of the stakes involved meant that it would appear that most disputes were resolved long before this stage. Just as in the usual process of the feud, it was important, at least theoretically, that a duel was fought for the right reasons. Upton makes clear that honour and praise can only go to those with the right intent. If battle is undertaken from pure malice aimed at the destruction of one or both then it is contrary to the Commandments which clearly state thou shalt not kill nor intend to slay any man.100 Here though, is the key to Upton’s justification of the duel. Following the line of reasoning begun with Augustine (see Chapter Two) if the battle is undertaken principally for the intent of killing it is wrong and ‘detestable’ . However, it is the ‘fynall intentes’ that should be considered. Just as: He that usyth a whoman more for money than bodly pleasure ys not to be cownetyd as a lechowre, but as a covetowse man. Also thys maner off fyghtyng. … whyche ys for honowre, ys done pryncypally to prove one hys strength & manhode, whych manhod & fortitude ys A morall vertewe

And not just a virtue, but a cardinal one! Therefore, Upton concludes that in his opinion, this type of duel or battle is clearly lawful if done to uphold or pursue honour.101 Evidence for the decline of the ordeal is extremely fragmented as it appears to have grown unpopular in different areas at different times. The growing use of exemptions undermined its use from about the twelfth century onwards, as did increased opposition within the Church. Increasingly, clerics were exempted as the Church asserted itself, and Jews were exempted on the grounds that it was a meaningless process for non-Christians. Urban exemptions also become increasingly frequent with the burgesses of Ypres among the first in 1116.102 These did not mean that the ordeal was abolished in towns, but that townsmen could not be forced to undertake it against their will. It remained an accepted form of proof but other forms were used as well such as increased reliance upon the oath and compurgators. Strangers would still be expected to undertake an ordeal because they would be unable to find people to vouch for them if they were unknown. The jury began to take on a new role, moving away from that of accusers to being a representative body of the community with the role of deciding upon

100 101 102

Deuteronomy V.17. Upton, Studio Militari, p. 16. Bartlett, Trial, p. 55.

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the truth through witnesses and interrogation. When the jury was not used, the judge’s role became more inquisitorial based on rational inquiry rather than proofs gained through ordeals. The importance of written evidence increased dramatically, as princely grants, records of private rights etc. all came to be documented. There were a growing number of acceptable alternatives to the ordeal. While more and more exemptions were granted through the twelfth century, religious scepticism also increased. There had always been some who doubted the methods of the ordeal, and even those who trusted it could be confused by the results. Galbert of Bruges explains how Lambert of Aardenburg ‘cleared himself by the ordeal of hot iron’ but was killed in a combat a few days later.103 This was taken, by Galbert, to mean that God might suffer a guilty man to pass the ordeal if he was penitent, but the ordeal of battle still provided less doubt about a person’s guilt. Even here though, some defeats could be explained with a people being made to suffer for other sins unrelated to the specific area of the dispute or even a belief that ‘evil powers in the world had to win some battles as part of God’s plan for salvation’ while only the truly righteous could triumph in the overall war.104 More importantly than the potential mixed messages the procedure offered, the Church began to regard the ordeal as wrong in the way it required God to provide miracles. Whilst it was still accepted in cases which could not be tried by other means, such as in the lack of compurgators for strangers, growing theological discussion and concern about the lack of mention of the ordeal in the Bible led to a clear condemnation by Pope Gregory IX in 1234. The growing influence of Roman law once more may also have contributed to its decline for there was no parallel to the ordeal here either. It appears that by this point, the ordeal was fairly rare anyway, having been gradually eclipsed by other forms of proof and abolished by many secular authorities.105 It is interesting to note, however, that it was not until 1601 that the Paris Parliament finally passed a decree that trials by immersion in water were no longer to be permitted in sorcery cases.106 103

Galbert, Murder, pp. 282 and 287–9. Jane Marie Pinzano, ‘Just War, Joan of Arc, and the Politics of Salvation’, Hundred Years War: A Wider Focus, LJ Andrew Villalon and Donald J Kagay (Eds.) (Leiden: Brill, 2005), p. 369. 105 Van Caenegem, Legal History, pp. 86f. 106 Francois Billacois, The Duel: The Rise and Fall in Early Modern France (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1990), p. 15. 104

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While the others disappeared or were replaced by other forms of judgement, the judicial duel appears to have fared better than the other ordeals. This was in spite of fairly continuous religious condemnation throughout the period, even when the Church supported the use of other forms of the ordeal. By the late fourteenth century, Bouvet recognised that ‘Holy scripture condemns everything by which we tempt God, our Lord … to ascertain the will of God by experiment is an unworthy thing, and divine law does not allow it’ .107 However, in spite of what the Church might have wished, trial by combat or ‘wager of battle’, was clearly still practised. [A]lthough we have seen that wager of battle is a thing reproved by law [Divine Law, the Law of Nations, the Law of Decretals, and the Civil Law], for the reason that worldly customs and usages have ordained the contrary I pray you to allow us to consider the cases in which law allows and suffers such battle to be made.108

The rights granted through royal custom and temporal lordship meant that combat of this type could be practised when the matter called for it.109 Bouvet, drawing heavily upon John of Legnano’s De Bello, de Represaliis, et de Duello, provides a long list of cases where a sovereign may choose to allow an ordeal of this type and they all involve the conflict of two oaths or hidden crimes for which solid evidence was lacking, one way or the other.110 In many cases the trial would hinge upon one man’s word against another’s. If any tangible evidence existed at all and could be brought before a judge, then the matter should be taken up in court rather than the lists.111 Otherwise, an ordeal such as trial by combat provided a framework within which a decision in these important matters could be reached and be accepted as final. Whether the ecclesiastical hostility noted above was universal is debatable for, while Bartlett notes a consistent opposition to trial by battle, Russell points out that clerics often presided over them until

107

Bouvet, Tree, p. 117 and p. 195. Ibid., p. 196. 109 Ibid., p. 117. 110 Ibid., pp. 195ff. See also Giovanni da Legnano, Tractatus de Bello, de Represaliis et De Duello, (Ed.) Thomas Erskine Holland (Oxford University Press, 1917), p. 344. 111 Bouvet, Tree, p. 207. 108

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quite late in the period.112 The duel did not require any natural element to behave in a strange way and, as Aquinas states, it was expected that the just would overcome the unjust ‘except in the case where the champions are extremely unequal in strength or skill’ .113 However, Upton stated that he was fully aware that the use of the duel to decide the cases he set out was prohibited according to the law of God, ‘yet in every chrysten region lyghtly thys batell & maner off fyghtyng of hytt ys usyd among them’ . Upton continued that he had witnessed it himself many times in France between noble men.114 The support of the nobility, if perhaps not the Church, was probably one of the major factors in its continued use. The chivalric codes and the ius militare became increasingly exclusive as a kind of defence mechanism as the position of the knight and the nobility came under increasing threat from the rising merchant classes and standing armies.115 While the nobility may have found their traditional right to pursue justice through the feud limited by the centralisation of power, it is only natural to suppose that they would have continued using the same type of means within the alternative legal framework being imposed upon them. As society diversified, this particular trial became, understandably, less popular with those from a non-militaristic background, who preferred the alternatives. Any limitation on the right to trial by battle was probably seen as further eroding aristocratic judicial power and was resisted as such. In 1306, Philip IV of France was forced by his nobles to reinstate the duel and it was practised there throughout the fourteenth century.116 The duel was only finally abolished in England in 1818, although the last time it was actually used as a legal process appears to have been in 1571 over a land dispute.117 With the growth of the King’s effective jurisdiction, the state made use of approvers in criminal cases whose appeals were the equivalent of turning Queen’s evidence today. A person accused of a crime (this was not used in private disputes) could escape liability if he successfully challenged a specific number of accomplices. In many cases this meant the community was rid of a rogue whatever 112 Bartlett, Trial, pp. 117ff.; Russell, Writ of Right, p. 127 and Appeals of Felony, p. 148. 113 Quoted from Bartlett, Trial, p. 122. 114 Upton, Studio Militari, p. 22. 115 Jackson, Chivalry, p. 79. 116 Van Caenegem, Legal History, p. 91. 117 Billacois, Duel, p. 27.

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the result. The right to resort to the duel was defended as late as 1601 on the grounds that when one was violently assaulted, one had the right to defend one’s life with one’s life and in the case of capital crimes the penalty was, of course, death. It was this popular way of thinking, the use of approvers and the continued support of the nobility that helped the judicial duel to survive past the decline of the other ordeals.118 However, with the growth of alternative forms of judicial procedure, and amid growing social and religious pressure, the judicial duel too finally became redundant as a means of proof. The Feud and Ordeal by Battle It appears easy to draw parallels between the feud and the use of the judicial duel (and the process leading up to it) to decide certain issues. The two are clearly hard to distinguish in many cases. When the actions of the feud, both moral and physical, did not compel a settlement or compromise agreement, it could instead lead to a battle with both sides agreeing to settle the issue through the formal legal process of trial by battle. To do this, a recognised declaration was necessary: The challenge fulfilled a variety of functions. It not only sought to establish a fixed time and place for combat, and so avoid the uncertainties of ambush and surprise attack, but was a public assertion of a lord’s power and aggressive intent, an act of bravado and intimidation.119

In addition to these functions, the declaration also changed the legal situation. By offering battle, the protagonist was also offering arbitration before God. To accept this offer was to also accept that the result would involve a judgement for one side and against the other. The methods of the feud were designed to compel an agreement, while ordeal by battle was a judicial process that would, in theory, result in a definitive judgement in exactly the same way that a judicial duel would offer. While in the duel, a judge would preside over the event and determine, if necessary, who had justice on their side. Of course, in a dispute between sovereigns, no judge could be appointed who had legitimate authority to decide the issue so a wager of battle between sovereigns 118

Russell, Appeals of Felony, pp. 149ff. Matthew Strickland, War and Chivalry: the Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 43. 119

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was judged by God. The fact that a dispute of this nature would generally involve many people did not affect the essence of the process—trial by battle was just a duel to decide an issue that could not be resolved in an alternative way on a much larger scale. Once the correct procedure had been followed for proposing the ordeal, the means actually involved are dealt with only very briefly by Bouvet, the mechanics of battle itself not being extensively covered anywhere in the Tree. However, what he does say about the actual conduct of behaviour, in the lists in this case, is quite informative. Once “Do your duty” had been pronounced, according to good reason and the written law: the appellant may do his duty, whether by deceit, or by subtlety, whether by craft or by striking the first blow, and may, if he will, choose the better position.120

The two appellants were now effectively in an armed contest whose arbitration would decide the issue at stake. The correct procedures having been followed, once the contest was agreed to have started, one was entitled to do what was necessary to win that contest. Nothing could be done until the legal situation had been made explicit and the armed arbitration had begun, because a state of war or feud did not exist once the arbitration process had begun and a truce was in place to allow this to proceed. Once the decision-making section of the process had actually begun, it was literally, as far as Bouvet is concerned, “no holds barred”. Bouvet does not merely liken trial by battle to a courtroom; he actually sees it in the same way. While accepting that certain people, such as clerics, had alternative means of obtaining justice, he states that: we must clearly understand the real nature of these single combats, for such battles are plainly the figure of a trial by law. As in a trial by law there are the judge and the appellant and the defendant and the witnesses, and a sentence is given, so in trial by battle there are the judge—the lord before whom the battle is waged—and the appellant and defendant, also the witnesses, which are their harness, their blows and their threats, by which each of them strives with all his power to prove his claim.121

It is important to remember that only those with sufficient authority or sovereignty could declare a war, and Bouvet, well versed in his Aristotelian reasoning, does not see fit to question further the motives 120 121

Bouvet, Tree, p. 201. Ibid., pp. 198f.

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of the ruler who is presumed to be acting in furtherance of the common good. They obviously have no temporal sovereign that can be appealed to, leaving warfare as a legitimate option. The enemy can be forced into accepting one’s version of right through direct action, or in the extreme case, through divine judgement in battle. If a battle were to take place, then God Himself, as we have already seen, would be the governor of that confrontation, in the same way that the sovereign would be the governor of trials or ordeals within his jurisdiction.122 Even though the combat is depicted in specifically legal terms, Bouvet has no objection with the tactical use of trickery and deception, although drawing on what he has said earlier, the use of perjury is still viewed differently as it would subvert the legal process. In the general process of the feud, once it had commenced following the correct legal procedures, one could employ any of a number of methods (short of perjury) to persuade one’s enemy of the error of his ways. However, one could not legitimately be tricked or deceived into taking part in a judicial battle as this was a discrete legal situation from the process of the feud. The implications of trial by battle needed to be understood and accepted by both sides, otherwise the contest remained as simply an armed clash during a feud. Once a trial by combat had been agreed upon and commenced, one was again entitled to employ such methods in pursuit of justice. One of the clear differences between a trial by battle and an individual duel was that kings do not have to swear oaths but protagonists in a judicial duel judged by kings do. The reason for this given by Christine de Pizan (inspired by Bouvet) is that battles are not taken lightly, but decided upon by the deliberation of a great council and then carried out by the lords. As such, an oath ‘is not suitable’ . Clearly, even though Christine acknowledges that elements of the procedure are different, the contest is still considered to be qualitatively the same. In addition, unlike a battle where the king must be sure of their position before agreeing to fight, the prince judging a confrontation cannot be sure of each sides’ case: In an individual combat the prince cannot know the truth of the quarrel, and so he wishes to have the oath of those who bear witness with their bodies.123 122

Bouvet, Tree, p. 125. Christine de Pizan, The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, Sumner Willard (Trans.), Carity Cannon Willard (Ed.) (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003), p. 204 and Bouvet, Tree, p. 199. 123

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It must be fought in the presence of a prince as a judge of the conduct is required. Kings or sovereign princes do not need or require human judges for they have no temporal superior to judge them. God will be the judge of the justness and right of their causes. Apart from this important factor, this once again demonstrates the equivalence of battle with other less grand ordeal procedures. In the mid fifteenth century, Upton too made clear that he saw no clear distinction between a judicial duel and an agreed battle. He stated that in his experience, noble men often claimed lands and countries that were held by another and this led to battles to decide the issue, ‘as in example the kyng off ynglonde hathe a grete Tytle to the realmes off ffraunce & other cowntreyys thereyn’ .124 The right to these titles supposedly stemmed back to the fictional exploits of ‘kyng Beluyne’, who had conquered France at some point in the distant past.125 Although the lands and titles had been subsequently lost, when King Arthur began his reign, he set out to recover them. At the time, Fullo was ruling France under the Emperor Leo. Both Fullo and Arthur swore oaths stating their rightful claims to the Kingdom of France. Having no other way of determining whose words were indeed true, they decided the issue through a trial by combat. They fought outside Paris: the one that he had trewe tytle to calenge, The other lyke tytle to defende, & so came strongly armyd wythowte the cyte off paris to a certen grownde apoyntyd for them to ffyght, wyth a houge multitude off people folowyng to beholde & loke apon them

After a close-fought duel, Arthur was victorious and the civic leaders of Paris, seeing the clear and unambiguous judgement of God, opened their gates to him. Upton makes clear that this was not merely something that was of historical interest, but that it was a process practised in his own time as a way of resolving certain types of dispute: Thys maner of ffyghtyng ys dayly exercyde In a maner in the Realme off ffraunce, and I meny tymes my selffe have sene paretyse ffyghtyng after thys wyse where as they have chosen for there Iugge to breke thys stryffe my specyall good [lorde] & mayster the lorde Thomas, some tyme yerle off Salysbyry126

124

Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 11f. A fictional British king, also known as Belinus, recorded by Geoffrey of Monmouth in his History of the Kings of England completed c.1136. 126 Thomas Montagu, 4th Earl of Salisbury (died at the siege of Orléans in 1428). 125

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Apparently, Lord Thomas would often see the whole process through from the beginning to the end, reconciling both parties ‘to a goode concorde & agrement’ at the duel’s conclusion and sending both parties off with bountiful rewards and gifts to their renown.127 Upton switches from talking about a battle between kings for the city of Paris and kingdom of France back to the duels that he had witnessed himself on his travels through France. If he sees a difference between one and the other, it is certainly not obvious here. This view was supported by scripture. Maccabees states clearly that ‘there is no difference in the sight of God of heaven between delivering by means of a great many or of a small number. For victory in war does not come from the multitude of the army, but strength comes from heaven’ . There were many such challenges issued by both sides in the Hundred Years War. To take just one example, in 1340 Edward III sent a challenge to King Philip to meet him in a duel ‘in order to bring our rightful challenge to a quick conclusion’ . In order to avoid the unnecessary death of Christians, Edward suggested ‘that the debate of our challenge be conducted by our two bodies’ . Failing that, Edward suggested the two kings and one hundred of their liegemen should battle each other. If that was unacceptable, then Edward asked Philip to designate a time and place within ten days of the date of his letter where their whole forces could decide the issue.128 Philip declined the offer of personal combat because the request was made not to king Philip, but instead insultingly to Philip of Valois.129 He did, however, state his intention to give battle, ‘perhaps sooner than his adversary would like’ even if this did not actually prove to happen.130 If the trial by battle was indeed seen as the equivalent of a judicial duel, why were kings and princes so loath to accept the challenge of 127 In Bysshe’s edition of Upton a reproduction of a drawing from an Assize Roll dating from the reign of Henry III shows clearly the fate of the loser of a duel. Hamo le Stare was beaten by Walter Bloweberme and appears hanging from the gallows in the near distance. Upton concludes the chapter by stating that this procedure was what was done while Henry V and his son Henry VI both reigned over England and France. See Upton, Studio Militari, pp. 36f. 128 The challenge is translated and reproduced in Clifford J. Rogers (Ed.), The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1999), pp. 91f. Similar challenges were issued in 1355, again with the offer of individual, group or full army to decide the issue in a ‘fair field’. 129 Robert of Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus regis Edwardi Tertii. Quoted in Rogers, Edward III, pp. 92f. 130 Jan de Klerk, Edouard III, roi d’Angleterre, en Flandre. Quoted in Rogers, Edward III, p. 92.

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single combat? Powicke argued that once the process was transferred from a seigneurial court to a situation of war, it became untenable because it would be impossible to guarantee that the verdict would be accepted.131 However, I believe that the reluctance to accept individual combat or even limited numbers on each side stems from the recognition of precisely the opposite—God’s judgement would be so clear that princes would always seek to hedge their bets and fight as part of a host, with armies effectively acting as champions. ‘Normal’ people did not have the option of having an army with them when engaged in a judicial procedure, but I imagine that most people would rather do so if given the opportunity. That the results of battle did have very real political implications is undeniable.132 For example, although the results were short-lived, the defeat of so many by so few at Dupplin Moor was almost universally accepted as being ‘by the grace of God’, leading to mass defections to the successful side and the crowning of Balliol as King of Scotland.133 If a formal challenge had been received, to not fight when one was in a position to do so was dishonourable and could also have profound political implications as it demonstrated that the lord was unwilling or unable to carry out his responsibilities. The defeat at Crécy followed by the inability to raise the siege at Calais through a refusal to fight the English gravely weakened the Valois monarchy. Royal revenues began to dry up as everywhere began to look to their own defence and France began to ‘tumble down the rocky slope that would lead to the Treaty of Bretigny 14 years later’ .134 Just as the outcome of an ordeal was seen as an expression of God’s judgement, so too was the outcome of battles. The religious implications of victory in battle are clear to see throughout the medieval world, but two examples here make the case clearly. Royal Manuscript 17 A in the British Library contains an astronomical calendar in pictorial form. It was made for the year 1420 and one part of it consists of an illustrated grid, three columns across and five down with the dates given

131

F.M. Powicke, The Loss of Normandy (Oxford, 1913), p. 242. One can accept that genuine judicial battles were rare in the Middle Ages and still accept that they were sought and that they could deliver decisive results. See Chapter Four. 133 Andrew of Wyntoun, Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland, David Lang (Ed.) (Edinburgh: Edmonston and Douglas, 1872), 2, p. 389 and Adam Murimuth, Adae Murimuth. Continuatio Chronicarum, E.M. Thompson (Ed.) (London: Rolls Series, 1889), p. 67. Quoted in Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, p. 47. 134 Rogers, Edward III, p. 284. 132

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counting back from 1420.135 The first box represents Creation and is dated 7118. This is followed by a representation of Adam, Eve and the devil. Also shown are the Flood, the Nativity and the Martyrdom of St Thomas of Canterbury. The murder of Edward II is shown followed by the battles of Crécy (1346) and Poitiers (1356).136 The Plague that swept Europe is depicted by three bodies in shrouds. The next battle is a little hard to pin down and may be Shrewsbury (1403) where the rebel Hotspur was killed.137 The next box shows a castle wall surrounded by houses although again, which specific event it is referring to is not clear as the date is difficult to determine. The last square with any illustrations in it is dedicated to the accession of Henry V (1413) who is shown holding a sword. The very last square has been left blank and it looks unfinished. Given the other subjects and the date of completion, it would be difficult to conclude that Agincourt was not supposed to have been represented here. Given the huge religious importance of the first half of these items, it is difficult to see why the other items were portrayed alongside them if they did not have significant meaning in this context. Even if they did not automatically have that meaning, the fact that somebody has tried to make the connection is important in itself. An extremely explicit connection between God’s will and trial by battle is made in the Gesta Henrici Quinti when it reports the speech made by Henry, bishop of Winchester to open Parliament: Sicut inter habentes superiorem in terris controversia subcelesti iudicio discutitur, ita inter non habentes superiorem de sub celo celesti arbitrio declaratur gladio exequente. Et sicut in subcelestibus iudiciis tres sentencie diffinitive conformes pro iure petentis ius plene declarare videntur et eis omnino fore parendum, ita et in celesti iudicio divinarum sentenciarum trinitas ius plenissime terminare videtur et eciam eis omni modo obedien-

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Just as a dispute between those having a superior on earth is resolved by an earthly judgement, so one between those having no superior under Heaven is made plain by a Heavenly arbitrament carried out by the sword. And just as in earthly judgements three similar definitive sentences are regarded as making a title fully plain in favour of the right of a claimant and must be completely obeyed, so too in a heavenly

British Library Manuscript Royal 17 A. XVI. Crécy is represented by three spears in the centre flanked by two axes or halberds, all upright. There is a very feint arrow pointing to the right. The arrow in the Poitiers depiction is much clearer and was obviously drawn first. 137 The battle is represented by three spears and two axes although, unlike the previous two battles, no arrow is depicted here. 136

war as a legal instrument in the middle ages dum fore, concludens existo quod ius corone Anglie ad regnum Francie tribus sentenciis conformibus esse divinitus declaratum, et igitur contra eas nullatenus fore perstandum.

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judgement is a sequence of three divine sentences regarded as determining a title absolutely and must also be in every respect obeyed; and he concluded from this that the title of the crown of England to the kingdom of France had been divinely made plain by three similar sentences, and that these should in no way, therefore, be persistently opposed.138

The bishop listed the battle of Sluys as the first judgement,139 the English victory and capture of king John at Poitiers as the second and the destruction of the French nobility at Agincourt as the third ‘ultrice sentencia’ or ‘avenging sentence’ . This last victory is also described as ‘hac ultima terrifica sentencia dei in Agincort’—‘that last dread sentence of God at Agincourt’ .140 Rebellion and Siege Warfare Both siege warfare and rebellion share the idea that the legal ‘contest’ of the duel or trial by battle is irrelevant. Common with the Roman conception of war, those who resisted legitimate authority were liable to punishment and the process of carrying this out was not to determine who the just party was, but to exercise that justice through the form of punishment. The way that this understanding translated into the legal context helps to explain some of the more brutal conduct one finds in this period and also some of the apparent contradictions. For example, Gerald of Wales noted that on the Continent, knights were taken prisoner, while in Wales and Ireland they were decapitated.141 William Wallace was hanged, drawn and quartered in 1305 and ‘Bruce’s rising in

138

Gesta Henrici Quinti, pp. 122f. The letter from Edward to the French cities before Sluys made it clear that he was seeking God’s judgement and, perhaps unsurprisingly, virtually all of the English chronicles and Edward himself took the victory as a sign of God’s grace. See Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, pp. 192 and 198. 140 Gesta Henrici Quinti, pp. 124f. 141 Giraldi Cambrensis, Opera, J.F. Dimock (Ed.) (R.S. 1867), vi, p. 220. Cited in Michael Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1996), p. 237. 139

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1306 prompted a whole series of brutal executions’ .142 As acts of rebellion against their rightful lord, this was perfectly consistent with the legal situation—chivalric restraint was not necessary or even appropriate in such circumstances: ‘the explanation lies in the law as well as the king’s own severe personality’ .143 However, the Scots were fighting for independence and, as such, their own claims rested upon the legal equality of the two sides involved in the struggle. Therefore, the full legal conventions needed to be applied by the Scots even if they were not applied to the Scots as their claim rested on precisely this point.144 When it came to sieges, it was recognised that the defender was in a very uncomfortable position. The besieged captain was in an almost impossible position as he could either break his oath to his lord or resist the attacker and thus risk the charge of rebellion for defying the rightful lord if the siege was successfully prosecuted. It was therefore common to make an agreement allowing the defender’s lord to come and defend his rights within a certain number of days. The agreement would often take the form of a truce and may also have a provision that any relieving force would offer battle, to be fought in a specific location decided upon in advance by both besiegers and besieged.145 If no relief force arrived then the rights were effectively forfeit, meaning the defending captain could legitimately hand over the keys in the knowledge that his duty had been done without risking the wrath of a besieger forced into storming the castle and taking a terrible revenge on the inhabitants who had defied him. For example, in a letter written by Henry to Charles VI in late July or early August of 1415, Henry makes a reference to the laws of war as set out in Deuteronomy: L’auctorité escripte en Livre Deuteronomme enseigne que, à quelque cité que l’omme viendra pour icelle impugner et combatre, il lui offre paix.146

142

The authority of the scripture Deuteronomy teaches that, when thou comest nigh unto a city to fight against it, then proclaim peace unto it.

Prestwich, Armies and Warfare, p. 239. Ibid. 144 M.C. Prestwich, ‘England and Scotland during the Wars of Independence’, England and Her Neighbours 1066–1453: Essays in honour of Pierre Chaplais, M. Jones and M. Vales (Eds.) (1989), p. 196. 145 Keen, Laws, p. 129. 146 Monstrelet, La Chronique D’Enguerran De Monstrelet: en deux livres avec pièces justificatives 1400–1444, L. Douet-d’Arcq, 6 vols (Société de l’Histoire de France, 1859), III p. 79. Deuteronomy 20.11 continues ‘if it make thee answer of peace, and 143

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This is perhaps done as a warning to Charles who would have been perfectly aware of the implications of this passage, and the price to be paid for resistance: And if it will make no peace with thee, but will make war against thee, then thou shalt besiege it: And when the Lord thy God hath delivered it into thine hands, thou shalt smite every male thereof with the edge of the sword: But the women, and the little ones, and the cattle, and all that is in the city, even all the spoil thereof, thou shalt take unto thyself; and thou shalt eat the spoil of thine enemies, which the Lord thy God has given thee.147

During the siege later in the year, the Gesta portrays the defenders of the walls of Harfleur suddenly attempting to negotiate once the barbican had fallen, both because they realised that further attacks were imminent and because they feared the punishment of the law of Deuteronomy.148 The agreement between the two parties formalised the situation and provided a legal framework that was easily understood by all parties. For example, at Berwick in 1333, the English agreed a written truce with the town stating that they would not harm the defenders and the defenders promised in turn not to make any improvements in their defence, or resupply the castle. If a relieving force did not arrive by a specified date then the town and castle would be forfeit but no further action would be taken against the inhabitants. Those who chose to stay would then receive the king’s protection and those who chose to leave would be given a suitable time to dispose of their property before being given a letter of safe-conduct.149 Given earlier problems, it is unsurprising that the details of this agreement were very carefully set out and hostages were taken to ensure compliance. In this case, the Scots made an impressive march and arrived to offer battle to the English to try and relieve Berwick, but were roundly defeated at Halidon Hill.

open unto thee, then it shall be, that all the people that is found therein shall be tributaries unto thee, and they shall serve thee.’ 147 Deuteronomy 20. 12–14. 148 Gesta Henrici, pp. 48f. 149 T. Rymer (Ed.), Foedera, conventiones, literae et acta publica n.e. A. Clarke et al., 4 vols in 7 parts (London: Record Commission,1816–69), II:2:864. From Clifford J. Rogers (Ed.), The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1999), p. 67.

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The result for the inhabitants of Berwick was therefore clear and the town was surrendered.150 Just as the chevauchée was a means rather than an end in itself, a siege could be an instrument for prompting a trial by battle for a larger dispute, as it provided a very real incentive for prompting arbitration in this way due to the moral pressure that could be brought to bear. If the defending lord was unable to provide a relieving force, the attacker could make the same clear legal and moral claim that the chevauchée procession allowed by demonstrating that the rival lord was incapable or unwilling to defend the besieged people or property, even given a clear notification of intent and sufficient time to do so. This simply reinforced the positivistic legal claim that had been asserted at the start and made the case of rebellion against those defenders who refused to recognise the new reality a very credible charge. Conclusion The accepted rules covering the two procedures of feud and duel in the ius militare were clearly more than simply very similar. The real distinction between them is however very important. The feud, whether carried out through devastations, the moral and political damage represented by the chevauchée, or sieges and the capture of territory, towns and castles, was not necessarily an end in itself, but rather a way of forcing or ‘persuading’ the other party to accept a particular version of right. The process of the feud itself was not for seeking a judgement but rather to gain an outcome that was accepted by both sides. Although at one time the feud was something that was widely practised, it gradually became more and more exclusive. Eventually, it was something only conducted by princes or kings and this was what we would now call war. War, as we understand it today, was simply the feud of kings. However, a duel, whether it was between two men fighting over an alleged case of adultery or a full scale battle between two sovereign lords and their followers, was not actually war but rather, technically, it was a suspension of it for arbitration; a truce. That the arbitration was also armed in this case does not matter. Whilst for everyone else in the social hierarchy the duel was only one of the forms of evidence 150 The Book of Pluscarden, Felix J.H. Skene (Trans. and Ed.) (Edinburgh: William Paterson, 1880), p. 203. From Rogers, Wars of Edward III, p. 39.

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acceptable to a court when it was seeking a judgement, kings simply had no higher temporal authority to judge their cases. There was no judge on Earth who was competent to try their case. If the process of the feud in the form of chevauchées etc. had proved unsuccessful in forcing an agreement or compromise out of the two parties, an ordeal was required. A judicial duel—trial by battle—was the only way of resolving the situation and allowing a decision to be reached through the judgement of God. It is essential to the understanding of medieval warfare and chivalry and their relationship with surprise and deception to see the way that warfare was perceived by those in the Middle Ages. It was far more than simply a case of fighting to see who was the strongest or who was the better general on the day. It was clearly a moral and legal contest. Battle was certainly not the logical or necessary conclusion to the feud or warfare as it was conducted for the vast majority of the Middle Ages. The feud was an attempt to force an agreement, while a true battle was a way of actually reaching a decision through an ordeal and the judgement by God. As the next chapters will explore in their examination of surprise and deception within the medieval legal, moral and social framework, this metaphysical perspective informs and permeates the views of those who lived in the Middle Ages and those who wrote about medieval warfare.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE EPITOME OF MILITARY SCIENCE This chapter focuses on the medieval treatment of a popular Roman source of military advice, the Epitoma Rei Militaris by Flavius Vegetius Renatus, focusing in particular on the way that the sections pertaining to the use of surprise and deception are employed both in the original and in the medieval adaptations. The first part of the chapter looks at who Vegetius was and why he wrote what he did. Then the chapter will move on to examine some of the many medieval copies of the work that were made and gauge their popularity (and determine with whom they were popular). The majority of these texts were in the original Latin but, as with The Tree of Battles, the work was also translated into a large number of vernacular languages.1 It is the changes that were made to the contents of the various copies to make them concur with medieval belief and experience that are of particular relevance to this work. The difference between what the original text had to say on the subject of surprise and deception and how this was changed or adapted for a medieval audience is sometimes subtle, but it is also highly illuminating. The chapter will look specifically at the way the work was paraphrased and adapted in Christine de Pizan’s Book of Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, before looking at John Trevisa’s 1408 English translation made for Thomas, Lord Berkeley, and then the treatment of the various themes in the Poem of Knighthood, which translated the Epitome into verse form. The chapter will conclude that although much of Vegetius’ writings remained relevant to medieval warfare (and indeed to warfare today), there was a subtle difference in attitudes between those of

1 See Charles S. Shrader, ‘A Handlist of Extant Manuscripts Containing the De Re Militari of Flavius Vegetius Renatus’, Scriptorium, 33 (1979), pp. 286ff. Throughout this chapter, I rely on NP Milner’s excellent translations of the Latin text, Milner preferring to employ the Lang’s second edition of this in almost all cases. See Vegetius, Epitome of Military Science, N.P. Milner (Ed.) (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2001) and C. Lang (Ed.), Vegetii Epitoma Rei Militaris (Leipzig: Teubner edn., 1885). Where appropriate, I have cited both the book and chapter reference from the Lang text along with the page reference in the Milner translation.

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Roman times and those of the Middle Ages. Surprise and deception had different normative values depending upon the context within which they were employed and this is reflected in the medieval adaptations made to the contents of Vegetius’ work. Who was Vegetius? Very little is actually known about Vegetius, apart from that which can be pieced together from his works, of which two are known to have survived. The Digesta Artis Mulomedicinae was a vetinerary work on the ailments of cattle and horses.2 His other known work, and the one we are interested in here, was the Epitoma Rei Militaris or the Epitome of Military Science. Close verbal and stylistic parallels between the two works demonstrate that it was the same Vegetius who was responsible for the two rather different texts.3 Apart from being a prominent breeder of horses and extensive traveller through the Empire, the title ‘Flavius’ given to the author in many of the surviving manuscripts indicate that he was also a high-ranking civil servant in the imperial bureaucracy.4 What was the Purpose of the Epitome of Military Science? The Epitome was written at sometime between AD 383 and 450, although debate continues as to the exact date within these parameters.5 It is a collection of the writings of earlier authorities on the practice of war, and provides a ‘convenient discussion of how to wage war, a discussion providing both practical instructions and abstract principles’ .6 Rather than being simply an historical text on military thought

2 Vegetius Renatus, Digestorum artis mulomedicinae libri (Leipzig: E. Lommatzsch, 1903). 3 For the literature on this debate and discussion on Vegetius’ life see Milner, ‘Introduction’ from Vegetius, Epitome, xxxi–xxxvii. 4 Philippe Richardot, Végèce et la Culture Militaire au Moyen Âge (V e–XV e siècles) (Paris: Economica, 1998), p. 7. Richardot states that the title Flavious was introduced by Constantine following the victory over Licinius in 323. 5 See Milner, ‘Introduction’ from Vegetius, Epitome, pp. xxxvii–xli for a guide to literature on the debate. See also Walter Goffart, ‘The Date and Purpose of Vegetius’ De Re Militari’, Traditio 33 (1977), p. 65 and Vegetius, Epitoma Rei Militaris, M.D. Reeve (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2004), pp. vii–x. 6 Shrader, Handlist, p. 280.

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or practices, the Epitome has a very definite agenda. It was written to offer a ‘remedy for alleged military failures in recruitment and training, army organization and strategy, and arms and equipment’ .7 While the exact date of the work remains contentious, it is clear that the Epitome was written in the period of relative decline in the Roman Empire’s fortunes. The task Vegetius set himself was to address the problems that he saw around him and attempt to correct them. Incidentally, because Vegetius wished to concentrate on those areas that he considered weak or requiring of improvement, the Epitome omits what would probably have been the most interesting topic to the knighthood of the later Middle Ages: cavalry warfare. Vegetius chose not to dwell on cavalry matters as it was his consideration that ‘this branch of the military has progressed in its training practices, type of armour and breed of horses [and] I do not think there is anything to be gained from books, for the present state of knowledge is sufficient’ .8 He preferred to concentrate on what he perceived as the weakness in the Roman military machine— the decline in infantry standards. To provide a context for Vegetius’ work, a brief examination of some of the reasons behind this decline in infantry standards is worthwhile. It had come about gradually as a result of a number of different factors but probably stemmed from the reforms under Emperor Constantine (AD 306–324). Under previous emperors, the Romans had relied upon a preclusive strategy of keeping opponents out through a reliance on linear defences. It was, however, the army and not the walls and fortifications that provided the actual security, with the walls only providing somewhere relatively safe to fall back upon should the situation demand it. The Roman army was spread out along the frontier and hard-pressed areas could be reinforced from non-threatened areas if necessary. Under Constantine, it was decided to move to a system of defence in depth with fortifications along and near the frontier, and a large mobile reserve (comitatenses) to meet threats. Garrisons (limitanei) in the frontier could meet small scale incursions and hinder large scale ones by defending fortified towns and supply bases and denying the enemy communications. The lack of effective barbarian siege technology meant these were relatively safe and invaders would be forced to disperse

7

Milner, ‘Introduction’ from Vegetius, Epitome, xvi. Vegetius, Epitome, III.26, p. 119. Vegetius omits the whole topic of river patrolboats for the same reason. See Vegetius, Epitome, IV.46, p. 151. 8

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to forage leaving them vulnerable to mobile detachments. If they remained grouped together then the comitatenses could overcome them in the field. Whether or not this was the correct response to changing military circumstances, or dictated by political considerations (the emperor was closer to his legions insuring against usurpers), it helped, over time, to undermine the discipline and training of a large portion of the Roman army.9 There was a tendency for the comitatenses to become an elite and the limitanei to deteriorate as they came to be seen as merely guards, often settling down and carrying on with other professions in parallel to their military duties. Naturally, the more glamorous comitatenses received the best recruits and officers, which must have affected the morale and discipline of the limitanei as they became, what were effectively, second class troops.10 Zosimus writing in the fifth century felt that Constantine had ‘personally planted the first seeds of our present devastated state of affairs’ .11 The reforms also had the consequence of undermining the infantry as a whole. A mobile reserve naturally favoured the most mobile units and this was cavalry who could ‘combine mass with mobility’ .12 This was why Vegetius did not feel the need to aim his polemic at these units—they were already of a very high standard because they were the focus of official policy and funding. Cavalry was of course more expensive to maintain than infantry which meant that focusing on this type of troop had the effect of limiting the number of troops that Rome could field. This, combined with the growing difference between the comitatenses and the limitanei, meant that by 363, with the whole empire to draw from and no other commitments, Julian’s two armies that invaded Persia numbered only 65,000. There was a gap forming between the Empire’s paper strength and its actual fighting strength, with this strength further eroded by a long-term decline in the standard of the equipment and armour that the legions used.13 This force though 9 For these contrasting views see Peter Connolly, Greece and Rome at War (London: Macdonald, 1988), p. 251 and A. Ferrill, The Fall of the Roman Empire: the Military Explanation (London: Thames, 1986), p. 47. 10 A. Jones, The Later Roman Empire 284–602 vol. II (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1973), p. 1037. 11 Zosimus II.34, quoted from Ferrill, Roman Empire, p. 25. 12 Richard Humble, Warfare in the Ancient World (London: Guild Publishing, 1980), p. 237. 13 From the middle of the second century, the arms so long associated with the Roman army began to disappear. Shields found at the site of the siege at Dura (303)

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was still impressive and well disciplined as demonstrated by Julian’s victory over a numerically superior confederation of the Alamanni at Strasbourg in 357. Even in defeat the infantry still held its ground. Both the Persian’s victory in 363 and the victory of the combined Visigoth/ Ostrogoth army at Adrianople in 378 were probably due to failures in Roman leadership rather than in the quality of the army.14 By far the largest blow to discipline was the defeat at Adrianople followed by the civil wars of Maximus, Arbogast and Eugenius (383–394). There was simply no way that the huge number of replacements required in haste were going to be as effective as seasoned veterans. Barbarians had been employed in the army individually long before this without any hint of discipline problems,15 but in the reign of Theodosius (378– 395) foederati were seen as necessary to make up the numbers. These were barbarian warriors who fought under their own chieftains with their own methods of discipline which were not up to normal comitatenses standards. This also meant that the forces of Rome were no longer acting with ‘one mind and equal commitment’ .16 ‘The Empire was now enlisting burglars in the police force’ and discipline of other troops was bound to be affected.17 If Goffart is correct in his dating of Vegetius then this was when ‘military training … was at first discharged rather neglectfully, then omitted, until finally consigned … to oblivion’ .18 It was this perceived decline in standards that Vegetius was attempting to address. According to Vegetius, the success of the Roman people in the past against ‘hordes of Gauls’, the superior numbers and physical strength of the Spaniards, the ‘treachery and money’ of the Africans or the ‘arts and intelligence’ of the Greeks, was due to effective military training and the current lack of it was to blame for Rome’s sad state. what succeeded against all of them was careful selection of recruits, instruction in the rules … of war, toughening in daily exercises, prior

had a rim reinforced with hide rather than the bronze previously used. The use of armour also declined from the third century until it was only cavalry and officers that wore body armour at all and that was only mail or scale shirts except for the small number of heavy shock cavalry. In the fourth century, infantry helmets too had become crude affairs so that by Vegetius’ time, they had become a mere leather cap. For a good discussion of these issues see Connolly, Greece and Rome, pp. 259ff. 14 Ferrill, Roman Empire, p. 65. 15 Jones, Later Roman Empire, p. 1038. 16 Vegetius, Epitome, II.2, p. 32. 17 Sir John Hackett, Warfare in the Ancient World (London: Guild Publishing, 1989), p. 232. 18 Vegetius, Epitome, I.28, p. 28. See also Goffart, ‘Date and Purpose’, p. 81.

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acquaintance in field practice with all possible eventualities in war and battle, and strict punishment of cowardice. Scientific knowledge of warfare nurtures courage in battle. No one is afraid to do what he is confident of having learned well. A small force which is highly trained in the conflicts of war is more apt to victory: a raw and untrained horde is always exposed to slaughter.19

Unfortunately, it was not obvious who exactly could teach the new recruits this ‘science of arms’ because ‘whom can you find able to teach what he himself has not learned?’20 Thus the Epitome was to help redress this situation by providing a collection of material that could then be used to help Rome back to greatness. The teachings of men such as Cato, Celsus, Frontinus and Paternus are all employed at different points in the text. This was not done as some sort of antiquarian reconstruction but as an attempt to utilise the knowledge and skill of the past and apply it to the military machine of Vegetius’ day so that it could defeat the barbarian threat.21 The Epitome was written as a polemic, not as an historical account. Although the ancient legions are presented as a model, the institutions, armaments and titles are mixed with contemporary practices to see what lessons could be drawn for the Empire’s present predicament. A wide variety of issues are discussed in the work, from recruitment and building camps through to some principles on naval warfare. The fourth book concentrates on attacking and defending cities, siege warfare and aspects of naval combat. However, it is the third book that is of particular relevance to us at the moment as it illustrates a wide variety of tactical and strategic skills required for an effective military campaign. Vegetius himself explains that while the First book ‘set out the selection and training of recruits … [the] Second explained the formation of the legion and military discipline. This Third book sounds the classicum’ .22 The classicum was referring to the bugle call of the high command and was so important because while earlier chapters provided advice on preparation, this was the chapter that dealt with the actual conduct of war. It is in the introduction to this book that Vegetius coined for the first time one of the most famous paradoxes of all time: si vis pacem, para bellum—he who desires peace, let him prepare for war.23 19 20 21 22 23

Vegetius, Epitome, I.1, pp. 2f. Ibid., I.8, p. 9. Ibid., II.18, p. 51. Ibid., III.1, p. 63. Ibid., Preface to Book III, p. 63.

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chapter four How Popular was the Epitome?

Considering the nature of the work, it is perhaps unsurprising that the Epitome of Military Science was, without doubt, one of the most popular texts to survive from antiquity into medieval Europe.24 One of the reasons that Vegetius’ writing can be found in so many places is that many medieval writers employed specific passages or pieces of pertinent advice in their own works. Isidore of Seville (c.560–636) was one of the first medieval writers to make use of Vegetius, while in England, a little later, certain of the Venerable Bede’s (672–735) passages are identical to those of Vegetius’ .25 The Kollerktaneum, Sedulius’ ninth century book of maxims, was clearly influenced by Vegetius, and John of Salisbury’s Policraticus written in 1159 employed Vegetius extensively to elaborate on his ecclesiatical program for knighthood.26 In the thirteenth century Thomas Aquinas (c.1224–74) referred to Vegetius as an authority on political matters, directly quoting passages in the Epitome in his Summa Theologiae.27 Aquinas’ contemporary, the scholastic philosopher Henry of Ghent, also referred to the writings of Vegetius when trying to determine the conditions under which a soldier acts with magnanimity.28 Giles of Rome incorporated substantial sections of the De Re Militari in the late 1270s when he produced De regimine principum on how a ruler could best defend his people.29 Complete copies of the Epitome in its own right were also popular in medieval Europe. Distinguished early owners of copies of the Epitome included the Abbey of St Augustine in Canterbury in the eleventh 24 Richardot claims that before 1300, Vegetius is the ‘premier auteur technique de l’Occident médiéval’, Végèce, p. 28. See also p. 191 and R.F. Green, Poets and Prince Pleasers: Literature and the English Court in the Late Middle Ages (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1980), p. 144. 25 For specific evidence, see Foster H. Sherwood, Studies in Medieval Uses of Vegetius’ Epitoma Rei Militaris (Los Angeles: University of California, 1980, unpublished Ph.D. thesis), pp. 69ff. 26 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, pp. 94, 106 and 163ff. See also Maurice Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 5. 27 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, pp. 221. E.g. Thomas Aquinus, Summa Theologiae, Ia Iiae, Question 40, 5, (Paris: Ed. du Cerf, 1984), t. 2, p. 266. Unde Vegetius dicit, in libro de ReMilitari: ‘Nemo facere metuit quod se bene didicisse confidit’ . This phrase is taken from Vegetius, Epitome, I.1, pp. 2f. 28 Henry of Ghent, Quodlibetal Questions on Moral Problems, Roland J. Teske, SJ (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 2005), 15 Qu.16, pp. 61–71. 29 Gilles de Rome, Li Livre du Gouvernement des Rois. A XIIIth French Version of Egidio Colonna’s Treatise De Regimine Principum, S. Molenaer (Ed.) (New York: 1899).

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century, and Geoffroi Plantagenet, Count of Anjou in the twefth. The thirteenth century saw Winchester Cathedral and Edward I of England acquire copies.30 In 1340, Jacques de Bauchant, royal sergeant at SaintQuentin, had a translation by Jean de Meun. Amédée VIII, first duke of Savoy (1383–1451) possessed a translation coupled with Christine de Pizan’s Livres des fais d’armes.31 Prominent English captain Sir John Fastolf (1378–1453) had a French copy of Vegetius and Christine de Pizan’s L’Epître d’Othéa à Hector de Troie drawn up for ‘l’education des chevaliers’ .32 Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester (1390–1447) also had a French translation in his library. Both of the last two men had a large amount of military experience in France and Ireland. Then Thomas, Lord of Berkeley (1352–1417) commissioned the first English translation in 1408.33 Richard III (1452–1485) had a copy of this at his disposal.34 The year 1458 saw another translation at the command of John, Viscount de Beaumont, who conducted the military education of Henry VI.35 Henry was a diligent reader of chronicles, annals and particularly Vegetius, probably an English translation.36 Copies could also be found on Rhodes with the Knights Hospitallers. Other copies were found with prominent people in Spain, and the condottiere captains in Italy.37 When attempting to determine the real popularity of Vegetius it is useful to compare the number of existing known copies with those known to be extant from other authors of antiquity. Pre 1300 there were 600 manuscripts featuring Cicero, 305 containing Ovid and 223 containing Virgil. Vegetius comes next on the list with 58 extant manuscripts ahead of the Elder Pliny with 52. Out of the classical 30

Richardot, Végèce, pp. 195ff. S. Edmunds, ‘The medieval Library of Savoy’, Scriptorium, no.26 (1972), p. 284. 32 V.J. Scattergood, ‘Literacy Culture at the Court of Richard II’, in English Court Culture in the Later Middle Ages, V.J. Scattergood and J.W. Sherborne (Eds.) (London: Duckworth, 1983), p. 34. 33 G. Lester, ‘The Earliest English Translation of Vegetius’ De re militari edited from Oxford M. Bodl. Douce 291’, Middle English Texts, 21 (Heidelberg: Karl Winter, 1988), pp. 23ff. 34 A.F. Sutton, L. Visser-Fuchs, ‘Richard III’s Books: IV Vegetius de Re Militari’, The Ricardian, n.7, 1987. 35 A. Goodman, The Wars of the Roses. Military Activity and English Society, 1452– 1497 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1981), p. 166. The fact that Henry was not particularly ‘warlike’ cannot obscure the fact that his tutor regarded Vegetius to be an important source for his martial education. 36 John Whethamstede, ‘Register’ . From Richardot, Végèce, p. 53. 37 Christopher Allmand, The Hundred Years War: England and France at War c.1300–c.1450 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), p. 162. 31

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authors concerned with military affairs, there is no doubting the importance of Vegetius ahead of any other. In 1300 Caesar, Titus Livy and Valerius Maximus could be found in only 41 extant manuscripts, while Frontinus was only present in nine.38 Richardot points out that Caesar was not even translated into French (clearly the most important of the vernacular languages in Western Europe at this time) until 1473 while Vegetius had already been available in translated form for 200 years by this point.39 Valerius Maximus, who was an important Roman historian and moralist from the first century AD, was only translated once, and this was at the end of the fourteenth century. While any argument has to be based upon the evidence provided by extant manuscripts, it would appear obvious that in the Middle Ages, Vegetius was at least as important, and probably considerably more important than any other classical author who was concerned with military affairs. Even while still in the original Latin, Vegetius was clearly a popular author. He was quoted in other people’s works as an authority on political and military matters. Many people or institutions held full Latin copies of the Epitome itself. However, the whole Epitome was also translated into a large number of vernacular languages.40 For the purposes of this work, the fact that the text can be found in such ‘reader friendly’ languages is very important for it means that it was available to a wider audience than would otherwise have been the case: one would not necessarily require a clerical education to make use of Vegetius. Although dates are not exact, the earliest known translation of Vegetius as an author in his own right (rather than just quoted in an extract) into a vernacular language was probably completed by the Anglo-Norman Master Richard for the prince who was to become Edward I. This was completed in the early 1270s, probably between 1271–1272.41 Jean de Meun (1240–1305) produced the next known translation shortly afterwards in 1284 at the commission of Jean de 38

Richardot, Végèce, p. 193. ‘Végèce fut aussi le premier auteur militaire à être imprimé dès les années 1470. Du Ve–XVe siècle, de tous les auteurs classiques et médiévaux qui ont écrit sur la guerre, Végèce fut le plus célèbre’ . See Richardot, Végèce, p. 5. 40 Shrader, Handlist, pp. 286ff. Out of the 324 extant mss., 243 are in Latin, 46 in French and 17 in English. The other languages can be found in smaller numbers. Richardot adds another seven mss. to this list: three in Latin and another four that have been translated into vernacular languages. See Richardot, Végèce, p. 19. 41 L. Thorpe, ‘Mastre Richard a Thirteenth-Century Translator of the de Re Militari of Vegetius’, Scriptorium, no.6 (1952), pp. 39ff. It is possible that it was meant for Edward’s son, but the evidence given by Richardot suggests otherwise. See Richardot, Végèce, p. 57. 39

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Brienne, Count of Eu (a friend and contemporary of Joinville).42 This translation became widely known and was to form the basis for French translations and copies throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.43 Within his text, Jean de Meun attempted to make the writings of Vegetius slightly more contemporary by employing some medieval terms, swapping chevalier for the original term miles even though the original did not necessarily refer to a mounted warrior. Recruits or tirones became squires or écuyers. This appears to indicate that at least in Jean de Meun’s time, the connotations we have today of the term chivalry are not the same—at that time it signified simply the art militaire. This view remains remarkably consistent across the range of translations and adaptations of Vegetius.44 Jean explained the invincibility of the Romans by ‘La hantance des armes et par la science de bien ordener leur herbeges [camps] et par l’usage de chevalerie’ .45 With the type of information stated in Vegetius it is hardly surprising that de Meun would have reached such a conclusion. De Meun’s translation inspired other and more diverse versions of Vegetius’ work such as Jean Priorat’s verse version Li Abrejance de l’ordre de Chevalerie.46 Christine de Pizan paraphrased Jean de Vignai’s 1320 French translation in her popular work Livres des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (see below).47 An anonymous translation into French, generally thought to be by Eustache Deschamps, dates to 1380. However, one of the most interesting of the French works is Le Jouvencel by the Count of Sancerre, Jean de Bueil (1405–1477).48 The author of this work had a large amount of practical experience concerning warfare and had played a significant role in the reconquest of France through 1433–1443 as the English war effort collapsed, earning the nickname “le fléau des Anglais”, the scourge of the English. His vast experience in martial matters was captured between

42

Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 309. Jean de Meun, L’ Art de Chevalerie, Ulysse Robert (Ed.) (Paris: Société des anciens textes français, 1897). 44 R.G.B. Mongeau, Jean de Meun’s Translation of Military Terminology in Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militari (New York: Fordham University, 1981), pp. 18ff. 45 Jean de Meun, Li Abregemenz noble honme Vegesce Flave René des establissemenz apartenant a chevalerie. From Richardot, Végèce, p. 147. 46 Jean Priorat, Li Abrejance de l’ordre de Chevalerie, mise en vers de la traduction de Végèce par Jean de Meun, par Jean Priorat, de Besançon, Ulysse Robert (Ed.) (Paris: Société des anciens textes français, 1897). 47 Paul Meyer, ‘Les Anciens Traducteurs Français de Végèce et en particulier Jean de Vignai’, Romania, XXV (1896), pp. 401–23. 48 For a good literary introduction, see G. Coopland, ‘Le Jouvencel Revisited’, Symposium V (1951), pp. 137–86. 43

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1461 and 1468 when he wrote this semi-autobiographical work. Jean de Bueil does not quote the Epitome directly, but Vegetian precepts can be found throughout. For example, ‘l’oppinion de Vegece pour assiéger une ville forte’ utilises Christine de Pizan’s treatment of the text in chapters 21–39 of her Livres des fais d’armes (see below).49 What is clear from this is that ‘Végèce appartenait au bagage intellectuel des chefs de guerre occidentaux’ .50 While John of Trevisa’s translation into English for Lord Berkeley appears late when compared with some of the translations into other vernacular languages, Sherwood, quite correctly, points out that an earlier translation was unnecessary due to the availability of French translations which would have, until then, been more than acceptable to the nobility.51 The name of Vegetius was clearly considered familiar enough in England in the late fourteenth century to be mentioned in a poem by Thomas Hoccleve, a contemporary and imitator of Chaucer: Beware, Oldcastel, and for Crystes sake Clymbe no more in Holy Writ so hie! Rede the storie of Lancelot de Lake, Or Vegece of the Aart of Chiualrie52

Nine surviving fifteenth century manuscripts ascribe to the popularity of this translation, many of them bearing marks of provenance ‘showing circulation among the noble families of England’ .53 Robert Parker produced an English translation in verse entitled Knyghthode and Bataile in the late 1450s and Adam Loutfut composed a Scottish dialect version in 1494 omitting sections rendered obsolete by advances in artillery and navigation (see below). In a period in which the less privileged majority would simply not have had access to the written word, we are fortunate to be able to

49 Jean de Bueil, Le Jouvencel, II pp. 45–59. From Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 333. 50 Richardot, Végèce, p. 87. ‘Vegetius is part of the intellectual baggage of the Western masters of war.’ 51 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 315. 52 Quoted from Henry N. MacCracken, ‘Vegetius in English’, Anniversary Papers by Colleagues and Pupils of George Lyman Kittredge, E.S. Sheldon, W.A. Neilson and F.N. Robinson (Eds.) (Boston, 1913), p. 389. Some historians have argued that elements of the the Arthurian cycle were influenced by Vegetius’ teachings. See D. Bornstein, ‘Military Strategy in Malory and Vegetius’ De Re Militari’, Comparative Literature Studies, Vol. 9, no.1 (1972), pp. 123ff. 53 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 316 and MacCracken, Vegetius in English, p. 390.

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determine what many of these people would have heard through one of the most significant forms of communication of the day. From the beginning of the thirteenth century, the ‘great age of popular preaching’ began which, ‘through the untiring travels of the friars, developed and mirrored a popular culture’ . There is good evidence to suppose that Vegetius was a favourite source of inspiration for those writing and conducting those sermons through the Middle Ages. The sermons of many famous preachers are preserved and there are also many surviving collections of sermons and exempla. The exempla were model sermons for presentation by less original preachers. Vegetius is mentioned many times in these religious texts.54 Warfare provided valuable material for capturing an audience’s attention. It has always made good theatre and also provides a fertile source for illustrations of great heroism, self-sacrifice, duty or even greed and treachery. Even so, the dry, rather academic nature of the Epitome would not easily have been plundered as there is a distinct lack of heroism, tales of great deeds or moral content. Instead, the texts that cite Vegetius make the most of other, more mundane themes. For example, De Mondo componendi sermones cum documentis, written c.1346 by the English Dominican Thomas Waleys, states that just as Vegetius advised training new soldiers against posts fixed to the ground, so new priests should practice their delivery in private before facing an audience, for, no-one fears to do that which is learnt well.55 John Bromyard completed the Summa Praedicantium in 1348.56 This was an exemplum intended as a work of reference for others. Bromyard correctly attributes his statement to Vegetius when he states that the prudent general will take care to be in the field first so that he may take advantage resulting from the positions of the sun, dust and wind. This passage is placed in a moral context by saying that, in the same way, the advantages on the spiritual battlefield must be seized by constantly being prepared for death.57 Many other exempla also refer to Vegetius.58 Vegetius would clearly have been known as an authority 54

Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, pp. 287ff. See Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, pp. 287ff. Saying taken from Vegetius, Epitome, I.1 and I.11, pp. 2 and 12. 56 L. Boyle, ‘The Date of the Summa Praedicantium of John Bromyard’, Speculum XLVIII (1973), pp. 533ff. 57 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 291. 58 E.g. see Jean Th. Welter, L’ exemplum dans la littérature religieuse et didactique du moyen âge (Paris/Toulouse: Bibliothèque d’Histoire ecclésiastique de France, 1927), pp. 194ff and 325ff; A. Little, Studies in English Fransiscan History (Manchester: 1917), pp. 139ff. 55

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on military matters by anyone who regularly heard ministers or the clergy: ‘The frequent citations of Vegetius in this literature testify to his widespread medieval reputation as an exemplar of Roman virtue and martial prowess’ .59 Apart from Vegetius’ place in popular culture as promoted through the works of poets, storytellers, the friars and the church, one of the reasons for the more specific popularity of his work with the nobility and those concerned with military affairs, was its epitomization of Roman authorities on the whole subject of successfully conducting warfare. The attitude of those in the Middle Ages was to see the ancient Roman Empire as an ideal, whose order and glory should again be sought. For example, Geoffrey de Charny writes in his mid-fourteenth century work Livres de Chevalerie that ‘quant a parler de prouesce, Jullius Cesar, qui si tres bon chevalier fu et tant fist et fu en tres grans et merveilleuses batailles et tant fist de belles conquestes pour ceulz de Romme’ .60 The medieval idea of Roman prowess also provided a standard against which contemporary affairs could be judged. For example, in the mid-twelfth century John of Salisbury’s pupil, Peter of Blois (c.1135–1204), ‘made a heated attack on the knights of his day for failing to live up to the ancient standards as taught by Vegetius’ .61 As Canon of Canterbury, Archdeacon of Bath, and Royal Secretary to Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, Peter was in a privileged position to reach this opinion and he went as far as to say that the situation was bad for the stability of the country as a whole.62 A different view of the knighthood of the latter part of the Middle Ages was expressed by the fifteenth century chronicler Jean de Waurin who stated that Henry V ‘kept well the discipline of chivalry, as did the Romans formally’[sic].63 This view was echoed by John Lydgate who in the second half of the 59

Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 295. ‘As for military achievement, there was Julius Caesar, who was such a very good knight and engaged in so many great and wonderful battles and made so many fine conquests for those of Rome.’ Richard W. Kaeuper and Elspeth Kennedy, The Book of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996), p. 158. 61 Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, pp. 163ff and p. 189. 62 Militaris hodie disciplina, quam Vegetius Renatus ac plerique alii docuerunt, prorsus euanuit, et se in quamdam deliquendi libertatem, et scurrilitatis speciem deformauit. Olim se juramenti uinculo milites obligabant, quod starent pro reipublicae statu, quod in acie non fugerent, et quod uitae propriae utilitatem publicam praeberent. From Richardot, Végèce, p. 102. 63 Jean de Waurin, Chroniques, W. Hardy and E. Hardy (Eds.) (Rolls Series: 1864–91), II, p. 429. 60

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fifteenth century praised Henry for his habit of training in arms ‘after the doctrine of Vygecius’ .64 Thanks to this attitude, the wisdom of antiquity was eagerly sought after. When it was found, it was treated as authoritative: ‘men read it because they knew the Romans conquered the world and wanted to know how they did it’ .65 Philippe de Vitri (c.1290–1361), secretary to Philippe le Bel, concluded that study of Vegetius’ general rules of war would lead to the invincibility of the chevaliers concerned.66 Invincibility aside, the Epitome was obviously considered a practical guide for those involved in warfare. Presumably this was why Jean Gerson (1363–1429) recommended a translation of Vegetius should be put in the Dauphin’s library, along with Frontinus, Valerius Maximus and Giles of Rome.67 This sentiment was put into practice by Christine de Pizan who used large portions of Vegetius’ writing alongside several other classical authors in her Fais d’armes et de chevalerie written for the education of the future King of France (see below). In many cases, military works, often from the distant past, could only really usefully provide generalities rather than particular points. However, Vegetius was far more useful than this because he discussed specifics. He is referred to as a technical master by Honoré Bouvet. Bouvet is discussing the most suitable place for a fort or encampment and after detailing the requirements of a good position—not too high in the mountains or too low and risk flooding, but near sufficient wood and water—he claims that this is the doctrine of ‘a doctor called Monseigneur Vegetius’ .68 From the tone of the entry, Bouvet obviously regarded Vegetius as a respected authority on these matters and he was not alone. John of Marmoutier was keen to portray Geoffrey the Handsome of Anjou as a great military leader and enthusiastic about tournaments and chivalry, but also as ‘a cultured prince, who had found tips for his siegecraft from the reading of Vegetius’ .69 The existence of folding, pocket-sized manuscripts show that the Epitome was produced in a

64

Quoted in Richardot, Végèce, p. 124. Keen, Chivalry, p. 111. 66 Richardot, Végèce, p. 62. See also Lucus, Speculum XLV, p. 250. 67 Richardot, Végèce, p. 50. 68 Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bonet, trans. G.W. Coopland, (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949), p. 132. This advice is contained in Vegetius, Epitome, I.22, p. 22. 69 See Chroniques des Comtes d’Anjou, L. Halphen and R. Poupardin (Eds.) (Paris: 1913), pp. 194ff. Taken from Keen, Chivalry, p. 31. 65

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form that would make carrying and referring to it on campaign possible.70 That this was put into practice is perhaps demonstrated by cases such as in 1147 when Count Geoffrey IV of Anjou called for it during a siege in order to employ a recipe for Greek fire.71 He was also supposed to have consulted it at the siege of Montreuil-Bellay in 1150 to discover how to prevent the defenders from rebuilding a damaged wall at night.72 The English kings Henry II and Richard the Lionheart are both reported as having carried the book on campaign.73 In the chronicle of Jean Molinet, Molinet is seen to deplore his master’s actions when he ignored Vegetius’ advice on where to put up their tents.74 Such sentiments and the evidence above show that the Epitome was clearly a popular text in our period. It would also suggest that the Epitome was considered to be a highly regarded source of military advice by those practising war in the Middle Ages. Military Advice Offered by the Epitome of Military Science If in view of the weight of evidence presented above we are to accept that the Epitome was indeed considered to be a relevant source of military advice, then what are we to make of the actual information that Vegetius provides?75 The evidence outlined above clearly demonstrates that the Epitome was, without doubt, a popular medieval text. However, rather than being what one would think of as a classic chivalric text, it turns out on closer examination that Vegetius was an exponent and enthusiastic advocate of guerrilla-style warfare. Book III of the Epitome 70 It has been suggested that the Lansdowne Manuscript 285 (see below) could originally have been intended to be used in a booklet form. See P.R. Robinson, ‘The Booklet: A Self-Contained Unit in Composite Manuscripts’, in Codicologica III (1980), pp. 46–69. This view has been challenged on the grounds that it may have always appeared as part of a substantial codex. See G.A. Lester, Sir John Paston’s ‘Grete Boke’: A Descriptive Catalogue, with an introduction of British Library Manuscript Lansdowne 285 (Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 1984). See also Wolfenbüttel, Cod. Lat. 84, cited by A. Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), p. 446. 71 Murray, Reason and Society, pp. 127f. 72 Charles R. Shrader, ‘The Influence of Vegetius’ De re militari’, Military Affairs (December 1981), pp. 167ff. 73 Henri Delpech, La Tactique au XIII siecle, Vol. II (Paris: A. Picard, 1886), p. 264. 74 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Oxford: Blackwell, 1992), p. 214. 75 I have employed Milner’s excellent translation below and refer to the book and chapter of the Lang text of the Epitome in the main text.

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specifically dealt with the actual conduct of war and this was the section most frequently copied or adapted by those in the Middle Ages. Surprisingly, nearly half of its chapters deal with at least some aspect connected with surprise, ambush, raids, deception, trickery or treachery. Chapter one of Book III begins with a slightly more predictable theme that recurs throughout the work: quality over quantity.76 Vegetius advocates the use of a smaller well-disciplined force rather than a larger one, one of the reasons being that: a longer column often suffers ambush even by small numbers; in broken country and at river-crossings it is often caught in a trap as a result of delays caused by the baggage-train.77

Chapter three pragmatically notes that there are more ways of hurting an enemy than just the use of force: armies are more often destroyed by starvation than battle, and hunger is more savage than the sword. … On any expedition the single most effective weapon is that food should be sufficient for you while dearth should break the enemy.78

One must always be on one’s guard against the lies spread by an enemy whilst be willing to use misdirection oneself to bring him to ruin: Especial care should be taken lest provincials in their unsuspecting simplicity be deceived by the treachery and perjuries of the enemy. Pretended trade and peaceful relations have more often caused harm to gullible people than arms. By this strategy the enemy if they collect together suffer famine, and if they disperse are easily beaten by frequent surprise attacks.79

Chapter six discusses the degree of caution required when moving in the vicinity of the enemy. Those that have made a careful study of the art of war assert that more dangers tend to arise on the march than in battle itself. For in battle everyone is armed, and they see the enemy at close quarters and come mentally prepared for fighting. On the march, the soldier is less armed and less alert; he is thrown into instant confusion by a sudden attack

76 77 78 79

No-where does Vegetius ascribe this to God’s will. Vegetius, Epitome, p. 64. Ibid., p. 67. Ibid., p. 69.

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chapter four or concealed ambush. Therefore the general should take steps with all caution and prudence to ensure that the army suffer no attack on the march, or may easily repel a raid without loss.80

This was to be done by good information about the area to be travelled: familiarity with maps and possible routes as well as local intelligence provided by natives under compulsion but with the offer of rewards for accurate information. But the most important thing to be careful about is to preserve secrecy concerning the places and routes by which the army is to travel. The safest policy on expeditions is deemed to be keeping people ignorant of what one is going to do. It is for this reason that the ancients had the standard of the Minotaur in the legions. Just as he is said to have been hidden away in the innermost and most secret labyrinth, so the general’s plan should always be kept secret. A safe march is that which the enemy least expects to be made.81

Vegetius then stresses the importance of scouts, not just in front but on all sides, to prevent the enemy laying ambushes. The baggage train should be enclosed on the flanks and a screen of cavalry and light troops should be employed. In the same chapter, Vegetius also stresses the psychological impact of surprise: the most damage can be expected when troops are ill-prepared for an attack by the enemy. Mental preparation was essential: as well as simply having weapons in hands—one must be expecting to use them. ‘In an emergency sudden things are terrifying, things that are foreseen do not usually strike panic.’ This chapter concludes that any opportunity to catch the enemy at a disadvantage should be taken, from holding the high ground, soliciting traitors and deserters for plans and preparing ambushes to catching the enemy by ‘unforeseen threats while marching or seeking fodder and food’ .82 Chapter seven talks of the risks of ambush while crossing rivers, while eight discusses the opportunity provided for surprise attacks when the army is camped and going about its business. When deciding whether to engage the enemy in raids and ambushes or else in pitched battle, chapter nine advises that:

80 Vegetius, Epitome, p. 73. A good medieval parallel here would be Henry V’s orders to carry sharpened stakes on the Agincourt campaign to ward off cavalry charges. 81 Vegetius, Epitome, p. 74. 82 Ibid., pp. 75–7.

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good generals do not attack in open battle where the danger is mutual, but do it always from a hidden position, so as to kill or at least terrorise the enemy while their own men are unharmed as far as possible.83

Terrain should be employed to give every advantage possible, such as ensuring that open terrain is sought if strong in cavalry, or confined places if the infantry is the stronger arm. Hunger itself was a weapon to be employed if possible as it ‘often conquers without a blow’ .84 If one has an army containing new recruits or those unaccustomed to fighting then chapter ten notes that one of the ways of gaining experience and raising morale is to rout the enemy while they are carelessly ravaging or roaming about. Let him set up ambushes in complete secrecy at river-crossings, mountain passes, wooded defiles, marshes and other difficult passages. Let him so regulate his march that, fully prepared, he attacks the enemy while they are suspecting nothing, when they are eating meals, sleeping or at any rate resting, when they are relaxed, unarmed, unshod and their horses unsaddled, to the end that his men may acquire a self-confidence in battles of this kind … Also, if the enemy are ranging abroad, let him attack when they are fatigued by a long march; let him harass the rear, or at least attack by surprise, and those who loiter at a distance from their people for fodder or plunder, let him attack suddenly with picked men.85

As well as military means to discomfort the enemy, civil discord should also be fostered in the enemy nation ‘For no nation, however small, can be completely destroyed by its enemies, unless it devours itself by its own feuding’ . Chapter eighteen stresses the importance of being in position first as it allows you to attack first while the enemy is unready and still deploying. Always strive to be first to draw up the line … it allows of the greatest advantage because you may attack first while you are drawn up and prepared and the enemy is still ordering his forces and unsteady. For part of victory consists in throwing the enemy into confusion before you fight.86

Chapter nineteen continues the point: With the exception of raids and surprises, undertaken at some moment of advantage which an experienced general never misses—for when 83 84 85 86

Vegetius, Epitome, p. 83. Ibid., p. 84. Ibid., p. 88. Ibid., p. 102.

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chapter four soldiers are marching wearily, divided while crossing a river, bogged down in marshes, struggling over mountain-passes, dispersed and unsuspecting in fields or sleeping in a night camp, an attack is always made on favourable terms, as the enemy is preoccupied with other business and is killed before he can prepare himself.87

Chapter twenty-two focuses on the correct way to retreat, as ‘nowhere is the threat of danger greater.’ One’s soldiers must be made to think that the withdrawal is to lure the enemy into a better position ‘or at least to set up a concealed ambush’ . One should leave light troops and cavalry as a screening force to disguise the withdrawal which is best done at night. The screen can prove very effective for ‘nothing is thought more perilous than for careless pursuers to be attacked by men lying in ambush or who have prepared themselves in advance’ . One should always be ready to take advantage of the overconfidence of an opponent, but to be overconfident oneself in such a situation is unforgivable: Attacks are usually made on those who are unready, whilst they are eating a meal, wearily marching, grazing their horses and suspecting nothing of the kind. This should be avoided by us and damage inflicted on the enemy on such occasions. For neither bravery nor numbers can assist those caught in such a case. He who is beaten in battle in a general engagement, though there too art is of very great advantage, can nevertheless in his defence accuse Fortune; he who suffers a sudden attack, ambushes or surprises cannot acquit himself of blame, because he could have avoided these things and discovered them beforehand through good scouts.88

When on the march, the risk and chance of setting ambushes are shared by pursuers and pursued. A feint can be used to make the enemy believe an ambush has passed, so that the enemy general ‘relaxes into incaution.’ A force sent secretly by a roundabout route can then attack unexpectedly. Care must be taken to occupy possible ambush sites to deprive the enemy of their use. Surprise can be especially useful when the enemy is asleep. Book three concludes with chapter twenty-six and a list of general maxims summarising much of what has been said earlier. It is preferable to subdue an enemy by famine, raids and terror, than in battle where fortune tends to have more influence than bravery. No plans are better than those you carry out without the enemy’s knowledge. 87 88

Vegetius, Epitome, p. 102. Ibid., p. 109.

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Surprises alarm the enemy, familiarity breeds contempt. Good generals never engage in a general engagement except on some advantageous occasion, or under great necessity. It is a powerful disposition to press the enemy more with famine than with the sword. The mode in which you are going to give battle should not become known to the enemy, lest they make moves to resist with any countermeasures.89

Book four of the Epitome discusses ways to make and avoid surprise attacks in siege warfare, and even how to set an ambush at sea. Feigned withdrawal and mining under walls can be effective for launching surprise attacks against any fortified enemy that fails to take adequate precautions. One should also get to know one’s adversary so that his habits and routines can be learnt and then used against him.90 Echoing the modern idea of painting warships in ‘battleship grey’ to make them harder to spot on the world’s oceans, Vegetius states that scout ships should have their sails and rigging dyed Venetian blue to keep them concealed, while the passages between islands can be used to hide and descend upon unwary and unsuspecting opponents. As on land, Vegetius advises that battle should only be given if the caution of the enemy sailors make ambush impossible.91 Attitude and ‘Flavour’ of the Epitome Some historians have suggested that Vegetius’ interest in the more subtle aspects of warfare were due to the author writing in the aftermath of the disastrous Roman defeat at Adrianople in AD 378.92 If this is true then Vegetius may well have been preoccupied with the perceived numerical inferiority of the Roman military machine compared to the barbarian hordes that were seen to be encircling the Empire. This would accord with the constant references to the importance of quality over quantity and the careful use of surprise and guerrilla tactics would have allowed smaller numbers to have a greater impact by multiplying their

89

Vegetius, Epitome, pp. 118f. Book IV, chapters 24, 26, 27 and 28. 91 Book IV, chapters 37 and 45. 92 Milner suggests this in n.1, Vegetius, Epitome, p. 80. Sherwood also shares this view, see Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 11. 90

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effectiveness. But even if this is the case, the constant references to infantry rather than cavalry and the use of guerrilla-style conflict would not appear to fit comfortably with the manner in which medieval warfare is often portrayed.93 Even if one accepts that the medieval strategist was actually familiar with such tools, one can still be surprised at the Epitome’s popularity in the Middle Ages given just how much emphasis there is placed on such approaches in the Epitome—this is not peripheral to the work, it is an essential theme or leitmotiv that runs throughout. Vegetius’ choice of subject matter has led some historians to draw the conclusion that his popularity in the Middle Ages simply could not be due to the military content of his work. This opinion is derived from the traditional, but I believe erroneous, view of medieval warfare that I outlined in the introductory chapter. This view sees a complete lack of tactical thought or understanding and a general lack of appreciation of the use of infantry in this time period. This is the same view that considers that medieval warfare was dominated by heavy cavalry so it is no surprise that it leads to the conclusion that a book such as the Epitome, aimed at reforming the infantry, was simply talking about the wrong topic. The fact that the book also concentrated on, what were effectively, guerrilla tactics rather than ‘legitimate’ knightly conduct only helped to reinforce this misconception. [There is] an attitude discernible throughout Vegetius’ work which is in striking opposition to the ethos of the medieval warrior class. Vegetius’ work reflects the preoccupations of the late Empire, an Empire on the defensive, concerned to preserve the status quo. To distress the enemy by stratagems and surprise, to prevail by indirection, guile, and all measures short of open battle, to offer battle as a last resort and only in circumstances clearly favourable to one’s own side—these are, for the author of the Epitoma, the fundamental principles of the military art. It is difficult to see the appeal of such principles for men whose whole military orientation was towards the offensive mode, whose very raison d’être was the acquisition of wealth, preferment, honour, and renown through feats of arms.94

Given these assumptions about the warfare of the Middle Ages, it is hardly surprising that some historians have sought other reasons for the Epitome’s obvious popularity. As seen above, one possible source of this popularity is Vegetius’ role as a source of military metaphors for

93 It is, of course, unsurprising that the arch-realist Machiavelli employed the teachings of Vegetius in his own works. See Sherwood, Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 266. 94 Ibid., p. 5.

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illustrating religious sermons and as a stylistic model for offering advice to one’s superiors (admittedly, rarely an easy task). By providing a familiar model for imparting advice, Vegetius allowed opinion-formers to circumvent the difficult job of telling a ruler how to rule by providing a format for imparting wisdom. For example, “As Vegetius states …” dissociates the author from any criticism. Sherwood felt that it was Vegetius’ reforming and moralising nature that helped to give his work such a wide application beyond the organisation of war. It was not the actual military advice that was of sole importance. Allmand agrees to some extent by looking at what else Vegetius can offer beyond the detail of conducting warfare: Vegetius was important less for his technical advice than for the general philosophical message on the conduct of war which his work contained … leaders did not choose themselves, but had to be chosen … according to criteria which took merit and experience, as well as birth and social standing.

Even Henry V’s chroniclers are supposed to have stressed that his inherent qualities benefited from training and experience and this, Allmand believes, is connected to the growing attention being focused on the nature of nobility and leadership.95 These attempts to find an alternative explanation for Vegetius’ popularity are well-established. Although there may have been many copies of Vegetius’ work made during the Middle Ages, it was thought by many to have had more of an influence on, and relevance to, the actual detailed conduct of warfare after the end of the period as the circumstances of armed conflict changed. For example, ‘His work exercised great influence on European tactics after the Middle Ages … [when] the crossbow, the longbow, gunpowder, and the pike had deprived cavalry of much of its shock power’ . Up until then his use was supposedly limited to providing advice on the conduct of siege operations.96 The following section will challenge this view by looking at how the material in the Epitome was actually used in the Middle Ages, how it was translated, what was changed and adapted, what was simply omitted and what remained verbatim. Beginning with the straightforward 95

Allmand, Hundred Years War, pp. 68f. Allmand does accept that Vegetius was read for his military detail but that this should be placed and understood within a broader context. 96 ‘Vegetius’, Encyclopædia Britannica (CD 1999 Standard Edition). Although not a normal academic source, I believe that this represents such an approach.

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translations of the Epitome into the vernacular languages of medieval Europe, it looks at who copies were actually made for or commissioned by and what their likely uses were. This should allow an assessment of the explanation and view given above. The Fais d’armes et de chevalerie Apart from utilising the Tree of Battles by Honoré Bouvet, Christine de Pizan also employed Vegetius alongside several other classical authors in her Fais d’armes. As noted above, the work was written between around 1410 for the education of the future King of France.97 Following in the footsteps of Giles of Rome, Christine found that Vegetius could provide an ethical lesson for her readers as well as a military one. The Peace of God movement had been active for four centuries by the time that Christine was writing and was an attempt to extend protection to clerics and churches and to others likely to suffer oppression. The use of violence was also supposed to be restricted by the great festivals and the period from sunset on Wednesday to dawn on Monday.98 It is not particularly surprising to note that these efforts met with only limited success. However, Christine saw that military effectiveness and the importance of restraint could be put together to mean the same thing. For example, ‘dit Vegece en son livre, que son office est de garder et deffendre le prince, le clergié, les femmes, le commun’ .99 In this way Christine employed Vegetius extensively in Book One and Two of Faits d’armes to provide the solution to both technical and moral problems of knighthood.100 97 For biographical and editorial notes on the work of Christine de Pizan, see Chapter Three. The same translation of the Fais d’armes is used here: Christine de Pizan, The Book of Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, Sumner Willard (Trans.), Carity Cannon Willard (Ed.) (Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, 2003). 98 Marc Bloch, Feudal Society (London: 1962), p. 414. 99 Richardot, Végèce, p. 103. 100 There is some debate over the original source used by Christine and whether it was a Latin manuscript or a French translation. Paul Meyer, demonstrated with some success that she made direct use of Jean de Vignai’s French translation of Vegetius in preference to other French manuscripts or a work in the original Latin. Jean de Vignai (or Vignay) was a hospitalier of l’ordre de Saint-Jacques du Haut-Pas and produced his French translation of Vegetius in 1320. See Paul Meyer, ‘Les Anciens Traducteurs Français de Végèce et en particulier Jean de Vignai’, Romania, XXV (1896), pp. 401–23. Sherwood suggests 1320 as a date for this translation although other dates from 1325–1349 or even 1360 have also been put forward. See Sherwood Medieval Uses of Vegetius, p. 314.

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Vegetius is first employed in chapter vii of Book One where the attributes of a good commander are discussed with reference to contemporary practices. In the previous chapter, and also later on in chapter xxiii, Christine presents her own interpretation of an ideal commander, diplomatically using Charles VI’s victory over the rebellious Flemings at Roosebeke in 1382 and, her patron, the Duke of Burgundy’s, victory over the men of Liège in 1408.101 The importance of quality over quantity is echoed from the Epitome in Christine’s chapter viii.102 Chapter xiii follows Vegetius in stressing the importance of a commander choosing terrain that was ‘advantageous to him, and not to his enemy’ . An anecdote attributed to Titus Livy follows giving a case where a Roman force deployed between their opponent’s and a river so that ‘they conquered them more by thirst than by power of arms’ . Vegetius’ advice on the importance of good logistics and adequate food provisions is then stressed as a vital ingredient to military success as famine itself can clearly be used as an effective weapon of war.103 The first entry concerned specifically with the use of subtlety is at chapter xv where Christine explains that the wise commander will ‘be inspired to send surreptitiously spies and scouts here and there to seek out and learn the situation of his enemies … what situation and what advantage either side might have’ .104 After consulting with other wise knights, the correct time to attack should be chosen carefully and one should be ‘always watchful to deceive the enemy by some trap’ . If the opportunity arises, the commander should: Attack his enemy while they are eating, or when they are sleeping, or fatigued from marching, or their horses are feeding, when they think they are safe, because for those surprised in such a way, neither skill nor strength will help them, nor are numbers of any use.

One who is defeated in battle can blame luck, but anyone hurt by the subtleties of the enemy in this manner have no-one but themselves to blame as they clearly should have been as diligent as their opponents.105 Spies are seen as most profitable when they are used to uncover the

101 102 103 104 105

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, pp. 22 and 66. Ibid., p. 27. From Vegetius, I.1. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 40. Vegetius, I.22 and III.3. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 46. Ibid. From Vegetius, III.22.

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enemy plans. They can also spread dissension and cause the enemy to disobey their captain.106 Chapters xvi and xvii note that care should be taken to avoid enemy spies while one’s own spies should be used, disguised as labourers or pilgrims, to detect and avoid ambushes. There is also a long and familiar discussion of march order and discipline, the protection of the baggage from ambush and the dangers of surprise attacks when crossing rivers.107 Chapter xviii notes that if an invasion of one’s land is imminent, one is better to go and meet the enemy. This is explained pragmatically by stating that ‘it is better to trample another country than to allow one’s own to be trampled under foot’ . Of course, given the moral and legal injury suffered by such an invasion, it would not simply have been the land that was damaged and Christine’s audience would have been well aware of this. She continues, paraphrasing Vegetius and adding her own gloss. Battle should only be joined if one has a decisive advantage over one’s enemy and this should be determined after carefully comparing the forces and calling a council of war.108 However, there was still no need to rush into such a contest even if one did have a decisive advantage. If the enemy were discontented through lack of food or money or if they were not used to hard living, then there should be no hurry to battle, but instead the commander should: Surprise the enemy if it is at all possible. It can be of great profit to a commander to know how to place ambushes wisely and surprise his enemies109

Christine then gives an example of a Roman ambush against Hasdrubal where the Carthaginians were defeated despite fielding their war elephants. This, according to Christine, is affirmed by Vegetius. The enemy should be taken at a disadvantage appearing to suggest that only a fool fights a fair fight! However, this would be to miss the subtleties of the context. This is advice referring to a fight that has not been arranged for a specific time and place and therefore different rules will govern its conduct. It is not a judicial context where both sides have agreed to

106 107 108 109

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 47. From Vegetius, III.10. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, pp. 49ff. From Vegetius, III.6 and 7. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 53. From Vegetius, III.9. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 54. From Vegetius, III.10.

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settle their dispute through armed arbitration, but the day-to-day activity of campaigning and conducting a feud. A commander had a duty to be aware of such dangers and to take measures to avoid being attacked while at a disadvantage. There was certainly no contradiction with the code chivalry to employ such measures in this context or Christine would not have offered such advice. Vegetius gives a list of tactics to be used when leading recruits or poorquality troops to give them experience or raise morale. This includes surprise attacks during meal times or when the enemy is relaxed and unarmed, ambushes in difficult places like river crossings so that the enemy are distracted and cannot easily be arranged into a battle formation. Christine employs all of this advice but she gives it for any captain, not particularly for one handling poor quality or newly recruited troops.110 It is noted that a tired enemy is already half beaten but that a ‘setpiece’ battle should never be taken lightly because the outcome cannot be known in advance.111 If battle is offered by your opponent, do not automatically take it, but ‘be like a righteous judge’ to weigh the strengths and advantages of the adversary against the different methods that can be used against him. If a surprise attack can be undertaken wisely, then it can be how a well-led small group can conquer ‘a great multitude’ . This is not quite how Vegetius says it although Christine attributes it to him, concluding the chapter with: But if it should come about, as Vegetius says, that your enemy presses you hard to choose a day of battle, and if he presses you to combat, note carefully if this is to your advantage or to your regret, and do nothing unless you see your advantage.112

Vegetius does not talk of a ‘day of battle’, only of judging whether to enter a ‘pitched battle’ or avoid one and employ ambushes instead if one is outnumbered. This clearly reflects different expectations and practices from the two periods. This in turn reflects the different role played by battle in the wars of Rome and those in the Middle Ages. A battle to the forces of Rome provided an opportunity for justice to be exercised. It was sought and could happen at any time and, in a very Clausewitzian sense, was the most efficient way of overthrowing an opponent’s 110 111 112

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 54. From Vegetius, III.10. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 55. Vegetius, III.9 and 11. Ibid.

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instrument of force and then imposing one’s will upon him. In the Middle Ages, battle was not simply a part of war but something separate from it—specifically the suspension of the feud for arbitration through a judicial contest. The arbitration was also armed but its function was to determine whose cause was just rather than exercising a justice that had already been determined and granted by the gods. Battle could therefore be offered at a set time and place in the same way that a judicial duel could be arranged and then carried out to decide an issue. In practice, this distinction could be subtle and effectively to many people the two situations would be the same. However, in the Middle Ages, the two situations were qualitatively different and the context meant that different rules applied. Both could be very serious affairs—one could lose a combat in a feud and the result could be capture or death. The same could be true in a judicial battle but one could also lose the moral and legal argument and therefore the cause for which one had decided to fight in the first place. That did not mean that Vegetius’ advice was any less useful in the Middle Ages, however, simply that the context that the advice was being employed within was different. In this chapter, Christine also returns to her core moral reasoning, arguing that prisoners should be treated well but uses Vegetius to provide a practical justification for this. Men fight harder if they have nothing to lose: ‘there is great peril in fighting such people as these, as their strength is doubled’ .113 For this reason, in the Epitome, Vegetius advocates leaving an escape route rather than surrounding a desperate enemy. Christine simply replaces the idea of escape in this way with the option of surrender and capture to be ransomed at a later date (although this humane spirit is somewhat undermined in chapter xxvi where she repeats the advice but adds the use of an ambush, as that way, ‘they can more easily be killed’!).114 Although Christine has been very careful to warn her audience about the dangers of offering or accepting battle because of the issues at stake, in chapter xix, she is also, for the same reason, very careful in her discussion of leaving the field without fighting. Her title states: The kinds of action a commander should take if he should wish to abandon the field without waiting for, or engaging in, battle.115 113 114 115

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 55. From Vegetius, III.21. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 75. Ibid., pp. 56f.

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Note that “retreat” is not actually mentioned. The title that Vegetius himself uses here for book three, chapter 22 is rather more explicit: ‘How to retreat from the enemy if the plan to fight is rejected’ .116 Christine stresses the important medieval principle that only the prince or his designated commander can order the army to leave the field and then erroneously claims that Vegetius states that: There is no greater villainy than to leave the field where the enemy is present, without making contact, if there has not been some sort of agreement between them. In this regard there are two dishonourable aspects: one, that he is frightened and so is moved by cowardice; the other, that he has little confidence in his men, and thus gives courage to his enemies.117

Actually, Vegetius does acknowledge that retreating from the line before an encounter ‘diminishes confidence … and gives courage to the enemy’, but he then adds pragmatically that ‘since this must often happen, the means of safely achieving it need exposition’ . There is certainly no consideration of shame or ‘villainy’ here at all, nor would one expect there to be given the different context that battle had in Vegetius’ day. The insertion of the key word ‘agreement’ is very important here for recognising the bargaining or negotiation process that war entailed. If there was not going to be an armed arbitration, then there needed to be some sort of negotiation instead so that one could save face and demonstrate that the legal and moral issues at stake were not being ignored or weakened by the action (how to go about conducting such negotiations are set out in chapter xx). Christine then notes Vegetius’ advice about the importance of spreading a cover story to retain the morale of the men who must not be allowed to believe that their leader is frightened to give battle. Instead, they must be made to think that the decision has been made to harm the enemy in another place. The enemy should be kept unaware of any withdrawal to protect the army during the manoeuvre. Cavalry should be employed as a screen. To retreat at night however, is ‘most shameful because it appears that they have simply taken flight’ unless, Vegetius is attributed with explaining, there is no other way to save the army.118 In fact, Vegetius clearly advocates withdrawing at night along scouted routes with light troops employed to ambush any careless 116 117 118

Vegetius, Epitome, p. 108. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 56. Ibid.

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pursuers.119 Christine does suggest the use of skirmishers too but while they should withdraw ‘softly’, it appears preferred that they do not depart under cover of darkness. This difference in attitudes is perfectly understandable once the context is understood. To slink away under a cloak of darkness implies a lack of confidence in the justice of one’s cause. Again, this was not an issue for Rome as she could be confident of justice being on her side regardless of the outcome of a battle. However, in the Middle Ages where the battle was the judicial procedure and trial before God, such lack of confidence in one’s cause could potentially undermine support for the entire campaign. This was just the type of devastating criticism that was levelled at King Philip following his failure to do battle with the English and German force on his soil in 1339.120 While Vegetius pragmatically acknowledges the morale implications of not giving battle, it is Christine, concerned with the specifically metaphysical implications and medieval legal function of battle, who introduces the idea of shame into the text. It is no accident that in chapter xxi, Christine illustrates at some length Vegetius’ advice about addressing the troops to give them confidence, and provides examples of the type of assurances that a commander should give. Specifically, that ‘we have indeed good cause … to attack with great courage and invade with strong will the land of these people, I can assure you, for they are wrong and we are right, so God is with us’ .121 Clearly, one should have confidence if this were indeed so, and this was precisely why negotiation was an essential part of any effort to avoid battle. Following on from the importance of negotiation, Christine’s chapter xx on truces and their possible dangers contains some interesting perspectives on the medieval attitude towards conflict and the way a feud should be conducted.122 During any negotiation, the captain must be cautious and ‘take counsel with the wisest of his advisors’ . She points out that these occasions are sometimes used to gain time. If one is to be subject to arbitration (through, for example a papal legate rather than by battle) then one must ‘explain thoroughly the action, case, right, or

119

Vegetius, Epitome, pp. 108f. ‘Contemporary public opinion was clear: the French should have given battle.’ Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327–1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 173. 121 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 62. Vegetius, Epitome, III.9. 122 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, pp. 57–61. 120

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just quarrel that you have for making war against the opponent’ . Genuine offers of peace should be embraced and arbitration should be accepted but one must submit ‘what is reasonable’ even if the enemy insists on being in the right. In a particularly insightful passage on the actual ends being fought over and the means that should be employed to pursue them, Christine advocates that if one is sure of parts but not all of one’s claim, one should be prepared to compromise during this process as this can be done without dishonour. This must surely have often been the case in practice and one can see exactly how the process of the feud promoted the reaching of a compromise far more often than a battle was actually required to settle an issue. Christine makes clear that genuine peace attempts should be heeded and even if the enemy is outnumbered, God will look badly upon a refusal of a reasonable offer ‘and so punish them’ . However, there was still a responsibility to take precautions and one should still beware that ‘there is a the danger that you may be deceived treacherously by dishonest means, under the pretence of discussing peace’ . If and when negotiation has failed and a compromise has remained elusive, Christine returns to the actual conduct of hostilities. Chapter xxii echoes Vegetius’ advice on taking the field stating that the wise captain secures any advantages before the enemy can. There are three principle things to remember, the first being advantage of height, the second being that the sun is in the enemy’s face, and the third that the wind should be against them.123 Much of this advice is then reiterated in xxiv along with some additional concerns such as obtaining information about the state of the enemy, keeping the troops fresh, and maintaining good morale in one’s army. Following Vegetius’ lead, the last chapter of her own book one recapitulates various of the maxims discussed earlier, including the familiar ‘surprises alarm the enemy’, and ‘no plans are better than those of which the enemy has no knowledge until they are carried out’ .124 Rather than relying on Vegetius, Christine begins her Book Two with eleven chapters based on historical examples taken from the Strategemata by Frontinus, detailing the ‘sorts of wiles and subtle chivalric devices that the authors who have discussed the matter have called military stratagems’ .125 While obviously these are not taken from the 123 124 125

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 64. Vegetius, III.13 and 14. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, pp. 78f. Vegetius, III.26. Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 82.

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Epitome, the material that Christine employs is still very pertinent to this subject and so will be discussed here. What is particularly interesting here is Christine’s choice of lessons. Chapter i gives an example of disguise and deception used to gain information on an enemy camp. Chapter ii gives the stratagem of burning branches to buy time whilst retreating across a river while iii talks of ambushes in the forest with trees nearly cut through so they could be pushed over onto an unsuspecting foe. Chapter iv tells how Alexander, prince of Epirus, disguised his men in the distinctive costume of the enemy and then led them into an ambush. Scorched earth tactics were used too to deceive the enemy into burning their own source of supplies. In the next example, to deal with rebellious Africans, Hannibal employed drugged wine left in an abandoned camp, so that sleeping men could be put to the sword and false intelligence, using an enemy’s signal, was used to lure an enemy army into an ambush.126 Chapter v shows false intelligence being used to fool enemy into believing dissent was forcing an army to withdraw. Ambushes are then set for the pursuing enemy. In chapter xi Christine adds her own moral example to those provided by Frontinus. When Charles V was reproached for buying a garrison out of a fortress when he could have fought, Christine has him reply that that which could be bought should not be paid for in blood.127 This is possibly replying to contemporary criticism that the king was too eager to negotiate and not eager enough to fight. Chapters xii and xiii are based on the Facta et dicta memorabilia by Valerius Maximus. They contain several examples of ‘tricks’ including Hannibal’s attempt to portray Fabius as a traitor by carefully sparing only his lands and sending ‘secret’ messages to him. They also detail Hannibal’s use of the wind and sun, partial retreat, and false surrenders at Cannae where those who had surrendered used secreted weapons to continue their fight, prompting Valerius to comment that ‘the Roman army was overcome more by malice than by battle’ .128

126

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, pp. 81–7. Ibid., p. 100. 128 Ibid., p. 104. An interesting comparison can be drawn to the “Tramecourt ambush story” recounted by Monstrelet in his account of the Battle of Agincourt, possibly in an attempt to downplay the significance of the absence of the Burgundians. See Monstrelet, La Chronique D’Enguerran De Monstrelet: en deux livres avec pièces justificatives 1400–1444, L. Douet-d’Arcq 6 vols (Société de l’Histoire de France, 1859), III, p. 105. 127

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Barring the very last example, it is interesting that Christine chooses not to cast negative judgement on any of these examples, she simply sets them out as examples for her reader. Christine refers to Frontinus as ‘a valiant man’ for writing the book and those who employ the stratagems are referred to as ‘noble and chivalrous conquerors’ .129 Not even the use of drugged wine gets a comment here but poison is mentioned in xli inserted in the middle of a section dealing with Vegetius’ ideas on naval warfare. The reader is left with no doubt that poisoned weapons should not be used by Christian men: certain poisons can be made that are so powerful and lethal that if they contaminate iron, a mortal wound will be the result. But such things should not be taught, because of the evil that results from them; they should rather be forbidden and cursed. It is not good to put them in books or record them otherwise in writing, because no Christian soldier should make use of such inhumane weapons, which are in fact contrary to the laws of war.130

This is extremely prescriptive and certainly does not appear in the Epitome. Christine does not hesitate to criticise behaviour she believes to be wrong and against the laws of war. This prohibition of poison also strengthens the point made elsewhere that victory was not to be achieved at any cost. The point was not simply to win, but to have the result accepted by the other side. Following this interlude, Christine then returns to her treatment of Vegetius when she reaches the advice on how to actually conduct an assault on a fortified place. Book two, chapters xiv-ixxxx of the Deeds of Arms are taken straight from Vegetius’ advice on siegecraft but are made contemporary to the early fifteenth century by the inclusion of detailed lists of provisions, armaments, and artillery etc. Some of this reads more like an inventory than merely advice on withstanding a siege. For example: At least twelve cannons throwing stones, two of which will be larger than the others to break up machines … if it is thought that it will not be necessary to fire the cannon too frequently, a thousand pounds of powder

129

Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 82. Ibid., p. 141. This mention of poison, whilst clearly in the section based upon the Epitome, may have been inspired by Bouvet. See Christine de Pizan, The Book of Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye: Translated and printed by William Caxton from the French original by Christine de Pizan, A.T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), p. xlv. 130

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Much is made of the importance of using trusted men and the constant threat of treachery: ‘for in that way many cities and towns have been betrayed, sold, and robbed’ .132 Given that a siege was qualitatively different to a judicial duel, this is again perfectly consistent. A medieval siege was far closer to a Roman legal procedure where justice was assumed and exercised through the process rather than determined by the process. While the sentiment about the use of subtlety is certainly evident in Vegetius’, the illustration is taken from elsewhere as Christine tells the story of ‘skilful art and ingenuity’ practiced by the Romans who set a night ambush for some ambassadors as they returned to the city after entreating for peace. The Romans took the gate, ‘thus that city, so strong and well protected, was taken by a trick when this could not have been done by assault’ .133 While these tactics are not necessarily advocated, they are given as a warning and are certainly not condemned. Christine adds a medieval metaphysical flavour to this section by asserting the central theme of God’s judgement being played out on Earth once more when she explains that Hannibal chose not to attack the city of Rome after all once his plans had been foiled three times by torrential rain: ‘he did not want to make war against the gods, for he saw that they were favourable to Rome’ .134 This pattern of giving Vegetius’ advice and then elaborating on it with examples, stories and contemporary details and values is repeated throughout this section. Christine covers Vegetius’ writing on surprise sorties when the enemy ‘may not be on their guard’, and feigned retreat to catch defenders unaware, the use of spies to target sorties most effectively and gives repeated warnings about the dangers of treachery, constantly reminding the reader that: Many times feigned peace and bad proposals in the guise of agreements have been more injurious than the superior strength of armies.135

131 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 111. There are many other references to ‘round stones for the cannons’ etc throughout this section. 132 Ibid., p. 114. 133 Ibid., p. 130. 134 Ibid., p. 131. 135 Ibid., pp. 138f.

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The reader is left in no doubt about the precautions to be taken when defending a place from assault. Although Vegetius is obviously employed as a main source for both of the Deed of Arms’ first two books, it is very obvious that Christine has done far more than simply copy out passages from the Epitome. Not everything that Vegetius states is used by Christine and she can be quite discerning in the material she employs. There are passages where the advice of Vegetius is acknowledged by Christine as being superseded by contemporary practices. For example, it is noted in book one chapter xxiii that Vegetius’ methods for drawing up an army were different because the ancients ‘fought more commonly on horseback than on foot’ .136 Christine also finds little or no use for the technical information Vegetius provides about the Roman legions in book two of the Epitome as this is simply irrelevant to her time. It is therefore mostly omitted. When Christine feels that Vegetius may not have covered the subject fully enough or when current practice dictates a different approach she adds her own advice or examples. For example, in book one, chapter xxiii Christine uses the contemporary examples of Roosebeke (1382) and Liège (1408) to illustrate the importance of a rear guard.137 In book one, otherwise dominated by Vegetius after the introductory six chapters, Christine inserts original chapters of her own that help to add more medieval context to Vegetius’ advice. Chapter xxi contains a speech of encouragement by the captain containing such terms as ‘honour’ and ‘good cause’ . This emphasises the just nature required of the quarrel, a topic that Vegetius does not need to be concerned with as the justice of Rome’s cause would have already been established before the legions were expected to fight (see Chapter Three above). In chapter xxiv, Christine continues with the theme of justice and the role played by battle in the medieval view of the world. She points out that even if all the material factors are taken into account by the commander, ‘sometimes it would appear that God wished to help one side and not the other’ .138 Here is the medieval belief in the justice of one argument

136 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 80. This statement appears to have been largely ignored by many commentators, intent on concentrating on medieval mounted warfare at the exclusion of all else. This statement supports the idea that the comitatenses became the principle Roman force thanks to the mobility offered by being mounted. 137 This would no doubt have pleased her patrons as the House of Burgundy featured prominently in both battles. 138 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 70.

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over the other. One can, and must, do everything in one’s power to ensure victory, but God will still favour the just cause. This was exactly what the risk of accepting a true trial by combat held for both protagonists. One historian has claimed that ‘the political and social thought of the Fayttes of Armes reflects a medieval point of view’ . There is supposedly a Christian chivalric spirit utterly foreign to the Epitome and this is a valid comment.139 For example, while Vegetius finds very practical reasons and ways to explain how a smaller number may overcome the larger, Christine adds a distinctly religious flavour with her emphasis on maintaining right intention so as not to damage a just cause. Clearly, and unsurprisingly, Christine accepts the medieval view that ‘victory in war does not come from the multitude of the army, but strength comes from heaven’ .140 However, the pragmatism of the Epitome is also embraced at the same time so that everything that it is in the power of the commander to influence should also be undertaken. Parts of Christine’s writings clearly attempt to mitigate the excesses of war. To take just one additional example, sandwiched between two chapters that employ Vegetius extensively, book one chapter xiv states that ‘the good commander, if he wishes to lead men in war according to his duty and justly toward God and the approval of the world, must pay his men so well that they have no need to resort to pillage in friendly territory’ .141 Now admittedly, this is not talking about hostile territory in this particular place (although this is mentioned in later passages) and she justifies the advice by noting how such behaviour demonstrates bad intention and can be damaging to one’s cause: It is dangerous in time of war for an army to be more driven by greed for pillage than by the intention to preserve the rightness of their cause or the honour of their chivalry or to gain praise. Such men as these could better be called thieves or robbers than men-at-arms or knights.142

However, the fact that Christine feels the need to explain the need not to pillage friendly land in the first place shows that this was not a thing necessarily taken for granted by soldiers. These issues were simply not

139 Diane Bornstein, ‘Military Manuals in Fifteenth Century England’, Medieval Studies, 37 (1975), p. 477. 140 Maccabees, 3:18–19. 141 Christine de Pizan, Deeds of Arms, p. 41. 142 Ibid.

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a concern for Vegetius but can be seen as recurring themes that appear throughout the Deeds of Arms. As has also already been demonstrated in the chapter on the Tree of Battles, Christine is happy to take a prescriptive or judgmental tone in her work and that idea is also obvious throughout her treatment of Vegetius. Christine does not hesitate to change or adapt Vegetius’ text when it conflicts with contemporary values, whether when talking about the use of poison, or emphasising the importance of one’s just cause to those who are to fight. In particular, the idea that once deployed in order of battle, a withdrawal before the enemy must only be done after reaching some sort of an agreement with the other party if face and honour are to be preserved—a consideration that Vegetius’ pragmatic treatise does not need to address. Christine still credits Vegetius with these views however, presumably to give her own text credibility. As with the advice given by Bouvet, Christine is keen to impart to the future king of France all of Vegetius’ advice concerning the use of subtlety, deception, surprise and stratagems for achieving victory, while tempering it to the circumstances of her own time. It is difficult to conclude that this was purely incidental and not exactly what Christine intended. The differences, when they happen, are often subtle but are concerned with the context that the actions are performed within. The 1408 Translation for Lord Berkeley 143 According to the colophon or passage at the end of the manuscript this ‘turning’ of Vegetius was completed at Lord Berkeley’s bidding for the pleasure of old knights and warriors and the instruction of younger 143 The work was originally ascribed to Trevisa by Thomas Tanner, Bishop of St Asaph from 1732, due to the ample evidence of Lord Berkeley’s patronage. See Thomas Tanner, Bibliotheca Britannico-Hibernica (1748), p. 721. From MacCracken, Vegetius in English, p. 392. John of Trevisa translated from Latin both Ranulph Higden’s universal history, the Polychronicon (c. 1385–87), and Bartholomaeus Anglicus’ encyclopaedia De proprietatibus rerum (1398) and there is a very high degree of internal consistency between these and the Vegetius translation. However, three of the earliest extant manuscripts have colophons that appear to ascribe the text to someone whose name is toun or ton. Bodley Digby 233, fols. 183–227 and Bodley Douce 291, fols. 4–120 are both mid-fifteenth century manuscripts held in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. The other manuscript is slightly older, dating to the early fifteenth century and is Magdalen College, Oxford 30, fol. 1–115. The first part of the name is represented by what appears to be some kind of ensign or flag with the pole on the right. As the other manuscripts appear to be anonymous, this has led to some speculation as to alternative names for the author with suggestions ranging from “Bannerton” to “Cliftoun”. See MacCracken,

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ones.144 At the time, Lord Berkeley was campaigning in the marches of Wales against rebels led by Owain Glyndwr. He was present at the siege of Aberystwyth Castle and served as general commander and engineer in the timber-works under the command of Prince Henry (later to be King Henry V). ‘Consequently, Lord Berkeley had a practical and immediate reason for commissioning the translations.’145 As well as practical military advice the Epitome could well have provided a useful source of propaganda. According to Vegetius, men grow soft in peacetime. Military prowess requires cultivation since good warriors are the best asset of a country.146 This militaristic attitude ‘is just what Lord Berkeley and Prince Henry would have wanted to instil into the men who were fighting in Wales and France’ .147 The extant original manuscripts of this translation that I have examined in the British Library are mostly faithful to the original text although, as with the Caxton translation of the Fais d’armes, there are additional synonyms that can be found throughout the text.148 This is thought to be a common feature of prose at the time and is not the exclusive preserve of translations or adaptations of Vegetius.149 There are also some minor cases of repetition that look like accidental slips by the transcriber. For example: This chapter telleth … what is the most amenable tyme to ley emusshementis both for hym both for hym that fleeth & hym that followeth.150

Vegetius in English, p. 392. The British Library Online Mss Descriptions attributes Add. 4713 to “Clifton”. There are good reasons to suppose, despite the questions raised by the strange colophon, that Tanner was indeed correct. 144 Bodley Digby 233, folio 227. From MacCracken, Vegetius in English, p. 389. 145 Diane Bornstein, ‘Military Manuals in Fifteenth Century England’, Medieval Studies, 37 (1975), p. 470. 146 Vegetius, Epitome, p. 14. 147 Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 472. 148 The manuscript Lansdowne 285, now in the British Library, formed part of Sir John Paston’s Great Book of Arms and is mentioned in the Paston Letters from about 1470. See MacCracken, Vegetius in English, p. 391. This Ms. ends with the words ‘quod W. Evesham’ and this has been taken to denote the scribe responsible for this particular copy of Trevisa’s original translation as William Ebesham. See Shrader, Handlist, p. 303. Additional Manuscript 4713, also in the British Library, is a late fifteenth century vellum manuscript. It has ‘per W Caxton imprimendum’ written in one of the margins although this is clearly a later addition and the text bears little resemblance to the translation of Christine de Pizan that Caxton completed in 1489 (see below). It would appear that a later scholar looked at the similar content and eroneously took them to be by the same person. Both Add. 4713 and Lansdowne 285 appear to be very similar and, thanks to the colophon, can be seen to be based on the same 1408 translation. 149 See Byles’ Introduction to Fayttes of Armes, p. liii. 150 British Library, Add. 4713, fol.75r.

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As the last quotation also illustrates, although there were some minor transcribing slips, the manuscripts are careful to follow Vegetius’ advice on the conduct of military campaigns, even where this appears to contradict with what is commonly thought of as chivalric behaviour. For example, the British Library’s Additional Manuscript 4713 and Lansdowne 285 both state faithfully that ‘good leders & wise chiefteyns ne fyt not … in opyn battaill and opyn felds’ they should, instead, employ ‘enbusshementis kepyng hole hez people [while] they destroy hez ennemyes’ .151 Following on from this, both manuscripts discuss at length the best times and places to lay ambushes ‘Both for hym that fleeth and hym that foloweth’ .152 Vegetius’ advice on the use of spies is reproduced so that they can be used to determine the best times to ‘falle on thou enemyes sometyme while they ete or slepe’ or are otherwise disadvantaged.153 Additional 4713 follows Vegetius’ advice about what to do if one has a host that is inexperienced or unused to fighting and warfare. An easy victory should be sought with the commander being ‘redy to fall on hez enemyes some tyme while they be still and unarmed and hiz horsf e away’ .154 Additional 4713 faithfully repeats the advice in Book III chapter 6 that advises the duke that, just as the Minotaur was concealed in the labyrinth, his own plans should remain hidden away so that ‘no man shuld knowe his hole witt but he hym selfe’ .155 Unlike the original, the advice on retreat does not have its own chapter heading in Additional 4713 but parts are translated, particularly those concerned with laying ‘embusshementis’ against pursuers in valleys, woods or hills. Lansdowne 285 splits this advice over several chapters although the advice is the same. This appears to demonstrate that retreat was accepted as at least a possibility but that it should be turned into an ordered fighting withdrawal of one’s forces, traps being prepared for those that pursue.156 One should not be in any hurry to engage one’s opponent but if one must engage one’s enemy, then the field chosen should be ‘profitable’ according to the other force’s strengths and

151 Originally stated in Vegetius, Epitome, III.9. Restated in Add. 4713, fol.58v. The same passage is translated in Lansdowne 285, fol.111v, also in the British Library. 152 Lansdowne 285, fols.120v f. Also Add. 4713, fol.75r. 153 Lansdowne 285, fols.113r and 113v. 154 Add. 4713, fol.60v. From Vegetius, Epitome, III.10. 155 Add. 4713, fol.52r. 156 Lansdowne 285, fols.120v ff. Also Add. 4713, fol.75r. From Vegetius, Epitome, III.22.

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weaknesses.157 One should deploy quickly thus increasing the chance of attacking whilst one’s opponent is still unready. The advantage is clearly with the side that is ‘sooner redy to fight’ .158 However, just as Vegetius clearly states, rather than engage in battle at all, ‘it is bettr to tame thyne enemy by hunger than by fightyng’ .159 It would be easy to claim that these and other references are only there because the translator has just taken the whole text and rendered it straight into English. However, the texts are not literal translations, rather they are adapted in different ways to the specific environment of their patrons. For example, the manuscript at the Pierpont Morgan Library contains references to contemporary plated armour and habergeons instead of the cuirasses in the original text. It also refers to the ‘grete gunnes’ used in the ‘northe contrey and … in the werres of Wales’ .160 The translation notes that the skills that knights have learnt in illegal quarrels and ‘unlawfull werres’ have made them ‘more sotyll and sly when they comen to open werres in the felde’ .161 It also laments that many Christian knights fight for the money rather than any noble cause.162 Examination of the original manuscripts reveals that Additional 4713 and Lansdowne 285 both refer to elephants when they translate the appropriate sections from the Epitome. One would think that the presence of an elephant on a battlefield during the Hundred Years War would have warranted a mention in the chronicles so it is clear that not everything that was translated was pertinent! However, the equipment list in Lansdowne 285 is updated to that found in a medieval host.163 Additional 4713 also has contemporary additions. When reproducing Vegetius III 6, it looks like the trusted scouts that are sent ‘before the oost to sppye and serche the weyes on eny side and before and behynde’ have an additional task. Whilst it is extremely difficult to make out the exact letters, these troops are also expected to carry out ‘apazattis’ .164 157

Add. 4713, fol.59r. From Vegetius, Epitome, III.13. Lansdowne 285, fol.117r. From Vegetius, Epitome, III.18. 159 Lansdowne 285, fol.123r. The same translation is in the Pierpont Ms.775, fol.100. For the latter see Bornstein, Military Manuals, pp. 471f. 160 Vegetius, Epitome, I.16 and IV.22. Pierpont Ms.775 fol.110. From Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 470. Shrader dates this ms. to c.1470 although it is a copy of the 1408 translation. See Shrader, Handlist, p. 303. 161 Pierpont Ms.775 fols.34r–34v. From Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 471. 162 Pierpont Ms.775 fol.35. From Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 471. 163 Lansdowne 285, fols.82ff. 164 Additional 4713, fols.52r–52v. 158

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I cannot find an appropriate word in the original Latin that this could be intended to represent even when allowances are made for the spelling.165 If it was a French word then it may have been apparaillier—to prepare. However, I think that another word better fits the context of the passage and the spelling of the word itself. In medieval warfare, appatiz was a tribute extracted through threats of devastation and this would fit in well the type of warfare conducted on a chevauchée. It appears reasonable to assume that this is what is meant. There is no correlation in the Epitome for this type of activity beyond scouting itself so this is probably another medieval addition to bring the text up to date. The medieval additions demonstrate that the scribe did not appear to be attempting a pure copy. The strong correlation between the contents of the translations (where they can be read) demonstrates that sections were changed or adapted by Trevisa.166 If that is indeed the case, and considering the intended audience, then why would extensive passages that appear to clearly oppose the chivalric spirit of warfare have been translated at all? Knyghthode and Bataile Knyghthode and Bataile or Poem of Knighthood is contained in at least three extant manuscripts.167 It is an anonymous verse treatment of the

165

For a searchable copy of the Epitome, see http://www.intratext.com/X/LAT0189

.htm 166 Either this or that a copy was made relatively quickly and that this was used as the basis for the later copies with this version containing the adaptations. This would still have been made well within our period of interest. 167 R. Dyboski and Z.M. Arend [Eds.], Knyghthode and Bataile: A Fifteenth Century Verse Paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus’ Treatise “De Re Militari” (London: Oxford University Press, 1935). The Dyboski and Arend edition reproduces manuscript no. 243 from the Library of Pembroke College, Cambridge, entitled Poem of Knighthood. (See Montague Rhodes James, Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of Pembroke College, Cambridge (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1905), p. 219.) This has been presented with additional readings and glosses of the Titus A. XXIII manuscript in the Cottonian Library held in the British Library and the Ashmole manuscript number 45 to be found in the Bodleian (See the Catalogue of the MSS. in the Cottonian Library deposited in the British Museum (London: British Museum (department of Mss.), 1802), fol., p. 515a, and W.H. Black, Catalogue of the Ashmole MSS. in the Bodleian (Oxford, 1845), columns 69–70, respectively). The first of these manuscripts is complete, while the other two Mss. lack the prologue. The Ashmole Ms. also lacks book two.

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Epitome in English that manages to combine poetic quality with more than merely the gist of Vegetius’ original work. The language, diction and versification appear to be modelled on Chaucer.168 According to a number of convincing internal consistencies, the author could well have been the same scribe who penned Agriculture, a version of the De Re Rustica by Palladius. This was written in about 1439 for the king’s uncle, Duke Humphrey of Gloucester. Apart from the similarities in style and form of the writing, there are certain biographical details that indicate the author of both was one Robert Parker who was made the parson of St. Nicholas, Calais in 1450 after serving as chaplain and king’s clerk.169 The author states that he is the parson at Calais in the fifth stanza of the preface and Calais is mentioned again during a discussion of storms at sea in part IV.170 The Pembroke Manuscript of the poem was probably begun in 1458, being presented to Henry VI in an unfinished state, possibly during the “love-day” on March 25 when Henry VI, Warwick, York, Salisbury, and Queen Margaret went arm in arm to St. Paul’s to swear their ill-fated oaths of peace. The work was then continued in the following year.171 Indeed by part three of the poem, the thoughts of peace had passed and the prologue to this section describes the fleeing of the defeated Yorkists to Calais, Ireland and Wales with the various protagonists being identified by their badges and heraldic signs.172 The other two manuscripts are dated at around this time too although only the Pembroke manuscript retains the original dedication to Henry VI.173 They are likely to be based upon the same copy of the manuscript due to internal consistencies of a very high degree. This was unlikely to have been either John Trevisa’s 1408 English translation or the French translation of Jean de Meun completed a century earlier, but rather, a copy of the original Latin manuscript.174

168

Knyghthode and Bataile, p. xxxix. For a summarised list of these consistencies and biographical information, see McCracken, Vegetius in English, pp. 398f. 170 Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 2 and 99. 171 Ibid., pp. xvi–xxii. 172 Ibid., p. 37. See also Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 472. 173 Despite the claim in the Pembroke Ms. that the author would not join Henry’s enemies to win all England, the other two Ms. have both been changed to support Edward IV. See McCracken, Vegetius in English, p. 394. 174 This is the opinion of the editers, Dyboski and Arend, Knyghthode and Bataile, xiff. 169

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The author makes it clear, both in his prologue and in the body of the text, from where he found his inspiration: “What werk is it?” “Vegetius translate Into Balade”.175 He may not have been as familiar with the technicalities of the battlefield as his intended audience. He is open about this and asks every warrior to ‘mende’ or correct him where his ignorance lets him down.176 Motivations similar to those exhibited by Vegetius can clearly be detected early on in the text. The author wishes to be of help to contemporary knighthood and is not a historian interested in events in the distant past except were they can be used to provide instruction for the present. The work is also clearly a product of its time and adds a unique medieval flavour to the Epitome with its own focus and concerns. The troubled times are reflected in the poet’s desire to improve the performance of knights so that they can effectively defend the kingdom and crush any rebellion. The author condemns violence, treachery, and disorder and presents ‘an ideal vision of England as a peaceful, unified country under a just, strong king’ .177 As in the other treatments of Vegetius, the poem stresses the importance of supplies, ‘for iron smyteth not so sore as honger doth, if foode faile’ . The enemy but not you should therefore be deprived of supplies.178 This advice accords with the practice of the chevauchée through this period. Interestingly, the poem also warns that one must constantly be on guard against the practice of deception by one’s opponents. Despite the importance of keeping one’s own word, even to one’s enemy, the enemy’s oaths should not be trusted: And best be war, when that thin aduersary Wil swere grete, ye by the Sacrement, And vse that, ye and by seint Mary, And al that is vndir the firmament: Beleve nat his othe, his false entente179

A good commander will remain diligent on the move and ensure that all routes are adequately scouted. Local scouts should be used (under compulsion but with the offer of reward for correct information) whenever possible due to the dangers of travelling. The poem also highlights the importance of keeping one’s plans secret, being wary of enemy spies 175 176 177 178 179

This is also repeated in book one. Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 5 and 12. Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 5. Bornstein, Military Manuals, p. 473. Vegetius, Epitome, III.3, p. 65 and Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 41f. Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 43.

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and going the way least expected by one’s foe.180 The poem discusses at some length how to guard against ambushes and also how to set them in the best places. It follows Vegetius in advocating careful observation of the enemy and the use of fugitives to glean additional information: Lerne of him al, and thenne aday or nyght, When thei suppose leest, mak hem afright.181

Vegetius states that good generals often avoid battles if ambushes offer their own advantages. The poem portrays the duke asking his council whether ‘vinqueshinge couertly by prudence’ or ‘bataile’ is the best option given the tactical circumstances.182 This is interesting as the commander is not only expected to ask advice about the martial and legal opportunities available, but it could be inferred that he only takes the ‘covert’ option at the advice of his captains. Being able to distance the commander from such a decision, which might later be viewed in a less favourable way, obviously had practical implications and perhaps explains the emphasis on consultation here.183 Just as Vegetius advocates the blooding of new recruits in an easy engagement to give them courage, those who are inexperienced in combat or ‘vnexpert Of were’ should be heartened by attacking an unarmed or sleeping enemy and every possible advantage over the opponent should be secured: At brigge or hard passage, or hillis browe, Is good to falle vppon; or if ther be Mire or mareys or woode or grovis rowe Or aggravaunt other difficultee, To falle vppon is thenne vtilitee; The hors to sech vnarmed or aslepe To falle vppon is good to take kepe.184

180

Vegetius, Epitome, III.6, pp. 71ff and Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 49f. Vegetius, Epitome, III.6, pp. 71ff and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 53. 182 Vegetius, Epitome, III.9, and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 58. 183 The chronicler of Arthur de Richemont certainly understood the implications of being associated with the perception of an un-chivalric act. While other contemporary sources talked of the dishonour of the French force fleeing from the field at PontGilbert in 1438, the chronicler is keen to point out that Richemont wanted to make a stand but was reluctantly convinced to withdraw. See Guillaume Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont: connétable de France, duc de Bretagne (1393–1458) (Paris: Renouard, H. Laurens, successeur, 1890), pp. 156f. 184 Vegetius, Epitome, III.10, pp. 82ff and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 61. 181

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Although this may sound underhand, as long as the correct legal situation existed, the process of the feud could easily embrace such options and it is clear that the advice operates in both directions—it was important to be prepared and to guard against being caught out by the enemy just as his weaknesses should be exploited. Treachery should also be encouraged in the enemy camp. For a site of battle, the best ground should be chosen, with the sun and wind behind one’s back. Superior height is to be considered of particular importance, both because missiles have more force when cast downhill and because the enemy must fight both ‘the ground & the[e]’ .185 One should also strive to be ready before one’s opponent.186 Interestingly, although this advice is taken from the original, it is not expanded upon to imply that in a trial by combat one’s opponent should be engaged before he was ready. However, if a time and place had been agreed upon for this legal process to begin then it was clearly important to make sure that one was ready in good time. A lack of preparation signalled weakness, both militarily and morally and this was bound to have some effect on the ensuing engagement. Although on the whole Vegetius is paraphrased very accurately, there are many differences between Knyghthode and Bataile, and the Epitome. There are many omissions of details which are irrelevant to the warfare of the Middle Ages. For example, the dry and rather academic technical information and language about the Roman Legions that can be found in the original are simply inapplicable to the warfare of the Middle Ages so are omitted in Knyghthode and Bataile. Many of the Latin terms used in the original do not have English words that are equivalents and the author ends up using ‘the crudest Latinisms on every page’ .187 For example, whilst talking about the types of troops to place in the fifth line of battle, the author realises that the titles Vegetius uses such as carrobalistae (carriage ballista) or funditores (slingers) are not really relevant any more so simply renders them as carrobaliste and funditours.188 To make this section of more practical value to contemporary practice, the author adds the contemporary ‘bumbardys’ and ‘gunne’ in this row of battle too.189 In the third row of battle, the

185 186 187 188 189

Vegetius, Epitome, III.13, p. 88 and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 64. Vegetius, Epitome, III.18, p. 96 and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 73. Dyboski and Arend, Knyghthode and Bataile, xxviii. Vegetius, Epitome, III.14, p. 90. Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 68.

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author renders the Roman term ferentarii, light infantry armed with bows and javelins, as ferentayris, and explains that they are lightly ‘herneysed … with dartys’ . The medieval use of longbows is recognised and they are added to the troops to be placed in the fourth row of battle along with the scutate (these would also be light troops and shieldbearers). Sometimes terms are simply made current through the application of common sense. The author even tells us at one point that he does not find the information he seeks in the original text but believes he is right because of the context.190 It is obvious to the author throughout the work that a tirone (recruit) in the Epitome was referring to a knight bachelor, whilst a signati (a full soldier) was a knight or chevalier. There are many other additions to bring the text up to date on certain matters. For example, chapter IV of the poem begins with talking of driving out and chastising the king’s enemy’s in Normandy and France.191 Whilst gunpowder was unknown to Vegetius, Knyghthode and Bataile could not hope to leave out a mention of the new weapons if it was to be of any use to the practitioners of medieval warfare: The canonys, the bumbard & the gunne, Thei bloweth out the voys & stonys grete192

Guns are also enthusiastically advocated for use against other siege devices such as the ram or the ‘tortoys’ .193 The older forms of siege engines are referred to disparagingly as they have been replaced by more effective weaponry: The fifthe cours was the carrobaliste, Manubalistys and fundibulary And funditours; but now it is unwiste, Al this aray, and bumbardys thei cary, And gunne and sepentyn that wil not vary, Fouler, covey, crappaude and colueryne And other soortis moo then. VIII. or IXne.194

It is noted that guns could be used to dismast ships too.195 Tourneying is added to the list of useful exercises that soldiers should conduct to 190 191 192 193 194 195

‘Though in my book so wryton I ne fonde’, from Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 32. Ibid., p. 82. Ibid., p. 104. Ibid., p. 93. Ibid., lines 1846–52, p. 68. Ibid., lines 2854–60, p. 104.

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enable them to develop. 196 The pavice or large shield used by crossbowmen whilst reloading their weapon was unknown to Vegetius, but the poem includes it along with ‘sheeld’, elsewhere also mentioning the medieval shield or ‘targe’ .197 Counter-mines are added to the Epitome’s discussion of cuniculi (mines) and markets and ‘fayres’ are added to darkness as times when a surprise attack is best made on fortresses and besiegers.198 Another adaptation of the text to the requirements of the time is the omission of Vegetius’ statement that the main strength of the army lies with its infantry.199 Whilst this might have been true, it probably would not have been prudent to state this quite so explicitly to the mounted nobility who were likely to be the audience. There is a striking departure from the original text in the heavy editing of the advice on retreating one’s force. Vegetius’ provides lengthy information regarding the correct way to conduct an orderly retreat. Book III chapter 22 demonstrates ‘How to retreat from the enemy if the plan to fight is rejected’ .200 This advice is obviously regarded as superfluous by the author of Knyghthode and Bataile.201 It appears that, unlike the Roman legions, the medieval author’s side will not retreat under any circumstance and this reflects the utterly different function of battle in Roman and medieval times. War was an exercise in justice to the Romans rather than a process to either wrest justice from those who deny it or to determine whose cause was actually just in a judicial duel. Clearly the legal and moral subtext was completely different and this is reflected in the changes that have been made to the advice on retreat. Therefore it is not surprising that the poem also omits the section on what to do if the whole army flees. This eventuality is simply not entertained and only partial defeat is dealt with in the context of an overall victory. It would be ill-judged to provide advice on retreating as this situation meant that the cause had been effectively declared for the other side. However, interestingly the use of ambush is still advocated

196

Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 44. Ibid., pp. 84 and 86. 198 Vegetius, Epitome, IV.27 and 28, pp. 129f. andKnyghthode and Bataile, p. 95. 199 Vegetius, Epitome, III.9, p. 80 and Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 58f. In the French translation of Jean de Meun, this is actually changed to cavalry. 200 Vegetius, Epitome, III.22. 201 The poem also omits the obviously redundant chapters 23 (On camels and armoured cavalry) and 24 (How scythed chariots and elephants may be resisted in battle). 197

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against a retiring enemy meaning that retreat is dealt with—it is just assumed that it will be the other side doing the retreating.202 The paraphrase of the chapter on siege and naval warfare still contains the advice on employing camouflage through disguising scout boats by dyeing the sails, mast and the garments of the sailors’ ‘see colour’ so that they may safely ‘aspie fer & neer’ .203 A digression from the text is provided in a narrative of an imaginary sea battle between the ships of the ‘suuerayne’ (Henry VI) and the ‘traitors’ (the Yorkist rebels). The battle includes trumpet calls, angels and legions ‘To countour periurie & myscreaunce And surquydrye [arrogance] and disobeyssaunce’, reflecting the metaphysical spiritual contest as well as the physical one.204 The battle reaches a climax with the surrender of the enemy leaders and the author returns to his task of rendering Vegetius into verse-form. In the Epitome, Vegetius emphasises the qualities required in recruits, stating that the strength of the realm depends upon the physique and moral quality of her troops. After listing the range of suitable occupations (masons, blacksmiths etc) that can join the military, he also states that ‘Decent birth makes a suitable soldier, while a sense of shame prevents flight and makes him a victor’ .205 Knyghthode and Bataile also has the list of suitable and unsuitable occupations but then emphasises the importance of nobility far more than the original, equating land and honour with the desire to avoid the shame of fleeing. This clearly reflects the fact that although followers may be drawn from the lower social ranks, by the later Middle Ages the feud was a process reserved for the nobility. The author goes on to question whether anyone not born of noble rank can even have the required moral virtues that the calling requires: What helpeth it, if ignobilitee Have exercise in were and wagys large; A traitour or a coward if he be, Thenne his abode is a disceypt & charge206

Another obvious difference between the medieval poem and the original work is that although the verse appears in many places to have a 202 203 204 205 206

Vegetius, Epitome, III.22, pp. 102f. and Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 78f. Vegetius, Epitome, IV.37 and Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 97. Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 104ff. Vegetius, Epitome, I.7, pp. 7f. Knyghthode and Bataile, p. 11.

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rather secular flavour in the same style as the Epitome, the author does state that while one must organise one’s troops correctly, one must also trust in God to prevail.207 This was to be helped by the impact on morale of the fact that the reader’s host was obviously fighting for a just cause whereas his opponent was not.208 The sacred nature of the order of knighthood is also made clear very early on as knights (obviously) would rather die than disobey God. A comparison is also made between the order of chivalry and the ranks and orders of angels in the heavenly host.209 Religious imagery also crops up elsewhere in the text reflecting the function of war as a remedy for insults to the divine order.210 Despite the fact that many of the passages have been changed, adapted, omitted or added to, and that the flavour of the original has been given a medieval dash of religious colouring, the poem still faithfully reflects the overall themes of the Epitome. In particular, Vegetius’ enthusiasm for guerrilla tactics remains evident throughout and is nowhere challenged or substantially altered by the poet. Considering how much is different, it appears no accident that these passages are preserved in this way. Conclusion The view that Vegetius was a popular author in the Middle Ages despite his chosen focus on infantry reform and indirect or guerrilla tactics does not appear to concord with the evidence. I think it is clear that one does not need to seek alternative reasons for the popularity of the Epitome, although I do not doubt that the work probably fulfilled other functions in addition to its intended one. It cannot be doubted that Vegetius was popular for more than simply his military knowledge, or that he became even more popular as artillery developed and, coincidentally and more importantly, printing made his work more accessible to the general public. However, it does appear valid to draw the conclusion that Vegetius was a popular authority in the Middle Ages with those concerned with military matters because a lot of what he wrote made sense in the context of medieval warfare. The advice that he was

207 208 209 210

Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 74f. Ibid., lines 2007–45, pp. 73ff. Ibid., p. 6. For example, Knyghthode and Bataile, pp. 73 and 104ff.

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giving for resurrecting the fortunes of the Roman Legions was just as applicable to the type of warfare that was actually being conducted in the Middle Ages.211 Despite the outdated view that heavy cavalry dominated the medieval battlefield, infantry were considered to be important, even if the chroniclers did not necessarily devote that much attention to them. Medieval commentators such as Christine de Pizan even acknowledged that the ancients fought more on horseback than in her own day where fighting on foot was actually more common. More significantly, while there were certain narrowly defined restrictions concerning the areas of treachery and perfidy, guerrilla-style tactics were the daily fare, the bread and butter of the medieval soldier when conducting the legal process of the feud and this is reflected in the lengths that the translators and paraphrasers have gone to preserve the language and flavour of the original text. This was not in addition to or instead of chivalric warfare, this was chivalry in one of its many guises. Gillingham argues that while battle could clearly have decisive results, the relative rarity of battles in this period can be explained due to an adherence to Vegetian principles. Such principles make sense if one can get the benefits of a battle without having to undertake the risks associated with such endeavours.212 The advice in the Epitome provides just such a framework for getting the effects without the risk. Indeed, such risks should be avoided whenever possible by those who understand what they need to do to get results. Does this support the argument that chivalry was therefore a meaningless veneer, more concerned with victory than with the correct way to attain it? Such a conclusion would go too far and does not take into account the way that Vegetius’ words are framed and presented in the medieval versions of his text. Morillo is right when he emphasises the importance of recognising culture as part of strategic calculations.213 As can clearly be seen in all three medieval versions of Vegetius’ work, while much is presented 211 Richardot goes as far as to suggest that ‘Végèce offrait une méthode permanente pour obtenir la victoire. C’était donc un modèle théorique absolu, comme Karl von Clausewitz pour l’état-major allemand avant 1914’ . See Richardot, Végèce, p. 146. 212 The ‘Gillingham paradigm’ mentioned in the introduction emphasises the role of this type of Vegetian strategy throughout the warfare of the Middle Ages. Gillingham is not alone in his argument. See Clifford J. Rogers, ‘The Vegetian “Science of Warfare” in the Middle Ages’ in Bernard S. Bachrach (Ed.) The Journal of Medieval History Vol. I (Boydell Press, 2002), p. 3. 213 Stephen Morillo, ‘Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy’, in Bernard S. Bachrach (Ed.) The Journal of Medieval History Vol. I (Boydell Press, 2002), p. 41.

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without changing the meaning of the Epitome, there is a very medieval flavour to the way some of the advice has been transmitted which reflects a fundamentally different understanding of the way that the world worked. Clearly, the most important thing was to win (or at least avoid losing), and for this, Vegetius’ advice was excellent. However, the way that one either achieved victory or avoided defeat was also important, thus, for example, the additional advice on conducting negotiations if one wanted to avoid fighting rather than simply retreating at night. The context is vital and that context was informed by legal, moral and metaphysical understandings as well as the straight forward military pragmatism offered by Vegetius. While such tactics as surprise and deception were acceptable and even preferable in the day-to-day mechanics of everyday war or feud, once a battle had been agreed, the protagonists entered a different social and moral context. A properly ordered feud was not the same as a judicial trial by combat and this was something that did not always need to be made explicit in the literature of this period as an appreciation of this legal issue could be safely assumed.214 Chivalry and the laws of war did not prevent such behaviour being employed but it had to take place in the correct context. The subtleties of those contexts are often difficult for us to see today but, on the whole, they would have been obvious to the practitioners of medieval warfare, such as Lord Talbot or Sir John Fastolf. What does this mean for the debate as to whether or not medieval warfare was generally about battle-seeking or battle avoidance, I think it is fair to accept Gillingham’s point that ‘a field army capable of giving battle is one thing; a field army seeking battle quite another’ .215 It is also true that there were other ways in which honour could be gained than through battle.216 However, being seen to avoid battle when it was offered had significant costs attached and these costs appear to be recognised by those who adapted the Epitome to their own time. While avoiding battle completely might be acceptable 214 This would equate to the ‘closed cultural or political world’ that Morrillo refers to as necessary for Vegetian warfare to be replaced by a new governing framework. Such warfare could be about ‘prestige, hierarchy or elimination of rivals’, or in this case, a legally accepted and rule-governed procedure for determining justice within an agreed framework. This allowed a ‘legal or moral title [to be] conferred by some central authority’ only in this case, that authority was God Himself. See Morrillo, Battle Seeking, pp. 31f. 215 John Gillingham, ‘In Defense of Vegetian Warfare’ in Bernard S. Bachrach (Ed.) The Journal of Medieval History Vol. II (Boydell Press, 2004), p. 153. 216 Ibid., p. 154.

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in the context of a feud or general warfare where the aim was to force a compromise or coerce a concession, to avoid a battle once the legal situation had changed to one of arbitration through battle had far greater implications. Even if it was not clear that the legal situation had actually changed, the perception that trial by battle had been refused or backed out of had moral and political consequences due to the perception of the legal context. Given the framework that this work has tried to articulate with a belief system underpinned by legal, moral and metaphysical understandings, medieval strategy on the whole was not then about avoiding battle, but rather about only giving battle in favourable circumstances, or at least circumstances that were not detrimental to one’s own side. Medieval strategy could therefore be battle seeking but this was dependent upon context—it was certainly not something that was going to be undertaken or pursued recklessly, but it was also well-understood that a judicial combat was the clearest way to receive a judgement that was beyond dispute.217 Vegetius was an important and useful source of advice. However, the medieval translations and adaptations do not copy him slavishly, but rather reflect this different social and cultural context of the later Middle Ages. The example of events at Flamengrie-Buironfosse in the opening stages of the Hundred Years War and the way they were interpreted, bear this out. Even once the English had agreed to pick an appropriate place, free from obstructions for the combat to take place, Philip decided not to attack them after all, even though they were challenging his authority just by their very presence. For Philip to accept battle would have meant losing the advantage of being on the tactical defensive. However, while this might have been prudent, as a result, he received much criticism from many different directions. As far away as Italy, the shame that the campaign had brought on the French monarchy was recorded, while the French Chronicle of London went as far as to claim (in retrospect) that Philip’s actions meant that he had forfeited the right to the French throne.218 ‘Contemporary opinion was clear: the

217 It is difficult not to agree with Rogers’ argument that the profits from victory were there precisely because battle also offered the risk of disastrous defeat for the other side. Rogers, Science of Warfare, p. 9. 218 Giovanni Villani, ‘Cronica’, in Roberto Palmarocchi (Ed.), Cronisti del Trecento (Milan: Rizzoli, 1935), p. 374 and French Chronicle of London (Ed.) G.J. Aungier (Camden Society, 1844), XXVIII, p. 72. Froissart referred to it as occasioning ‘trop grant blasme’ . Jean Froissart, Oeuvres, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.) (Brussels, 1867–77), iii, p. 44.

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French should have given battle’ .219 The loss of honour was significant and weakened Philip politically, even if his action was the most prudent tactical choice. Clearly, being able to distance the commander from such a decision to withdraw without accepting battle could have practical implications and the medieval adaptations of the Epitome take this very route, whilst preserving the heart of the advice offered by Vegetius. Is the Epitome a fair reflection of medieval warfare? While the original unadulterated text was undoubtedly useful, it is the subtle changes incorporated into the medieval adaptations of the Epitome that ensured that they reflected strategic culture in the late Middle Ages. The use of surprise and deception appears, then as now, to have been an essential part of any successful soldier’s armoury for everyday warfare, although it is vital to understand the context within which they could be employed. There were specific circumstances in which they were less acceptable or even unacceptable due to the legal context of arbitration represented by a genuine trial by battle. However, despite some additions and subtle changes to the context to take into account this fundamental cultural difference, it was because of its content, not despite it, that the Epitome of Military Science remained one of the most important and popular texts in the Middle Ages.

219

Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, p. 173.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE WORKS OF GEOFFROY DE CHARNY Geoffroy de Charny was one of those comparatively rare people to be considered by his peers a model knight.1 Geoffrey le Baker, a contemporary historian and chronicler of Charny’s period, described him as ‘a knight more skilled in military matters than any other Frenchman, so that his fame was widespread’ .2 Froissart states that he was ‘Le plus preudomme et le plus vailant de tous les autres’: the worthiest and most valiant of them all.3 He is described by the historian Richard Kaeuper as being ‘the very soul of courage’ and ‘the quintessential knight of the age’ .4 This is not praise to be taken lightly. As well as being a knight exemplar, Charny was also the author of several chivalric texts. His works include the Demandes and the Book of Chivalry, both written in the mid-fourteenth century and both concerned with the practicalities of knighthood. The Demandes is of particular interest as it consists of a list of questions in the scholastic style, addressed to the knights of King John’s Order of the Star, concerned mainly with technical questions regarding how they, as experts in these matters, would interpret various rights and duties. Geoffroy’s pragmatic concerns were for how the actual practice of the rules in operation affected him and other knights. In contrast to the other sources examined in earlier chapters such as Bouvet, Christine de Pizan and Vegetius, Charny has a strongly positivistic approach to the rights and duties of his contemporaries and so his contribution completes the spectrum of perspectives on the use of surprise and deception in medieval warfare. Charny rose from relatively humble origins as a younger son in a family placed somewhat on the periphery of events. His father was Jean 1

Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press; 1999), p. 47. One of the others to be accorded such status was William Marshal in the late twelfth century. 2 Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, Edward M. Thompson (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), p. 103: ‘miles plus quam aliquis Gallicus, ut fama ventilavit’. 3 Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.) (Brussels, 1867–77), V p. 412. 4 Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, p. 166: Richard W. Kaeuper and Elspeth Kennedy, The Book of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996), p. 3.

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de Charny, Lord of Lirey and his mother, Marguerite de Joinville, was the daughter of Jean, Sire de Joinville, friend and chronicler of Louis IX.5 Charny’s martial career appears to have begun at the same time as the Hundred Years War opened in 1337. Charny participated in the wars of Languedoc and Guyenne under the command of Raoul de Brienne, Count of Eu and High Constable of France.6 This man appears to have been Charny’s patron and his wife was related to Charny’s wife which might explain how he came to serve under this particular captain. Described as a bachelier, Charny would probably have been between the age of eighteen and twenty-five at this time. This suggests that he had not yet acquired a fief (the fact that he was still referred to as Geoffrey de Charny rather than by the title of a fief strengthens this assumption). Geoffroy was still under the command of Raoul at Lille in 1338 and at the defence of Tournay in 1340.7 Froissart lists Charny along with many other knights who were present although he does not appear to have been specifically named as being engaged in any of the particular actions that are detailed. However, he does provide accounts of some of the attempted assaults, and states that ‘much valour was shown, for all the knights that were in Tournay were present’ .8 The siege was eventually raised after ‘eleven weeks all but three days’, by means of a truce. Although the English and their allies had been able to besiege ‘one of the best towns the [French] king had, burning and destroying his country before his eyes’, according to Froissart, ‘the French thought they had gained much honour in this business … [as they had] … prevented the city of Tournay from being lost, and separated the large army which had lain before it and done nothing’ .9 The year 1341 saw Charny in Angers on the frontiers of Brittany with three ecuyers or squires preparing for a campaign with John, Duke of Normandy (who was later to become King of France). His activities

5 Philippe Contamine, ‘Geoffroy de Charny (début du XIVe siècle-1356), Le plus prudhomme et le plus vaillant de tous les autres,’ Histoire et société: Mélanges Georges Duby, Le tenancier, le fidèle et le citoyen (Aix-en-Provence, 1992), pp. 107f. 6 Michael Taylor, ‘A Critical Edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre’ (Unpublished PhD dissertation, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1977), p. xiv. 7 Dictionnaire de biographie française sous la direction de M. Prevost et Roman d’Amat (Paris: Librairie Letouzey et Ané, 1959), p. 614. 8 Froissart, Chronicles of England, France, Spain and the Adjoining Countries: From the Latter Part of the Reign of Edward II to the Coronation of Henry IV, trans. Thomas Johnes (London: Henry G Bohn, 1857), p. 76. 9 Ibid., p. 86.

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here must have brought Charny success as the following year he was given a position of some authority and honour by Charles of Blois in September 1342. The English, under the Earl of Northampton, had been besieging Morlaix and, in an attempt to relieve the town, Charny was given command of the first line of attacking cavalry. His classic frontal charge at the dismounted, and dug-in English force proved disastrous thanks to their use of concealed trenches and pit traps. At least fifty French knights were killed and Charny, along with possibly as many as 150 of his companions, was taken prisoner.10 After being taken by Richard Talbot, Charny ended up as a prisoner of the Earl of Northampton but was quickly released from England to find his ransom.11 The fact that he did not return indicates that this must have been settled satisfactorily. This experience does not appear to have caused any real harm to Charny’s career as he was promoted to chevalier at some point between 1343 and 1347. In his edition of Froissart, Luce suggests that this took place in August 1346 but there are references to him in both English and French sources indicating that he was a knight in 1343.12 Following this, Charny acted as one of the marshals in the army sent to raise the siege of Vannes in 1342. Rather than an engagement with the English, however, papal legates brokered a truce in early 1343 that was to last until talks broke down in 1345.13 It was in that year that Charny took part in an ill-fated overseas expedition to the Levant. He joined the unsuccessful crusade of Humbert, Dauphin of Viennois. This was prompted by the recent capture of Smyrna by Christian forces which had renewed interest in the subject across Europe. Thanks to weak leadership, lengthy negotiations and many quarrels among the various allies, the expedition took ten months to reach Smyrna from Marseilles. Although Charny arrived to battle the Turk in June 1346, sources indicate that he had returned to France by that same summer so his

10 Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Battle (London: Faber and Faber, 1990), p. 402. 11 Kaueper and Kennedy, Geoffroi de Charny, p. 6. 12 Keen suggests a date as late as 1347 although Kaueper believes that the earlier date is convincing. See introduction to Froissart, Chroniques de J. Froissart, S. Luce, G. Raynaud and A. Mirot (Eds.), 15 vols (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1869– 1899), IV, xxxi; Maurice Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 12. For other sources, see Kaueper and Kennedy, Geoffroi de Charny, p. 6. 13 Edouard Perroy, The Hundred Years War (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1965), p. 115.

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crusade was certainly shortlived.14 In Runciman’s History of the Crusades the entire expedition was summed up as having been ‘singularly futile’ .15 Although back in France by the summer of 1346, Charny was to miss the great battle of Crécy. He was involved in a totally separate theatre of operations, again under the command of the Duke of Normandy, and took part in the defence of Béthune against a Flemish force. It has been suggested that Charny’s reputation may well have benefited from this successful action, which took place at the same time as ‘French chivalry in general had suffered a humiliating defeat’ .16 Following the Crécy disaster, the French now found Calais under siege. Charny, perhaps because he was not tainted with the brush of recent defeat, was one of the two emissaries chosen by King Philip to go and challenge Edward to combat. The challenge was refused and, due to the strong position of the besieging English, Philip chose not to take Edward up on his offer of a fight on his own terms. The French army instead withdrew and Calais fell six weeks later. During the following period of political upheaval in France, and with the king under heavy and sustained criticism, Charny emerged as one of the fresh faces on the Royal council as new ideas were sought by the French political elite. However, rather than being employed to provide military solutions, Charny was involved in negotiations and diplomacy and had been involved in securing the truce of September 1347.17 Any other large-scale military ideas that might have been planned during this break in hostilities were soon scuppered by the devastation wrought by the Plague in 1348. During this time Charny was ordered to St Omer to watch the military frontiers. Froissart records that in doing his job he acted as if he were a king in all things touching on war— ‘y estoi et usoi de toutes coses touchans as armes, comme rois’ .18 Perhaps this leadership went to his head as it was shortly after this that Charny hatched a plan to recover Calais from the English. In return for an enormous bribe, Aimery de Pavia, an Italian who was in charge of one of the gate-towers, entered into a ‘secretement tretier’, agreeing to

14

Contamine, Geoffroy de Charny, p. 110. Steven Runciman, A History of the Crusades: The Kingdom of Acre (Cambridge, 1954), p. 452. 16 Kaueper and Kennedy, Geoffroi de Charny, p. 8. 17 Contamine, Geoffroy de Charny, p. 111. 18 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V, pp. 229f. 15

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surrender the gate to Charny and his followers.19 What exactly happened next is unclear. It may have been that King Edward heard rumours and summoned Aimery to London or alternatively it is possible that Aimery went of his own accord. Either way, we do know that Aimery reported the plot to Edward who quickly and secretly assembled a small army and crossed the Channel to Calais. Utterly unaware of the trap awaiting him, Charny quietly gathered his own men, including such eminent knights as Eustache de Ribemont, the military governor of the march of Flanders along with about 1,500 men-at-arms and another 4,000 other infantry.20 Under cover of darkness, Charny’s army drew up his men outside of the gate house noting that the small gate was open and the citadel was therefore undefended. Sending forward some of his men to conclude the transaction with Aimery and open the main gate for his force, Charny stated that: Je voel entrer en Calais par la porte toute ouverte. Je n’I enterai ja par le guichet, ne moi, ne ma baniere.21

I want to ride into Calais through the wide open main gate. Neither I, nor my standard, will go in by the side entrance.22

Charny had every intention of riding into Calais displaying his standard. This would have had important moral implications as well as legal ones and Charny wanted to be seen to be riding unopposed through the main entrance rather than sneaking in through the side gate. However, things were not to work out in this way. Firstly, the men who had already entered were ambushed and forced to surrender. Then the English force, well supported by archers, emerged and engaged the French force outside, eventually defeating and capturing both Charny and Eustace.23

19 Froissart, Chroniques: Dernière rédaction du premier livre. Edition du manuscrit de Rome Reg lat. 869, George T. Diller (Ed.) (Genève: Droz, 1972), p. 861. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V, pp. 229–51; Chandos Herald, Life of the Black Prince, by the Herald of Sir John Chandos, Mildred K. Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Eds.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1910), pp. 12f., and; Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, Edward M. Thompson (Ed.) (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), pp. 103ff. 20 Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Fire, (London: Faber and Faber, 1999), p. 61. 21 Froissart, Chroniques: MS de Rome, Diller (Ed.) p. 866. 22 The translations from French to English in this chapter are my own unless noted otherwise. 23 Froissart, Chroniques: MS Rome, Diller (Ed.), pp. 870f.

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Although the Chandos Herald talks of the attempt to take the castle ‘par traison et par pechie’, his account is very confused.24 It is certainly not clear that the King Edward saw it in these terms. Instead of throwing his prisoners into captivity and destroying their reputations as one might have expected if their conduct really had been dishonourable, the king put on a feast with the Prince of Wales and other knights serving their French guests. Admittedly, the king was a little harsh with Charny, the architect of the plan, in his after dinner address: S’adreça sus mesire Jofroi de Cargni; et la, en parlent a lui, li canga un petit contenance, car il regarda sus costé et dist: “Mesire Jofroi … je vous doi, par vostre deserte, petite amer, quant vous voliés par nuit embler ce que j’ai si comparet et qui m’a coustet tant de deniers. Si sui moult liés, quant je vous ai pris a l’esprueve. Vous en voliés avoir millour marchiet que je n’aie eu, qant vous le quidiés avoir pour .x.x.m. escus; mais Dieus m’a aidié que vous avés falli a vostre entente.” … Mesires Joffrois fu tous honteus et ne respondi mot.25

When he came to Sir Geoffry de Chargny, his countenance altered, and looking at him askance, he said, “Sir Geoffrey, I have few reasons to love you, when you wished to take from me by night, what had cost me such sums of money. I am, however, rejoiced, to have caught you in your attempt. You wanted to gain it cheaper than I did, and thought you could purchase it for twenty thousand crowns. However, through God’s assistance, you have failed in your attempt.” … Sir Geoffrey was ashamed and did not say a word in reply.

Charny was clearly of strong enough moral character to take a little public humiliation. The context suggests that the humiliation was due to having failed in a rather ambitious exercise rather than because he had been dishonourable. This is born out by Charny’s companion in the episode, Eustace de Ribemont, who was actually honoured at the feast for his valour in the battle, an event hardly likely to happen if there really was a legal or moral problem with their actions. Nor did the event appear to do any harm to Charny’s career.26

24

Chandos Herald, Black Prince, p. 13. Froissart, Chroniques: MS de Rome, Diller (Ed.), pp. 873f. 26 Interestingly, Charny later took his revenge on Aimery de Pavia as a traitor to his word. Aimery had escaped punishment by Edward but was no longer in a position of responsibility at Calais. Charny surprised Aimery in a night attack in his new abode and took him prisoner. Aimery was taken back to St Omer where he was decapitated and then quartered. To demonstrate that it was a private matter of justice and not a 25

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Charny was ransomed on 31st July 1351 with the new French king Jean II contributing towards the sum required for his freedom.27 His reputation does not appeared to have suffered at all and upon his return he was made Conseiller du roi es parties de Picardie et sur les frontieres de Flandres et d’Artois. He faught at Ardres where an outnumbered English force was overwhelmed by a much larger French one and then, ironically considering his previous activities, returned to attend the negotiations that prolonged the Anglo-French Truce. On the 6th January 1352, he was made a member of the newly created and extremely prestigious Ordre de l’Etoile (or the Ordre de Nostre Dame de la Noble Maison).28 In 1355 Charny was involved in affaires secrètes in Normandy on behalf of his king and his career peaked on 25th June of that year when he was named as the bearer of the Oriflamme thanks to him being ‘le plus preudomme et le plus vaillant de tous les aultres’ .29 Displaying the Oriflamme was the sign that the battle would be to the death with no quarter to be given or expected. As such, it was only to be unfurled at times of dire necessity.30 Charny had the immense honour of carrying the Oriflamme in September 1356 at the Battle of Poitiers, dying with ‘la banière de France entre ses mains’ .31 However, Vigorous and valiant as he may have been, he was captured twice, went on a useless crusade, failed to secure Calais for his king, and was hacked to death in the great set-piece battle for which he had presumably longed all his life. Yet he was vastly admired by his contemporaries.32

breach of the truce in place at the time, Charny only took and punished Aimery himself and did not claim or damage his property. Ironically, Charny had expected and encouraged Aimery to become a traitor and help Charny get into the castle. Nevertheless, Charny now punished Aimery for breaking his personal oath to him. Perhaps the key here was not to get caught. 27 The ransom is recorded as 1000 écus in Lettenhove’s edition of Froissart, but Anselme records it as 12,000 écus. See: Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), XX, p. 543; Père F. Anselme, Histoire généalogique de la maison royale de France 9 Vols (Paris: 1726–1733), IX, p. 201. 28 For a history of the glorious but shortlived order, see D’Arcy Jonathan Dacre Boulton, The Knights of the Crown: The Monarchical Orders of Knighthood in Later Medieval Europe 1325–1520 (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1987), p. 47. 29 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V p. 412. It is possible that he was also granted this supreme honour in 1347. See Anselme, Histoire généalogique, p. 202. 30 See M.H. Keen, The Laws of War in the Late Middle Ages (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), p. 106. 31 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), V, p. 54. 32 Kaeuper and Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny, p. 18.

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One must wonder how exactly Charny gained this position of being respected by both those he fought for and alongside, and also those he fought against. One of the reasons for Charny’s colossal reputation has to be that, apart from being a practitioner of chivalry, he was also an author who penned at least three works on various aspects of chivalry: the Livre Charny, the Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre and the Livres de Chevalerie.33 There is evidence to suggest that these works were all commissioned by, or at least written for, King John and the newly created order of knighthood.34 The Demandes are clearly addressed to the Prince des Chevaliers de Nostre Dame de la Noble Maison. As such it appears safe to assume that the work was completed shortly after the creation of this order in 1352. The other works are harder to ascribe dates to although the Livre Charny is likely to have been written after his voyage to the Levant due to the realistic description given of the hardships facing a knight on a voyage overseas.35 Charny’s background as a practising knight, one who was personally familiar with the wide variety of experiences and hardships that medieval warfare offered, gives Charny’s works a refreshing honesty and pragmatism that can be lacking in many of the prescriptive texts on the subject of chivalry from the period, written by observers rather than practitioners. Some of Charny’s concerns may, at first glance, appear mundane. For example, the rights of a constable to reclaim his lodging after an absence, or the details that should be observed when restoring lost or borrowed horses on campaign.36 However, it is precisely the 33 For both the Livres Charny and the Demandes I employ Taylor’s Critical Edition. Taylor reproduces MS 1124–1126 of the Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique as the base Ms. According to Menestrier, this is the original Ms. of the works of Charny and contains all three on 136 folios of parchment. See François Menestrier, ‘De la chevalerie ancienne et moderne’, Collections des meilleurs dissertations relatifs à l’histoire de France XII (Paris: R.J.B. de la Caille, 1826), p. 215. The language used is Francian with occasional use of other dialects such as Picard and Champenois. The Livre Charny is on folios 1r–40v with each face containing 24 lines with a few having up to 26 lines. Each line begins with an enlarged capital with some of these illuminated. The first folio has leaf-like decorations and the coat of arms of Jean le Bon. The Demandes begins on f. 41r ending with 82r. Each of the demandes begins with an illuminated capital and the first folio of each of the three sections of the Demandes is decorated like the first folio of the Livre Charny. The Livre de Chevalerie, for which I employ the Kaeuper and Kennedy edition and translation contained in The Book of Geoffroi de Charny, occupies folios 82v–136r. 34 Boulton, Knights of the Crown, pp. 185f and pp. 208f. 35 Taylor, Critical Edition, p. xvii. 36 Geoffroi de Charny, Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre: demandes pour la guerre, questions 1, 3, 4, 5, 11, 12 and 26. From Taylor, Critical Edition, pp. 90ff.

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mundane nature of many of Charny’s concerns that prove to be so interesting today for those who are interested in the real face of chivalry. Charny’s writing allows us to see what was genuinely important to the everyday life of a practising knight. The Livre Charny is a 1934 line verse work written in the form of a tercets coués. It consists of a realistic description of the life of a knight and sets out the qualities required for the participation in such a life. The Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre was written in prose, and comprises 134 questions concerning feats of arms. Addressed to the French King, twenty of the questions deal with jousting, twenty-one with tournaments and ninety-three deal with various aspects of warfare. While answers to these questions are unfortunately not given, this work still provides an excellent indication of the types of concerns that knights actually had through this period. The Livre de Chevalerie duplicates some material from the preceding works but also offers some original ideas of its own. This work was clearly popular and was one of the translations that the English herald Thomas Benolt, Clarenceux King of Arms, left to his colleague Carlisle Herald in 1534, along with Bouvet’s Tree of Battles and Vegetius’ De Re Militari.37 Each of Charny’s works offer various insights into the life, duties, rights and concerns of practising knights and the belief system within which they practised their profession. The Livres Charny 38 The introduction of the rhyming Livres Charny deals with the subject that, it quickly becomes apparent, is the one of most significance to Charny: the importance of honour. It emphasises that perfection in arms can only be achieved with God’s help and that both God and the Virgin Mary should be asked for guidance to ensure honourable action in all undertakings and so that one acts ‘sanz vilanie’ .39 37 A.R. Wagner, Heralds and Heraldry in the Middle Ages (Oxford: 1956), Appx. F, pp. 150ff. Taken from Maurice Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 141. Kaeuper doubts that the Livre de Chevalerie was as popular as Ramon Lull’s Book of the Ordre of Chyvalry, probably due to its close association with the short-lived Company of the Order of the Star. However, other influential chivalric authors such as Jean de Beuil do appear to have been familiar with his writing. See Kaeuper and Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny, pp. 63f. and Malcolm Vale, War and Chivalry: Warfare and Aristocratic Culture in England, France, and Burgundy at the End of the Middle Ages (London: Duckworth, 1981), p. 31. 38 Translations from the Livres Charny are my own. 39 Charny, Livre Charny, line 36.

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Honour is the most important thing a knight should be concerned with and it can only be achieved through great personal sacrifice and suffering due to the countless hardships involved. Charny makes clear what this is likely to involve—a good knight must become used to fasting and to sleeping little, he must be prepared to constantly be ready to move around and go where he is needed. There is a good chance that he will sometimes be wounded in battle and he constantly faces the disdain of his companions if he has not fought well. There is also the risk of being humiliated in the presence of his lady if he has not acquitted himself well.40 This section concludes by reminding the knight that he is helpless without God—‘se Jehu Crist ne t’I convoie Tu n’as povoir’ .41 The work provides a particularly graphic account of what it is like to be a knight on campaign and in battle with a vivid description of the horrors waiting for those involved: Or vois tu gens entretuer, Fouir, mourir et arrester, Tes amis mors, Don’t devant toy gisent les corps.42

You see men killing each other, fleeing, dying and being taken prisoner. Your friends are dead, their bodies lying all around you.

Even if the knight avoids death then the chances are that he will be wounded or captured instead. If one is taken prisoner, then one must return and continue fighting once one has given one’s word, just as God has given his word.43 This is very interesting as, apart from providing a naturalistic account of the dangers that warfare holds, it also explicitly speaks about being taken prisoner and then being released from captivity. This makes Charny’s approach rather different from that of certain other medieval works, such as Knyghthode and Bataile, which do not speak of even partial defeat in such a pragmatic way and only mention total defeat in relation to the other side.44 Charny is clearly concerned with the practicalities facing a real knight and, as his own career demonstrates, defeat and capture were very real possibilities.

40

Charny, Livre Charny, lines 61–362. Ibid., lines 366–7. 42 Ibid., lines 446–9. 43 Ibid., lines 452–593. 44 R. Dyboski and Z. M. Arend [Eds.], Knyghthode and Bataile: A Fifteenth Century Verse Paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus’ Treatise “De Re Militari” (London: Oxford University Press, 1935), pp. 78f. See Chapter Four above. 41

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Charny vividly describes the ‘peines’ and ‘perils’ of foreign adventures, the storms, lack of water, pirates and battles involved.45 After listing all the great hardships, Charny does answer the obvious question that springs to mind after reading the tales of suffering and hardship—why would one choose to follow such a path in the first place? The answer for Charny is simple—he who has nothing, has naught to lose, whether he aquits himself well or badly: ‘cilz qui n’a rien, s’il pert il ne li chaut de rien, se il fait mal ou s’il fait bien’ .46 Sloth is the root of evil for any fighting man and therefore the deadliest of the Seven Sins for a knight. Simply put, one must never appear like a lazy person—‘Ne ressemblent et sont pareulx’ .47 Apart from losing one’s honour through slothfullness, one will also find that other people will capitalise on one’s perceived inaction: L’en te plumera si tes elles; Souvent en paieras de telles; Et tes voisins Prendront tes blez et puis tes vins; De maulx soirs et de maulx matins Auras tu don.48

They will pluck your women and you will often be made to pay; your neighbours will take your grain and then take your wines; bad evenings and bad mornings will be your due.

This is possibly Charny’s most pressing concern—that a worthy knight should be a man of action. After discussing which youths have the correct qualities for knighthood, Charny then gives the essentials for their training.49 Charny avoids the detailed and comprehensive religious education advocated by Lull in his Book of the Ordre of Chyvalry.50 Instead, the parent is simply reminded that the budding knight must be taught to love God and the Virgin Mary for one cannot succeed without God—‘Sanz Dieu rien faire ne puet on’ .51 One must love, honour and protect women and guard against sin, for example pride: ‘D’orgueil te garde’ .52 It is little surprise that he also reiterates that one must never be guilty of sloth: ‘Pereceux ne soies nul temps’ .53 One must never allow God, honour, generosity and 45

Charny, Livre Charny, lines 594–845, esp. lines 608–18. Ibid., lines 988–9. 47 Ibid., lines 1349. 48 Ibid., lines 1286–91. 49 Ibid., lines 1387–1870. 50 Ramon Lull, Book of the Ordre of Chyvalry, Alfred T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1926), pp. 90ff. 51 Charny, Livre Charny, line 1425. 52 Ibid., lines 1502–13. 53 Ibid., line 1792. 46

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courtesy to leave one’s mind—‘Et Dieu n’oublies; Honneur, largesce, courtoisies’ .54 One must also be careful to speak honestly and act honourably without any form of villainy—‘que deshonnestement ne parles … Honneur a tous sanz vilanie’ .55 It is in taking up arms that a knight will find honour but God’s help should be sought for achieving feats of arms. This way he will be protected and granted victory.56 A knight should prefer death to shame which must be feared more than anything else—‘Mourir avant que hontes soies’ .57 Charny’s knight has honour and the pursuit of valour as his earthly goals and Lull’s Christian emphasis on the punishment of earthly sin is completely lacking, although this is not to indicate that Charny was opposed to faith. Rather, he was a man who was of ‘bon sens and practicality’. Taylor asserts that: He was a man who was aware of the fact that not only the social and economic factors of his time posed a threat to his profession, but that the unrelenting position of the Church concerning knights killed in tournaments and vainglory introduced elements of hesitation and confusion into the psyche of the fourteenth-century man of action…He knew that to be victorious in battle knights must be valiant; therefore any inspiration to fight and to be valiant was good.58

Rather than their being a contradiction between the demands of chivalry and religion (as seen in Raymond Lull’s work for example), the role of religion ‘in its pure, non-political form’ actually helped knighthood. Through confession, the knight was prepared for death as peace with God had been made. Hesitation caused by worries over impending mortality could therefore be removed or at least minimised. The man of action could serve God better by having a clear head and an unburdened heart when he went into battle. The Livre de Chevalerie 59 The Livre de Chevalerie repeats many of the themes that are found in the Livre Charny and also raises some new issues and highlights

54

Charny, Livre Charny, lines 1595–6. Ibid., lines 1768 and 1796. 56 Ibid., lines 1876–88. 57 Ibid., lines 1894–5. 58 Taylor, Critical Edition, p. xxx. 59 The following translations for the Livres de Chevalerie are taken from Kaeuper and Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny with some corrections, suggestions and clarifications by Prof Beatrice Heuser. 55

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certain areas that are particularly relevant to this thesis. Charny begins by reiterating the theme that qui plus fait, miex vault: he who does more is of greater worth.60 There is no stigma or reproval attached to any deed of arms as long as it is conducted for the right reasons. This specifically meant that it was not only the large scale and prestigious campaigns that were important and those unable to participate in the prosecution of a feud but were bound to defend a locality instead were still engaged in honourable exploits: Qui ont guerre en leur chief pour deffendre leur honneur et leur heritage, come de ceulx qui veulent faire guerre pour aidier a deffendre l’onneur et heritage de leurs amis charneulx, come de ceulx qui demeurent et servent leur droit seigneur en ses guerres pour deffendre et garder l’onneur et heritage de leur dit seigneur soubz.61

Those who have to wage war on their own behalf in order to defend their honour and inheritance, or those who want to wage war to assist in the defence of the honour and inheritance of their kinsman, or like those who stay to serve in the wars to defend the honour and inheritance of their rightful lord who maintains them.

The important thing for a man of action is that he is involved in armed combat somewhere: all deeds of arms were considered honourable ‘qu’il soit fait sanz reproche’—as long as they were conducted without reproach.62 Charny continues that the military art can be divided into three different kinds: jousting, tourneying, and waging war. Those who undertake the last of these deserve the most honour as this requires all of the skills that are involved in the others and more. However, he then details the other exploits that can bring a knight honour, from undertaking pilgrimages or distant journeys through to deeds undertaken for the love of a lady, ending with a warning to those who are brave but too eager for plunder, a theme that is repeated in later chapters (it would be fitting if the period of captivity that Charny suffered in England, following his ill-fated attempt to retake Calais using bribery, was used to write at least part of this chivalric treatise as he frequently offers advice that would appear to be appropriate to this particular episode). In chapter sixteen, which discusses How the Highest Standard in Deeds of Arms Is Achieved, Charny states: 60 Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, from Kaeuper and Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny, pp. 86f. 61 Ibid., pp. 86ff. 62 Ibid., p. 88.

the works of geoffroy de charny D’eulx mesmes pour la grant et bonne volenté qu’il y ont, aprennent il l’usage et la maniere du faire, et tant qu’il ont la cognoissance de tousjours faire et tirer au plus honorable, tant de tous faiz d’armes come en autres manieres, de tous bons gouvernemens qui a leurs estaz appartiennent.63

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They themselves, through their great zeal and determination, learn the true way to practice the military arts until they, on every occasion, know how to strive towards the most honourable course of action, whether in relation to deeds of arms or in relation to other forms of behaviour appropriate to their rank.

Although knights were expected to conform to the highest standards of behaviour, interestingly that did not mean that knights should automatically be trusted. In chapter twenty-three, Charny gives the advice that one should be extremely wary when talking with one’s enemies: ne devez pas parler longuement ne tenir parole avecques voz ennemis, qui vous devez penserqu’il ne parolent pas a vous pour vostre bien, fors que pour traire de vous don’t il se puissent aviser de vous porter plus grant domage.64

You should not converse at any length nor hold speech with your enemies, for you should bear in mind that they do not speak to you for your own good but to draw out of you what they can use to do you the greatest harm.

Given the events that surrounded Charny’s attempt to retake the citadel of Calais this is particularly interesting. In the same spirit, Charny warns that a good knight needs to stay on his toes: vous gardez de trop grant simplece, quar qui riens ne scet, ne bien ne mal, son cuer est aweugle et non voyant, ne il ne scet conseillier ne lui ne les autres; que se un aweugles veult mener un autre, certes il meismes chiet en la fosse premiers et li autres amprés luy.65

Be careful not to be too guileless, for the man who knows nothing, neither of good nor of evil, is blind and unseeing in his heart, nor can he give himself or others good counsel, for when one blind man tries to lead another, he himself will fall first into the ditch and drag the other in after him.

Clearly, one must have some knowledge of evil or one will be unable to protect oneself from it. This is expanded a little in a later chapter

63 64 65

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 100. Ibid., p. 128. Ibid., pp. 128ff.

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discussing those who act loyally and serve God. Here Charny speaks of those who may be wise but direct their intelligence towards ‘grant malice’. It is clear here that it is not their intelligence that is considered bad, but the intention behind it: ‘It is not good to have knowledge combined with such intentions’—‘il n’est mie bon de savoire ne de avoir tel veus’ .66 Charny makes clear that lasting benefit comes not from luck but from wisdom: ‘One should not put trust in the benefits of fortune, which are not earned, for fortune is fickle and is destined to come to an end’—‘on dire que l’en ne se doit point fier es biens de fortune qui viennent sanz desserte, que elle est muable et doit perir’ .67 One should be wary as luck can fail at any time which is exactly why one should strive to succeed through one’s own merits and hard work. The role of fortune naturally leads Charny to discuss those who were raised up and made lords over other people. Drawing on the mythology of chivalry, Charny states that these men did not gain their positions through luck or good fortune, but because they were ‘the persons with the best physical qualities and the highest standard of moral conduct’—‘les plus convenables personnes de corps et les plus parfaiz en toutes bonnes meurs’ .68 It was from these men that the leaders of Charny’s time were descended. They were not chosen to harm the people or make a profit for themselves, or to eat and drink as much as they could or go hunting instead of performing great deeds. Nor were they chosen to be cowards, to be generous to the unworthy or to be idle. Charny makes it clear that the lords with their responsibilities over other men have a duty to keep their word and to avoid inciting other people to commit anything that could be regarded as a misdeed: Furent il faiz pour mentir et faire contre leurs promesses, seremens ou seellez? Certes nennil. Furent il fait pour avoir nulle plaisance ne amistié a genz de mauvaise vie? Certes nennil.69

Were they chosen to lie and to break their promises, oaths, and sealed agreements? Indeed no! Were they chosen to have no pleasure nor friendship with men of bad lifestyle? Indeed no!

The true function for which rulers were created was to fulfil their duties and responsibilities: ‘to endure more and to strive harder than any of the others’—‘pour avoir plus grans paines et travaulx que nulz des 66 67 68 69

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 148. Ibid., p. 134. Ibid., p. 138. Ibid.

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autres’ .70 Those responsibilities ranged from giving people good government and serving God, to administering justice tempered with pity and mercy where appropriate. The theme of exertion and activity is evident throughout and this is linked with a strong and familiar moral theme. For example, the prince was chosen ‘to be the first to take up arms and to strive with all their might and expose themselves to the physical dangers of battle in defence of their people and their land’— ‘faiz pour eulz armer les premiers et travaillier et mettre leurs corps es aventures de batailles pour la deffension de leur peuple et de leurs terres’ .71 Among all the other things that are considered to be pertinent to the true function of princes, Charny returns to the theme of honesty. Although treason itself is not mentioned, ‘they were, therefore, chosen in order to keep their spoken promises, and so, for even stronger reasons, they should keep their sworn and sealed undertakings and never declare them null and void.’—‘il promettoient et disoient de leur bouche veritablement, don’t par plus forte raison devoient il tenir leurs seremens et seellez sanz corrumpre’ .72 Of course, ill deeds bring one to a ‘malvaise fin’ or bad end while those who undertake deeds of valour will find themselves born safely along by their ‘bonne oeuvres’ and noble undertakings.73 Charny specifically dedicates a chapter to those who are too ingenious and over-subtle. If one focuses one’s efforts into ‘subtilz engin’ or cunning schemes, this can result in a failure to reach a true, loyal and sensible conclusion in the same way that one can become lost by leaving the main road to follow a minor path.74 Those who are truly wise realise that to profit fully from their ‘bien de sens’ or natural intelligence, they must learn what the right thing to do is, act in such a way so as to protect rights, provide good advice, ‘not using excessive subtlety, and without incurring shameful reproach’—‘non pas ses tres grans subtilletez et sanz nul malvais reproche’ .75 Of course, it is not always possible to think through every action or weigh-up the balance of benefit and advantage. Charny, above all else, supports the man of action. Rather than criticising those individuals who act before they think, Charny makes it clear that they cannot be

70 71 72 73 74 75

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 140. Ibid., p. 142. Ibid. Ibid., p. 146. Ibid., pp. 148ff. Ibid., p. 150.

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reproached in relation to their honour as they are clearly brave.76 We have seen in earlier chapters that other writers on this subject emphasise the importance of cohesion and organisation. Charny takes the line that those who refuse advice and spur on regardless and in a disorderly way, probably do so to their own disadvantage. Il n’y regardent profit, ne advantage pour leurs amis, ne a la grant grevance de leurs ennemis, mais sanz conseil donner ne prendre fierent des esperons et a po d’arroy, et font d’armes assez de leur main et moult de fois plus a leur domage que a leur profit.77

They do not consider the benefit or advantage for their friends or the harm done to their enemies, but, without giving or taking advice, they spur forward in a disorderly way and perform personally many feats of arms. This is often more to their disadvantage than to their advantage.

This finds echoes in Bouvet’s Tree of Battles where, although the author is keen to promote this idea of discipline and obedience, he also pragmatically accepts that if orders are disobeyed but the outcome is favourable to the cause, then the punishment should not be too severe or even ignored: ‘A deed of great utility should excuse disobedience to the sovereign’s command, and because of the happy issue he should not lose his head’ .78 Charny’s admonishment is limited to the statement that it is possible to do better than this: ‘quant a estre preus a droit, l’en y pourroit encores miex faire’ .79 Chapter twenty-three emphasises the importance of just cause for the process of war. Charny states that one must ‘take care not to be so greedy as to take what belongs to others without good cause’—‘gardez que convoitise ne soit en vous pour tolir ne pour avoir l’autruy sanz cause’. What follows from this is the equally important moral statement that ‘as you value yourself, you do not let anything of yours be taken from you’— ‘vous amez que vous ne vous laissiez rienz tolir du vostre’.80 The positivistic conception that standing up for one’s rights is a moral duty is very clear here. The idea of just cause and due process is returned to in a 76 Henry of Ghent expresses some sympathy with this view, citing Vegetius in support of it. However the intention of the individual concerned is important to the moral quality of the action. Henry of Ghent, Quodlibetal Questions on Moral Problems, Roland J. Teske, SJ (Milwaukee: Marquette University Press, 2005), Quod. 15, Question 16. 77 Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 150. 78 Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles, trans. G.W. Coopland (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949), pp. 122f. 79 Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 150. 80 Ibid., p. 128.

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later chapter dedicated to describing the men-at-arms of supreme worth. After giving examples of those who deserve the highest praise, Charny assures his readers in chapter thirty-five that to follow the true path of chivalry is to save one’s soul through one’s actions. One must only take up arms in those struggles that have followed the correct procedure, are started in the appropriate manner, and then conducted in the right way: quant es mestiers d’armes, dont l’en peut et doit acquerir ces tres hautes honnours, l’on y peut bien faire les corps honoreement et vassaument et a sauver les ames, que quant les fais d’armes des guerres deuement encommanciees et les batailles qui s’en ensiuent, ainsi come se lurs seigneurs ont guerres, leurs subgiez peuent et doivent guerrier pour eulz et entrer seurement et hardiement pour cestes causes en batailles.81

When in the profession of arms, in which one can and should win these high honours, one can indeed acquire honour and valour by one’s body and save one’s soul, as for example in the practice of arms in wars which have begun in the proper manner and in due form and in the battles which ensue. This is the case when lords have wars, and their men can and should fight for them and move confidently and bravely into battle.

Fighting for one’s lord was clearly a just cause and it was not up to an individual soldier to question this duty or the motives of the competent authority. Defence of one’s own property or rights, or those of defenceless maidens or widows also automatically concurs with these restrictions as long as measures short of war would prove inadequate. This view is consistent with the position set out by Pope Innocent IV in the thirteenth century (see Chapter Two). One who fights the enemies of religion is also assured to be acting in a noble way and acting towards the salvation of one’s soul as long as there was no other option and one fights with a purity of conscience and without fear of death: Ceste guerre est bonne, que l’on n’y peut perdre ne les corps ne les armes. Si ne doit l’on rienz doubter ycelles guerres dessus dites qui de grant neccessité et a leur droit garder sont encommanciez, mes que elles soient maintenues et gouvernees en tele maniere que l’on

81

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 164.

This kind of war is good, for one can lose in it neither one’s body nor one’s soul. Nor ought one to fear those wars mentioned above which are started from great necessity and to protect one’s rights, provided they are carried on and conducted in such a way that one

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is always in such a state of purity of conscience that one does not and should not fear to die in order to avoid all shame.

This idea of being in the appropriate mental state for military endeavours echoes the ideas explored in the Livres Charny. The moral dimension of the Livre de Chevalerie comes across particularly strongly when Charny discusses those who are unworthy to be men-at-arms. Chapter forty-one also gives us the clearest indication yet of Charny’s views on the specific matters of surprise and deception. Some people fail to meet the standards required of a man-at-arms due to their ‘very dishonest and disordered behaviour under these arms’— ‘tres deshonestes et desordenees vies qu’il maintiennent en celle armeure’ .83 The list of crimes is telling: waging war without due cause and failing to give the correct defiance or warning: Ce sont ceulz qui veulent guerroier sanz nulle raison de guerre, qui prennent les uns et les autres sanz deffiance et sanz nulle bonne cause, et les robent et raimbent, blecent, et tuent … Si vont encores courre sur es uns et es autres en prenant proies, prisons et autres biens, s’il les treuvent, et sanz nulle bonne cause.84

It is these men who want to wage war without good reason, who seize other people without prior warning and without any good cause and rob and steal from them, wound and kill them … they attack anyone, taking booty, prisoners, and other valuables, if they find them, and without justification.

To act in this dishonourable way is to be cowardly and treacherous. It is not surprise itself that Charny is objecting to, but the type of surprise that would result from the lack of a legal challenge. It is the context of the act rather than the act that is important and this refers to wounding and killing, the taking of booty and prisoners etc as well as surprise. If one has just cause, one has a duty to make this clear to the party that has committed the injury. To fail to do this reduces what is otherwise a true and honourable course of action to a criminal activity. Wicked men who abuse the practice of arms do so in four ways and three of these are concerned with lack of just cause or due process while the fourth category of wickedness is to harm the Church or 82 83 84

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 164. Ibid., p. 176. Ibid., pp. 176ff.

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its servants. So, seizing another’s goods on a highway becomes treacherously stealing or ‘mauvaisement robee’ for it is done for no good reason or cause. It is also clearly wrong to kill someone without a just cause as this is considered ‘murdrir’, whereas it may be legitimate given the correct legal situation. Seizing, plundering and robbing others who have not been challenged or have done nothing wrong, ‘sanz deffiance ne sanz meffait’, is clearly a treacherous deed.85 One is also not excused if one does not do these things oneself but employs others instead. As Charny made clear with his views of those given the responsibility of leadership, knights are different and special precisely because their causes are just. Those who fail to provide warning cannot be involved in a legal process and are therefore not worthy of the station. Law comes from God so those who are worthy men-at-arms and knights and act to uphold it can be favourably compared to priests.86 The Demandes pour la Joute, les Tournois et la Guerre 87 Charny’s Demandes were written in prose and comprise 134 questions concerning feats of arms. Charny’s questions are aimed at receiving a definite ruling on cases ranging from jousts and tournaments, to war. Each of these questions are concerned with definitions, terminology and of the rights and duties of knights, whether in the lists or in the field. Unlike the Canon or Civil laws, the law of arms was clearly not codified in the same way and the type of question asked (and the way it is addressed by Charny) confirms that the law of arms was a matter of military custom and usage rather than a single recorded body of accepted rules. People would generally have known what was expected of them and what to expect but that did not always help with some of the more unusual things that could happen to a practising knight. Even where a certain event was of the more mundane variety, some customs

85

Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, p. 178. Priests also serve God but do so from the safety of their pulpit and do not undertake to suffer the same risks and hardships through their office as those that are cheerfully born by the worthy knight. Charny, Livre de Chevalerie, pp. 180ff. 87 Translations from the Demandes are my own unless noted. I am grateful for the help and advice of Lisa Jefferson and Prof Beatrice Heuser in this section. 86

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and traditions could vary from place to place. It was at least important that those who were fighting under the same banner would have the same view of the customs and laws that pertained to their activities. To get definitive answers to his concerns about what to do when, ‘no group of men would have been more competent to rule on such questions than the eminent and experienced knights of the Order of the Star’ .88 As such, Charny’s perspective is radically different to that of a writer such as Bouvet to whom custom is less important than how knights should behave. Charny wants to know how knights actually do act and is confident that the type of person whom he is addressing will act in the correct way. While it is unfortunate that the answers to these questions have not survived, the questions themselves are quite illuminating by their choice of subject. Out of the Demandes, twenty deal with jousting, twenty-one with tournaments and ninety-three deal with various aspects of what we would now regard as real warfare. What exactly constitutes a war is dealt with in several places. Chapter twenty five deals with two different types of war: une guerre guerriable and une guerre de conqueste and asks about the correct manner for conducting each.89 This would be an important distinction for those involved in hostilities. For example, the supporters of Edward Balliol needed to establish that the conflict that they were involved in had the correct legal status. Without this, they risked their actions being seen as criminal as they would not have been afforded the privileges that came with a legally recognised dispute.90 As I have argued, different levels of war involved different legal rights and imposed different obligations on those who were involved. The guerre guerriable or ‘working war’ was the open or public war, a legal feud sanctioned and carried out on the behalf of a competent authority and giving the participants the right to take booty and ransom prisoners. The guerre de conqueste of which Charny speaks would probably equate to the guerre mortelle where the right to take prisoners was subjugated to the perceived importance of the cause and it really was a matter of

88 N.A.R. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bouvet and the Laws of War’ from C.T. Allmand (Ed.), War, Literature, and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), p. 20. 89 Charny, Demandes, p. 102. 90 See Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327–1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 32.

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fighting to the death.91 That different categories of armed force existed is made very clear by Charny’s questions thirteen to sixteen concerning the three different types of fighting that could take place in the field. The questions makes clear that a bataille was not the same and nor did it have the same implications as a simple armed clash or rencontre or even the same rights and duties as everyday work or besoigne. Even though a rencontre might look very similar in process and could result in the death of the protagonists, the legal, moral and social functions of different activities could be very different. Charny asks: Pour ce que trois manieres sont a combatre sur les champs. L’une s’apelle une rencontre. Comment doit elle estre appelee rencontre et pour quoy, car aucuns dient que rencontre se fait de mil hommes d’armes ou de plus que d’une part que d’autre? Et si se combatent et des confisent l’une partie l’autre et recueillent le champ, et si n’est dicte ne besoigne ne batille. Comment doit it estre ainsi?92

For there are three types of combat in the field. One is called an encounter. In what circumstances does one call it an encounter, and why, because some people say that an encounter takes place when there are a thousand men at arms or more on each side. And they fight and one side defeats the other and gains the field, and yet it is not called either a ‘besoigne’ [an ‘affair’, an ‘action’, a ‘conflict’, ‘work’] or a battle, why should it be thus?93

Question fourteen asks: Gens d’armes sont sur les champs, et se combatent bien mil hommes enseble ou plus; et disconfisent l’une partie l’autre, et recueillent le champ. Et ne dira l’en que c’est fors que une besoigne, arrestee ainsi comme elle est cheüe le jour. Et ne sera tenue ne rencontre ne bataille. Comment doit ce estre?94

Men at arms are in the field, and a good thousand men or more are fighting each other, and one side defeats the other and wins the field. And one will say that this is nothing but a ‘besoigne’ [an ‘action’], which has stopped there as it happened on the day. And it will not be held to be either an encounter or a battle. Why is this so?

91 Innocent IV, Commentaria X.2.13.12. Quoted from Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 144. For a discussion of these distinctions and their meanings, see Chapter Two. 92 Charny, Demandes, p. 96. 93 My great thanks for the help of Lisa Jefferson for her help in translating this and questions 14, 15 and 16. 94 Charny, Demandes, p. 96.

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While question fifteen asks simply ‘in what circumstances should a battle be called a battle, and why thus and not otherwise?’—‘Comment doit estre appelee bataille a estre dicte bataille et pour quoy et non autrement? ’ .95 From what has been demonstrated in earlier chapters, one of the criteria required before a trial by combat could take place was an acceptance from both sides that this would be a judicial procedure. If this agreement was lacking then an encounter, even on a large scale, would be referred to as besoigne or something else other than battle. Question sixteen asks the knights to determine which name to call an armed clash when neither side is sure what the status of the engagement is: Deux chevetaines sont sur les champs pour combatre et grant foison de gens d’armes d’une part et d’autre. Et si est l’un des chevetaines desconfiz et ses genz; et li autre chevetaine qui a le dessus et ses gens tuent et prennent grant foison des desconfiz et gaaignent chevaux et autres biens assez. Et quant ce vient le soir nulz ne tient que ce soit rencontre, ne besoigne, ne batille. Comment puet ce estre ne comment sera ce appeles?96

Two captains are in the field of combat along with a large host of men at arms on both sides. And one of the captains and his men are defeated, and the other captain who has the upper hand and his men kill and take prisoner a very large number of the defeated and they win horses and many other goods. And when evening comes, no one considers that this has been either an encounter, or a ‘besoigne’ [‘action’] or a battle. Why is this so, and what should this be called?

These questions clearly demonstrate that the different levels of war were qualitatively different. One had different rights and obligations depending upon the type of armed venture one was engaged in, and in this context it is obviously important that one knows in advance what is expected. The importance of clarity in this area and knowing the context of one’s actions is highlighted in question twenty-two: S’il y a deux compaignons qui ont guerre l’un a l’autre don’t l’un est plus pres vostre voisin que l’autre, mais vous n’estes point de leur guerre. Si avient que celui qui plus pres vous est voisin vous requiert que vous li aidiés a deffendre sa

95 96

Charny, Demandes, p. 96. Ibid., pp. 96f.

Two men are at war with each other, one of them is your close neighbour but you are not involved in their dispute. Your neighbour requests your help to defend his house which will be stormed the day after. You get there the evening

the works of geoffroy de charny maison que l’en doit assaillir demain, et vous y alés le soir. Li anemi de celui vienent assaillir la maison; et vous li aidiés a deffendre si bien comme vous povez sanz faillir a eulx. Et faillent a prendre la maison et se retraient; et en y a demoré de mors et de bleciez de ceulx qui ont assailli; et s’en vont ceulx qui s’en pueent aler. Et cil qui est compains qui est venu desfendre la maison a son voisin s’en va a sa maison; et assez tost apres li anemi de son voisin li vienent courre sus et prennent prisons et autres biens et les emmainent. Cil compains dit qu’il ont couru sus li autrement qu’apoint et sans defiance, quar puis qu’il n’estoit issu hors, il n’avoit point de guerre; l’autre dit que si a. Pluseurs raisons y a d’une part et d’autre. Qu’en sera il jugié par droit de fait d’armes?97

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before. The enemy of the neighbour comes to attack the house and you try your best to defend your neighbour’s house. The assailants fail in their attempt and retreat, leaving behind the dead and wounded, the other assailants having fled. The comrade who came to defend his neighbour goes home, but shortly afterwards, he is himself assaulted by his neighbour’s enemies, he is kept prisoner and his belongings and home are looted. The victim claims he was attacked without a formal declaration of war, as once he had left (the neighbour), he was no longer at war. The others say yes he was. Each party has pretty good reasons. What will the Rule of Arms judge and decide?

This clearly has implications for the use of surprise as in this case, the party who has been taken off guard assumed a different legal state existed to the one that his attackers claimed. This does not rule out the use of surprise, however it clearly demonstrates that it cannot be employed in a military sense until warning has effectively been given through the sending of a properly worded defiance or declaration to change the legal situation between the two parties. This question was asked by Charny because it was not clear which legal situation was actually present at the time due to previous events. Just as with the questions under the headings of joust and tourney, many of the questions under the heading of war are concerned with etiquette regarding prisoners and booty. They ask detailed questions about who is entitled to take particular prisoners given different circumstances and also the rights and duties of prisoners themselves. These are particularly interesting when they concern the swearing or implications of the breaking of faith. For example, may a prisoner who

97

Charny, Demandes, p. 101.

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has sworn faith escape without reproach if the opportunity arises?98 It is unlikely that the answer to this question was yes. Once one’s faith had been given, it could not be broken without reproach or the loss of honour. Given that warfare was itself a legal process, the status of one’s oaths within it was bound to be extremely high. However, there are other situations suggested where the answer is a little less obvious. For example, what if the prisoner was being mistreated or beaten? This could then be a case where the captor has broken his own oath to protect his prisoner in which case the contract would presumably be null and void. One would assume that the prisoner would then be free to escape with his honour intact as the agreement was no longer in place to be broken. The status of an agreement is also the subject of chapters sixty-nine and seventy. These are concerned with one’s obligations if a promise was made but one was misled when it was made. The first details a case where a knight has surrendered to another knight after checking that he was indeed of the correct standing: ‘li chevaliers li demande s’il est gentilz homs, et li autres li respont “oil” ’. It later transpired that the knights had in fact surrendered to someone who was not a knight at all: ‘uns sergens sanz nulle gentillesce’ .99 In this case, the status of the agreement is again called into question and one would imagine that the knights were no longer bound by their promise not to escape. This question has implications for the results of being deceived into a legal situation. That situation, and by implication any results that came from such a situation (such as the result of a trial by combat) could be questioned if deception was employed to bring about the state of affairs in the first place. However, it would be most peculiar if the Knights of Our Lady believed that the knight in chapter eighty-one deserved any sympathy when he lies in an attempt to avoid being taken prisoner in the first place.100 Still on the subject of agreements and faith, chapter twenty-four raises a very pertinent issue about when it is permissible to break a truce. Specifically, it is interested in how far a truce must have been broken before it can be abandoned by both sides. Charny sketches out a situation where two neighbours have brokered a truce but that truce is then threatened by men acting outside or beyond their instructions: 98 99 100

Charny, Demandes, p. 121. Ibid., pp. 125f. Ibid., p. 132.

the works of geoffroy de charny Deux seigneurs ont guerre l’un a l’autre et marchissans l’un vers l’autre et pluseurs marches de pais. Si avient que ils prennent treves tout generaument de leur guerre sanz rien excepter ne en une marche ne en autre. Si avient que les treves se rompent en une ou .ij. des marches qui marchissent entre ces .ij. seigneurs, et y ont leurs gens d’armes et prennent villes et chastiaux et ont a faire pluseurs sur les champs les autres marches. Se doivent il tenir en treves, ou qu’ilz soient de guerre, combien qu’il n’aient encore rien forfait sur les autres et que les treves soient routés comme dessus?101

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Two lords are at war with each other because they are neighbours and they disagree about who possesses some pieces of land. If it happens that they make a general truce they have to extend it to all of their territories without exception. If the truce is broken in one or several parts of the territories [about which they have waged war previously] and men-at-arms take towns and castles and in doing so, cross the disputed territories, should they hold to the truce or should the war resume while they have forfeited nothing to the other and while the truce has been sent off course. What say you?

Clearly the presence or absence of a truce affected the legal situation and what one was allowed to do. For example, one could certainly not take prisoners during a truce. Apart from the rules concerned with prisoners and ransoms, questions concerned with the allocation of spoils and booty feature in a large proportion of the Demandes on war and include questions two, nine, forty-one, forty-two, forty-four to fifty-five, and eighty-three. This is a huge departure from Bouvet’s Tree where only one paragraph of the entire work is dedicated to this question and Bouvet states simply that all booty should be handed over to the duke of the battle for him to share out according to their valour (see Chapter Two). Only four of the Tree’s questions deal directly with the scale of ransom while at least twenty others are concerned with the class of people entitled to immunity from imprisonment. The Tree is concerned less with protecting the rights of practising soldiers, and more with protecting society from those soldiers. As such, rather than looking at what contemporary practice actually is, the Tree is an argument about how they should be. In this respect, it is quite different from the concerns of Charny. While Bouvet speaks, with a decidedly Aristotelian flavour, of public good as opposed to private interests, Charny is pragmatically concerned with how the existing understanding of the rules affected him and his

101

Charny, Demandes, pp. 100f.

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activities as an individual and as a practising knight (one almost gets the feeling that Geoffroy is writing to see what he can get away with while Bouvet is writing about what it is right and correct to do). Therefore the Demandes are particularly concerned with the many different circumstances and situations that affect the material well-being of the practitioners of war, from the allocation of spoils to those who for various reasons were not involved in the battle, to the rules about restoring or awarding horses during and after war. Some of the more interesting Demandes on war are concerned with the qualities of an ideal knight. For example, in chapter nineteen Charny asks if sens or prouesce is to be preferred.102 Charny is also particularly concerned with honour, loyalty and reputation. He asks when it is possible for a knight to leave the battlefield or surrender honourably, and when a challenge can be declined without dishonour. For example, chapter eight asks should knights accompany a defeated captain from the field or stay and fight?103 One of the questions concerned with reputation asks; a group of fifty knights defeat a group of one hundred knights: Le quel ameriés vous miex: ou a estre tenu pour le meilleur chevalier des cent ou le pire des cinquante quant pour la journee?104

How would you prefer to be known: as the best knight of the defeated hundred or the worst of the victorious fifty on the day?

These questions and others are particularly interesting as they show how practical the questions are by admitting the possibility of defeat. This question may simply be referring to the individual effort of a knight in a fictitious thought experiment, but it is interesting to speculate as to the importance of being seen to lose well as opposed to winning but with a question mark over one’s conduct. As he did in the Livres Charny above, Charny, accepts that defeat is something that is going to happen from time to time. Knowing one’s rights and obligations in these circumstances was important. The highly practical nature of the Demandes is also evident when Charny asks in the penultimate question if it is better to know how to flee well or to know how to pursue well: ‘Le quel est le plus grant sens pour fait de guerre: ou de savoir bien fouir ou de savoir bien chacier?’ .105 Again, the possible subtext of 102 103 104 105

Charny, Demandes, p. 97. Ibid., p. 93. Ibid., p. 136. Ibid., p. 137.

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this question is intriguing. Pursuing a defeated foe is considered necessary in modern times to ensure destruction of the enemy and therefore the decisive nature of the clash. Pursuit could also fulfil the same function in the Middle Ages but destruction of the enemy was not necessary for a decisive result. Following the trial by combat, one only had to hold the field for a certain amount of time for the legal challenge to be satisfied and victory to be clear.106 If one were to retreat well and employ the advice of Vegetius to turn a withdrawal into a fighting chance, the nature of the answer to the question becomes very interesting indeed. Conclusion The works that Charny completed in his lifetime provide a valuable insight into the practicalities of warfare in the late Middle Ages. These works are not moral treatises concerned with prescriptive judgements saying how things should be but there is still a very clear moral tone throughout all of the works but it is concerned with the importance of warfare as a duty and the clear belief that wars are a normal and essential part of life. The whole moral universe that Charny inhabits is underpinned by his idea of honour. This is a martial conception of honour where all feats of arms carried out by worthy knights are to be considered positive, from the jousting field to the battlefield, although, almost as an afterthought it sometimes appears, one must remember that the knight is helpless without God. The tone of Charny’s writing is radically different from that of someone like Bouvet. Bouvet is concerned, amongst other things, with limiting the effects of war on the general population and peasantry. Charny only mentions this in passing in the general requirement of a good knight to be generous to the poor. The actual lives of the peasantry are of no concern to him or the class the he represents as a whole. Nor should he be criticised for this lack of concern. Knights were not unchivalrous for not attempting to limit the effects of war on anyone else for as Kaeuper asserts: ‘as a code, chivalry had next to nothing to do with ordinary people’ .107 It was a code, reserved for those whose disputes warranted it, that provided a framework for resolving legal disputes about their rights.

106 107

Thus the term champion—holder of the champ or field. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, p. 185.

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In two of his three works Charny focuses on sloth as the root of evil for a fighting man. If knighthood had gained, in its own eyes at least, a religious role and, perhaps, even considered itself superior to the priesthood by this point as they embraced life instead of partitioning themselves from the world, then sloth would be the worst sin for an active man using his prowess to serve God. In this context, the ill-fated crusade of Dauphin of Viennois that Charny took part in could be seen as a positive thing. It was only after a year and a half of truces with the English that Charny decided to participate in the venture. It could easily be argued that, for a man of action, the enforced inactivity was impossible to live with. Going on crusade during what appeared to be a long period of inactivity would be in perfect accord with this attitude. Even the short-lived nature of Charny’s expedition can be seen in a positive way. His rapid departure from fighting the Turk coincided with the resumption of hostilities with England. Edward III formally renounced the truces on the 14th and 15th June 1346 although the first of his armies had left for the continent up to two weeks ahead of that date.108 It is possible that Charny had heard of this and realised that his services were required at home. At the great set piece battle of Poitiers in which he lost his life, the Chandos Herald suggests that Charny attempted to organise a combat of one hundred French versus one hundred English knights.109 While this is the only source to suggest it, it would be consistent with the ideas and spirit that are contained in Charny’s writings above. In the same battle, Froissart tells us that Charny had cut down the first man who had laid a hand on the bridle of his king’s horse.110 Whether or not that is Froissart’s artistic licence, it is certainly true that Charny died attempting to defend his king and his king’s cause while carrying the most important symbol of his nation in arms. There was no greater service a knight could provide and he certainly did nothing to contradict his own advice in his last acts of chivalry. All of Charny’s works exhibit the strong view that a worthy knight should be a man of action. Charny not only believed that qui plus fait, miex vault, or he who does more is of greater worth, he actually practised it and this probably explains his phenomenal status amongst his

108 109 110

Sumption, The Hundred Years War, p. 454. Chandos Herald, Black Prince, lines 729ff. Lettenhove, Oeuvres de Froissart, V, p. 543.

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contemporaries. Whilst he may have ‘sailed a little close to the wind’ with some of his exploits, one can conclude that, either everybody was entitled to a second chance, or ‘perhaps most fighting men of the time would simply have thought that Charny played the game by a hard set of rules’ .111 Whether this was the case or not, Charny’s works provide us with important insights into the use of surprise and deception and the attitude towards them held by practitioners of war. One must clearly avoid being too ingenious or over subtle—cunning schemes can go astray and take a knight with them. This would appear to cover the area of deception. One must be careful to speak honestly, and avoid villainy. Actually conducting any kind of deception that involves the breaking of faith is clearly out of the question although one should also stay on one’s toes as one has a duty to avoid being deceived too. The knight should be extremely wary when talking with his enemies and Charny makes the interesting observation that one must have some knowledge of evil to defend oneself from it.112 People in a position of authority also clearly have a duty to keep their word, regardless of the importance (or perhaps precisely because of the importance) of their cause. Any deeds that are done on one’s behalf are also covered by this attitude and one must avoid getting other people to carry out any misdeeds on one’s behalf.113 When Charny speaks of those who may be wise but direct their intelligence towards ‘grant malice’, it is not the intelligence itself that he regards as bad, but the intention. In the same way, he does not appear to regard surprise itself as wrong. Once again we return to the idea that it is not the act but the end towards which it is employed that is normative. It is the context that it is employed in that is important as one must have just cause for one’s actions and this determines the normative value of the act. The idea of just cause and due process is repeated in multiple places and it is made abundantly clear that one must only take up arms in those struggles that have followed the correct procedure, are started in the appropriate manner, and then conducted in the right way. Waging war without due cause or failing to give the correct defiance or warning is clearly regarded as dishonourable, criminal,

111

Kaeuper and Kennedy (Eds.), The Book of Geoffroi de Charny, p. 13. Perhaps Charny has in mind the impetuous youth that attempted to retake the fortress at Calais. With a bit more experience, he would not have undertaken this venture (or perhaps would have been successful at it). 113 Charny can be seen to be moving towards the idea that moral duty is for the superior to ensure a just cause and for his subordinates to follow it. 112

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cowardly and treacherous. This effectively means that grand strategic surprise cannot be employed due to the requirements of giving one’s defiance and setting out the charges and the injury suffered, be that physical, financial, legal or moral. Once the process has been followed, one should be expecting an attack due to the state of war that exists. If an armed clash resulted from a surprise meeting during the process of the feud, the fact that a rencontre or besoigne and a bataille are clearly treated differently by Charny and have different rules applied to them supports the view that a judicial trial by combat could not have been brought about through a surprise because, while the result might well look like a battle, it would not have the same legal context.

CHAPTER SIX

FROISSART: THE MANAGEMENT OF CHIVALRIC EXPECTATION Froissart is, without doubt, the most famous of the medieval chroniclers. His enormous histories of the fourteenth century remain as one of the most important and detailed accounts of the later Middle Ages and are one of the best contemporary expositions of chivalric and courtly ideals. Given his place in history and his importance as a source of information, it would appear to be prudent to examine the works of Froissart in a critical manner to see just how useful they really are in explaining medieval attitudes towards the use of surprise and deception in warfare. The chapter will first establish Froissart’s popularity and importance as a source before moving on to looking at the ‘flavour’ of his works. Who was he writing for and what events did he regard as important to his audience? This will be answered by examining the attitudes Froissart expresses and the type of themes he chooses to focus upon. Different case studies from the various editions of Froissart’s Chronicles will then be presented to highlight the role of surprise and deception in a variety of different circumstances and contexts, from accidental encounters in ‘everyday’ war through to pitched battles. The chapter will demonstrate that Froissart does indeed provide very useful insights into many aspects of the warfare in the period. As well as encouraging brave men to perform deeds of arms, in many places Froissart also reminds them of what their duties were. However, despite his stated intention to focus upon ‘honourable enterprises’ , episodes detailing the use of surprise and deception are well covered in his works. On one level it appears that the words he places in the mouth of the Duke of Lancaster at a joust reflect his own view of chivalric practice when he says ‘I consider a man wise who knows how to seize the advantage in combat’ .1 On another level, although often subtle, the context within which those advantages could legitimately be grasped are absolutely vital to understanding medieval warfare and this is also 1 Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.) 29 vols. (Brussels, 1867–77), XII pp. 121f. This edition contains variations found in different versions of the manuscript.

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reflected in Froissart’s work. As such, although the lessons are not always obvious to us today, Froissart’s Chronicles provided and represented a framework of understanding within which medieval chivalric expectations could be effectively managed. Who was Jean Froissart? Froissart was born in Valenciennes, Brabant, around 1333 although the year 1337 is also suggested by a number of sources.2 As well as the exact dates of his birth and death being unknown we are also unaware of his family background. We do know that after receiving ecclesiastical tonsure he travelled to England in 1361 at the invitation of Queen Philippa, a fellow Hainaulter. This may have been to present an account in verse of the battle of Poitiers (1356). He remained with the English court, on and off, for the next six years, joining the Black Prince in Aquitaine in the winter of 1366 during one of his own frequent excursions which also involved a trip to Scotland where he met David Bruce.3 Froissart was a poet in the tradition of Guillaume de Machaut, and produced a number of works in this genre including L’Horloge amoureux, which compares the heart to a clock, and Méliador, which is a chivalrous romance in the style of the Round Table cycle.4 His ballades and rondeaux expose some of the poet’s personal feelings while his l’Epinette Amoureuse relates the story of his own life. Although he was later to find fame as the chronicler of the first half of the Hundred Years War, it is more than possible that for much of the time that he spent in England, Froissart was in fact more interested in poetry than history. The romance Méliador alone is a vast work of over 30,000 lines and is dated to before 1373 at the latest.5 It would clearly have taken quite a substantial amount of time just to complete this one work. Scenes from some of Froissart’s travels around the British Isles are incorporated into the poem demonstrating that, at least at the time, Froissart was obviously 2 Richard Barber, ‘Jean Froissart and the Black Prince’ , Froissart: Historian, J.J.N. Palmer (Ed.) (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1981), p. 25. See also http://www.bnf.fr/ enluminures/texte/atx3_01.htm (accessed 30/03/04) for the Bibliothèque Nationale’s thoughts on the matter. 3 Barber, Froissart and the Black Prince, pp. 25f. 4 Froissart, Méliador, A. Longnon (Ed.) (Paris: Société des Anciens Textes Français, 1895). 5 Roger Sherman Loomis (Ed.), Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959), p. 390.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 199 interested in more than simply acquiring information for an historical account. However, there is little doubt that the people he met whilst present at the English court and the conversations that he had with the people who passed through there were important sources for his Chronicles. Many noble French prisoners from the battle of Poitiers were still to be released from captivity so it would have been possible to gain accounts from a number of differing perspectives. Upon the death of his patroness in 1369, Froissart returned to the continent and entered the service of Robert de Namur, the Count of Hainault, before coming under the protection of Duke Wenceslaus of Brabant. Next, he entered the service of Guy de Châtillon, Count of Blois, who appointed Froissart as his chaplain. He continued to travel and accompanied Guy into Flanders and to Blois before visiting the court of Gaston Phebus, Count of Foix. Upon his return to London from Paris in 1392, he was to offer his poems to Richard II. However, despite Froissart’s obvious success in life and the widespread popularity of his work, he apparently died in relative obscurity in Chimay, Hainault, at the start of the fifteenth century. His tomb has never been discovered. How Popular were Froissart’s Chronicles? Froissart had hoped that his works would survive him and would immortalise him when he was ‘dead and rotten’ .6 However, Froissart did not have to wait until after his death to be appreciated. By the 1380s Froissart was established as ‘an historian of European stature and as the historian of the epic struggle between the dynasties of Plantagenet and Valois for hegemony in Western Europe’ .7 In England the French language employed by Froissart may have temporarily delayed the Chronicle’s popularity, but, by the fifteenth century, the works were very popular throughout Europe. There is little doubt that the advent of printing helped to increase Froissart’s popularity even more. In the twenty five years after 1495 there were at least ten editions printed of the Chronicles. From these, translations were made and the work was also published in English and Dutch. Working on the principle that

6 Froissart, Chroniques de J. Froissart, S. Luce, G. Raynaud and A. Mirot (Eds.) 15 vols. (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1869–1899), XII, 2. 7 J.J.N. Palmer (Ed.), Froissart: Historian (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1981), p. 1.

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imitation is the best form of flattery, the chronicler Monstrelet paid Froissart an enormous compliment by continuing Froissart’s history in a similar style. The works were also plundered by such authors as Jean de Waurin, Jean de St Paul and the authors of the Chronographia regum Francorum.8 Froissart may not have just been used as a source of literary inspiration. For example, when the English herald Thomas Benolt, Clarenceux King of Arms, left his library to his colleague Carlisle Herald in 1534, Froissart could be found amongst translations of De Regimine Principum by Giles of Rome, Geoffrey de Charny’s Livre de chevalerie, Bouvet’s Tree of Battles and Vegetius’ De Re Militari.9 Whether this was kept alongside these other works as another source of chivalric advice, a form of record of names, banners and emblems or simply as a record of events, we cannot know. However, the company that the tome kept surely indicates the high regard held for the work. Today, more than 100 manuscripts survive, many of them beautifully illustrated and on display to the public to help bring the dramatic and festive events narrated by Froissart to life.10 ‘Flavour’ Accuracy and Content of the Chronicles The stated purpose of Froissart’s Chronicles was so that: Afin que honourables emprises et nobles aventures et faits d’armes, lesquelles sont avenues par les guerres de France et d’Angleterre, soient notablement régistrées et mises en mémoire perpêtuelle, par quoi les preux aient exemple d’eux encourager en bien faisant, je veux

8

The honourable enterprises, noble adventures, and deeds of arms, performed in the wars between England and France, may be properly chronicled, and held in perpetual remembrance—so that valiant men should be inspired to follow such examples, I wish to

Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 1. Maurice Keen, Chivalry (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1984), p. 141. 10 One of the most lavishly illuminated copies of Froissart’s history was commissioned by an important Flemish nobleman, Louis of Gruthuse, around 1470–1480. The four volumes of this copy (BNF, Fr 2643; BNF, Fr 2644; BNF, Fr 2645; BNF, Fr 2646) contain 112 miniatures painted by the best Brugeois artists of the day, among them Loiset Lyédet, a renowned painter to whom the miniatures in the first two volumes are attributed. They can be viewed directly at the Bibliothèque Nationale de France, or more conveniently at: http://www.bnf.fr/enluminures/themes/t_1/st_1_02/a102_002 .htm (accessed 30/03/04). 9

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 201 traiter et recorder histoire et matière de grand’louange.11

relate and record these matters of great renown.12

Froissart does not disappoint us and provides an almost continuous stream of examples of such honourable enterprises. To pick just a few of the many examples, Froissart tells us that in 1359 the English knight Sir Robert Knolles led an excursion of 3,000 men along the course of the Loire and into the province of Berry where they were eventually met by a large group of enemy soldiers under the leadership of the lords of Auvergne. After several days spent manoeuvring and watching each other from their respective vantage points, the French advanced until there was only a meadow in between them. Quant li Englés virent venu les Franchois devant yaux, par samblant il en fissent grant chierre et s’ordonnerent tantost si comme pour combattre et missent tous leurs archiers où pendant de le montaingne devant yaulx. Li signeur de Franche qui perchurent ce convenant s’ordonnerent ossi et fissent deux bonnes bataillez bien et faiticement: en chacunne avoit V m. hommes. Si avoit le premierre li daufins d’Auviergne et comtes de Cleremont; si l’apelloit on « Beraut » et devint là chevaliers et leva bannierre esquartelee d’Auvergne et de Merquel. … [Froissart includes a long list of nobles] et pluisseur autre chevallier et escuier, en grant vollenté de combattre ces compaingnes, si comme il le monstroient. D’autre part, messires Robers Canolles et Alle de Buef et leurs routtez par samblant monstroient

When the English saw the French coming, they made as if to greet them, at once drawing up in battle order as though to fight and placed their archers on the downward slope of the hill, in the front. The French lord then drew up his army in two good strong battalions, each of which consisted of five thousand men. The Count of Clermont, dauphin of Auvergne, commanded the first battalion; he was called Berault. He was knighted on the spot, and displayed his banner, which was quartered with the arms of Auvergne and Mercueil. … [Froissart includes a long list of nobles] and a number more of knights and squires, with a thorough good will for the combat, as was apparent. Sir Robert Knolles and Captal de Buch and their troops also appeared eager to engage. Thus then they remained

11 Froissart, Chroniques de sire Jean Froissart: qui traitent des merveilleuses emprises, nobles aventures et faits d’armes advenus en son temps en France, Angleterre, Bretaigne, Bourgogne, Ecosse, Espaigne, Portingal et ès autres parties, J.A.C. Buchon (Ed.) (Paris: A. Desrez, 1835), I p. 1. 12 The following French to English translations of Froissart are my own unless noted otherwise. I am grateful for the help and advice of Sheila Tremlett but accept full responsibility for any errors or omissions.

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chapter six qu’il euuissent grant vollenté. Ensi se tinrent jusquez au soir l’un devant l’autre, chacun en son fort sans lui mouvoir fors tant qu’il y eut aucuns jones chevaliers et escuiers qui pour acquerre pris d’armes, descendirent, par le congiet de leurs marescaux, des montaignes et vinrent ens où pré jouster li ungs à l’autre. Et qui pooit concquerre se compaignon il l’en menoit.13

until the evening, facing each other, each in their entrenchments, without moving, except some young knights and squires, who, in hopes of gaining glory by feats of arms, descended into the meadow, with the leave of their marshals, in order to tilt with their opponents. He who conquered his adversary carried him off prisoner.

As one can clearly see from just this extract, Froissart is keen to demonstrate the honour demonstrated by both parties and their willingness to engage each other, even if they do not actually join in battle on this particular occasion. Both sides were prepared to put their cause to the test of battle but not enough to lose the advantage of their defensive position. The heroic spirit is shown by the younger knights who joust in between the main force, watched by their fellows from their ranks on either side. That the occasion was considered serious by both sides is indicated by the knighting of squires and it is also obvious that Froissart is particularly concerned to show the presence of any ‘celebrities’ or notable commanders and leaders of men. In this and many other cases, the way he does this can almost seem like a list, perhaps in the same way that a modern newpaper article might name a respected football squad who took part in a match. He is keen to describe the banners that are displayed, presumably because many of his readers would have been able to identify the protagonists and their allegiances from these insignia. It is not difficult to imagine some of his readers perhaps taking note that the banner of such and such a noble was decorated in a particular way if they were previously unaware of this piece of information. It is also worth noting that the young knights and squires only descend to the meadow to participate in feats of arms after gaining the leave of their marshals, something that would hardly have been necessary if the situation had not been regarded as serious. In another account, shortly after the battle of Poitiers, Froissart explains that the Duke of Lancaster besieged the town of Rennes. Unfortunately for the Duke, his many assaults on the town were gaining him

13 Froissart, Chroniques: Livre I Le Manuscrit D’Amiens municipale no. 486, George T. Diller (Ed.) 5 Vols (Genève: Droz, 1992–1998), III pp. 198f.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 203 very little because defending the town were ‘li viscomtes de Rohem, li sires de Laval, messires Carlos de Dinant, li sires de Gargoullé, messires Henris et messires Oliviers de Pennefort, [et] messires Bertrans de Claiekin’ .14 The last name here presumably refers to the famous Bertrand du Guesclin. Froissart tells us that at one point during the siege, du Guesclin fought a single combat with an Englishman named Sir Nicholas d’Angourne: Et fu li emprise telle que .III. joustes de fer de glaive, trois cops d’espee et. III. cops de daghe. Et s’i porta, au voir dire, chacuns des .II. chevaliers vaillanment.15

The terms of the combat were to be three courses with spears, three strikes with swords and three with daggers. In truth the two knights conducted themselves most valiantly.

It was not just the ‘noble adventures’ that were taken seriously. Froissart clearly wished to share his respect for the law of arms and took the subject extremely seriously. References to these laws are scattered throughout the work. For example, in Froissart’s account of the siege of Limôges, three French knights surrendered to the Duke of Lancaster saying ‘Lord, we are yours and you have vanquished us: now treat us according to the law of arms’ . Later, Froissart also tells how the slayer of Sir John Chandos was left to die of his wounds. This was ‘ill done, for it is an improper thing to treat any prisoner other than as the law of arms requires’ .16 It is easy to see the prescriptive elements in such accounts. As well as encouraging brave men to perform deeds of arms, all men were being reminded of what their duties were. Themes that we have seen elsewhere are immediately obvious in the opening chapters. For example, Froissart relates the story of how King Edward II and Sir Hugh Despenser were captured at sea after their escape attempt from the Castle of Bristol was foiled by eleven days of contrary winds. God would not allow them to escape because their sins weighed so heavily against them—‘mès Dieux ne le vot mies souffrir, car lors péchiés leur encombra’ .17 However, while the hand of God can

14 Froissart, Chroniques: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), III p. 133. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 21ff. 15 Ibid. 16 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VII p. 459 and VIII p. 43. For a discussion of this, see N.A.R. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bouvet and the Laws of War’ , in C.T. Allmand (Ed.), War, Literature, and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1976), p. 19. 17 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), II p. 81.

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clearly be seen in this extract, the overall flavour is far more secular than religious. Great deeds of arms are portrayed not simply as examples of God’s will, but as individual acts that can encourage others to achieve such things for the honour of chivalry. Froissart believed that he was more than just a chronicler of events and it is in Book One of his great work where this is closest to the case: ‘he is writing at a distance in time from the events he describes, recreating the past from such material as he can obtain, whether oral or written’ .18 While later books do not rely upon earlier histories completed by other people, Book One principally relies upon two written sources. These were Jean le Bel of Liège for the years 1325 to 1361, and Chandos Herald for the mid 1360s. Jean le Bel had been one of the first chroniclers to abandon Latin for French. He was a soldier and constant companion to the Count of Beaumont with whom he went to England and Scotland in 1327. It was at the Count’s request that Le Bel wrote his Vrayes Chroniques (True Chronicles) recounting the events of the reign of Edward III.19 Le Bel had held a canonry at the cathedral of Liège since his early twenties and it was to here that he retired later in his life. Until 1861, Le Bel’s work was only known in fragments and a complete edition was not published until 1863. Le Bel was one of the the first historians to use the technique of interviews as a basis for establishing historical fact.20 This method was developed by Froissart who acknowledged his debt to Le Bel. While not a great deal is known about the person Chandos Herald, we do know that he was the domestic Herald of Sir John Chandos, famous follower of the Black Prince, and that he wrote an account in verse form of the important events in his master’s life.21 Stylistically, the Herald was more interested in the history itself than the poetical form it took on the page. However, one of the difficulties of the work as a historical document is that the poetic structure is not conducive to providing a clear historical chronology, therefore it can be had to work out the relative order of events. The Herald provides accounts of the 1346 campaigns culminating in the battle of Crécy and the capture of Calais. There are details of the plot of Calais in 1349 and 18 Richard Barber, ‘Jean Froissart and Edward the Black Prince’ , Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 35. 19 Jean le Bel, Chronique, (Ed.) J. Viard and E. Déprez, 2 vols (Paris: 1904–1905). 20 E.g. Le Bel’s account of the Battle of Crécy was based upon the direct account of John of Hainault. 21 Chandos Herald, Life of the Black Prince, by the Herald of Sir John Chandos, Mildred K. Pope and Eleanor C. Lodge (Eds.) (Oxford, 1910, reprint New York, 1974).

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 205 then the text jumps to 1355 and 1356 with a detailed account of the battle of Poitiers. By his station, Chandos Herald was an eye-witness at some of the events he chronicles and it is in these accounts that his history is particularly interesting. This is especially true of his account of the Spanish campaign of the Black Prince on behalf of Pedro of Castile that culminated in the battle of Nájera. The text then moves on to the loss of Brétigny, the end of Sir John’s career and his dying moments in the year 1376. While the later books of Froissart’s Chronicles are relatively straightforward with none of them going through more than two editions of relatively minor changes, Froissart spent the best part of his life reworking the first book. There are at least five different editions of this one book and ‘three of them are by any standards major works’ .22 The number of different editions and the long period of time spent completing them means that they are an excellent way of tracing the development of Froissart’s writing and seeing the way that he shaped his material. Unfortunately though, it is not quite that straightforward, as there is, and has been for a considerable time, some debate about the order in which the different editions were completed. The different manuscripts have traditionally been ordered with Manuscript A as the first edition with Manuscript B as a revised first edition. Manuscripts A and B are identical for at least three quarters of their lengths but do differ in a number of other sections, in particular, the opening chapters, the years 1350–56 and 1372–78.23 Luce based his famous edition of Froissart on the B manuscript because he believed that the version found in the A/B Manuscripts was the real first edition. It was his argument put forward in support of this belief that was accepted by perhaps the majority of scholars for many years. The second edition is known as the Amiens Manuscript. Apart from Manuscripts A and B, this is the only complete version that covers the period from 1325 to 1378. Baron Kervyn de Lettenhove employed the Amiens Manuscript for his edition of Froissart’s Chronicles completed in the late nineteenth century. He, however, argued that the Amiens Manuscript was in fact the first version. Palmer, a little more recently, has also set out a number of powerful arguments for a reordering of the traditional ranking.24 Fortunately, at least one of the 22 23 24

Palmer, ‘Book I (1325–78) and its Sources’ , in Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 7. Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), I pp. 1–26, IV pp. 84–198, VII pp. 60–252. Palmer, ‘Book I and its Sources’ , pp. 7–24.

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manuscripts can be safely placed as the last version that has survived. The structure and presentation of the Rome Manuscript has clearly been affected by the events leading up to, and the death of, Richard II. This allows us to state that this was clearly the last version as it could only have been begun after the year 1399. At ‘something like a quarter of a million words’ it is safe to infer that the enormous size of this version means that it must have taken up a very large proportion of Froissart’s last years before his death.25 Many of the extant manuscripts which include more than a single book have actually been put together from different editions of the separate books. Linked to this particular problem, the many arguments as to which order the texts were completed in is further complicated by the fact that very little is known about the effect that scribes and copyists may have had upon the extant manuscripts. This rich area of research has so far received little attention.26 While one must bear the last point particularly in mind, fortunately, for the purposes of this study, it is unnecessary to attempt a definitive judgement on the order in which the manuscripts were completed. Whilst the actual order of the completion of the different versions of Book One has caused some debate, many perceive that there are different attitudes towards the English and the French protagonists, depending upon where Froissart was at the time that he wrote them. The A/B version, traditionally seen as having been completed first, was supposed to have been written shortly after Froissart left the English court, and is viewed as being biased towards the English. The second recension, the Amiens Manuscript, was supposed to have been written under the inspiration of Guy de Blois and is more favourable to the French. The third recension, the Rome Manuscript, was seen by some as actually being hostile to the English.27 This supposed level of partisanship was questioned as early as 1930 and has also been challenged more recently by Palmer.28 For example, as stated above, Le Bel was the original source of a large portion of Book One and is particularly relied upon for the material found in the Amiens Manuscript. It is clear from his writing that, rather than being more favourable to the French than the

25

Palmer, ‘Book I and its Sources’ , p. 8. Diller, ‘Froissart: Patrons and Texts’ , Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 145. 27 For one articulation of this popular view, see the Catholic Encyclopedia reference at: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/06308b.htm 28 F.S. Shears, Froissart, Chronicler and Poet (London: Routledge, 1930), pp. 98ff. 26

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 207 English, he shows admiration for Edward III and a certain degree of contempt for Philip VI. Perhaps recognising this, it looks as if Froissart has simply attempted to balance this by omitting Le Bel’s denunciation of Philip’s role and several eulogies of Edward. He has also dropped the references to ‘the noble king Edward’ while giving no such title to Philip. Palmer dismisses other claims of partisanship by Luce in a similar fashion.29 Whilst I find Palmer’s argument convincing, questions of potential bias need to be constantly asked and borne in mind if any kind of prescriptive statements are being examined in Froissart or any other author’s works. As stated above, even within his own lifetime, Froissart had become a respected source of information on the early events of what was much later to become known as the Hundred Years War. This reputation lasted over four hundred years until he perhaps reached the height of his popularity in the mid-nineteenth century. As the discipline of history began to become more vigorous, it began to become popular to criticise Froissart for his many inaccuracies. This is particularly true of Book One which, as a mere quarry of historical facts, ranks well below the other three books. Since this time, attacks on Froissart’s veracity have ‘become legion and are scattered in scores of periodicals and hundreds of books on dozens of different subjects’ .30 To compound matters, Froissart’s obvious emphasis on the pomp and ceremony of his time, coupled with his concentration on the activities of a minority connected with the nobility at the expense of the more rounded picture, further undermines his status as a true historical source for the period simply because he has ignored so much of what was also happening beyond the romantic ideals of chivalry. Once this narrow focus is combined with his frequent deviations from known historical events, it would appear that Froissart should be placed alongside other authors who ‘sense no gap between the actions they describe in chronicle or biography and those in imaginative literature’ .31 Even where Froissart has interviewed people to gain information, the actual historical value of the information provided can often be questionable. As has been a concern throughout the course of recorded history, different people were sometimes in receipt of vastly differing recollections of events. 29

Palmer, ‘Book I and its Sources’ , pp. 16f. Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 5. 31 Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 31. 30

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The result of this is that Froissart’s accounts of the same event can differ enormously from one edition to the next. Even though this is very clearly the case, nowhere does he appear to make an attempt to compare his two versions of event, ‘however naïve such a narrative procedure may at times appear to us coming from an author who proclaimed himself to be a historian and not a simple chronicler’ .32 There appears to be no effort made to reconcile the differences to determine the definitive version of events. One begins to wonder if there is any real value in reading Froissart at all. However, before this author is cast aside it is worth taking another look as his method does have certain advantages. Most importantly, it communicates directly to us the ‘voices and emotions of his century, an advantage which would have been lost had he carefully filtered his accounts by means of a critical, comparative and synthetic method’ .33 In many ways, Froissart’s methodology would sit very comfortably with a post-modernist conception of historical truth with the same event being viewed in different ways by different actors, questioning the very idea of a single historical or even metaphysical truth. Froissart has also been frequently criticised for emphasising the glamorous side of warfare rather than dwelling on the more sordid day to day activities of campaigning. However, he certainly does not ignore the latter and there are many, many references to brutality, the slaughter of innocent people, and greed as a prime motivating factor. For example, Froissart almost casually mentions that great famine ran through the land because nothing had been cultivated for three years—‘grant famine y couroit, pour le cause de ce que on n’avoit III ans en devant riens ahané sus le plat pays’ .34 This detail about the effects suffered through the process of the feud was simply mentioned as an aside to the information that Froissart considered his readers were actually interested in: a long list of the important celebrities that were there and whom they fought. However, on the rare occasion where Froissart gives us details of the make-up of a force or information beyond that about the nobility, about the people who made up the majority of any expedition, it can be very illuminating. For example, Froissart describes the army of King Edward III as he left Calais and marched towards Reims: 32 Diller, ‘Froissart: Patrons and Texts’ , p. 153. Froissart makes the claim in Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), XIII p. 222. 33 Diller, ‘Froissart: Patrons and Texts’ , p. 153. 34 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI p. 224.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 209 Apriés celle grant bataille, chevauçoit et charioit li grans charois qui duroit bien. II. lieuwes franchoises et plus qui menoit touttes coses que on pooit adviser don’t on à besoing en ost et en terre de gerre et que on n’avoit oncques plus en avant veu, si comme moulins à le main, fours pour quire pain … Apriés venoit li forte bataille dou prinche de Gallez et de ses freres. Et avoient chil signeur enffant dou roy. XXVc. armures de fer, noblement montés et richement parés.35

Following behind the huge army, was the immense baggage-train, which stretched out for more than two ample leagues, bearing all the military equipment and supplies one could possibly foresee the need of, as well as much never previously thought necessary, such as handmills to grind their corn, ovens to bake their bread … After this marched the strong army of the Prince of Wales and his brothers. And this gentlemen, the king’s son, had two thousand five hundred armoured men, most excellently mounted and richly dressed.

The description continues with details about the formation employed to ensure readiness against attack and the subsequent slow progress of the army on the move (three leagues a day). While one must always be slightly sceptical about numbers in any medieval chronicle, Froissart has imparted much pertinent information about a medieval army on the march. He has chosen to do this because he considered it to be something unusual. He considered it to be the largest army and best appointed train of baggage-waggons that had ever left England: ‘vint sus les camps àtout son grant ost et à tout le plus grant charoy et le mieux atelet que nuls veist oncques yssir d’Engleterre’ . Froissart thought that this, as something beyond the ordinary, was going to interest his readers. However, even while he has been generous here with some details, what Froissart does not do is treat the everyday brutality and devastation of war as an exceptional event or circumstance. These things are a matter of routine, on the whole not requiring elaboration because his audience would have known that they were an inevitable part of warfare.36 As a source for this work, the actual historical accuracy of individual facts in Froissart’s work, or the order that the different versions of Book One were written in, is less important than the ‘flavour’ of what he is 35 Froissart, Chronique: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), III pp. 214f. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 224f. 36 See John Bell Henneman, ‘The Age of Charles V’ , Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 46. Froissart is not alone in portraying events even if they are distasteful: Chandos Herald is more than happy to detail the methods employed by Prince Edward on his chevauchée before the battle of Crecy or elsewhere. See Chandos Herald, Life of the Black Prince, lines 236–9.

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saying. While, particularly in Book One, Froissart’s account may be dubious as an exact historical record, he does give a strong impression of contemporary attitudes to different types of behaviour. In addition to some historical inaccuracies, Froissart does without a doubt tend to be prejudiced towards those of rank and social standing. However, as the Chronicles were written with this particular audience in mind, it should be able to ‘provide insights into the aristocratic mentality which the records can rarely offer’ .37 It does go further than this though by demonstrating contemporary attitudes towards political society, the social dimensions of warfare and the nature and techniques of warfare itself. It really matters very little if the date of a particular event is incorrect, or even if the event was completely made up: Froissart is a very valuable source as long as we are to ‘prefer a knowledge of mankind to a mere acquaintance with their actions’ .38 We can now move onto the actual contents of the Chronicles. Considering that recording ‘honourable enterprises’ was the stated aim of Froissart at the start of his first book, some of the exploits that he chose to record appear a little surprising. Contrary to some of the criticisms heaped upon Froissart over the years that as a chivalric chronicler he is only interested in pomp and ceremony, his texts are littered with examples of behaviour that would hardly be classed today as honourable. The first example selected from many potential candidates details the underhand behaviour of one Sir William of Graville in the middle of the fourteenth century during the retaking of Evreux from the King of France who had himself taken it from the King of Navarre.39 Graville was attached to the King of Navarre through his ‘faith and oath’ or ‘foy et de sierement’ and after much conversation, sought to do something by collaborating with a local citizen. The plan was formed and after convincing the citizen to find like-minded men, ‘hardis et entreprendans’ , and offering to arm them, Graville promised that they would enter the castle using a trick: Messires Guillaumes de Gauville aloit et venoit en le cité sans nulle souspeçon, et ne s’estoit point armés dou temps passet avoecques messire Phelippe de Navare, ne les

Sir William came and went in the town without any suspicion; for he had not lately taken up arms along with Philip of Navarre and his countrymen, because the greater part

37 Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Battle, (London: Routledge, 1985), p. X. 38 Quote by Sir Walter Scott. From Palmer, Froissart: Historian, p. 5. 39 Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 26ff.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 211 Navarois, pour le cause de ce que sa revenue gisoit toute ou en partie asses priès de Evrues, et li rois de France, dou temps que il conquist Evrues, avoit toutes les tierres d’environ fait obéir à lui, aultrement il leur euist tollues. Il en avait eu les corps tant seulement, mès les coers non; car toutdis estoient-il demoré Navarois.40

of his property lay near to Evreux, and the king of France, at the time he conquered Evreux, had made all the landholders in the neighbourhood pay homage to him, otherwise he would have seized their lands. He had thus only gained their token loyalty, but in their hearts these lords remained loyal to Navarre.

Armed with a concealed small battle axe—‘desous son brach une courte hace bien acérée’—Graville loitered at the castle gate where he knew the governor made frequent visits and then, when the governor arrived, engaged him in conversation about news and current events. The governor had been somewhat removed from regular news from the outside and was very interested to hear what was going on. Graville proceeded to make up some events about the Danes planning to invade England. When the governor asked how he had come by this news, Graville, knowing that the governor enjoyed a game, answered that a knight in Flanders had written it to him as a fact, and added that the knight had also sent a handsome set of chess pieces—‘qui m’a envoyet le plus biel jeu de eschès que je veisse onques’ . This lie had the desired effect and Graville’s servant was sent home to retrieve the chess set so that William and the governor could have a game in the castle. Graville had lulled the governor into a false sense of security by insisting that the door could be opened without fear: ‘Chastellains, ouvrés ceste aultre porte, vous le poés bien ouvrir sans péril’ . The governor went ahead and opened the gate to let Graville in, at which point, as the servant blew a horn to summon the accomplices: Messires Guillaumes de Gauville encoise celle hace que il portoit desous son mantiel, et fiert le chestellain en le tieste, telement que il le pourfent tout jusques es dens et l’abat là dou travers dou suel.41

Sir William of Graville drew out the axe he had under his cloak, and struck the governor such a blow that he split his head asunder, so that he fell dead across the threshold.

While the shouts of ‘Treason!’ echoed around the castle, Graville guarded the gate from the defenders until his support arrived and proceeded to take the castle, much to the delight of Philip de Navarre 40 41

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI p. 28. Ibid.

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who promptly stationed a large garrison there so he could take the war on into the rich lands of Normandy—‘pour guerryer le bon pays de Normendie’ . At the time there was no truce between the King of Navarre and the King of France so, although the attack was a complete surprise and involved deception, it was not a challenge to the laws governing such activities. The status of Graville in respect to the oath he had made to the King of France in order to retain his lands is perhaps more of an issue here although this is not highlighted by Froissart beyond stating that Graville would never have dared if the French king had been in the territory.42 As further examples will demonstrate, the breaking of faith is not an issue that Froissart would normally fail to comment upon. In this case it is the context of the action that appears to have led Froissart to refrain from passing comment through the assumption that Graville’s true loyalties remained with his original lord, the King of Navarre. Another example of taking a town through a stratagem is given a few years later. In 1384 Froissart explains that the garrison of the town of Oudenarde were causing much mischief. Because of this and despite a truce (which the garrison were not respecting themselves), Lord Destournay decided to retake the town using a stratagem. When spies indicated that the governor of the town, Francis Atremem, had left for Ghent, two carts were led through the gates by men disguised as carters but well-armed under their frocks: ‘On prist deus chars cargiés de pourveances, atout quatre caretons vestis de grises cotes et armés desous, et estoient hardit varlet et entre-prendant’ .43 The guards on the gate were surprised and overpowered as reinforcements followed up and seized the town. As the town had been taken during a truce, the people of Ghent who had held the town appealed to the Duke of Burgundy to support their case or risk the truce being considered broken. The Duke pointed out he had no knowledge of the events and attempted to right the potential damage to the truce by writing to Destournay to order him to return Oudenarde: car ce n’estoit pas cose honnerable ne aceptable de prendre en trieues et en respit ville, castiel ne forterèce.44

42 43 44

For it was not an honourable deed nor acceptable to sieze towns, castles or forts during a time of truce.

Ibid. Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), XI, pp. 180ff. Ibid., XI, p. 182.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 213 The reply given was: tous jours li garnisons d’Audenarde li avoient fait guerre en trieue et hors trieue, et tolut son hiretage, et que à eux il n’avoit donné ne accordé nulle trieue, et que il avoit pris Audenarde en boine guerre45

continually, both in time of truce and not in time of truce, the garrison of Audenarde had conducted acts of war and had never respected the truce, that he had never consented to any truce with them and that he had conquered Oudenarde in fair war.

The new ownership remained in this state for nothing better could be done. It is at Francis Atremem that the real criticism is levelled for not having better guarded the place even though there was technically a truce in place. The whole incident is particularly interesting as it was not the fact that the town was taken through the use of a stratagem that was used as the basis of the appeal, but the status of the truce at the time. In another example, which continues from a passage already mentioned above, Froissart has just impressed his readers with tales of the jousting that went on between the younger knights of Sir Robert Knolles’ party and their French counterparts in the province of Berry in 1359. As night fell and the two armies remained in position with neither wishing to give up the advantage of their position, the French lords held a council in which it was decided that they would attempt to surprise their opponents. At the hour of midnight, they drew their forces up into battle array and resolved to: Descenderoient leur montaingne, non deviers les ennemis més au plain par où il y estoient monté. Et pour tant seullement tourniier les montaingnes deux lieuwes, il veroient tout au plain là où li Englés estoient et encorres si matin que espoir ne seroient il mies tout armé.46

Descend the mountain not on the side next to the enemy, but to the plain by the way that they had ascended. And, by making a circuit of only two leagues, they would come full circle to the plain where the English were, hoping to arrive there so early, that the English would not be all armed.

Fortunately for the English force, word of the impending surprise night attack got back to the them via an escaped prisoner. Knolles duly

45

Ibid. Froissart, Chroniques: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), III pp. 200f. See also Froissart, Chroniques, (Ed.) Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 196ff. 46

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summoned a council of those in whose opinion he most confided, who, considering the superiority of the French forces—‘le puissanche des Franchois’—thought it advisable not to wait for them to attack. They decamped and the French force arrived to find an empty hill waiting for them. The attempted use of surprise here receives no criticism. Both parties were waiting for a battle to take place so there was no question of surprise at this level. On the tactical level, if the English had been caught by surprise then it appears obvious that it would have been they who were at fault for allowing it to happen. Given the context, withdrawal in the face of an attempted surprise attack appeared to be acceptable and prudent while withdrawing actually in the face of an army arrayed to offer trial by battle may have posed greater moral problems, perhaps undermining the cause for which one was willing to fight. Froissart provides many examples of the lengths to which individual knights would go to keep their word. While not in the legal context of a battle, the events at Vannes in Brittany in 1381 do provide some interesting insights into the importance of carrying through with one’s word. These events were formal deeds of arms with the rules and scope of combat set out very clearly for everyone present. In this particular case, perhaps unusually, the protagonists had agreed to strike each other only within the four members (i.e. the body), and to hit anywhere else would be disgraceful—‘entre les IIII membre; autrement à prendre li afaires estoit villaius’ .47 If this was because they only had body armour and lacked adequate protection on their limbs, the outcome was to be disastrous for one of them: Adont s’en vinrent-il de grant volenté, armé au vray de toutes pièces et le carne dou bacinet abatu et arresté. Jehans de Castiel-Morant assegna le chevalier moult gentement et li donna grant horion enmy le poitrine tant que messires Guillaumes de Ferinton fleci, et, à ce qu’il fist et que li piés li falli un

47

They advanced to each other with great courage, completely armed, the visor down and helmet tightly fixed on. John de Châtelmorant prevailed against the knight right nobly and gave him such a blow on the breastplate that Sir William Farrington staggered and as his foot was slipping a little, he clutched

Froissart, Chronicles, Lettenhove (Ed.), IX pp. 329f.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 215 petit, il tenoit son glave roit devant ly à deus mains. Si l’abaissa (car amender ne le peut) et consieuwi Jehan de Castiel-Morant bas ens és quisseus et li pecha dou glave les paus tout oultre et les quisieus, et li bouta le fier dou glave tout parmy le quisse tant que il apparoit oultre d’aultre part bien une puignie. Jehans de Castiel-Morant pour le cop canchela; mais point ne chei.48

his sword49 with both hands, and, pointing it straight in front of him. Lowering the point because of the stumble, he struck John de Châtelmorant low on the thighs. He could not avoid it, and the sword slid right through both his thighs and the end of the trusty blade came out a fist’s length on the other side. John de Châtelmorant reeled from the blow but did not fall.

This caused outrage on both sides and some harsh words were spoken causing William to humble himself before the assembled lords: Adont furent li signeur englès et chevalier et escuier de une part et d’autre moult durement courouchiet, et fu dit que c’estoit villainement poussé. Li chevaliers s’escusa et dist que che li desplaisoit très-grandement; et, se il cuidast, au commenchement des armes, avoir ainssi ouvré, il n’euist encores commenchié, et, que, se Dieux li aidast, il ne l’avoit peut amender, car il glicha dou piet pour le grant coup que Jehans de Castiel-Morant ly avoit donné.50

Then were the English lords and the knights and squires on both sides most deeply enraged by this, denouncing it as an infamous act. The knight excused himself, saying that he was extremely sorry for it and if he had imagined at the outset that he might have done such a thing, he would never have begun the combat, but—God help him—he was unable to do otherwise because his foot had slipped from the violence of the blow he had received from John de Châtelmorant.

It is worth noting here that it was the English lords who were particularly enraged. After the knight’s apologies, the matter was considered closed: ‘Si demora la cose enssi’ . However, this does clearly show the importance of keeping one’s word. It is not the fact that an injury was received that causes the outcry, it is the fact that an injury was caused to an area that was considered out of bounds by the agreement of both parties. After promising to fight, the protagonists are bound to 48

Froissart, Chronicles, Lettenhove (Ed.), IX pp. 329f. In modern French, glaive is translated as a short and/or double edged sword. In Medieval French the term can also mean spear, jousting lance or even javelin although the context here would suggest a sword. See Algirdas Julien Greimas, Dictionnaire de l’Ancien Français (Paris: Larousse, 2001), p. 292. 50 Froissart, Chronicles, Lettenhove (Ed.), IX pp. 329f. 49

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accomplish victory within the terms of the challenge and there are great pains taken to avoid disgrace. The parallel with the framework provided by the ordeal of trial by battle is clear—the rules were known and conduct was expected to conform with them by both sides for the contest to be considered satisfied. Another example of the importance placed on keeping one’s word can be found in another theatre entirely. During the siege of Calais in 1346, the Scots launched an invasion of England. An English force headed north to defend the kingdom and arrayed themselves before the Queen at Newcastle. Hearing that this was to be the rendezvous for the English forces, the Scots headed towards the town as well. After setting fire to the suburbs of Newcastle in an attempt to force a battle but receiving no response, the Scots deployed just outside of the town and formally challenged the English to come out and meet them for battle: Li prélat et li baron d’Engleterre furent avisé de respondre, et disent que oil, et qu’il enventurroient leurs vies avoecques l’iretage de leur signeur le roy d’Engleterre. Si se traisent tout sus les camps et se trouverent environ XIIc hommes d’armes, IIIm arciers et Vm autres hommes parmi Galois.51

The bishops and the English lords were advised to reply to which they responded positively that they would risk both their lives and the lands of their lord the King of England. They sallied out from their camps in number about twelve hundred men at arms, three thousand archers, and five thousand others, including the Welsh.

While the battle of Neville’s Cross does then ensue, according to Froissart it is only once both sides have finished deploying. Even while the English were drawing up their forces, the Scots do not engage. Perhaps, after he was taken prisoner, the king of Scotland was to rue this although there appears to be nothing but praise for him in the chronicle as he fought most gallantly—‘vaillamment’—before his capture. A battle had been offered and it does not appear as if it was considered anything other than normal here that the battle would not begin until both sides were ready. It would be interesting to see what the situation would have been if the two armies had arrayed themselves and then nothing had happened for the rest of that day. Would it have been acceptable then to employ an attempt at surprise during the night such as that attempted by the French in the province of Berry in 1359? 51

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V pp. 124ff.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 217 From the evidence presented in the Chronicles, it would appear yes. Although the difference between the two situations appears a little subtle, it would be entirely consistent to avoid attacking before an opponent was ready and to then try and catch that same opponent by surprise at a later point. The context is vital to understanding this. Once the contest was underway, one could employ surprise. However, the contest or ordeal was not underway until both sides were ready because a formal challenge had been made. To attack earlier would be to break one’s faith and this was obviously not something that was lightly done. More fundamentally, to do so would be to undermine the framework of the ordeal and would prevent the battle being accepted as such by both sides. In a case that appears to be rather different to this formal challenge to battle, Froissart gives the intriguing example that involves Sir Walter Manny’s expedition into France to surprise and capture the town of Mortaigne in 1339. As part of the expedition of Edward III, Froissart was adamant that Manny had not ridden into France until the correct legal defiance had already been sent to the King of France from the English King.52 After this had been done and just enough time had elapsed to make Manny believe the challenge had arrived safely, he collected a small group of forty men and rode into French territory on a ‘secret chevauchée’ , apparently because he had promised to be the first one into France and to take a castle or strong town in a feat of arms. Encorres avint que messires Gautiers de Mani qui avoecquez le roy d’Engleterre estoit apassés le mer par decha et qui en Anwiers se tenoit, mist sus une chevauchie et quella des compagnons environ LX et chevaucha secretement parmy Braibant et Haynnau et fist tant que. I. soir il s’enbuscha ens es bos de Blaton dallés Condet sus Escaut et encorres ne savoit nulz de se route quel part il volloit traire més là il s’en descouvri et leur dist que il tenissent ses parollez en secret et

It so happened that Sir Walter Manny, who was in the company of the King of England, crossed over the sea and after stopping a while in Anvers, undertook a chevauchée for which he selected about sixty of his men. They rode secretly across Brabant and Hainault and then one night entered into the Forest of Blaton near Condé sur l’Escaut. No one among his companions knew which way Walter intended to go, but at that time, demanding that it be kept secret,

52 Froissart, Chroniques: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), I p. 248. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), II pp. 485f.

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he revealed to them that it was his intention to go to Mortaigne to take part in some feats of arms.

Just because the king of France may have received his defiance, the garrison of Mortaigne may well have still been unaware of this new situation. Having given no advance warning of his intended action, Manny found the wicket gate open when he got to the town and proceeded to enter it with his pennon flying. Once those inside the castle attached to the town saw this they raised the cry of treason—‘Trai! Trai!’ . The garrison in the castle refused to sally forth and engage Manny and, with Manny wishing for a speedy victory rather than a prolonged siege, he instead burnt the town and proceeded on to the next. The correct legal situation obviously existed for this action even though the inhabitants of the towns and castles attacked by Manny may well have been completely unaware of the state of war that existed. There does not appear to be any question over Manny’s behaviour precisely because the legal situation was clear at a much higher political level. Sir Walter Manny appears in another example a few years later that illustrates just how seriously a knight viewed his reputation in this period. With the hostilities several years old by this point, Manny was the recipient of a free passage negotiated in lieu of a ransom from a prisoner. The safe conduct was obtained from the Duke of Normandy by the prisoner and upon its delivery, Manny (perhaps a little pretentiously) set out with twenty companions across France, paying for things as they proceeded and demonstrating their credentials to any who challenged them, thus clearly acting within the limitations of their pass and not carrying out anything that could be construed as an act of war. The situation continued until Manny and his companions reached Orleans where he was arrested even though he showed his papers. When he heard of this, the Duke who had issued the safe conduct was not impressed and went immediately to the king to remonstrate with him. He demanded that Manny be released immediately as it looked as if the Duke had betrayed him. When the king calmly announced his intention to execute Manny instead, as he was one of the greatest enemies of the country, things got even more heated. The Duke threatened that neither he, nor any of his followers would take up arms for the king again if this happened. 53 Froissart, Chroniques: MS. Amiens, Diller (Ed.), I p. 253. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), II pp. 485ff.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 219 Et eut adont entre le roy et le duch de Normendie grosses parolles, et se parti li dus par mautalent. Et dist li dus au partir que jamès en l’ostel dou roy il n’entreroit, tant que messires Gautiers de Mauni seroit en prison.54

Very strong words passed between the King and the Duke of Normandy and the Duke left with bad will, declaring he would never enter into the King’s house again, as long as Sir Walter Manny remained in prison.

The Duke’s threat is obviously taken seriously as Manny did indeed regain his freedom. This was a serious argument though, caused by one party believing that their promise had been undermined. Of course, while one’s word was absolutely central to a knight’s reputation, that did not mean that the rules of the game could not be pushed a little. In another example of deeds of arms, again very close to war if not quite war itself due to its function rather than its means, there is a question raised about the legality of the tactics employed. Two prominent knights, Sir John Holland and Sir Reginald de Roye, had agreed to fight with lance, sword, axe and dagger, in fact with everything, ‘excepté l’oultrance’ .55 They began by jousting with lances of war although a problem was quickly discovered. Although each knight hit the other squarely in the visor, only De Roye’s lance was broken, meaning that Holland did not score: Messire Regnault avoit lachié son heaulme à son avantaige; il ne tenoit fors à une petite lanière. Si rompy la lanière contre la lance, et le heaulme vola hors de sa teste et demoura messire Regnault a nud chef.56

Sir Reginald had laced his helmet on in such a way as to give him an advantage. It was held by one thong only, which broke at the blow of the lance, and the helmet flew over his head, leaving Sir Reginald bareheaded.

The knights returned to their stations. De Roye’s helmet was returned to him, and he was given another lance. Holland retained his own, which had not been damaged. When they were both ready, they set off again at a full gallop towards each other. The same thing happened again, although this time Holland received a very severe blow because De Roye’s lance did not break. De Roye’s helmet came off again, leaving him bare-headed.57 Whilst this feat of removing an opponent’s helmet in this way, not once but twice, may appear to us to have been an 54 55 56 57

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), V pp. 97ff. ‘Except to the death.’ Ibid., XII pp. 119ff. Ibid., XII p. 120. Ibid.

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impressive achievement, it was not viewed in quite the same way by the spectators for it meant that the lance remained unbroken and the knight remained on his horse in spite of receiving a blow to the head. Complaints were made: “Ha!” dirent lors les Anglois aux François, “il prent avantaige. Pourquoy n’est aussi bien son heaulme bouclé at lachié comme celluy de messire Jehan de Hollande est? Nous disons que c’est barraterie que on lui fait. On lui die qu’il se mette en l’estat de son compaignon” .58

“Ha!” cried the English to the French, “he takes advantage. Why is his helmet not tied on in the same way as Sir John Holland’s? We say he is doing something deceitful. Tell him to put himself on an equal footing with his opponent” .

It was clear that it was believed that an unfair advantage or ruse was being employed. At this point, the highest ranking member of the nobility who was present, the Duke of Lancaster, stepped in to defend the Frenchman: “Taisiés-vous”, dist le duc, “laissiésles convenir. En armes chascun prent son avantaige au mieulx qu’il scet prendre” .59

“Hold your tongues”, said the duke, “and leave them alone. In arms everyone takes what advantage they can” .

The Duke stated that if Holland believed himself to be disadvantaged then he should loosen his helmet as well. Nobody challenged the Duke’s opinion although it was obvious that the majority of those present dissagreed with him. At the conclusion of the joust: Tout et toutes dirent qu’ils avoient moult bien jousté; mais tous les Anglois blasmoient trop grandement l’ordonnance de messire Regnault de Roye. Mais, comme dit est, le duc de Lancastre ne la blasmoit point, et disoit “Je tiens homme à saige, quant il doit faire en armes aucune chose et il monstre que il se scet aidier à son avantaige” .60

All now agreed that both parties had jousted extremely well, although all of the English greatly blamed the way in which Sir Reginald de Roye had conducted himself. But, it is said, the Duke of Lancaster did not blame him and said, “I consider a man wise who acquits himself in combat and demonstrates that he knows how to sieze the advantage”.

Even though a ruling had effectively been given by the Duke on the matter, there was clearly a split in opinion on De Roye’s behaviour. The 58 59 60

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), XII pp. 120f. Ibid., XII p. 121. Ibid., XII pp. 121f.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 221 loosely attached helmet was regarded by some of the spectators as cheating, whilst the Duke felt that one must take an advantage where one could as long as it was not explicitly against the rules. Through this example, Froissart was demonstrating the question mark that existed over the tactic and the general disapproval even after it had been declared legitimate by the ranking noble present. Clearly, one was expected to employ an advantage if it was available. Sometimes, gaining that advantage might involve the use of outright deception. One of the most brazen tales of lies and deceit in Froissart’s Chronicles involves a deliberate attempt by a knight to pass himself off as a friend for the explicit purpose of causing an injury to his enemy. After detailing the army accompanying Edward III, Froissart recounts an adventure which befel Sir Galahaut de Ribemont, a very gallant and expert knight of Picardy—‘un très-hardit et appert chevalier de Pikardie’ .61 He was requested by the people of Peronne to come to their assistance as they had lacked leadership and were unfortunately on the direct march route of the approaching English army. For his troubles, he was to receive twenty francs, ten francs for each knight under him, and one franc a day for each lance in possession of three horses.62 Due to his eagerness for warlike enterprises, Ribemont agreed to the terms and set out to join them. As he approached Peronne, Ribemont’s force had swollen in numbers. The party agreed with him that they would embark on an excursion probing the flanks of their opponents because he believed that some of the English may have set out early in hope of gaining honour or booty by pillaging the countryside. This would be a good time to make them pay for their activities. Two squires were sent on ahead to scout the way. In the process of doing this, they found themselves a little too close to some knights who, themselves lying in wait ready to spring an ambush, naturally looked as if they belonged to their own group. However, they were on closer inspection, in fact German knights under Sir Reginald de Boullant who belonged to the enemy Duke of Lancaster’s division. The two squires agreed that they would have to pretend to be Germans too. Upon being challenged in German and asked to which party they belonged, Bridoul de Tallonne replied in the same language:

61 62

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI p. 225. Ibid., VI p. 226.

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chapter six “Nous sommes à monsigneur Biétremieu de Brucs” . “Et où est messires Biétremieus de Brucs?” dist li chevaliers. “Sire”, respondi li escuyers, “il n’est pas loinch de ci, il est chi desous en ce village” .63

“We are in the service of Sir Bartholomew Burghersh.” “And where is Sir Bartholomew?” asked the knight. “Sir”, responded the squire, “He is not far away, down below in that village” .

Tallonne having explained that their fictional master was foraging, Boullant introduced himself and bid them go and collect Burghersh so that they could ride together. Ribemont, their real master, was intrigued by the story that his squires told him. He consulted Sir Roger de Cologne and some other knights present who told him he was, after all, seeking adventure and ‘by all means, allowed by the laws of arms, every man ought to molest his enemy’—‘car en toutes maniéres doit-on et poet-on par droit d’armes grever son ennemi’ .64 This was advice that Ribemont could cheerfully assent to. He ordered his horse to be prepared and: Mist son bachinet à visière, par quoi il ne pouist estre congneus, et ensi fisent tout li aultre, et fist encores renvoleper son pennon.65

He put on his helmet with the visor down, that he might not be known. The rest did the same and then he concealed his pennant.

They rode towards the woods where the outnumbered knights awaited them. When Boullant saw them approaching, he left his ambush position and, with his pennant displayed before him, rode towards the French knights believing them to be allies. En approçant, il leva se visière et salua monsigneur Gallehaut, ou nom de monsigneur Biétremieu de Brues. Messires Gallehaus se tint tous couvers et li respondi assés faintement et puis dist: “Alons, alons, chevauçons avant”. Dont se traisent ses gens tous d’un lés et fisent leur route, et li Alemant le leur.66

When he was come up with them, he raised his visor, and saluted Sir Galahaut, by the name of Sir Bartholomew Burghersh. Sir Galahaut kept his face covered, and replied in a low voice, adding, “Come, come, let us ride on.” Upon which, his people set off on one side, and the Germans on the other.

When Boullant finally realised all was not well and challenged the knight to raise his visor and reveal his name, Ribemont did finally raise

63 64 65 66

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 228ff. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 223 his visor and attempted to grab the reins of Boullant’s horse as he gave his cry of “Our Lady of Ribemont!” Boullant quickly defended himself and dealt the architect of the deception such a furious stroke with his sword that it pierced his armour and passed through his body. Boullant then fled, successfully beating off any attackers who were able to pursue him. Tant fist li dis chevaliers que il eslonga les François et qu’il se sauva, et n’i eut point de damage de son corps, de quoi si ennemi le tinrent à grant proèce, et tout cil qui depuis en oirent parler, mès ses gens furent ou tout mort ou tout pris, petit s’en sauvèrent. Et là sus le place on entendi à monsigneur Gallehaut de Ribeumont qui estoit durement navrés, et fu amenés au plus doucement que on peut en le ville de Péronne, et là médicinés. De ceste navreure ne fu-il onques puis sainnement garis, car il estoit chevaliers de si grant volenté et si corageus que pour ce ne se voloit-il mies espargnier, et ne vosqui point trop longement.67

In this manner did the said knight outdistance and so escape from the French, without receiving the smallest wound, which his enemies, as well as all those who later spoke of it, considered as a most gallant act. But it fared otherwise with his people, as they were almost all killed or made prisoners, scarcely any escaping. They placed Sir Galahaut de Ribemont, who was very severely wounded, on a litter, and carried him as carefully as they could to Peronne to a physician. He was never perfectly cured of this wound, for he was a knight of such determination and courage that he did not want to spare himself, so that he died shortly afterward.

This is a story that has everything and begins with a reminder about the duty within the law of arms to molest one’s enemy. The wrapping or covering of his pennant—‘renvoleper son pennon’—indicates a very obvious and deliberate attempt at disguising himself. The argument hardly hinges on this, however, as the knight also deliberately covered his face with his visor to maintain the deception, declined to raise that visor as was customary in greeting and then answered to the false name of Sir Bartholemew. Not only was there the intention to deceive by pretending to be a friend, there was no pretence whatsoever that this was going to be an even fight, with the Germans outnumbered by more than two to one. The German knights themselves begin the tale waiting in ambush for some unwary passers by, but were themselves duped.68 The

67

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 228ff. For another example of those planning an ambush themselves being attacked, see ibid., V pp. 387ff. 68

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architect of the deceit is subsequently dealt a mighty blow in the ensuing battle, which turns out to be fatal. This could be a very clear moral statement on Froissart’s behalf, demonstrating that this kind of deceit has consequences. Instead, it looks as if Froissart chooses to emphasise Ribemont’s courage. It was not the blow itself that proved fatal, it was that Ribemont was too brave to rest and let it heal. Boullant was lucky to escape with his life but lost all of his followers. At least his retreat was done with honour as he only fled once it was obvious he was about to be overwhelmed and ‘disgraced’ through being captured. Was there any reason for this particular deception to be deplored by Froissart? A state of war existed and all parties were clearly aware of this. The deception involved duping the German knights rather than actually lying. Again, although the distinction appears very subtle to us today, to a medieval audience it was up to the German knights to make sure that they were amongst friendy forces. They were in enemy territory and had themselves been preparing to ambush any French forces that unwittingly passed by. While Ribemont was probably pushing the boundary of acceptable behaviour, he had not actually broken the rules and did not actually attack until he had raised his visor thus revealing his identity. The last examples this chapter will look at out of the many to be found in Froissart’s Chronicle involve classic ruses de guerre. They are described in some detail and occurred just after the death of King John of France in captivity in 1364 (to which he returned after he proved unable to repay his ransom following the Battle of Poitiers). It involved a French knight, one Bertrand du Guesclin, who although at that time was little known outside of the knights of Brittany, was: Estoit et fu toutdis durement ewireus chevaliers et bien amés de toutes gens d’armes, et ja estoit il grandement en le grasce dou duc de Normandie, pour les vertus qu’il en ooit recorder.69

Acknowledged by all to be a valiant knight, and well-beloved by his brethren at arms. He was in the good graces of the Duke of Normandy, on account of the great acts of valour that he had heard related of him.

Shortly after Du Guesclin attempted to parley with the people of Evreux and was met with a hail of stones, he rejoined a larger force under Lord Boucicaut, where they decided upon the best way of taking the town of Mantes, their principal objective:

69

Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed) 15 vols, VI, p. 100.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 225 Si consillièrent entre yaus que messires Boucicaus, lui centime de chevaus tant seulement, chevauceroit devant et venroit à Mantes, et feroit l’effraé, et diroit à chiaus de le ville que cil de Roleboise le cacent et que il le laissent entrer ens. Se il y entre, tantost il se saisira de la porte, et messires Bertrans et se grosse route tantost venront ferant batant, et enteront en le ville et en feront leur volenté.70

They agreed amongst themselves that the Lord Boucicaut, with only one hundred of his knights should ride ahead to Mantes, and pretend to be in fear, telling the townsfolk that the people of Roulleboise were in pursuit of him, and begging that they would give him admittance. If he were granted entrance, he would seize the gates, and Sir Bertrand would directly follow with thc remainder of the army. They would enter the town and do with it as they pleased.

Knowing that they were not in a strong position to take the town in any other way, they had resolved to employ a stratagem. This was going to require more than simply an extension of the truth as Boucicaut was Marshal of France and under the Duke of Normandy, who was no friend of the people of Mantes: Quant messires Boucicaus et se route deurent approcier la ville de Mantes, il se desroutèrent ensi comme gens desconfis et mis en cace. Et s’en vint li dis mareschaus, espoir lui dixime, et li aultre petit à petit le sievoient. Si s’arresta devant la barrière, car toutdis y avoit gens qui le gardoient, et dist: “Harou, bonnes gens de Mantes, ouvrés vos [portes et nous laissez entrer dedens] et nous recueilliés; car veci ces mourdreours et pillars de Roleboise qui nous encaucent et nous ont desconfis par grant mesaventure” . “Qui estes vous, sire?” dient cil qui là estoient et qui la barrière et le porte gardoient. “Signeur, je sui Boucicaus, mareschaus de France, que li dus de Normendie envoioit devant Roleboise, mais il m’en est trop mal pris; car li larron de dedens m’ont ja desconfi, et me 70

When Lord Boucicaut and his entourage were near to Mantes, they split up and dispersed like people that had been beaten and were trying to hide. So went forward the marshal, with perhaps a tenth of his men, while the others straggled on after them, came to the gates of the town and they cried out to the guards, “Help! good people of Mantes, open your gates, I beg of you, and let us come in, for the murderers and thieves of Roulleboise who are chasing us have done us great harm.” “Who are you sire?” asked the guardians of the gate. “I am, gentlemen, Boucicaut, Marshal of France, whom the Duke of Normandy had sent against Roulleboise, but it went right sorely with me because those rogues there have beaten me, and forced me to flee, whether willing

Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 101f.

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chapter six couvient fuir, voelle ou non, et me prenderont à mains et ce que j’ai de remanant de gens, se vous ne nous ouvrés le porte bien tost” . Cil de Mantes respondirent, qui cuidiérent bien que il leur desist verité: “Sire, nous savons bien voirement que cil de Roleboise sont nostre ennemi et li vostre ossi, et n’ont cure à qui il aient la guerre, et d’autre part que li dus de Normendie vos sires nous het pour le cause dou roy de Navarre nostre signeur: si sommes en grant doubte que nous ne soions deceu par vous qui estes mareschaus de France” . “Par ma foy, signeur, dist il, nennil; je ne sui ci venus en aultre entente que pour grever, comment qu’il m’en soit mal pris, la garnison de Roleboise” .71

or not, and they will apprehend me together with all that are left of my men unless you open your gates to us.” The people of Mantes thinking he had said nothing but truth, replied: “Sir, we know well that those in Roulleboise are our enemies as well as yours, and that it is indifferent to them on which party they make war. On the other hand, the Duke of Normandy, your lord, hates us, on account of our loyalty to our lord, the King of Navarre. We are therefore in great doubt, if we shall not be betrayed by you, who are Marshal of France.” “By my faith, gentlemen” said he, “that shall never be, for I have come into these parts with the sole intent, however sorely it may go with me, to vanquish the garrison of Roulleboise.”

This reassurance obviously did the trick as the people of Mantes opened the gate to allow Boucicaut into the security of their walls. However, the marshal did not enter in quite the way that they expected: A ces parolles, ouvrirent cil de Mantes leur barrière et leur porte, et laissièrent ens passer monsigneur Boucicau et se route, et toutdis venoient gens petit à petit. Entre les darrainiers des gens monsigneur Boucicau et les gens monsigneur Bertran, n’eurent cil de Mantes nul loisir de refremer leur porte; car quoique messires Boucicaus et li plus grant partie de ses gens se traissent tantost à hostel et se desarmèrent pour mieuls apaisier chiaus de le ville, li darrainnier qui estoient Breton, se saisirent des

At his word, the people of Mantes opened their barrier and their gate and Lord Boucicaut entered along with some of his entourage, the rest straggling along slowly behind. He was followed so slowly by the remainder, that the people of Mantes did not have time to shut their gates upon Sir Bertrand’s men who followed them. Although Lord Boucicaut appeared to go with most of his men directly to a lodging, where they disarmed themselves, in order the better to pacify the townsfolk, those Bretons who were

71 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 101ff. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 396ff.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 227 barrières et de le porte. Et n’en furent mies mestre cil de le ville, car tantos messires Bertrans et se route vinrent les grans galos, qui estoient mis en embusche, et entrèrent en le ville, et escriièrent: “Saint Yve! Claiekin! A le mort, à le mort tous Navarois!” Dont entrèrent cil Breton par ces hostels; si pillièrent et robèrent tout ce qu’il trouvèrent, et prisent des bourgois desquels qu’il veurent pour leurs prisonniers, et en tuèrent ossi assés.72

in the rear seized the barriers and the gate. The townspeople were not able to overpower them, for, at that same moment, Sir Bertrand and his men, who had been lying in wait, came at a full gallop into the town, and they cried, “St. Yves Guesclin! And death, death to the Navarrois.” These Bretons entered, pillaged and robbed the houses of whatever they found, and made prisoners of whomsoever they pleased, killing also not a few.

Boucicaut clearly lied about his intention and stated ‘by my faith’ that his intention was not to take Mantes and only to destroy a joint enemy. He also lied about being pursued so as to add urgency to his request. However, it is interesting to note that he and his men still disarmed themselves even as Du Guesclin’s force galloped into town through the open gate and began to pillage, capture and kill. It is not clear from this account whether the Marshal participated in this, although it appears as if he did not, sticking to the letter of his agreement if not the spirit. Any defence that he did not participate in the actual taking of the town would be pretty tenuous at best. Technically, although lying blatantly about being pursued in an effort to get the gates opened, he did not break his faith by actively participating in the taking of the town. Through his actions though—or rather inaction—the town was taken by others. This is sailing pretty close to the wind and the defence depends upon semantics that do not appear to be particularly convincing to us today. The King of Navarre did not look upon it as a fair act either, as we shall see. There is more to this tale than one successful ruse de guerre. As the plan had worked so well once, it was decided to try it again on the next town along. A detachment of Bretons advanced to the town of Meulan with a cunning plan:

72 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 103f. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 396ff.

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chapter six Il disent que c’estoient gens d’armes que messires Guillaumes de Gauville, chapitainne d’Evrues, envoioit là, et que otant ou plus en estoient demoret à Mantes. Cil de Meulent cuidièrent proprement que il deissent verité, pour tant qu’il estoient venu le chemin de Mantes et ne pooient venir aultre voie que par là ne avoir passé le Sainne fors au pont à Mantes. Si les crurent legierement et ouvrirent leurs barrières et leurs portes et misent en leur ville ces Bretons qui tantost se saisirent des portes et escriièrent: “Saint Yve! Claikin!” Et commencièrent à occire et à decoper ces gens qui furent tout esperdu et prisent à fuir et à yaus sauver, cescuns qui mieuls mieulz, quant il se veirent ensi deceu et trahi et n’eurent nul pooir d’yaus recouvrer ne sauver.73

They said they were men at arms whom Sir William de Graville, Captain of Evreux, had sent, and that as many or more had remained at Mantes. The people of Meulan believed the truth of this the more readily because they came by the road from Mantes, and because they could not have crossed the Seine unless they had used the bridge at Mantes. Thus they readily believed them and so opened the barrier and their gates and let in the Bretons who at once seized the gates and cried, “St. Yves! Guesclin!” and began to kill and massacre. The inhabitants, perceiving that they had been both deceived and betrayed, were in despair and took flight in order to save themselves, which was their best option as they had no other recourse by which they might be saved.

William de Gauville, as we have seen above, was a prominent figure on the side of the King of Navarre. If the men had indeed been sent by him, as they claimed, then they were friends. That they had obviously passed through a friendly town to get to Meulan only strengthened their deceit. Here again, a blatant lie is met with success and a town falls. There does not appear to be any moral indignation on the part of Froissart—he is simply recounting the facts as he is aware of them. However, he does tell us that the King of Navarre was in a furious rage when he learnt of the events: En lui complaindant dou duch de Normendie, comment on li avoit pris et emblé ses villes, Mantes et Meulent, et se mettoient encores en painne tous les jours li François de tollir le demorant.74

He complained to the Duke of Normandy, saying that his towns of Mantes and Meulan had been taken from him by stealth and tried very hard everyday to get the French to leave.

73 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI p. 104. See also Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 396ff. 74 Ibid.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 229 An alternative text explains: Si en fu durement courouchiés, et regarda et avisa comment il se poroit contrevengier et grever le royaumme de Franche.75

He was consumed with rage and pondered and took counsel as to how he might damage and take revenge on the Kingdom of France.

Lord John de Greilly, otherwise known as the Captal de Buch, was charged by his king with repossessing the towns and many others. Perhaps Froissart uses this device to impart some kind of lesson on the right and proper way of conduct in war? Perhaps he redresses the balance at a later point, showing a judgement against Du Guesclin or the French capture of the the two towns? In fact, the capture of the two towns is confirmed in a clear and incontestible manner, just a few short chapters later, at the pitched battle of Cocherel in Normandy. The Captal de Buch led a Navarrois army (including some English) against a French army led by Du Guesclin (as the honour had been declined by the count of Auxerre as he had never fought in a pitched battle before). However the supposedly more experienced Captal, fighting to reclaim the towns and castles lost through apparent deception, was himself soundly defeated.76 He had sensibly formed his host up on a mountain that offered a secure defence while the baggage and attendants were sent into the security of a wood. When the French force arrived to engage him, they had expected that they would fight immediately. Because of this, they had no food or drink with them and were not prepared for a wait in the hot sun. Froissart states that the English and Navarrois had therefore deceived them through subtlety—‘li Englès et li Navarois par soutilleté ce qu’il peurent’.77 Some of the French knights wanted to engage immediately, but this was over-ruled by others who were better advised and realised that they would lose three out of every five—‘car des cinq il aroient les trois’—if they were to attack uphill into a prepared position.78 After waiting much of the day, Du Guesclin came up with a plan to get the English and Navarrois to move out of their position so they could be fought on more favourable terms. He addressed the assembled leaders of the French host: 75

Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI p. 401. This particular story can be found in: Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 110–130; Froissart, Chroniques, Lettenhove (Ed.), VI pp. 416–443 and Froissart, Chronicles (Ed.) Johnes, Vol.I, pp. 317ff. 77 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI p. 118. 78 Ibid., p. 120. 76

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chapter six “Signeur”, dist il, “nous veons que nostre ennemi nous detrient à combatre, et si en sont en grant volenté, si com je l’espoir; mès point ne descenderont de leur fort, se ce ne n’est par un parti que je vous dirai. Nous ferons samblant de nous retraire et de non combatre meshui, ossi sont nos gens durement foulé et travilliet pour le chaut; et ferons tous nos varlès, nos harnois et nos chevaus passer tout bellement et ordonneement outre ce pont et l’aigue et retraire à nos logeis, et toutdis nous tenrons sus èle et entre nos batailles en agait, pour veoir comment il se maintenront. Se il nous desirent à combatre, il descenderont de leur montagne et nous venront requerre tout au plain. Tantost que nous verons leur couvenant, se il le font ensi, nous serons tout appareillié de retourner sus yaus, et ensi les arons nous mieulz à nostre aise” .79

“My lords,” said he, “We perceive that our enemies hesitate to engage with us. I trust they are eager to do so, but; but, they will not descend from their position unless by a plan which I shall propose to you. We will make it look as if we are about to withdraw and do not intend to fight today because our men are severely afflicted by the great heat. We shall order all our servants, baggage and our horses to cross the bridge and stream in good order, and to retire to our quarters. All the while, we will keep close to them, watching attentively the enemy’s behaviour. If they really wish to fight us, they will leave the hill, and come to engage us on the lower ground. As soon as we have seen their dispositions, if they act as I think they will, we shall be ready armed to wheel about, and thus shall have them more to our advantage” .

Du Guesclin’s plan was approved by those present. Each returned to their men and the trumpets sounded the retreat—‘puis sonnèrent leurs trompètes et fisent grant samblant d’yaulz retraire’ .80 The Captal recognised what was happening and was not taken in by the ploy having no intention of pursuing the French. When Sir John Jouel excitedly announced that he wanted to chase after the fleeing French—“Sire, sire, descendons apertement; ne veés vous le manière comment li François s’enfuient?” the Captal calmly explained that they were only doing so out of malice to provoke a reaction—“il ne la font fors par malisse et pour nous attraire” .81 However, ignoring this sound advice, Jouel rashly led the English contingent down the hill against them, forcing the Captal to follow him down to the plain or split his force.82 In the ensuing

79

Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 121f. Ibid., VI p. 122. 81 Ibid., VI pp. 122f. 82 Froissart brings out the tension here and in many other places between individual action and the importance of group discipline. He stresses the importance of individual 80

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 231 fight, the Captal was singled out and overpowered by thirty knights who removed him from the battlefield. He was considered a particularly daring and hardy knight—‘un ossi preu et seur chevalier et conforté de ses besongnes que on trouveroit aujourd’ui en toutes terres’—and it had already been agreed that he would be too difficult to deal with if not separated from his men.83 Even with this cunning plan, it was by no means an easy victory, with many prominent dead on both sides, including Sir John Jouel who, we are told, performed many gallant feats of arms, and refused to retreat. However, the field was eventually won by the French and when a party of Navarrois reinforcements arrived as the dead were being stripped, rather than retreating to regroup, the French fixed pennants and retained the field, thus indicating that they were the clear victors. Although it was a pitched battle, it was a ruse that gave the French knights the advantage. Against the better judgement of their commander, the Navarrois and English were defeated after giving up their well-defended position. It is clear that if there is any moral to this story, it is to act as a coordinated unit and to retain the advantage. If one is stupid enough to fall for a trick, then one gets what one deserves. In this case the battle only went to confirm the earlier victories and there is certainly no condemnation of the clever tactics employed, either earlier in the events leading up to the battle, or in the battle itself. Conclusion Whether these events actually took place or not is an interesting question, but is really a side issue here as it is not necessary to rebuild an exact account of the events as they took place. For example, Sumption provides a different view of the last case mentioned, beginning with the taking of Mantes. By cross referencing accounts such as the Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, the continuation of the Chronique of Guillaume de Nangis by Jean de Venette, and the Chronique normande du xive siècle, Sumption states that the town was actually taken by Du

heroism and yet makes it clear that the side that coordinates its tactics has the advantage. Although Du Guesclin was successful at Cocherel, this was his only success in a pitched battle. It was in guerrilla and small scale operations that he was particularly successful as it was here that individualism was still particularly important. See Henneman, The Age of Charles V, p. 47. 83 Froissart, Chroniques, Luce (Ed.), VI pp. 122f.

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Guesclin’s cousin Oliver de Mauny and his men, disguised as shepherds.84 The other events also have slight variations. Whatever the actual events, there is no doubt that Froissart does indeed provide very useful insights into many aspects of the warfare of the period. What actually happened is in many ways less important than what Froissart thought happened. In choosing the type of events that he has, and given the intended audience of his writing, Froissart illustrates examples of the code of chivalry in action and thereby provides a framework for managing chivalric expectation. After claiming his intention to concentrate on ‘honourable enterprises, noble adventures, and deeds of arms’ , Froissart proceeds to give many examples that involve the use of deception or ambushes, surprise and ruse. Does this mean that he has strayed from his task? The most interesting thing here is not that Froissart has chosen to detail this type of activity, from clever ruse and cunning to outright deception and blatant lies, but in many cases the apparently morally neutral tone of his record when he is recounting these events. It is not immediately clear that Froissart believes that victories involving underhand tactics are any different from the glory of the other jousts and great battles. Again and again it is the clever party, rather than what we might think of as the just party, that succeeds. However, Froissart provides far more information than a simple narrative of these events and the idea that he is in any way morally neutral is actually quite misleading. It is clear that the laws of war were very important to Froissart. As well as encouraging brave men to perform deeds of arms, in many places Froissart is also reminding them of what their duties were. In contrast to some passages that appear to reflect little or no judgement on a knight’s more questionable activities, there are also many prescriptive passages in his accounts. Many of these may not even appear prescriptive at first; the subtleties of the environment and the level at which the behaviour was taking place are easily overlooked and some of the nuances can be hard to see for a modern audience. Subtle they may be, but often it is the 84 Chronique des quatre premiers Valois (1327–1393), S. Luce (Ed.) (Paris: Société de l’histoire de France, 1865), pp. 139ff; Jean de Venette, ‘Continuatio Chronici Guillelmi de Nangiaco’ , H. Géraud (Ed.), Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II Vols. (Paris: 1843), I, pp. 336f.; Chronique Normande du xiv e siècle, A. and E. Molinier (Ed.) (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1882), p. 169; Richard Lescot, Chronique, J. Lemoine (Ed.) (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1896), pp. 163ff. From Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Fire (London: Faber and Faber, 1999), p. 507.

froissart: the management of chivalric expectation 233 context of the actions that Froissart describes that determine their legitimacy and this would not have been lost on a medieval audience. The underlying rules that he communicates to his readers would have been familiar to most of them, but they were reinforced by the messages and values expressed in his writing and the normative environment otherwise reflected in the culture of chivalry. That a knight should keep his faith is a recurring theme throughout the work and clearly, Froissart takes the word of a knight very seriously, as do the people in his stories. The lengths that different parties are willing to go to ensure that their word is not broken or the lengths they will go to to put things right after it has, demonstrate unequivocally that a knight’s word was a thing taken incredibly seriously. When lies or deception are employed, it is essential to consider the context that Froissart has given. Boucicaut clearly lied as part of his ruse to get inside the town of Mantes. However, he is still seen to go through the motions of going to the lodging house and disarming to keep the letter of his word. He does not take any part in the sacking of the town because he had promised he was not there to do this. Semantics it may be, but while Boucicaut could use deception, he was not going to break his faith. In this and other cases, those who are caught out by an opponent’s deception have only themselves to blame, whether it was a party planning their own ambush and then fooled into somebody else’s, or an army fooled into leaving a good defensive position. Deceit, practised in a legitimate way was acceptable on this level in a way that it would not have been if the Scots’ army had descended upon the English while they had still been deploying at Neville’s Cross for a formal trial by combat to decide the issue at stake. The importance of context can also be seen in the episodes that recount the use of surprise. Although Walter Manny’s expedition into France was aimed at surprising and capturing the town of Mortaigne, he did not ride into France until the correct legal defiance had been sent to the King of France from the English King. This made absolutely no difference to the people in the town who would still have been unaware that the legal situation had changed and that they were now at war. However, the legal situation had been transformed and Manny’s attack was entirely legitimate (if a little opportunistic). Surprise at the strategic or political level had not been practised, only at the tactical. When Froissart recounts the Duke of Lancaster explaining that he considered a man wise if he knew how to seize the advantage in combat,

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it is easy to think that the rules were not that important and surprise and deception could be freely employed without restriction. In fact, what Froissart makes abundantly clear is that while it was a knight’s duty to molest his opponent, it was also implicitly understood that any advantage gained still had to be done within the rules.

CHAPTER SEVEN

CONCLUSION The following case study is employed to bring together the themes and arguments employed in the earlier chapters and highlight the importance of context in the use of both surprise and deception in medieval warfare. The Crécy Chevauchée 1346 The military phase of the campaign that resulted in the battle of Crécy began with 15,000 men under Edward III landing at the small port of St-Vaast-la-Hougue in the Cotentin peninsula, Normandy on 11th July 1346. The efforts to preserve secrecy for this operation had the desired effect and it was not until the end of June that word somehow got back to the French court and preparations were begun to protect the north.1 This was still not sufficient for there to be any resistance when the English force landed at St-Vaast-la-Hougue. They expected to join with an allied Flemish force from Flanders and they rapidly advanced towards Caen, burning and devastating the countryside and taking those castles and towns that could be overcome quickly. The small French force in the area under the command of Robert Bertrand, withdrew ahead of them, attempting without much success to slow them down. It was during this advance that the Grandes Chroniques levels the first of its charges of treachery at Edward: It was commonly said that he sent to the bourgeois of Caen by his messengers and his letters, saying that if they would leave the King of France, and submit to the King of England, he would protect them faithfully, and give them many great liberties, and at the end the letters threatened them that if they did not do as he had instructed, they could be quite certain that he would assault them very soon. But the people of Caen, united in will and courage, defied him, saying that they would not obey the King of England. And when the King heard the answer of the bourgeois of Caen,

1 Jonathan Sumption, The Hundred Years War: Trial by Battle (London: Faber and Faber, 1990), pp. 499ff.

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chapter seven he summoned them to give battle on the following Thursday; and this he did treacherously, because already in the morning of the day before, which was Wednesday the twentieth of August, he arrived before Caen … [and] assailed the town in four places.2

Even if one is to give the benefit of the doubt to the Grandes Chroniques over the dates and chronology of the events described here (Caen actually fell in July), there are other reasons to doubt details of this account although the way it is set out is still highly interesting. It would have been highly unusual to summon a town to give battle. A letter from Edward at this time makes no mention of any challenge to battle although the intention to hurry on past Caen to meet his adversary, i.e. Philip VI, is clear.3 If a town had been commanded to surrender in this way and had chosen not to then legal practice regarding the matter was clear. In this case, Edward was certainly under no obligation to keep to any timetable. Once the refusal had been sent, a legal situation akin to Roman war existed (see Chapter Three). Unlike a normal trial by battle where the justice of a cause was decided by the outcome of the contest or duel, under the Roman legal system, the justice of the cause was already demonstrated and assumed before military activity commenced. The military phase of the legal procedure was the administration of justice rather than a way of finding out whose cause was just. In the same way, the process of taking a town or castle that had refused to surrender was exercising justice rather than determining it as far as Edward and contemporary practice was concerned. That was why the lives and property of those in a disputed town or castle who resisted a demand to submit were technically forfeit if it fell as they could legitimately be treated as traitors for resisting the rightful owner. Whilst de facto possession was required to exercise such a claim, the legal process was clear. Edward may well have claimed that he would be before the town on a certain date, but once the town had refused his terms, he could begin its conquest at any time (given the lenient terms offered by the English—surrender without loss of property—Edward’s anger at the town’s occupants was perhaps predictable).4 2 Clifford J. Rogers (Ed.), The Wars of Edward III: Sources and Interpretations (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1999), pp. 124ff. 3 See PRO C81/314/17803 in Kenneth Fowler, ‘News from the Front: Letters and Despatches of the Fourteenth Century’, Guerre et société en France, en Angleterre et en Bourgogne. XIVe Siècle, Philippe Contamine et al. (Eds.) (Lille: Centre d’histoire de la region du nord et de l’Europe du nord-ouest, 1991), pp. 83f. 4 Andrew Ayton, ‘The Crécy Campaign’, in Andrew Ayton and Philip Preston (Eds.), The Battle of Crécy, 1346 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2007), p. 66.

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Clearly, given this situation, the charge of treachery would be disingenuous. However, the charge that the Grandes Chroniques makes is based upon the notion that Edward did take the unusual (and unlikely) step of challenging the town to battle once it had refused his terms. If the bourgeois of Caen had accepted the challenge then this would have changed the legal context of Edward’s actions, imposing restrictions on what could be done in what was now a judicial ordeal to determine the rightness of Edward’s claim on the town. To have then broken those conditions and returned to the format of the feud rather than actually carry out the ordeal in the correct way would have allowed a charge of treachery to be levelled at the English King. It would appear that the Grandes Chroniques may have been attempting to explain the rapid fall of the town of Caen on 26th July by blaming it on the ‘treacherous’ tactics of Edward rather than the panicked defence in an action that was confused on both sides, even though such a claim would have fooled very few people. Following the fall of the town of Caen, and leaving a small force behind him to continue the siege of its castle, Edward now headed east towards Rouen, with his army burning everything in their path and in a wide swathe on either side of it.5 With Philip unable to come up with a coherent plan in the face of multiple threats (apart from Edward, the next most pressing threat to France came from Flanders) the king proclaimed the arrière-ban calling every available man to come to the land’s defence and meet him in Rouen.6 Initially planning to hold Edward south of the Seine, Philip changed his mind at the last minute and withdrew into the town, breaking the bridge as soon as it was crossed, now planning to hold Edward at the river. While this went on, the mechanics of the feud continued. Edward received Philip’s cardinals at Lisieux on the third of August expecting them to have been authorised to negotiate on the French King’s behalf. When they failed to produce letters of authority, Edward dismissed them. As Edward continued to advance, destroying the land as he went, the cardinals returned, this time bearing formal concessions from Philip for the first time. Philip offered to restore Ponthieu and the areas of Aquitaine that had been lost as long as they were held as fiefs of the French Crown and also proposed a marriage alliance. These were the types of concessions

5 Jean le Bel, Chronique de Jean le Bel, J. Viard and E. Déprez (Eds.), 2 vols (Paris: 1904–5), II. p. 85. 6 Sumption, Trial by Battle, p. 513.

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and compromises that the process of the feud was intended to achieve but what was being offered here was insufficient for Edward who made it clear that he would not lose a single day’s march discussing such trifles.7 If the process of the feud proved unable to force the required settlement, its other function could be to try and force a battle where the issue could be decided through judicial combat and Edward’s intention to follow through with this plan is clear from his actions. Unable to approach Rouen while the French held the north bank of the Seine, Edward was forced upriver towards Paris with the French shadowing on the opposite bank. Continuing to burn everything in and on either side of their path, the English attempted to find a crossing but were foiled by the walled towns that controlled the only bridges and were easy to support and defend as long as the French army controlled the north bank. By 12th August, Edward was within twenty miles of Paris and the strategic problems for Philip were growing as he could not protect Paris both north and south of the Seine and he could not protect both of the main crossings due to the huge bends in the river that meant the crossings were much closer together for the English on the south bank than they were to the French on the north. The English took up station half way between Mantes and Poissy, unfurling the red banners (vexilla flammea erigentes) that gave a clear signal of intent to fight in a position that would allow the French to cross at either town unopposed.8 This offer of battle by the English should have made such a dilemma far easier for Philip ‘A bold spirit might have crossed the river and confronted the enemy … But Philip VI was not a bold spirit’ .9 Instead, seeking to reduce the number of dilemmas he faced, Philip had the bridge at Poissy destroyed and the town abandoned. The Grandes Chroniques laments that the French nobility destroyed bridges and avoided the English instead of actually doing something about the invader who was ‘residing for six days in the King’s own houses, and in the middle of France besides’ .10 The implied shame that such actions provoked demonstrate just how the chevauchée was far more than simply a physical threat. Clearly the failure to prevent or halt such a procession was a severe moral blow as well. Instead of proceeding closer to

7

Sumption, Trial by Battle, p. 514. Acta Bellicosa, in J. Moisant, Le Prince Noir en Auitaine, 1355–6, 1362–70 (Paris: Picard, 1894), p. 169. 9 Sumption, Trial by Battle, p. 517. 10 Rogers, Wars of Edward III, pp. 126ff. 8

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Paris, Edward began to rebuild the bridge at Poissy. Unable to prevent Edward crossing there, running out of options and still worried about the loss of face he had already suffered, Philip at last issued a public challenge to Edward, suggesting a series of dates and a choice of venues either north or south of the river.11 It is not entirely clear what exactly Edward’s reply was but it was during these events that the Grandes Chroniques presents the charge of treachery at Edward once more. The Grandes Chronique states that Edward replied to Philip’s challenge by agreeing to a combat before Paris, causing Philip to return to his capital to await the encounter that the English had no intention of meeting. The Grandes Chronique’s opinion of the cowardly English is scathing here even before the alleged deception took place. It describes how Edward chose not to attack Mantes where the English had heard it said that they were good fighters. In the mean time, the Chroniques records that intelligence was received that Edward was not planning to head to the south of Paris but was instead rebuilding the bridge at Poissy. This intelligence was ignored leaving Philip and his army in entirely the wrong place. Once Edward crossed to the north bank of the Seine, the French king was ‘greatly angered’ and headed north telling everyone in his path that he had been betrayed, ‘and the king doubted whether otherwise he could have been led back and forth thus. The people murmured too, and said that such a way of going and returning would not be without treason’ .12 The moral tone of the language of the writings clearly seeks to place Edward’s actions in the area of one who has used deceit to gain an unfair advantage. Whilst it is not clear if Edward gave anything more than an indication that he would meet Philip on the French King’s terms, just before (or possibly just after—see below) the English crossed the Seine and headed away from his position, a letter was sent to Philip. We have come without pride or presumption into our realm of France, making our way to you to make an end to war by battle. But although you could thus have had a battle, you broke down the bridges between you and us … When we came to Poissy and had the bridge there which you had broken repaired, and stayed there for three days, waiting for you and the army which you have assembled, you could have approached from

11 Froissart, Chroniques, Kervyn de Lettenhove (Ed.), 29 vols (Brussels: 1867–77), IV, pp. 496f. 12 Rogers, Wars of Edward III, pp. 126ff.

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chapter seven one side or the other, as you wished. Because we could not get you to give battle, we decided to continue further into our realm … if you wish, as your letters purport, to do battle with us and protect those whom you claim as your subjects, let it be known that at whatever hour you approach you will find us ready to meet you in the field, with God’s help, which thing we desire above all else for the common good of Christendom, since you will not deign to tender or accept any reasonable terms for peace. But we would not be well advised to [allow ourselves to] be cut off by you, nor let you choose the place and day of battle.13

The letter clearly demonstrates the process of the feud, the attempt to wrest reasonable peace terms and the desire to give battle if this proves impossible. The idea that the argument is also an affront to the whole of Christendom because God’s natural order on Earth was being damaged is also clear. Subsequent events, the military situation as he saw it, the nature of the letter and the delay in its delivery to the French camp led Alfred Burne to conclude that ‘Edward had completely outwitted Philip’ . Rather than immediately replying with the customary defiance, it is alleged that Edward took some time over it, burning the Parisian suburbs in the meantime. Using this as a cover, he had a group spend this time constructing bridges farther downstream. When he did finally send his reply it was at the end of his first day’s march across the river giving him a considerable head-start on the pursuing French force. Burne dismisses the criticisms of the Grandes Chroniques of this behaviour by stating matter of factly ‘deceitful it was. One of the maxims of war is to deceive your opponent, but the good cleric of the Abbey of St. Denys would not be conversant with such maxims’ .14 As far as Burne was concerned, Edward had no intention of giving battle and had cleverly manoeuvred his opponent into a position that allowed him to escape to the north. Sumption partially agrees by failing to see the letter as demonstrating any real commitment to battle, saying it was purely for internal consumption.15 However, in this instance, I disagree with Sumption. The use of such loaded language in the Grandes Chroniques as ‘trayson’, and stating that the English fled towards Picardy have helped to build up a picture of the French King pursuing his quarry after being deliberately deceived in a successful attempt to wrong-foot 13 Calender of Patent Rolls (1345–48), pp. 516f. From Rogers, Wars of Edward III, p. 278. 14 Burne, The Crecy War, p. 154. 15 Sumption, Trial by Battle, p. 520.

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him and gain the upper hand.16 Although the evidence is somewhat confusing, it can however suggest a completely different take on events. Despite various interpretations by historians over the years, the chevauchée of Edward III was actually a battle-seeking one: ‘Crécy was a battle that he had planned to fight, not one that he had been forced to accept while seeking to escape the clutches of his adversary’ .17 The evidence of the chronicles, campaign and private letters, Parliamentary advice and other histories is straightforward and to portray the chosen strategy as one of battle-avoidance is to ignore much contrary evidence and instead rely upon some modern notions of inherent military probability which states that no commander would knowingly seek an engagement in which he was vastly outnumbered. As Clifford J. Rogers has eloquently demonstrated, this view is to utterly ignore the medieval mindset and belief systems as well as to go against the actual military situation in which Edward found himself. Despite the criticisms found in the Grandes Chronique, it also clearly states that the King of England was marching with ‘armes descouvertes et banieres desploiées’— uncovered arms and with banners displayed—a clear offer of battle if Philip dared to catch them and accept, confirming Edward’s claim in his letter that he could be found ready to meet his enemy in the field at any time.18 On the other side, Geoffrey le Baker describes the English King as being always ready for battle.19 A letter written by Edward to Thomas Lucy explains that after waiting at Poissy for three days for the French to come to them to give battle, he ‘had the country burnt and devastated all around … And to better draw our enemy to battle, we headed towards Picardy’, a sentiment repeated in another private letter to his Council in London.20 When Contamine described the English King’s behaviour as being aimed at ‘intimidating the enemy … Snapping one’s fingers at him’, this was completely accurate.21 ‘It cannot be stressed too forcefully that it was Edward’s intention to provoke Philip, to enrage

16 Grandes Chroniques de France, Jules Viard (Ed.), 10 vols (Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France, 1920–53), 9, pp. 274ff. 17 Ayton, ‘The Battle of Crécy: Context and Significance’, in Ayton and Preston, Battle of Crécy, p. 7. 18 Grandes Chroniques, Viard (Ed.), 9, p. 279. 19 Geoffrey le Baker, Chronicon Galfredi le Baker de Swynebroke, E.M. Thompson (Ed.), (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1889), p. 82. 20 Rogers, Wars of Edward III, p. 277. 21 Philippe Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, trans. Michael Jones (Paris: Blackwell, 1992), p. 222.

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him so that he blundered into a battle that was fought on terms set by the English.’22 Edward wished to fight but to do so with his own force deployed on the far stronger position of the tactical defensive.23 It is quite possible that Philip himself was keen to decide the issue by battle by this stage as the political pressure and public discontent had been growing by the hour as the threat posed by Edward’s force to Paris and the lack of any obvious opposition combined to undermine Philip’s position. By now Philip may also have wished to end the feud through battle but he did not want the English to be able to fight on the tactical defensive, a posture in which they had already demonstrated themselves to be particularly effective. Philip instead wished to force the English into an attack, which may explain his apparent hesitation. Edward would have been making the same calculation and would have been trying to force a battle using the strategic offensive whilst engineering an actual engagement on the tactical defensive to give himself the best possible chance. Following on from this, Rogers suggests that there may actually have been no deception, either intended or unintended by Edward. His letter (dated 15th August) may well have been sent before he crossed the Seine, especially if he crossed at Auteuil (reached 17th) rather than Autes, a name similar enough to have been confused by the scribes. His letter states that the English forces were ‘making our way to you to make an end to war by battle’ . The last two words are omitted in the more usual copies and translations.24 If it had been a case of deliberate deception aimed at putting some serious distance between the English and French forces, it is curious that Edward chose not to capitalise on this in the two days following the crossing of the Somme.25 It also seems odd that Edward would slow his ‘retreat’ down by continuing to burn and plunder if he had no intention of fighting. This is the type of action that allowed Burne to criticise the campaign, precisely because he did not see this as a deliberate action aimed at forcing the French into attacking the English where they could fight on the tactical defensive.26

22

Ayton, Crécy Campaign, pp. 36f. Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of Strategy’, in Rogers, Wars of Edward III, pp. 272ff. 24 Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of Strategy’, p. 278. 25 This otherwise odd behaviour is highlighted in Richard Barber, Edward, Prince of Wales and Aquitaine (London: Allen Lane, 1978), pp. 58 and 62. 26 Burne, The Crecy War, pp. 152ff. 23

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According to one source the bridge at Poissy could be crossed by horse and cart by the end of the first day although, as we have seen, they actually stayed for three.27 The view that the English were fleeing, simply grabbing booty on the way, also has trouble explaining why the English chose to wait again at Crécy. Even if Edward had employed deception, would it actually have mattered or was Burne correct in his dismissal of the Grandes Chroniques’ complaints? As we have seen, Bouvet and Christine de Pizan make clear that craft and fraud could be employed without sin as long as the war had been ordained, was just, and defiance had been sent and received.28 However they make it very clear that perjury and treachery are completely incompatible with the code of chivalry and repeatedly stress the importance of a knight keeping his word. The breaking of faith appears to be the critical issue here and this is not a point lost on either Bouvet or Christine who both agree that whilst using certain types of deception was acceptable, one was not to break one’s word. Due to the breaking of faith that this would involve, it would clearly go against God Himself: ‘the laws say that once a pledge is given to one’s enemy it must be kept’ .29 Philip could only claim to have been deceived because he could also claim that a time and place had been agreed upon. If a time and place had been agreed upon then this would have been notice of a judicial combat to decide the issue and the subsequent failure to attend was a breaking of faith going against God and reason. If a time and place had not been agreed, then Edward and Philip were still in the process of conducting a feud. In this case, Philip would have been admitting dereliction of duty by claiming he had been deceived as this would have meant he had been duped with no battle being offered in that particular place at all. Whether the deception actually happened or not, the charges made by the Grandes Chroniques were serious ones for both parties and were presented as such. If the battle of Crécy had not resulted in a crushing defeat for the French, one

27 Joseph Moisant’s Le Prince Noir en Aquitaine (Paris, 1894), pp. 170f. From Rogers, Edward III and the dialectics of Strategy, p. 279. See also Ayton, Crécy Campaign, pp. 38f. 28 Honoré Bouvet, The Tree of Battles, trans. G.W. Coopland (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1949), pp. 154ff; Christine de Pizan, The Book of Fayttes of Armes and of Chyvalrye: Translated and printed by William Caxton from the French original by Christine de Pizan, A.T.P. Byles (Ed.) (London: Oxford University Press, 1937), pp. 9f. 29 Bouvet, Tree, p. 153 and Christine de Pizan, Fayttes of Armes, pp. 213f.

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can imagine the French chroniclers concentrating on the just desserts for the perfidious English. Conclusion The traditional view of warfare in the Middle Ages saw knights as the single most important actor, and glorious battle as the only element worthy of real attention. The other more mundane activities could be dismissed as being irrelevant, merely plundering expeditions aimed at self-aggrandisement and with no strategic function whatsoever. Ruse, surprise, deception, tactical or strategic ingenuity simply did not fit into the picture of medieval warfare that influential authors such as Charles Oman and Hans Delbrück painted. As Bennett eloquently states, chivalry was erroneously seen as ‘empty-headed bravery and foolish courtesy to the enemy, completely undermining the necessary cunning of the art of war’ .30 A growing understanding and appreciation of the complexities of the period gradually challenged this view. Beginning in the 1950s with pathfinders such as J.F. Verbruggen and R.C. Smail, historians began the long process of convincing a sceptical audience that organisational, tactical and strategic sophistication in the Middle Ages was actually very high. For example, the vital role played by infantry could now be acknowledged and the chevauchées of the Hundred Years War could now be seen as having some kind of strategic purpose, rather than being dismissed as mere mounted plundering expeditions. As the appreciation of the medieval art of war grew, the professional nature of its protagonists came to be recognised. With this recognition came a revaluation of the idea of a code of chivalry that had captured imaginations for so long. The code of chivalric warfare came to be seen as something akin to a business relationship, a limited partnership where one’s maximum losses could be minimised rather than an honourable code, limiting the behaviour of the bon chevaliers. If these professional warriors really were proficient, how could they not utilise all the tools at their disposal? Previously overlooked examples from chronicles and histories confirmed that sometimes they did indeed employ such useful tools as surprise and deception in their pursuit of military victory. 30

Matthew Bennett, ‘The Knight Unmasked’, Military History Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 4 (Summer 1995), p. 16.

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However, while this view of chivalric warfare became popular, there were still many inconsistencies in the accounts of medieval warfare that could not be adequately explained. Medieval sources indicate that it was apparently acceptable to employ stratagems in one situation but not in another. Blatantly lying about one’s identity and even nationality in order to ambush a group of knights was considered to be a fairly normal event by Froissart, the Chronicler of Chivalry, while King Edward was roundly criticised by the Grandes Chroniques for his manoeuvrings before the battle of Crécy as they were perceived to have been overly subtle and treacherous. Why was it acceptable to employ stratagems in one situation but not in another? To give another example; if the point was simply to defeat one’s opponent, and given the time required to assemble a medieval host, why was it so common to announce a time and a place for an engagement instead of simply catching one’s enemy unawares? Time and time again the practitioners of medieval warfare appeared to undermine their own chances of success through abandoning advantages in this way. This work has demonstrated that rather than there being inconsistencies in the medieval attitude to surprise and deception, what has often been missed is the context of the actions themselves. Richard Kaeuper noted that it is to be regretted that no one ever travelled around ‘from one castle, tourney field, court, siege camp, battle line, or raiding party to another, observing and interviewing knights of all particular social claims to record their commonplace attitudes and beliefs’ .31 It is precisely those commonplace attitudes and beliefs that this work has tried to distil from the sources that we have handed down to us. Recognising that the subject of medieval warfare is enormous, a methodology utilising the twin concepts of surprise and deception was employed to explore the larger topic. This has provided a useful insight into medieval attitudes and beliefs about warfare. The way that the use of surprise and deception was perceived and portrayed in the medieval sources provide proof that warfare was understood in a fundamentally different way in the Middle Ages. From the perspective of the early Twenty-first Century our understanding and attitudes towards conflict have been shaped by the experiences of the great and devastating clashes of the Twentieth Century.

31 Richard W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), p. 34.

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In the nuclear age, it is often war itself which is seen as the enemy. However, in the Middle Ages war was seen as a manifestation of the Divine Will, a way of shaping society when things were not as they should be. Metaphysically, war was seen as an essential mechanism of the medieval constitutional structure. Honoré Bouvet explained at great length that it could not be that war itself was a bad thing as its aim was to ‘wrest peace, tranquillity and reasonableness, from him who refuses to acknowledge his wrongdoing’ .32 How could war itself be a bad thing when the very first war took place in Heaven when Lucifer and his followers were cast out? Clearly, it was not that war itself was a bad thing, but it was essential that it was conducted for the right reasons. In this spirit, Augustine reconciled the pacifistic doctrine of the New Testament with the reality of his environment by agreeing with Aristotle that the goal of a just war was peace but adding that it should be motivated by love. War itself was only evil when it was carried out because of a desire for violence, greed or lust for power. If it was motivated by charity and the desire to prevent injustice, then it was done in the name of God and could not be evil—‘the intention rather than the hostile act was normative’ .33 Inextricably linked with the development of Just War thinking and the moral and metaphysical understanding that underpinned it, an understanding of the role of law within the medieval world was absolutely central to any real understanding of warfare in this period. It was clearly understood in the Middle Ages that all law came from God and that applied to both the conduct of war and the very nature of war itself. War was demonstrated to be more than merely governed by laws; it was itself actually a legal process. The complicated legal background and influences provided by Roman, Frankish, Canon and Civil Law based on custom was explored and it was demonstrated that the laws governing medieval warfare were informed by all of these, but especially feudal law, developed from Germanic tradition. From the earliest of times it was known that killing brought vengeance, whether that was brought in person or, if necessary, by kinsmen. Some of the earliest laws were about regulating this process to prevent it escalating beyond control by prescribing levels of compensation according to the level of wrong committed. Revenge was not

32

Bouvet, Tree, p. 125. Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 17. 33

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seen as a negative thing but as a moral duty. Peace was simply the state where no rights were being challenged or asserted. Peace could not exist until vengeance had been achieved or a compromise accepted and therefore a feud or state of war would exist. The principle of self-help was at the heart of this tradition and it is not surprising that the centralisation of state power and authority was linked very closely with the decline in the use of the feud as a legitimate source of justice. Although the nobility resisted it, notions of legitimate authority changed over time as the sovereign took over judicial functions, making the feud and principle of self-help redundant in most circumstances. For example, in England, by the time of Henry V, redress had to be sought from someone with authority over the defendant. Only once the legal process had been conducted and resisted could a letter of Marque be awarded allowing the challenger to restore his right or recover losses. Only once the state itself was in a position to take over this function in its entirety, was the feud truly obsolete, with the language of the feud passing into the courtroom, fought with words and argument rather than weapons. However, as kings, princes or other sovereigns had no superior authority to administer justice on their behalf, their feuds continued in the form of war. Wars were the feuds of kings. Although we are not familiar with applying the term in this way, the Hundred Years War was in effect a grand feud, governed by the same rules. It began with a perceived injury and defiance being sent setting out the injury and what was required for the feud to cease. Authority was determined by the breaking of bonds between the parties and then the process began with each side attempting to force the other side to accept the justice of their cause. The chevauchées of various English kings, designed to undermine the strength and prosperity of regions of France and show the impotence of the French monarchy, make perfect sense when seen in this light. The goal of the feud was to get the other party to accept the challenger’s view of what was right thus restoring the peaceful state. This could be achieved through what in peace time would be regarded as criminal acts such as forced contributions, arson, plunder, injuries, destruction of property, ransom, or in the most serious cases, manslaughter. The legal context of the feud meant that as long as the correct rules were adhered to, these acts were regarded as legitimate due to the ends they were being employed towards. The feud might involve small scale fighting, sieges or skirmishes, or even larger impromptu engagements.

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The most common form of result for a feud was a compromise, eventually reached privately when one or both sides had simply had enough, or through submitting to the arbitration of a third party. Far less commonly, the feud could be decided through a judicial ordeal. Traditionally this was the process employed when no other form of evidence or proof was available, for example charges of stealth murder, poisoning, heresy or perjury. In a ‘normal’ setting, the ordeal could be by fire, oaths, water, hot iron, or, as preferred by the nobility, trial by combat or battle. Trial by battle involved set rules, a set time and a place agreed in advance. The outcome was accepted as God’s judgement and battle was therefore something taken extremely seriously. Of course, as with all types of armed encounter, there was also the risk of death or capture and imprisonment. However, if the engagement was recognised as a trial by battle, defeat meant loss of the argument and lands or titles, loss of followers and the undermining of one’s moral and legal authority, as one was clearly not favoured by God. It is hardly surprising that battles were rare in the Middle Ages when one considers the stakes. It was far more than simply a case of fighting to see who was the strongest or who was the better general on the day. It was clearly a moral and legal contest. Battle was certainly not the logical or necessary conclusion to the feud in the way that it was conducted for the vast majority of the Middle Ages. The feud was an attempt to force an agreement, while a true battle was a way of actually reaching a decision through an ordeal and the judgement by God. War was the feud of kings but trial by battle was not actually war at all. Whether the trial was between two men fighting over a case of alleged adultery or between two kings fighting for a kingdom, technically trial by battle was actually the suspension of war for arbitration. In this case, that arbitration just happened to be armed. It could still lead to decisive results though as evidenced by the Treaty of Brétigny in 1360 which ceded a third of France to Edward III and was a direct consequence of the victory at Poitiers and the capture of the French King.34 The Treaty of Troys may have taken some time to negotiate, but it still came as a direct outcome of, and was thoroughly shaped by, the clear judicial decision of God at Agincourt. Surprise and deception were both employed in medieval warfare. However, their use was not acceptable in every instance. This work has 34 Rogers notes that this was the ‘worst humiliation suffered by that country until 1940’ . Clifford J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy Under Edward III, 1327– 1360 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2000), p. 9.

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demonstrated that the rules were applied differently depending upon the legal and moral context of the situation. Geoffrey de Charny makes clear that the different types of engagement had different rights, duties and therefore consequences. He sets out rencontre or encounter, besoigne or work and batille or battle as three distinct conditions, asking the noble knights of King John’s Order of the Star technical questions in an attempt to clarify the differences between and the implications of the different contexts. Just as with Froissart’s account of the knight at a deed of arms in Vannes disabling his opponent by striking the wrong part of his body, the protagonists of medieval war were bound to accomplish victory within the terms of the challenge. To question the professionalism of those who conducted war in the Middle Ages for their failure to employ all the tools at their disposal in every case is to miss the purpose of the exercise. They understood perfectly that the point was not simply to win, but to reach a decision that would be accepted by both sides. That meant operating within the mutually accepted rules that the specific situation demanded. Chivalry was the framework or system of rules that made this possible. As Morillo suggests, even while accepting that not all medieval strategists were necessarily brilliant, their rational concerns ‘often included notions of personal honour, prestige, religious imperatives, superstitions, and so on that we do not readily recognise as relevant to strategy’ .35 Setting fire to somebody’s property was clearly a criminal act, but if it was conducted during a legally recognised feud then it became legitimate. In the same way, surprise and deception (excluding perfidy) could be employed as long as the context allowed it. In the normal process of the feud, it was up to a knight not to be caught by surprise—the onus was on the knight to be diligent rather than for a knight to avoid employing surprise against his adversary. Having a just intent was vital but that did not mean that one had to avoid employing deception in pursuance of one’s cause. It was up to the other party to avoid being deceived. However, that did not mean that surprise and deception could be employed in every situation. One could not begin a legitimate feud until the correct legal procedure had been followed. That required the sending of a defiance effectively ruling out surprise at this level. Once that defiance had been sent and received then surprise was perfectly 35 Stephen Morillo, ‘Battle Seeking: The Contexts and Limits of Vegetian Strategy’, in Bernard S Bachrach (Ed.), The Journal of Medieval History Vol. I (Boydell Press, 2002), p. 41.

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acceptable. That was why there was no inconsistency in Sir Walter Manny’s expedition to surprise and capture the town of Mortaigne. The King of France had received his challenge and therefore a new legal situation existed regardless of whether the inhabitants of the town were aware of it. Understanding the context of the action is vital to understanding what is actually happening in the Middle Ages: even within a properly conducted feud, one could not use deception to bring about a trial by combat. Although the complaint is made by a hostile source, there is a very important point being made by the Grandes Chroniques during the Crécy campaign. Edward III was criticised precisely because his actions before the battle of Crécy were perceived to have crossed the line between legitimate deception during the process of a feud, and negotiations to proceed with a judicial combat. The serious nature of the charge that the Grandes Chroniques levels at him is only ameliorated by his categorical victory in just such a trial by battle shortly afterwards. A feud could involve a large engagement and this might well have very important implications. However, while trial by battle might look the same as another large-scale engagement, it was qualitatively different to an armed clash that might come about during the normal process of the feud. A judicial combat could not happen by accident or be brought about through the use of surprise or deception because on a very important level, both parties needed to give their consent to the process. Only then could both sides accept the outcome as a legitimate judgement of their respective causes. Without good faith, the absence of which is implied by the perpetration of illicit deceptions, there exists no rational basis for the minimization either of violence or of suffering, and hence no expectation that a just and lasting peace is actually the true aim toward which the war is prosecuted.36

Without the shared expectation that the framework would be adhered to, a decision that is accepted by both sides simply can’t be reached. Hopefully, examples such as that of giving notice of one’s intentions or abandoning an advantageous tactical position prior to a battle, can now be better understood. Rather than undermining the medieval practitioner’s professionalism, these examples can instead be seen for

36 John Mark Mattox, ‘The Moral Limits of Military Deception’, Journal of Military Ethics, 1(1)(2002), p. 9.

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what they are, as illustrations of the professional warriors’ understanding of both implicit and explicit legal and moral contexts. It was this context for their actions that gave the results themselves meaning and it would have been up to those responsible for the management of war to be aware of these issues. Hence Charny’s questions being asked of the highest ranking knights of the realm and the future king of France being the intended audience for Christine de Pizan’s work. It would have been part of their training and certainly part of their duty to understand and recognise the subtleties of the legal, moral and strategic environment and this is indeed what they managed to do. The implications of this work go to the heart of the very nature of war itself. It makes clear that victory is not something that is taken from a defeated opponent; it is something that is given by the defeated party. Victory in a meaningful sense cannot simply be coerced from an opponent. That recognition of a moral defeat as well as a physical and legal one is vital for a conflict to be satisfactorily resolved and this requires a mutually accepted framework of rules. An acceptance and adherence to those rules is absolutely vital for victory to be achieved. Therefore, rules are not something external to war, they are not merely ‘bolted on’ in an effort to restrain it somehow; rules and the law are absolutely central to the whole idea of medieval warfare itself.

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INDEX Aberystwyth 150 Adrianople 118, 133 Agincourt 8, 14, 23, 86, 108, 109, 130, 144, 248 Aimery de Pavia 87, 169, 170, 171, 172 Alamanni 94, 118 d’Alençon, Count 98 Alexander II 41, 43 Ambrose 38 Ambush 17, 30, 45, 58, 59, 66, 68, 102, 129, 130, 132, 133, 138, 141, 144, 146, 159, 222, 223, 224, 233, 245 Arbogast 118 Aristotle 15, 35, 38, 246 Arthur, King 52, 105 Arthur de Richemont 156 Arrière-ban 237 Athens 35, 78 Atremem, Francis 212, 213 Aquinas, Thomas 15, 46, 47, 48, 56, 59, 60, 73, 87, 88, 101, 120 Aquitaine 85, 198, 237 Augustine 37, 38, 39, 40, 42, 44, 45, 46, 47, 59, 63, 66, 83, 98, 120, 246 Authority 29, 35, 37, 38, 39, 41, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 52, 53, 56, 59, 64, 69, 71, 74, 76, 77, 81, 82, 83, 87, 88, 89, 90, 97, 102, 103, 109, 110, 113, 120, 122, 125, 127, 161, 168, 183, 186, 195, 237, 247 Balliol 107, 186 Belinus 105 Benolt, Thomas 174, 200 Berault 201 Berkeley, Lord 1, 31, 78, 79, 114, 121, 124, 149, 150 Berry, province of 201, 213, 216 Bertrand du Guesclin 8, 9, 203, 224–231, 232 Berwick 111, 112 Béthune 169 Boucicaut, Lord 224–227, 233 Bouvet, Honoré 17, 18, 29, 30, 31, 32, 34, 46, 48–63, 65–69, 88, 95, 100, 103, 104, 127, 136, 145, 149, 166, 174, 182, 186, 191, 192, 193, 202, 203, 243, 246 Black Prince 22, 204, 205

Brétigny 205 Brétigny, Treaty of 12, 249 Bridoul de Tallonne 221, 222 Bristol 203 Bromyard, John 125 Bruce, David 85, 109, 198 Bruges 76, 94 Buironfosse 164 Burghersh, Bartholomew 76, 222 Burgundy, Duke of 61, 62, 84, 137, 147, 212 Caen 14, 235–237 Caesar 122 Calais 19, 107, 154, 169–172, 178, 179, 204, 208, 216 Captal de Buch 22, 201, 229–231 Carlisle Herald 175, 200 Cato 119 Caxton 62, 150 Celsus 119 Chandos Herald 84, 171, 194, 204, 205, 209 Chandos, John 203, 204 Charles V 61, 144, Charles VI 49, 51, 110, 111, 137 Charny, Geoffroy 19, 31, 68, 87, 126, 166–196, 200, 249, 251 Chaucer 124, 154 Chevauchée 11, 12, 13, 14, 67, 84, 85, 112, 113, 154, 155, 209, 217, 235–244, 244, 247 Chimay 199 Chivalry 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 28, 29, 31, 33, 42, 58, 62, 65, 95, 113, 123, 126, 127, 139, 148, 161, 162, 163, 166, 169, 173, 180, 183, 193, 194, 204, 207, 232, 233, 244, 245, 249 Christine de Pizan 13, 27, 30, 32, 34, 46, 49, 53, 60, 61, 62, 69, 85, 104, 114, 121, 123, 124, 127, 136, 137–149, 162, 166, 243, 251 Chronographia regum Francorum 76, 200 Cicero 3, 37, 38, 39, 77, 80, 83, 121 Coalition 6 Comitatenses 116, 117

264

index

Constantine 38, 115, 116, 117 Cowardice 2, 4, 86, 119, 141, 160, 180, 184, 196, 239 Crécy 6, 12, 18, 20, 22, 28, 107, 108, 169, 204, 235–244, 245, 250 Crusade 40, 41, 42, 44, 82, 168, 169, 172, 195 Dauphin 30, 49, 61, 62, 76, 127 Deception/Deceit 1–33, 49, 58, 60, 68, 69, 71, 92, 103, 104, 113, 114, 115, 130, 144, 149, 155, 163, 165, 166, 184, 190, 195, 197, 212, 220, 221, 223, 224, 229, 232, 233, 234, 236, 239–250 Decretum 44, 45, 81 Deeds of Arms and of Chivalry, Book of 53, 60, 61, 63–68, 85, 104, 121, 123, 124, 136 to 149 Defiance 17, 18, 23, 24, 59, 69, 76, 184, 189, 195, 196, 217 Demandes pour la Joute, les Tournois et la Guerre 31, 55, 68, 166, 167, 173, 174, 185–193 De Re Militari – see Epitome of Military Science Destournay, Lord 212 Deuteronomy 4, 40, 85, 98, 110, 111 Digesta Artis Mulomedicinae 115 Dishonour 2, 4, 57, 97, 107, 141, 143, 156, 171, 184, 192, 195 Despenser, Hugh 203 Drugs/poison 95, 144, 145, 149, 248 Duel 10, 18, 29, 30, 50, 71, 79, 89, 91, 93, 95–106, 109, 112, 113, 140, 146, 159, 236 Ecuyer 167 Edward I 82, 121, 122 Edward II 108, 203 Edward III 12, 13, 14, 18–20, 23, 24, 28, 51, 54, 76, 85, 88, 106, 109, 170, 171, 194, 204, 207, 208, 217, 221, 235–243, 245, 248, 250 Edward IV 53, 154, 169 Eleanor of Aquitaine 126 Epitome of Military Science 13, 30, 31, 62, 63, 114–165, 174, 175, 200 Eugenius 118 Eustace de Ribemont 170, 171 Eustache Deschamps 123 Evreux 210, 224, 228 Exempla 125, 126, 166 Farrington, William 214 Fastolf, John 121, 163

Ferentarii 158 Feud 30, 40, 70, 71, 72, 74–77, 81–89, 94, 98, 101, 102–104, 112, 113, 139, 140, 142, 143, 160, 163, 164, 178, 186, 196, 208, 237, 238, 240, 242, 243, 247, 248, 249, 250 Foederati 118 Frederick III 88 Froissart 18, 23, 24, 27, 31, 32, 60, 76, 97, 164, 166, 167, 169, 170, 194, 197–234, 245, 249 Frontinus 63, 119, 122, 127, 143, 144, 145 Fuller, JFC 1, 13 Galahaut de Ribemont 27, 221, 222, 223, 224 Galbert de Bruges 94, 96, 99 Gaston Phebus 199 Geoffrey IV of Anjou 128 Gerson, Jean 127 Ghent 212 Giles of Rome 120, 127, 136, 200 Gillingham ‘paradigm’ 14, 20, 162, 163 Glyndwr, Owain 150 God 17, 18, 27, 38, 39, 41, 43, 44, 53, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60, 63, 64, 65, 66, 70, 74, 82, 86, 89, 91, 92, 95, 97, 99–113, 129, 142, 143, 146, 147, 148, 161, 163, 171, 174, 175, 176, 177, 180, 181, 185, 193, 194, 203, 204, 215, 240, 243, 246, 248 Gods, Roman 36, 80, 140 Grandes Chroniques 19, 23, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 243, 245, 250 Gratian 44, 45, 46, 59, 81 Gregory VII 41, 43 Gregory IX 99 Gregory of Tours 91 Guy de Châtillon 199 Hannibal 25, 26, 144, 146 Hasdrubal 138 Harfleur 111 Henry II 126, 128 Henry III 106 Henry V 14, 76, 82, 86, 106, 108, 110, 126, 127, 130, 135, 150, 247 Henry VI 121, 154, 160 Henry VII 62 Henry Burghersh 76 Henry “the Bastard” 21 Henry of Ghent 57, 120, 182 Hobbes 74, 77 Hoccleve, Thomas 124 Holland, John 52, 219, 220

index Hospitallers 121 Humbert, Dauphin of Viennois 168 Hundred Years War 8, 11, 14, 22, 28, 31, 76, 84, 106, 152, 164, 167, 198, 207, 244, 247 Innocent IV 87, 183 Iraq 5 Ius ad bellum 15, 69 Ius in bello 6, 15, 46, 47, 69 James le Gris 97 Jean II 85, 97, 172 Jean le Bel 204 Jean de Berry 49 Jean de Brienne 122–123 Jean de Bueil 123, 174 Jean de Meun 121, 122, 123, 154, 159 Jean de St Paul 200 Jean Venette 232 Jean de Vignai 123, 136 Jean de Waurin 126, 200 John de Carogne 97 John de Châtelmorant 214, 215 John de Greilly 229 John of Marmoutier 127 John of Salisbury 120, 126 John of Trevisa 31, 114, 124, 149, 150, 153, 154 Joinville 123, 167 Jouel, John 230–231 Jouvencel 123 Julian 117–118 Just War 15, 29, 34–48, 59, 60, 61, 63, 64, 65, 68, 69, 76, 80, 81, 83, 86, 147, 148, 149, 161, 182, 184, 185, 195, 236, 246, 247, 249 Knolles, Robert 201, 213 Lambert of Aardenburg 99 Lancaster, Duke of 202, 203, 220, 221, 233 Leviathan 74, 76 Liège 61, 137, 147, 204 Limitanei 116–117 Limôges 203 Lisieux 237 Livre Charny 167, 173, 174–177, 184, 192 Livres de Chevalerie 126, 173, 174, 177–185 Livy 80, 122, 137 Loire 201

265

Loutfut, Adam 124 Luce, S 168, 205, 207 Manny, Walter 24, 217, 218, 219, 233, 250 Mantes 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 233, 238 Marque 56, 82, 87, 247 Maximus 25, 63, 118, 122, 127, 144 Méliador 198 Mérigot Marchès 83 Meulan 227, 228 Mortaigne 217, 218, 233, 250 Molinet, John 128 Montreuil-Bellay 128 Morlaix 168 Najerá 21 Navarre, Philip, King of 210–212, 226, 227, 228 Neville’s Cross 24, 216, 233 Newcastle 216 Nicholas d’Angourne 203 Nicholas of Tudeschi 83 Oliver de Mauny 232 Oman, Charles 7, 8, 10, 11, 244 Ordeal 40, 71, 89–107, 113, 216, 217, 237, 248 Orleans 218 Oudenarde 212, 213 Ovid 121 Paris 18, 49, 50, 51, 76, 83, 97, 99, 105, 106, 199, 238, 239 Paternus 119 Peace of God 40, 41, 136 Pedro of Castile 205 Peloponnesian War 35, 78 Peronne 221, 223 Peter of Blois 126 Perfidy 4, 5, 6, 17, 18, 28, 60, 69, 162, 244, 249 Persia 35, 117, 118 Phalanx 79 Philip IV 101 Philip VI 12, 18, 19, 24, 76, 83, 106, 142, 164, 165, 169, 207, 237–243 Philip of Navarre 210, 211 Philippa of Hainault 198 Picardy 221, 241 Plato 34, 35, 40, 54 Pliny the Elder 121 Poison/drugs 95, 144, 145, 149, 248 Poissy 238, 241

266

index

Poitiers 8, 20, 22, 108, 109, 172, 194, 198, 199, 202, 205, 224, 248 Polybius 79 Ponthieu 237 Priorat, Jean 123 Raoul de Brienne 167 Raymond Lull 51, 174, 176, 177 Rebellion 23, 109, 110, 112, 155 Regimine Principum 120, 200 Reginald de Boullant 221, 222, 223, 224 Reginald de Roye 219, 220 Rennes 202 Reims 208 Richard I 128 Richard II 199, 206 Richard III 121 Robert de Namur 199 Robert Parker 124, 154 Roger de Cologne 222 Roosebeke 137, 147 Rouen 237, 238 Safe conduct 67, 218 Siege 12, 14, 63, 105, 107, 109–112, 116, 117, 119, 128, 133, 135, 146, 150, 158, 160, 167, 168, 203, 216, 237, 245 Seine 84, 228, 238, 239 Sermons 125, 135 Sun Tzu 1 Summa Theologica 15, 46, 48, 88, 120 Surprise 1, 2, 6, 7, 10, 13, 14, 17, 19, 21–33, 34, 49, 58, 59, 66, 68, 69, 71, 92, 102, 113, 114, 115, 129, 130, 132, 133, 138, 139, 146, 149, 159, 163, 166, 184, 189, 195, 196, 197, 212, 213, 214, 232, 233, 234, 235, 244, 245, 249

Talbot, John 21, 22, 51, 52, 53, 163 Thomas Montagu 105 Tournay 167 Treachery/treason 4, 19, 39, 56, 66, 68, 69, 83, 93, 95, 118, 125, 129, 146, 155, 157, 162, 181, 211, 218, 235, 237, 239, 243 Tree of Battles 17, 29, 30, 40, 48–60, 62, 65, 66, 68, 69, 88, 95, 100, 103, 104, 114, 127, 136, 149, 174, 182, 186, 191, 200, 203, 243, 246 Truce of God 40 Upton, Nicholas 92, 93, 94, 95, 98, 101, 105, 106 Urban II 41 Valerius Maximus 25, 63, 122, 127, 144 Vannes 168, 214, 249 Vegetius 13, 20, 30, 31, 51, 62, 63, 65, 114–165, 174, 175, 182, 193, 200 Victory 2, 8, 24, 28, 35, 37, 38, 40, 43, 58, 61, 78, 96, 106, 107, 109, 115, 118, 119, 131, 137, 145, 148, 149, 151, 159, 162, 163, 164, 177, 193, 216, 218, 231, 244, 248–251 Virgil 121 Vrayes Chroniques 204 Waleys, Thomas 125 War, asymmetric 1, 2, 5 War, guerrilla 8, 13, 128, 133, 134, 161, 162, 231 War, private 29, 77, 82, 87, 88, 171 War, public 4, 29, 36, 45, 69, 87, 186 Wenceslaus of Brabant 199 William of Graville 210, 211 Zosimus 117

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