Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France during the Hundred Years War 1107042216, 9781107042216, 1316631125, 9781316631126

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Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France during the Hundred Years War
 1107042216, 9781107042216, 1316631125, 9781316631126

Table of contents :
Preface ix
Abbreviations xv
Introduction 1
1. Texts and contexts 19
2. Honour 54
3. Prowess and loyalty 91
4. Courage 132
5. Mercy (part I): soldiers 177
6. Mercy (part II): civilians and non-combatants 208
7. Wisdom and prudence 231
Conclusion 276
Bibliography 279
Index 334

Citation preview

Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France during the Hundred Years War

Craig Taylor’s book examines the wide-ranging French debates on the martial ideals of chivalry and knighthood during the period of the Hundred Years War (1337–1453). Faced by stunning military disasters and the collapse of public order, writers and intellectuals carefully scrutinized the martial qualities expected of knights and soldiers. They questioned when knights and men-at-arms could legitimately resort to violence, the true nature of courage, the importance of mercy and the role of books and scholarly learning in the very practical world of military men. Contributors to these discussions included some of the most famous French medieval writers, led by Jean Froissart, Geoffroi de Charny, Philippe de Mézières, Honorat Bovet, Christine de Pizan, Alain Chartier and Antoine de La Sale. This interdisciplinary study sets their discussions in context, challenging modern, romantic assumptions about chivalry and investigating the historical reality of debates about knighthood and warfare in late medieval France. c r a i g t a y l o r is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of History at the University of York. A fellow of both the Société de l’histoire de France and the Royal Historical Society, his publications include Debating the Hundred Years War (2007) and Joan of Arc: La Pucelle (2006).

Chivalry and the Ideals of Knighthood in France during the Hundred Years War Craig Taylor University of York

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University's mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107042216 © Craig Taylor 2013 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2013 Printed in the United Kingdom by CPI Group Ltd, Croydon CR0 4YY A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication data Taylor, Craig, DPhil. Chivalry and the ideals of knighthood in France during the Hundred Years War / Craig Taylor. pages cm Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-107-04221-6 (Hardback) 1. Chivalry–Philosophy. 2. Chivalry–France–History–to 1500. 3. Chivalry in literature–History–to 1500. 4. Knights and knighthood–France–History– to 1500. 5. Knights and knighthood in literature–History–to 1500. 6. Hundred Years’ War, 1339–1453. 7. War and society–France–History– to 1500. I. Title. CR4519.T38 2013 3940 .70944–dc23 2013008748 ISBN 978-1-107-04221-6 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

À celle que j’aime

Contents

Preface Abbreviations

page ix xv

Introduction

1

1

Texts and contexts

19

2

Honour

54

3

Prowess and loyalty

91

4

Courage

132

5

Mercy (part I): soldiers

177

6

Mercy (part II): civilians and non-combatants

208

7

Wisdom and prudence

231

Conclusion

276

Bibliography Index

279 334

vii

Preface

This book is a study of French debates on the ideals of chivalry and knighthood during the period of the Hundred Years War (1337–1453). In the context of a succession of stunning military disasters and the widespread collapse of public order, the martial norms, values and qualities expected of knights and soldiers came under intense scrutiny and discussion. The ideals of knighthood were presented as the most important solution to the devastating problems afflicting France and the French people. This was certainly not a new response, but it is also true that these ideals and norms were subject to much greater debate than modern audiences often imagine, conditioned by the romantic way in which the word ‘chivalry’ is used in modern English. There were some medieval writers who upheld the ideal of the young knight, adventuring and questing for the love of his lady, and always fighting in an honourable and noble fashion. From the earliest days of what historians define as the age of chivalry, however, writers such as Chrétien de Troyes, Bernard de Clairvaux and John of Salisbury had offered complex and often quite different opinions about how knights ought to behave, both towards one another and towards those who were not members of their elite society. Their views were shaped by the genres in which they were writing, the audiences that they were addressing and the deeper goals that they sought to achieve. Moreover, long before the advent of the Renaissance and humanism, medieval intellectuals were inspired by classical authors from Aristotle to Cicero to ask difficult questions about the moral obligations and the ideal behaviour of not just the aristocracy but all members of society. Most important of all, changing military and social contexts inevitably affected the reflections and commentary of medieval intellectuals. In late medieval France the views of authors were shaped by military disaster, as royal armies suffered one defeat after another and public order collapsed in the face of English invasions, civil war and the militarization of the countryside. As a result, French writers asked crucial questions about when men-atarms should resort to violence, the true distinction between courage, ix

x

Preface

cowardice and rashness, the relative merits of mercy or anger, and the importance and value of prudence, experience and even the reading of books themselves. Many of their answers, emphasizing notions of prudence, discipline and responsibility to the commonweal, and in particularly using the Romans as models, echoed ideas that were being expressed in Italy during the same period, and foreshadowed the debates that have previously been associated with humanist writings in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This must call into question simplistic attempts to divide the age of chivalry from that of the Renaissance, at least in terms of intellectual and cultural responses to warfare. Many of the individual writers discussed in this book have received a great deal of attention in recent years, most notably Jean Froissart, Guillaume de Machaut and Christine de Pizan. Yet, since Raymond Kilgour published The Decline of Chivalry as Shown in the French Literature of the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, 1937), there has been no largescale survey in English of the full range of texts and genres in which martial culture and knighthood were discussed in France during this period. His important book remains of great interest, though it does suffer from a number of flaws, not least his unwillingness to recognize that medieval writers had always complained about the failure of the aristocracy to live up to the ideals of knighthood, and his wish to imagine that those ideals were relatively simple to define. In contrast, I wish to explore the complexity of debates about the different qualities praised by French writers, and also to link these intellectual and literary discussions in an interdisciplinary manner to the historical context in which the writers lived. Rather than proceed by means of individual case studies of authors, I offer a thematic approach built around the central pillars of the key martial qualities that were celebrated within chivalric culture, namely honour, prowess and loyalty, courage, mercy and wisdom. My hope is that this will more clearly expose the debates of the period, and allow greater attention to be paid to the relationship between the diverse genres of writing, from romance, chronicle and biography to more overtly didactic works. This book is, first and foremost, an interdisciplinary study of intellectual culture, ranging across different genres that are rarely put into dialogue with another, and that are often treated as the separate fiefdoms of history, political thought and literature. In exploring the ideals of knighthood, my study also contributes to modern scholarship on masculinity – or, at least, its cultural norms, which must then be measured and understood in relationship to social practice and behaviour. Finally, this book engages with the complex questions raised recently by military historians regarding the relationship between culture and war. In this

Preface

xi

context, I must emphasis two crucial points. Above all, my aim is not to argue that culture was a more important engine than, for example, technology in driving military history. Indeed, more careful thought is needed about the impact, or sometimes the lack of impact, of technological change upon cultural representations of knighthood in the Middle Ages. Second, debates about the impact of chivalric culture on warfare have effectively been scuppered by naïve and simplistic views about what the ideals of knighthood actually were in the Middle Ages. Searching for evidence that medieval soldiers were either inspired by love or treated warfare as some kind of a game and extension of the tournament list is a fruitless task that has naturally led many military historians to denounce chivalry as an irrelevance. Indeed, it is striking how many important recent books on the political and military history of the late Middle Ages do not even cite the term ‘chivalry’ in their index. It is my hope that this book will offer an opportunity for military historians to reconsider what was actually being said about the ideals of knighthood in late medieval culture, thereby enabling a more careful consideration of the impact and importance of such debates. Furthermore, to turn the question posed by the debate on cultures of war on its head, it is equally important to think about the impact of military, social and political contexts upon high culture and intellectual debate during the Middle Ages. Too often, chivalry is studied in a vacuum, with the evidence derived solely from the literature of the age, without consideration of the reality that existed around it. In this book, my concern is not only to position late medieval French writers in the longer chain of intellectual debate about martial culture, but also to understand their debates within the changing historical context of the time. It is important that I acknowledge the limitations of my study. It has taken me a very long time to understand how the extraordinary range of subjects and themes covered by our modern use of the term ‘chivalry’ actually fitted together in the medieval world. For this book, I have had to focus on one specific strand of that subject. This is a study of the martial values associated with knighthood and aristocracy, so I inevitably have a limited opportunity to discuss more courtly ideals, or to explore carefully the practical and ideal relationships between chivalric men and women. These will be more prominent themes in my next book, a detailed case study of the writings of Christine de Pizan. My original aim for this project was to offer a comparative study of both French and English texts, but Maurice Keen wisely dissuaded me from my youthful overenthusiasm and ambition. I will therefore have to explore the full range of English and French debates about not just knighthood but also warfare and national identity in a future project.

xii

Preface

Here, I have largely confined my discussion to writers and texts produced in France up to and sometimes just beyond the end of the Hundred Years War. In selecting these dates, I am very conscious that I could be seen as suggesting that the wars with the English were the defining influence upon French culture; in truth, I would be extremely anxious at any analysis that ignored the importance of private and civil wars within France, as well as the impact of mercenaries and garrisons upon public order. Indeed, I have not been ruthless in enforcing the year 1453 as a boundary line, given the remarkable interest offered by the works by Antoine de La Sale and Jean de Bueil, for example. I have focused upon writers and works associated with the Valois crown and the court, so that experts in Burgundian intellectual and aristocratic culture may justifiably feel short-changed. In terms of historical context, I have drawn upon English as well as French examples because of their involvement in the wars in France, but perhaps paid too little attention to the changing martial culture in Burgundy and other regions, such as Brittany. Finally, I have made very modest comments on the surviving evidence for the use and influence of these texts, only too aware of the work that would be required to collect together comprehensive data on manuscript circulation and annotation. For reasons of space, I have had to keep quotations to a minimum. I have consistently used and cited the best available editions of the primary sources in their original languages (or at least in the languages in which they were available to late medieval French readers), rather than in modern English translations. To provide a detailed introduction to each of these works would have transformed this book into an encyclopaedia, so I would instead recommend invaluable reference tools such as the Dictionnaire des lettres françaises: le moyen âge, ed. G. Hasenohr and M. Zink (Paris, 1992), La librairie des ducs de Bourgogne: manuscrits conservés à la Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, ed. B. Bousmanne, F. Johan, T. Van Hemelryck and C. Van Hoorebeeck (8 vols., Turnhout, 2000–) and Translations médiévales: cinq siècles de traductions en français au moyen âge (XIe–XVe siècles): étude et répertoire, ed. C. Galderisi (2 vols., Turnhout, 2011). In a few cases, the best editions of the sources exist in unpublished doctoral dissertations, including Christine de Pizan’s Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie and Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles (which will be published soon by the Société de l’histoire de France, edited by Hélène Biu). In these cases, I have also provided references to chapters, so that readers can navigate through editions that may appear in the future. I owe a great debt to a number of people for their help with this project. My studies of late medieval European history were initially shaped and

Preface

xiii

influenced by James Campbell and other tutors, led by Jean Dunbabin, John Maddicott and Maurice Keen. I was extremely lucky to have been supervised for my DPhil by Peter S. Lewis, who shared with me his passion for late medieval French intellectual culture, and inspired me with his quiet dignity and confidence. During a year as an exchange fellow at the University of Rochester, I had the pleasure of working with Richard W. Kaeuper and Alan Lupack. Indeed, I can make what must be a unique claim to have studied with the two most important voices in the recent historiography of chivalry, Maurice Keen and Richard W. Kaeuper. I was appointed to a lectureship at York before I had completed my DPhil, so, instead of enjoying the time afforded by a research fellowship, my work was shaped at a very early stage by extensive conversations and collaborations with a number of colleagues at the Centre for Medieval Studies and in the Department of History, including Alan Forrest, Alastair Minnis, Felicity Riddy, Gabriella Corona, Guy Halsall, Gwilym Dodd, Heather Blurton, Helen Fulton, Jeanne Nuechterlein, Jeremy Goldberg, Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, Judith Buchanan, Katherine Wilson, Linne Mooney, Mark Ormrod, Mark Roodhouse, Nick Havely, Nicola McDonald, Peter Biller, Peter Rycraft, Richard Bessel, Sarah Rees Jones, Sethina Watson, Stuart Carroll and Tom Pickles. I also owe a very great debt to countless undergraduate and graduate students, including Carolyn Donohue, Catherine Nall, Chris Linsley, Debs Thorpe, Emily Hutchison, Erika Graham, Justin Sturgeon, Kristin Bourassa, Laura Barks, Lauren Bowers and Rachael Whitbread. Over the years I have presented my ideas at conferences and research seminars across Europe and North America. To thank everyone who has helped me in those contexts would be impossible, but I must acknowledge in particular the following scholars for their help and guidance: Adrian Armstrong, Andrew Taylor, Anne Curry, Anne D. Hedeman, R. Barton Palmer, Biörn Gunnar Tjällén, Catherine Batt, Chris Fletcher, Claude Gauvard, Cliff Rogers, Daisy Delogu, Emma Cayley, Françoise Autrand, Frédérique Lachaud, Godfried Croenen, Graeme Small, Helen Swift, Jean-Philippe Genet, James Hankins, Joanna Bellis, Joël Blanchard, John Gillingham, John Watts, Justine Firnhaber-Baker, Karen Fresco,Kathleen Daly, Kelly DeVries, Laura Ashe, Malcolm Vale, Matt Strickland, Michael C. E. Jones, Michael Hanly, Michael Leslie, Michelle Szkilnik, Nick Perkins, Nicole Pons, Norman Housley, Peggy Brown, Peter Ainsworth, Philippe Contamine, Rebecca Dixon, Rémy Ambühl, Rory Cox, Ros Brown-Grant, Steve Muhlberger, Steve Rigby, Susan Dudash, Susan Foran and Sverre Bagge.

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Finally, I owe a great debt of gratitude to the anonymous readers and to the staff at Cambridge University Press. When I completed the first draft of this book, in September 2011, my editor was Liz Friend-Smith. During her maternity leave, I was helped initially by Maartje Scheltens and then Michael Watson, who has shepherded the book through to production.

Abbreviations

AASF ANTS BL BNF Bovet, L’arbre des batailles

CFMA CHFMA CRAL DNB EETS Froissart (Amiens)

Froissart (Rome)

Froissart (SHF)

GLML ITRL MRTS

Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae Anglo-Norman Text Society British Library Bibliothèque national de France Bovet, Honorat, L’arbre des batailles, in Biu, H., ‘L’arbre des batailles d’Honorat Bovet: étude de l’oeuvre et édition critique des textes français et occitan’ (PhD dissertation, 3 vols., Université Paris IV Sorbonne, 2004), vol. II Les classiques français du moyen âge Les classiques de l’histoire de France du moyen âge Centre de recherches et d’applications linguistiques Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, online edition (Oxford, 2008) Early English Text Society Froissart, Jean, Chroniques, livre I: Le manuscrit d’Amiens: Bibliothèque municipale no. 486, ed. G. T. Diller (TLF 407, 415, 424, 429 and 499, 5 vols., Geneva, 1991–8) Froissart, Jean, Chroniques: dernière rédaction du premier livre: édition du manuscrit de Rome Reg. lat. 869, ed. G. T. Diller (TLF 194, Geneva, 1972) Froissart, Jean, Chroniques de Jean Froissart, ed. S. Luce, G. Raynaud, L. Mirot and A. Mirot (SHF, 15 vols., Paris, 1869–1975) Garland Library of Medieval Literature, series A I Tatti Renaissance Library Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies xv

xvi

List of Abbreviations

OMT PL Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie

Pizan, Corps du policie PRF RS SATF SHF TLF TNA Translations médiévales

Oxford Medieval Texts Patrologiae cursus completus Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne (217 vols., Paris, 1844–55) Pizan, Christine de, Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie, in Laennec, C. M., ‘Christine “Antygrafe”: authorship and self in prose works of Christine de Pizan with an edition of BN fr. ms 603 Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie’ (PhD dissertation, 2 vols., Yale University, 1988), vol. II Pizan, Christine de, Le livre du corps de policie, ed. A. J. Kennedy (Paris, 1998) Publications Romanes et Françaises Rolls Series Sociéte des anciens textes français Société de l’histoire de France Textes littéraires françaises The National Archives (UK) Translations médiévales: cinq siècles de traductions en français au moyen âge (XIe–XVe siècles): étude et répertoire, ed. C. Galderisi (2 vols., Turnhout, 2011)

Introduction

Military ethics is a very important subject in the modern world, especially in the light of outrages that continue to be committed by soldiers in wars across the globe. A recent project brought together experts on education in the military, to discuss the values emphasized and taught within different armed forces across the world. Their discussions demonstrated the universality of core principles such as honour, courage, loyalty and discipline, which have resonated throughout warrior cultures across history. What they also revealed, though, was tremendous variations in the precise list of military values prescribed by each specific armed force, the relative importance assigned to these qualities and – most important of all – the interpretation of them in practice.1 Debates about military ethics and values at the start of the twenty-first century raise important questions about the stability of the norms and codes for warriors in past societies. Perhaps the most famous and influential martial ethos is that associated with the chivalric elite of western Europe between the twelfth and fifteenth centuries. Like many other warrior societies, chivalric culture celebrated qualities such as honour, prowess, loyalty, courage, mercy and wisdom, alongside more ‘civilizing’ values associated with life at court. Simple lists of the ideals proclaimed by writers in chivalric society do not do justice, however, to the complexity of debate on the ethics and ideal behaviour of knights recorded in sources such as romances, chronicles and more overtly didactic texts. Indeed, medieval writers were far from consistent in their presentation of the various qualities associated with knighthood, or their relative importance for knights, not just as warriors but also as courtiers.2 Such 1

2

See P. Robinson, N. de Lee and D. Carrick (eds.), Ethics Education in the Military (Abingdon, 2008), together with the companion volume, D. Carrick, J. Connelly and P. Robinson (eds.), Ethics Education for Irregular Warfare (Farnham, 2009), as well as the Journal of Military Ethics. This book focuses upon the martial values and ideals of knighthood. For sustained discussions of the more courtly aspects of aristocratic identity, see, for example, J. Lemaire, Les visions de la vie de cour dans la littérature française de la fin du moyen âge

1

2

Introduction

complexities have often been brushed aside by modern commentators, either because of an undue focus upon one or two particular medieval texts or, more worryingly, because of the anachronistic association of the word ‘chivalry’ with an extremely romantic notion of soldiers inspired by love, or behaving in the most noble and honourable fashion in warfare. Recovering the full range of medieval debates about warrior values during the age of chivalry is tremendously important for military history, in which recent attempts to explore the relationship between culture and war in the late Middle Ages have been somewhat undermined by naïve and simplistic assumptions about the values that were championed within chivalric culture.3 At the same time, analysis of the changing and shifting norms of knightly behaviour in warfare, and in the wider contexts of violence and male competition, is an important element of the study of medieval masculinity and gender.4 Above all, though, analysing the range of debates about knightly behaviour in the Middle Ages is of essential importance for cultural and intellectual history, especially given that so much serious scholarship has focused upon the study of medieval ideas of kingship, the state and national identity, for example, but there has been too little sustained analysis of the ideologies of knighthood and warfare.5 To trace the full complexity of medieval debates about warrior values across the complete chronological and geographical range of the age of chivalry would be an extraordinary challenge. Instead, this book focuses upon what was undoubtedly the golden age of writing about knighthood and warfare in late medieval France.6 There were few aristocratic libraries in the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries that did not include copies of chansons de geste and romances recounting the deeds of great heroes of

3

4 5

6

(Paris, 1994), and R. Brown-Grant, French Romance of the Later Middle Ages: Gender, Morality and Desire (Oxford, 2008). See, for example, J. A. Lynn, ‘Chivalry and chevauchée: the ideal, the real, and the perfect in medieval European warfare’, in Battle: A History of Combat and Culture from Ancient Greece to Modern America (Cambridge, MA, 2003), 73–109. This is not to deny the overriding importance of studying the social realities that existed behind cultural norms of masculinity. See J. Krynen, Idéal du prince et pouvoir royal en France à la fin du moyen âge (1380–1440): étude de la littérature politique du temps (Paris, 1981), and L’empire du roi: idées et croyances politiques en France, XIIIe–XVe siècles (Paris, 1993), together with J. H. Burns (ed.), The Cambridge History of Medieval Political Thought 350–1450 (Cambridge, 1988). Important reference tools for the study of sources include G. Hasenohr and M. Zink (eds.), Dictionnaire des lettres françaises: le moyen âge (Paris, 1992), D. Sinnreich-Levi and I. S. Laurie (eds.), Literature of the French and Occitan Middle Ages: Eleventh to Fifteenth Centuries (Farmington Hills, MI, 1999), and B. Bousmanne, F. Johan, T. Van Hemelryck and C. Van Hoorebeeck (eds.), La librairie des ducs de Bourgogne: manuscrits conservés à la Bibliothèque royale de Belgique (8 vols., Turnhout, 2000–).

Introduction

3

chivalric culture, from King Arthur to Alexander the Great, the Greek and Trojan warriors who fought at the siege of Troy, Charlemagne and his companions such as Roland, Oliver and Ogier le Danois, and crusaders such as Godfrey de Bouillon.7 During the late Middle Ages French writers were reworking these famous tales, both in verse and in prose, and addressing more courtly aspects of knighthood in other poetic genres.8 There was also an expanding interest in narratives of more contemporary French knights, increasingly written in prose rather than verse. Chroniclers such as Jean de Joinville, Jean Le Bel, Jean Froissart, Enguerrand de Monstrelet and Jean de Wavrin led the way, but there were also heraldic narratives by writers such as Gilles Le Bouvier and Jean Le Fèvre, and biographies by authors such as Guillaume de Machaut, Jean Cabaret d’Orville, Guillaume Gruel, Perceval de Cagny and Antoine de La Sale.9 At the same time, a flourishing market for original, didactic works addressed to kings, princes and noblemen included a significant number of texts that discussed knighthood and warfare, written by authors such as Geoffroi de Charny, Philippe de Mézières, Honorat Bovet, Christine de Pizan, Alain Chartier, Antoine de La Sale and Jean de Bueil.10 Although a few of the new works that touched upon these questions were written in Latin, the vast majority were composed in the vernacular. Indeed, the late Capetian and Valois monarchs sponsored an extraordinary programme of translations of classical works, which gave royal and aristocratic audiences access to many books providing guidance and commentary on warfare by authors such as Aristotle, Titus Livy, Vegetius and Valerius Maximus, as well as more recent writings by John of Salisbury and Giles of Rome.11 The overall subject of these works, in modern parlance, was chivalry. For the writers themselves, the term ‘chivalry’ was most commonly used as a collective noun for the order or class of knights that by the late

7 8

9

10 11

See pages 10–11 below. See D. Poirion (ed.), La littérature française aux XIVe et XVe siècles, vol. I, Partie historique (Heidelberg, 1988), together with M. Zink, ‘Le roman de transition (XIVe–XVe siècle)’, in D. Poirion (ed.), Précis de littérature française du moyen âge (Paris, 1983), 293–305; Brown-Grant, French Romance; M. R. Warren, ‘Prose romance’, in W. Burgwinkle, N. Hammond and E. Wilson (eds.), The Cambridge History of French Literature (Cambridge, 2011), 153–63. See D. B. Tyson, ‘French vernacular history writers and their patrons in the fourteenth century’, Medievalia et Humanistica, new series, 14 (1986), 103–24, and E. Gaucher, La biographie chevaleresque: typologie d’un genre (XIIIe–XVe siècle) (Paris, 1994). P. Contamine, ‘Les traités de guerre, de chasse, de blason et de chevalerie’, in Poirion, La littérature française, 346–67. Translations médiévales, ed. C. Galderisi.

4

Introduction

Middle Ages was effectively synonymous with the aristocracy.12 For modern audiences, the most famous chivalric manual is the so-called Livre de chevalerie, written by Geoffroi de Charny around 1350. This title is actually an invention of modern editors, however, and the term ‘chevalerie’ appears in the work on only a handful of occasions, when it refers to the order of chivalry – that is to say, the knights and menat-arms to whom Charny addressed his advice.13 When medieval writers did use the term ‘chevalerie’ in a wider sense, it was to refer to a knight’s technical skill as a warrior and horseman, and to his deeds of arms.14 More rarely, late medieval French writers used the term ‘chivalry’ to refer to the deeds of arms performed by such individuals, most commonly in warfare. Yet, in modern English, chivalry has developed a much broader and more confusing meaning. For many historians it encompasses the full scope of aristocratic culture during the high and late Middle Ages, including not just the literature but all aspects of both court and martial life and lifestyle, including tournaments, feasts and knightly orders, heraldry and knighting ceremonies.15 From such a perspective, chivalry is not merely the literary representation of knighthood but also the social practices and rituals of knights at court, the military activities of medieval knights and men-at-arms, and the values and ethos that informed and framed these practices. In other words, chivalry constituted the norms, values, practices and rituals of medieval aristocratic society from the high Middle Ages onwards. Other scholars focus on a more narrow definition of chivalry, as the values, ethos and ideals of knighthood, either as practised by the knights themselves or as described by the writers of the 12

13

14

15

For the complex definition of aristocracy and the knightly class in late medieval France, see P. Contamine, ‘Points de vue sur la chevalerie en France à la fin du moyen âge’, Francia, 4 (1976), 255–85, La noblesse au royaume de France de Philippe Le Bel à Louis XII: essai de synthèse (Paris, 1997), M.-T. Caron, Noblesse et pouvoir royal en France: XIIIe–XVIe siècle (Paris, 1994), and G. Prosser, ‘The later medieval French noblesse’, in D. Potter (ed.), France in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford, 2003), 182–209. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny: Text, Context, and Translation, ed. R. W. Kaeuper and E. Kennedy (Philadelphia, 1996), 162–6, 170. In the fifteenth-century inventories of the library of the dukes of Burgundy, the work was referred to as ‘le livre de Charny. . .escript en prose’ and ‘le livre nomé l’Ordre de Chevalerie’: Bousmanne et al., La librairie des ducs de Bourgogne, II, 233. G. S. Burgess, ‘The term “chevalerie” in twelfth-century old French’, in P. R. Monks and D. D. R. Owen (eds.), Medieval Codicology, Iconography, Literature and Translation: Studies for Keith Val Sinclair (Leiden, 1994), 343–58; L. Paterson, ‘Knights and the concept of knighthood in the twelfth-century Occitan epic’, in W. H. Jackson (ed.), Knighthood in Medieval Literature (Woodbridge, 1981), 24. Also see R. W. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe (Oxford, 1999), 4, and ‘Chivalry: fantasy and fear’, in C. Sullivan and B. White (eds.), Writing and Fantasy (London, 1999), 63. M. H. Keen, Chivalry (New Haven, CT, 1984).

Introduction

5

age.16 Chivalry in the latter sense is often associated primarily with the courtly romances, which offered a very heroic and idealized vision of knightly values and behaviour. 17 This has given rise to a final way in which the term ‘chivalry’ is defined and used: as an eternal ideal of elegant and civilized masculinity, reflecting a modern, nostalgic fantasy of a world of medieval knights who treated war as a noble game and constantly sought to impress and to romance ladies with their elevated and courtly manners. Gillingham has defined chivalry as a code in which a key element was the attempt to limit the brutality of conflict by treating prisoners, at any rate when they were men of ‘gentle’ birth, in a relatively humane fashion. I suggest that the compassionate treatment of defeated highstatus enemies is a defining characteristic of chivalry.18

Indeed, chivalry has even been elevated to an analytical concept by many military historians, who use it in the study of contexts far removed from the chronological, geographical and social boundaries of the knightly world as it has been traditionally defined. Thus a recent comparative study has reported that ‘[a]ncient China, for instance, had a code of chivalry’, citing ‘stories of Chinese commanders refusing to attack an enemy when he was disadvantaged crossing a river’.19 This notion of chivalry has informed recent debates about military law and ethics amongst contemporary armed forces.20 To a certain degree, the range of ways in which scholars use the term do not matter, as long as they are clear and self-conscious about the definition that they are employing. In this book, I prefer to use the term ‘chivalry’ as a proper noun, to refer to the people who formed the knightly or aristocratic class, rather than to chivalric culture in its broadest sense or to the ideals, norms or ethos of knighthood. Most 16

17

18

19 20

See, for example, R. W. Kaeuper, ‘The societal role of chivalry in romance: northwestern Europe’, in R. L. Krueger (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Romance (Cambridge, 2000), 99. See, for example, D. Pearsall, Arthurian Romance: A Short Introduction (Oxford, 2003), 21; also see R. W. Hanning, The Individual in Twelfth-Century Romance (New Haven, CT, 1977), 105–38. J. Gillingham, ‘1066 and the introduction of chivalry into England’, in G. Garnett and J. Hudson (eds.), Laws and Government in Medieval England and Normandy (Cambridge, 1996), 32. P. Robinson, Military Honour and the Conduct of War: From Ancient Greece to Iraq (Abingdon, 2006), 1. R. Moelker and G. Kümmel, ‘Chivalry and codes of conduct: can the virtue of chivalry epitomize guidelines for interpersonal conduct?’, Journal of Military Ethics, 6 (2007), 292–302; A. Moseley, ‘The ethical warrior: a classical liberal approach’, in Robinson, de Lee and Carrick, Ethics Education in the Military, 179; D. Whetham, Just Wars and Moral Victories: Surprise, Deception and the Normative Framework of European War in the Later Middle Ages (Leiden, 2009), 2.

6

Introduction

importantly of all, I resist using the term ‘chivalry’ as a theoretical term in the way that some military historians have employed it recently. As Kaeuper has ably demonstrated, to define chivalry in terms of the more romantic and civilized messages that were supposedly offered by chivalric literature would be to ignore the overwhelming presence of contradictory themes in exactly the same texts, especially the powerful encouragement of violence and aggression.21 Indeed, the crucial point is that medieval commentators were far less certain and definite about the ideal values and behaviour of knights than modern audiences might imagine. The writers of late medieval France, like their predecessors and their contemporaries in other regions such as England, Italy and Spain, offered complex reflections upon chivalry, both in its wider sense as aristocratic culture and in the narrower sense of the values and ethos of the chivalric class. Indeed, there was a great deal of debate in the Middle Ages about how a knight or man-at-arms should behave. Keen has said: ‘From a very early stage we find the romantic authors habitually associating together certain qualities which they clearly regarded as the classic virtues of good knighthood: prouesse, loyauté, largesse (generosity), courtoisie, and fraunchise (the free and frank bearing that is visible testimony to the combination of good birth with virtue).’22 Yet the precise list of qualities required of the ideal knight could vary from writer to writer, as the standard martial qualities such as prowess, loyalty and courage were moderated by reference to other virtues and values, such as mercy, but also mesure (moderation), magnanimity, prudence and discipline, while intellectuals also debated the relationship between the martial values and more courtly qualities such as courtesy and love. Moreover, while each of the values associated with knighthood may seem self-evident at first glance, their precise meaning was subject to constant debate and analysis by medieval authors.23 As Kaeuper has argued, we must be ‘cautious about asserting what “ideal chivalry” inevitably had to say about warfare, women, piety, or a host of other topics. Textbook lists of ideal qualities – largesse, courtliness, prowess, service to ladies and the like – are not so much wrong as inadequate.’24 It is essential to resist the modern temptation to simplify the chivalric ethos into a simple, coherent code and brush over the complexity and even 21 23

24

22 Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence. Keen, Chivalry, 2. As Busby has commented, in Le roman des eles by Raoul de Hodenc and L’ordene de chevalerie, ed. K. Busby (Amsterdam, 1983), v: ‘Such concepts as courtesy or knighthood are not static, and whilst central ideas do remain fundamental, accents and stresses develop and shift.’ R. W. Kaeuper and M. Bohna, ‘War and chivalry’, in P. Brown (ed.), A Companion to Late Medieval English Literature and Culture (Oxford, 2007), 274.

Introduction

7

contradictions of an ideal, which were constantly highlighted and explored by medieval writers and commentators.25 This has been mostly clearly explored in the case of courtoisie, and in particular for the ideals of love and the fin d’amors.26 Not only were medieval writers keen to define precisely how a knight should behave at court, they were also concerned about the potential harm that decadence and indulgence might cause, in both earthly and spiritual terms. Writers therefore explored the nature of knightly honour, questioning not just its role in justifying violence but also the difficult relationship between such earthly and mundane concerns, and the Christian emphasis upon eternal salvation (Chapter 2). Intellectuals and writers also asked very careful questions about the martial values and behaviour of the knight or man-at-arms, emphasizing in particular the importance of moderation. First and foremost, they explored the limits of prowess and aristocratic violence, debating the circumstances under which knights could resort to violence, and the legal and moral status of different kinds of warfare, from crusading and royal wars to feuds and private warfare (Chapter 3). Writers also debated the true meaning of courage, stressing the shame of cowardice but also warning of the dangers of bravado, rashness and overconfidence, which were particularly associated with youthful impetuosity and a lack of prudence and experience (Chapter 4). Indeed, mercy and prudence were both emphasized as important moderators of knightly behaviour. On the one hand, the association of the ideal of knighthood with mercy, which has so powerfully affected modern notions of chivalry, was an important counter to the concept of vengeance and righteous anger, which was equally embedded in chivalric culture in the Middle Ages (Chapters 5 and 6). Similarly, prudence and wisdom were important moderators of knightly behaviour, and in turn raised questions about the ways in which knights and men-at-arms should acquire such experience, and the role of books and writers alike in that process (Chapter 7). There were many reasons why the writers of late medieval France, like their predecessors, carefully debated and explored the values and ideals of knighthood. First and foremost, there were fundamental tensions within these models that were never fully resolved: between the humility and piety of a true Christian and the vainglorious importance of honour 25 26

One famous attempt to do precisely the opposite are the ten commandments of chivalry identified by L. Gautier, La chevalerie (3rd edn., Paris, 1884), 31–100. See, for example, C. S. Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness: Civilizing Trends and the Formation of the Courtly Ideals, 939–1210 (Philadelphia, 1985), Lemaire, Les visions de la vie de cour, S. Gaunt, Love and Death in Medieval French and Occitan Courtly Literature: Martyrs to Love (Oxford, 2006), J. A. Schultz, Courtly Love, the Love of Courtliness, and the History of Sexuality (Chicago, 2006), and Brown-Grant, French Romance.

8

Introduction

and reputation in chivalric culture, for example; between the powerfully masculine model of warrior aggression and the more restrained, civilized – even effeminate – notion of the courtier; and between expectations of male behaviour as youths and as adults.27 Moreover, normative models of masculinity such as the knightly ethos may appear to offer solid and stable images of manhood, but it would be extraordinary to imagine a static and simple model of masculine behaviour that remained unchallenged for hundreds of years, immune to changing social contexts.28 Textbooks usually define the age of chivalry as running from at least the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries – a period in which the practical function of knights in military, political and social terms was subject to important changes and pressures, and the precise identity of the aristocratic class itself was in constant flux, as old families died out and new men rose to replace them. Given such circumstances, it was surely inevitable that the ideal of knighthood would change and also be subject to debate, even if core values such as honour, prowess, loyalty and courage remained constant. Indeed, of fundamental importance is the fact that chivalric texts were not simple mirrors to the world around them but sought to be an active social force, shaping attitudes and advancing ideals for what the aristocracy ought to become, rather than simply celebrating and commemorating an existing social reality.29 As the classical scholar Mary Beard has noted, ‘[I]t is warrior states that produce the most sophisticated critique of the militaristic values they uphold.’30 During the age of chivalry, the most overt criticisms were voiced by clerics and intellectuals who 27

28

29

30

F. Joukovsky-Micha, ‘La notion de “vaine gloire” de Simund de Freine à Martin Le Franc’, Romania, 89 (1968), 1–30, 210–39; A. Putter, ‘Arthurian literature and the rhetoric of “effeminacy”’, in F. Wolfzettel (ed.), Arthurian Romance and Gender. (Amsterdam, 1995), 34–49; D. Barthélemy, ‘Modern mythologies of medieval chivalry’, in P. Linehan and J. L. Nelson (eds.), The Medieval World (London, 2002), 215; R. M. Karras, From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Medieval Europe (Philadelphia, 2002). ‘Male experience and the meanings of maleness. . .were complex and culturally variable, which meant they might be historically variable as well’: D. G. Neal, The Masculine Self in Late Medieval England (Chicago, 2008), 4; also see C. Fletcher, Richard II: Manhood, Youth, and Politics, 1377–99 (Oxford, 2008), 45: moralists tried to impose meaning upon ‘the various constellations of ideas which formed around manhood, ideas which might be interpreted in quite different ways by those with different agenda [sic]’. On the ability of medieval texts to ‘mirror and generate social realities’, see G. M. Spiegel, ‘History, historicism, and the social logic of the text in the Middle Ages’, Speculum, 65 (1990), 59–86. M. Beard, The Roman Triumph (Cambridge, MA, 2007), 4. Also see W. I. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays on Honor, Social Discomfort, and Violence (Ithaca, NY, 1993), 14: ‘No culture is so purely consistent that competing views are not available within it. . . [A]ll cultures are riddled with internal contradictions and competing claims.’

Introduction

9

preached or complained about the behaviour of knights, from Pierre de Blois, Bernard de Clairvaux, John of Salisbury, Etienne de Fougères and Thomas Aquinas to late medieval intellectuals such as Philippe de Mézières, Honorat Bovet, Eustache Deschamps, Jean Gerson, Christine de Pizan, Alain Chartier and Jean Juvénal des Ursins. In their sermons, letters and didactic treatises, they carefully examined the values and actions of contemporary knights, in debates that were framed by classical authorities ranging from Aristotle and Cicero to Vegetius. Their concerns were also evident in narrative genres such as romances, chronicles and chivalric biographies.31 These narratives usually glamorized and revelled in the glories and pageantry of knighthood, offering colourful images of the richness and splendour of life at court, along with highly exaggerated and dramatic accounts of heroic action, rather than providing straightforward depictions of social and military reality.32 Such hyperbolic representations of warfare are an important reminder that the authors’ goal was less to offer a realistic portrayal of the psychology and values of contemporary warriors than to follow the demands of the genre and impress their audiences with their particular recounting of tales that were often extremely well known.33 The authors of chivalric narratives were not objective witnesses to the changing world around them but were offering a programme of courtly education, infused by moral philosophy.34 In the Middle Ages storytelling and history were understood to serve a didactic function, instructing and guiding audiences towards moral and religious truths.35 Facts and the accurate representation of reality were far less important than the moral and spiritual lessons that such narratives could provide. As Kaeuper has recently stressed, ‘We must read these texts both 31 32 33

34

35

R. L. Krueger, The Cambridge Companion to Medieval Romance (Cambridge, 2000); also see M. Zink, ‘Le roman’, in Poirion, La littérature française, 197–218. R. W. Kaeuper, ‘Literature as essential evidence for understanding chivalry’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 5 (2007), 5. Hanning has argued that ‘generic conventions. . .complicate any attempt to equate the textual representation of a mounted warrior class or caste with the actualities of its existence’: R. W. Hanning, ‘The criticism of chivalric epic and romance’, in H. Chickering and T. H. Seiler, (eds.), The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches (Kalamazoo, MI, 1988), 93. See C. S. Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness, and ‘Book-burning at Don Quixote’s: thoughts on the educating force of courtly romance’, in K. Busby and C. Kleinhenz (eds.), Courtly Arts and the Art of Courtliness (Cambridge, 2006), 3–28, together with R. W. Kaeuper, ‘Chivalry and the “civilizing process”’, in R. W. Kaeuper (ed.), Violence in Medieval Society, (Woodbridge, 2000), 21–35. Jaeger questions ‘whether anyone in the Middle Ages would have distinguished the didactic from the aesthetic. The author of fictional literature counts as bonorum morum instructor’: Jaeger, ‘Book-burning at Don Quixote’s’, 12, note.

10

Introduction

prescriptively and descriptively, as statements of what an author wants chivalry to be no less than what he or she recognizes it is.’36 Simply put, the idealized and romanticized image of the knight in chivalric narratives provided both ‘a cultural fantasy and a cultural education’.37 In the Cent ballades, Christine de Pizan called upon the knights of her day to look to the example of great heroes and worthies (‘preux’) of the past, from Old Testament warriors such as Judas Maccabeus, Joshua and David to Alexander the Great, Hector and Julius Caesar, and Arthur, Charlemagne and Godfrey de Bouillon.38 These great heroes provided a powerful platform from which to comment on contemporary behaviour. Authors constantly looked backwards to the famous worthies of the past as role models for the present. Indeed, the fact that the Greeks, the Romans and the knights of King Arthur had all ultimately failed encouraged reflection on the seeds of disaster and the lessons that this might offer for medieval audiences. These heroes, confronted with difficult choices, usually failed to attain the highest standards of the knightly ideal or ultimately suffered a dramatic fall from grace as fortune’s wheel turned against them, all of which encouraged reflection and debate about the personal deficiencies that had led to such disasters. Thus Gilbert has noted: ‘In twelfth-century French verse romances, the Arthurian setting provides a place emphatically not the real, present world, in which to test principles of fundamental relevance to that world: principles moral, psychological, social and political.’39 The early tales tended to interrogate and experiment with ethical models in a playful manner, whereas the appearance of the Grail romances in the thirteenth century marked an increasingly serious examination of such questions, using the Grail quest to scrutinize the dangers of vainglory and earthly concerns with reputation and honour. Then later medieval versions offered deeper examinations of the collapse of the Round Table and the questions that this raised regarding the relationship between individual achievement and the common good.40 Other narratives explored possible reasons for the fall 36 37 38 39 40

Kaeuper, ‘Literature as essential evidence’, 3. R. Morse, ‘Historical fiction in fifteenth-century Burgundy’, Modern Language Review, 75 (1980), 53. Les oeuvres poétiques de Christine de Pisan, ed. M. Roy (SATF, 3 vols., Paris, 1886–96), I, 92–3. J. Gilbert, ‘Arthurian ethics’, in E. Archibald and A. Putter (eds.), The Cambridge Companion to the Arthurian Legend (Cambridge, 2009), 157. Brown-Grant, French Romance; L. Ashe, ‘The hero and his realm in medieval English romance’, in N. Cartlidge (ed.), Boundaries in Medieval Romance (Cambridge, 2008), 139; E. Archibald, ‘Questioning Arthurian ideals’, in Archibald and Putter, The Cambridge Companion to the Arthurian Legend, 139, 145–7; Gilbert, ‘Arthurian ethics’, 154–62.

Introduction

11

of Troy, for example, highlighting tensions between loyalty and treachery, rashness and prudence or love and conflict.41 More usually, though, the past served as a benchmark against which to measure the failings of the present. Just as the modern romantic idea of chivalry often represents a nostalgic yearning for an idealized past, medieval writers invoked the idea of a past golden age to critique contemporary failings and to inspire new generations of aristocrats. Contemporary knights and men-at-arms were repeatedly chastised for failing to live up to the standards of either their immediate parents, whose prudence and experience contrasted with the rash folly of the young, or a more distant golden age, in which their ancestors had truly embodied the imagined ideals of knighthood. Contemporary knights could not measure up to the legendary standards of great heroes such as Charlemagne and King Arthur, Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus, or the Romans, the Greeks under Alexander and the great heroes who had fought at the siege of Troy. Not all heroes were alike, of course. Medieval writers were keen to emphasize the example offered by those men who had served the wider community, whether it be the crusaders, and in particular the Templars, whose service to God and the Church was celebrated by Bernard de Clairvaux, or the Romans, whose commitment to the defence of the community as a whole was highlighted by writers such as John of Salisbury.42 Thus Philippe de Mézières, writing for King Charles VI of France, expressed deep concern about the value of traditional chivalric stories of Alexander the Great, Arthur or even Godfrey de Bouillon and Charlemagne that might encourage the hubris and vainglory of French knights. Instead, he preferred the examples of valour in service to God from the Old Testament books such as Judges, Kings and Maccabees, as well as Roman histories such as those of Titus Livy and Valerius Maximus.43 As Keen has noted, ‘Disquiet about the degree to which contemporary chivalry fell short of ideal standards, the contrast between the degeneracy of modern knighthood and its antique vigor came to be repeated so often as to suggest that it became a topos.’44 Of course, in late medieval 41 42

43 44

M. Andrew, ‘The fall of Troy in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and Troilus and Criseyde’, in P. Boitani (ed.), The European Tragedy of Troilus (Oxford, 1989), 93. See Bernard de Clairvaux, Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae, in S. Bernardi Opera, ed. J. Leclercq, C. H. Talbot and H. M. Rochais (8 vols., Rome, 1957–77), III, 205–39, and John of Salisbury, Policratici, sive de nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum, libri 8, ed. C. C. J. Webb (2 vols., Oxford, 1909). Philippe de Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, ed. G. W. Coopland (2 vols., Cambridge, 1969), II, 221, 379–80, 383. M. H. Keen, ‘Huizinga, Kilgour and the decline of chivalry’, Medievalia et Humanistica, new series, 8 (1977), 6–7.

12

Introduction

France, there was an overwhelming and almost unprecedented need to debate the values and behaviour of the martial elite, and in particular to explore ways in which individualistic martial qualities such as prowess and courage might be channelled and controlled through dialogue with other qualities, such as discipline, mercy and prudence.45 During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries royal armies suffered one defeat after another, raising powerful questions about the moral fibre of the military classes and the abilities of their leaders. At the same time, public order collapsed in the face of numerous civil wars and the militarization of the countryside, ravaged by bands of unemployed soldiers and the merciless behaviour of garrisons of English and French troops alike. In such difficult circumstances, writers engaged in extensive debates about the very nature of knighthood.

Texts and audiences The most difficult challenge facing historians of chivalry is to assess the impact of texts upon their aristocratic audiences. Given that chivalric authors were not offering simple mirrors to the values and ideals of knights and men-at-arms, it would be dangerous to assume that romances, chronicles, biographies or didactic works provide clear insight into the attitudes, values and beliefs of their lay audiences.46 There is no doubt that the two were intimately related, just as the surviving texts of medieval sermons and lives of saints provide a window into the religious beliefs of the laity. They are not synonymous, however, despite the commonplace modern, romantic assumption that chivalric romances in particular were direct reflections of the values and practices of the medieval aristocracy. One way to investigate the relationship between medieval writers and their audiences would be to explore the manuscript dissemination of the texts, looking very carefully at the ownership of these works by aristocrats, and in particular direct evidence of their usage by readers, as demonstrated by annotations to the text.47 Unfortunately, a 45 46

47

See Chapter 1. M. Bull, ‘The French aristocracy and the future, c.1000–c.1200’, in J. A. Burrow and I. P. Wei (eds.), Medieval Futures: Attitudes to the Future in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge, 2000), 85: ‘Few historians would now subscribe to the once common view that examples of vernacular literature – verse epics, lais and romances – invariably offer up a clearer picture of aristocratic culture. . . [T]he language in which a text was written is in itself no indicator of its proximity to the minds of the lay elites.’ See, for example, C. T. Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius: The Reception, Transmission and Legacy of a Roman Text in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2011), together with C. Nall, ‘The production and reception of military texts in the aftermath of the Hundred Years War’ (PhD dissertation, University of York, 2004), and C. Nall,

Introduction

13

comprehensive and systematic review of such evidence for late medieval France would go far beyond the scope of this current book. Even so, some observations can be made. The circulation and ownership of books on knighthood and warfare certainly reached unprecedented heights amongst the aristocracy of France during the late Middle Ages.48 There was a dramatic increase not just in the number of texts that were being written or translated but in the sheer numbers of manuscripts circulating, even before the advent of printing. To take just one important example, there are around 350 surviving medieval manuscripts of Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris, a work that was written between AD 383 and 450 and translated from Latin into various vernaculars during the late medieval period. Nearly 80 per cent of these copies date from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.49 Between 1386 and 1389 a Provençal canon lawyer and prior, Honorat Bovet, composed the Arbre des batailles, a complex treatise on just war theory and the laws, that survives in eighty-three manuscripts containing the original French text, and a further thirteen manuscripts of the translations into Catalan, Castilian, Occitan and Scottish.50 Shortly afterwards Christine de Pizan was the author of a wide range of works dealing with knighthood and warfare, including the Epistre Othea (1399–1400) and Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (1410), which survive in forty-seven and twenty-five manuscripts, respectively.51 There are at least 144 manuscripts containing just the poetical, French writings of Alain Chartier originally written between 1410 and 1428.52 These are remarkable numbers, which testify to a blossoming audience for a wide range of texts.

48

49 50

51

52

Reading and War in Fifteenth-Century England: From Lydgate to Malory (Cambridge, 2012). See C. Bozzolo and E. Ornato, ‘Les lectures des Français aux XIVe et XVe siècles: une approche quantitative’, in L. Rossi (ed.), Ensi firent li ancessor: mélanges de philologie médiévale offerts à Marc-René Jung (2 vols., Alessandria, 1996), I, 713–62, and Lectures françaises de la fin du moyen âge: petite anthologie commentée de succès littéraires, ed. F. Duval (Geneva, 2007). Also see C. D. Taylor, ‘The treatise cycle of the Shrewsbury book, BL MS. Royal 15 E. vi’, in K. Fresco and A. D. Hedeman (eds.), Collections in Context: The Organization of Knowledge and Community in Europe (14th–17th Centuries) (Columbus, OH, 2011), 134–50. See Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 354–66, and pages 272–3 below. H. Biu, ‘L’arbre des batailles d’Honorat Bovet: étude de l’oeuvre et édition critique des textes français et occitan’ (PhD dissertation, 3 vols., Université Paris IV Sorbonne, 2004), I, 213–349. See A. J. Kennedy, Christine de Pizan: A Bibliographical Guide (London, 1984), 80–1, 100–1, together with K. Fresco, ‘Christine de Pizan’s Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie and the coherence of BL MS Royal 15 E vi’, in Fresco and Hedeman, Collections in Context, 173–7, and G. Ouy, C. Reno and I. Villela-Petit, Album Christine de Pizan (Turnhout, 2012). See The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, ed. J. C. Laidlaw (Cambridge, 1974), 43–144, and Les œuvres latines d’Alain Chartier, ed. P. Bourgain-Hemeryck (Paris, 1977), 85–101.

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Introduction

Furthermore, it is also important to underline the evidence for ownership of chansons de geste, romances, chronicles and vernacular, didactic treatises by princes and aristocrats, including countless military commanders.53 For example, copies of Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris, or at least works that drew heavily upon his ideas, were owned or read by the French kings as well as the dukes of Berry, Bourbon, Burgundy, Orléans and Savoy, and Arthur de Richemont, Philippe de Mézières, Antoine de La Sale and Robert de Balsac.54 Bovet’s Arbre des batailles was originally presented to King Charles VI and copies were subsequently owned by the dukes of Berry, Bourbon and Burgundy, and men such as Arthur de Richemont, Guichard Dauphin, Jean de Montaigu, Philippe de Croy and Louis de Bruges.55 The works of Christine de Pizan and Alain Chartier were owned by a similar range of aristocrats. Of course, the mere fact that books were possessed by princes or knights is not automatic evidence either that these men read those works or that they accepted every argument that they contained. Indeed, the very concept of reading itself raises problems, given that the late Middle Ages constituted a liminal period during which silent reading was only just beginning to become commonplace amongst laymen. Even a single manuscript could reach a very wide audience if the contents were read out loud, as was still likely to be the case for chivalric narratives in particular.56 Jean Froissart proudly described how he would rise at midnight to read passages from his new romance, Melyador, to Gaston Phébus, count of Foix.57 Similarly, Guillaume de Machaut reported that his patron, Jean de Luxembourg, liked to hear clerks reading about the Trojan wars, and the biographer of Louis II de Bourbon claimed that the good duke always ate his meals in silence, listening to readings from the histories of great men.58 In this context, it is interesting to note 53

54 55 56

57 58

See, for example, G. Ouy, La librairie des frères captifs: les manuscrits de Charles d’Orléans et Jean d’Angoulême (Turnhout, 2007), and M.-E. Gautier (ed.), Splendeur de l’enluminure: le roi René et les livres (Angers, 2009), together with J.-L. Deuffic (ed.), Livres et bibliothèques au moyen âge (XIVe-XVe siècles): le livre médiéval, I (Saint-Denis, 2003), and H. Wijsman, Luxury Bound: Illustrated Manuscript Production and Noble and Princely Book Ownership in the Burgundian Netherlands (1400–1550) (Turnhout, 2010). See Contamine, ‘Les traités de guerre’, 346–67, and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 63–80. Also see pages 272–3 below. Biu, ‘L’arbre des batailles d’Honorat Bovet’, I, 221–4. J. Coleman, Public Reading and the Reading Public in Late Medieval England and France (Cambridge, 1996); P. Saengar, Space between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading (Stanford, CA, 1997); C. F. Briggs, ‘Literacy, reading and writing in the medieval West’, Journal of Medieval History, 26 (2000), 397–420. Froissart (SHF), XII, 76. Guillaume de Machaut, The Judgement of the King of Bohemia (Le jugement du roy de Behaingne), ed. and trans. R. B. Palmer (GLML 9, New York, 1984), 64; Jean Cabaret

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15

that Geoffroi de Charny’s Livre de chevalerie survives in just two medieval manuscripts.59 This might suggest that the work had limited impact in the late Middle Ages, but there is a very strong possibility that it was used by the Company of the Star, significantly expanding its impact, and perhaps discussed and debated by the members alongside the questions that Charny also posed on jousts, tournaments and warfare.60 Princes and noblemen certainly acquired libraries for a variety of reasons, not least of which were the increasing prestige and status of being a bibliophile. What is particularly striking about late medieval France, however, is the extent to which military veterans were themselves writing about their own personal experiences, from Jean de Joinville and Geoffroi de Charny to Oton de Grandson, Philippe de Mézières, Eustache Deschamps, Charles d’Orléans, René d’Anjou, Antoine de La Sale and Jean de Bueil. Other writers were not involved directly in military actions, but were extremely close to the centres of power and government.61 For example, Christine de Pizan was commissioned to write great works such as Le livre du corps de policie (1406–7), Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (1410) and Le livre de la paix (1412) for the Dauphin, and Jean Gerson presented his views on knighthood in sermons preached in front of King Charles VI and other princes of the blood.62 Alain Chartier entered royal service in around 1417 and was a loyal servant to Charles VII.63 An alternative way of investigating the influence of these texts upon their audiences is to look at the actions and behaviour of the knights and men-at-arms.64 This is harder than it might first appear. First, it is almost impossible to unpack the motivations of an individual in a particular situation and thereby demonstrate that an action was the direct result of the ideas and values presented in specific texts. As Kaeuper has asked, ‘How could we know in how many instances knights refrained from burning a church or pillaging an opponent’s peasantry out of a fear and

59 60 61 62

63 64

d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, ed. A. M. Chazaud (SHF, Paris, 1876), 272–3. The entire oeuvre of Charny survives in ten manuscripts including modern transcriptions: La librairie des ducs de Bourgogne, II, 187–8, 233–7. The fact that the Company failed shortly afterwards would then explain its limited impact after this particular moment in time. See page 35 below. See Chapter 1. Christine de Pizan, Corps du policie, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie and The Book of Peace, ed. and trans. K. Green, C. J. Mews and J. Pinder (Philadelphia, 2008); Jean Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, ed. P. Glorieux (10 vols., Paris and Tournai, 1960–73), VII, ii, 1100–23, 1137–85. J. C. Laidlaw, ‘Alain Chartier and the arts of crisis management’, in C. T. Allmand (ed.), War, Government and Power in Late Medieval France (Liverpool, 2000), 37–53. Bull, ‘The French aristocracy and the future’, 85.

16

Introduction

love of God inculcated by clerical instruction on ideal chivalry?’65 More fundamental, though, is the very question of what we are looking for as evidence that these chivalric texts were influential. Traditionally, attempts to explore the impact of chivalric literature upon practice have been driven by the modern romantic vision of chivalry as the celebration of civilized warriors who treated war as a game, preferring to behave magnanimously and honourably towards vulnerable opponents rather than to secure victory at any cost. As a result, the debate about the influence of chivalric writings has focused upon the extent to which medieval warriors behaved in an irrational manner, sacrificing their obvious self-interest in favour of more noble ideals, for example by bravely risking their lives in battle or treating their enemies with mercy and respect. Of course, there is very little evidence that the medieval aristocracy ever scaled the heights imagined by such modern romantic visions and nostalgia. Knights and men-at-arms who treated the enemy with mercy and fairness, or waged war as if it were a game, were the exception rather than the rule. Painter has famously declared that he could find no moment during the age of chivalry ‘when knights refrained from rapine and casual manslaughter, protected the church and its clergy, and respected the rights of helpless non-combatants in war’.66 This has in turn led many historians to react with cynicism towards concepts of chivalry and chivalric ideals.67 For example, Bachrach has denounced the ‘romantic bent which gives focus to chivalry as having some deep meaning for the study of medieval history, which it does not, and is far more consistent with the colorful fiction of Sir Walter Scott than the gritty realities that are inherent in the execution of military operations’.68 In reality, chivalric texts offered subtle and complex discussions of knightly values, simultaneously championing values that were undoubtedly influential and popular amongst their audience, such as honour, prowess, loyalty and courage, but also posing important questions about the tensions inherent in knighthood and these ideas, encouraging moral debates about the differences between virtues and 65 66 67

68

Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 84. S. Painter, French Chivalry: Chivalric Ideas and Practices in Medieval France (Baltimore, 1940), 92. Of course, many military historians who debate the impact of culture upon warfare focus upon a very old-fashioned notion of ‘high’ culture (literature, art) rather than culture as the broad range of meanings and interactions that make up social life, that represent the human-made part of one’s environment and that shape the values, beliefs and thoughts of the members of any society. B. S. Bachrach, ‘Some observations on administration and logistics of the siege of Nicaea’, War in History, 12 (2005), 250.

Introduction

17

vices, and providing practical arguments for the importance of less glamorous qualities such as prudence, discipline and moderation. Moreover, behaving in a chivalric or knightly manner was not the simple black and white proposition that modern audiences often seem to imagine. In the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny did not dismiss individuals who could manage to live up to only some of the ideals that he was championing. After all, few chivalric heroes were truly perfect. Charny’s message was that one should always strive to be better, without ever realistically hoping to achieve perfection. This was consistent with the message of romances, which consistently questioned and challenged the notion that any one individual could embody chivalric perfection, not only because of the fallibility of humans but also because of the inherent tensions within the various ideals of knighthood. As Kennedy has noted, the heroes of chivalry were constantly failing, and this in turn offered ‘a questioning or testing of established conventions of romance’.69 Such tales could not imagine any one individual who embodied knightly perfection but, rather, invited ‘the reader to consider sympathetically human imperfection and [a] tendency to fail for very understandable reasons. The superman hero is not always credible or sympathetic.’70 Ultimately, measuring the precise impact of individual texts and writers upon specific individuals may not be possible for the historian, given the nature of the surviving evidence. On the other hand, taking a wider perspective on the late medieval French writers and texts as a whole, for example, there is a powerful and obvious connection between the dominant vision of knighthood that they were articulating and important, practical changes in martial culture. Just as Valois writers championed notions of discipline, service, prudence and military science, the monarchy was implementing dramatic military reforms that were transforming martial culture in France. As the crown instituted these reforms to reassert control, the writers echoed and supported these efforts by calling for increased chivalric discipline and restraint, emphasizing a Roman model of chivalry in which soldiers served the commonweal and in which the sovereign and his lawyers had ultimate say over the rules of warfare. The irony is that early modern historians often draw a very sharp line between chivalry and

69 70

E. Kennedy, ‘Failure in Arthurian romance’, Medium Aevum, 50 (1991), 30. Archibald, ‘Questioning Arthurian ideals’, 149–50. Also see Gilbert, ‘Arthurian ethics’, 156: ‘Arthurian ideals remain unrealisable and irreconcilable even for Arthurian heroes.’

18

Introduction

humanism, contrasting the emphasis upon individual glory and courtly love with Roman ideals of public service and discipline. Yet writers in service to the Valois monarchy, from Honorat Bovet and Philippe de Mézières to Jean Gerson, Christine de Pizan and Jean de Bueil, were equally aware of the lessons that the Romans could offer to the French. The advent of printing merely confirmed the success of such ideas.

1

Texts and contexts

From the very beginning of the age of chivalry, writers did not merely celebrate knighthood but challenged the aristocracy to live up to the different visions of the ideal behaviour and values advocated in their texts. In late medieval France, such efforts took on an added significance in the context of endemic warfare and violence, which raised fundamental questions about knightly behaviour, military service and leadership. Valois armies suffered one defeat after another at the hands of their enemies, most notably the English. France was being racked by internal divisions, feuding and repeated civil conflicts, and the countryside was constantly terrorized by the brutal behaviour of garrisons and rampaging bands of unemployed soldiers. It was against this background that an unprecedented number of writers addressed the questions raised by warfare, violence and knighthood. In some cases, their aim was simply to celebrate deeds of arms and to rally their audiences through stories of past successes. More often, they gave voice to powerful criticisms of the aristocracy, attempting to redirect the martial energies that threatened to overwhelm society. They condemned the decadence of courtly life – a constant theme in medieval clerical concerns about the aristocracy. Yet Valois writers also gave consistent voice to another theme that had appeared in earlier writing: the importance of discipline and service to the commonweal, echoing older intellectual traditions and, in particular, Roman models. In addition, Valois writers posed more subtle questions about the role of kings and military leaders, challenging the idea of leading from the front that was such a commonplace in chansons de geste, romances and other chivalric narratives, and instead emphasizing the importance of prudence and wisdom based not just upon experience but book learning as well. In this, the written sources both mirrored and defended the profound military changes enacted in Valois France, culminating in Charles VII’s Compagnies d’Ordonnance that were so instrumental in the eventual defeat and expulsion of the English between 1449 and 1453. 19

20

Texts and contexts

Crises affecting France In 1389 Honorat Bovet (d. c.1405) completed the second draft of his great treatise on the laws of war, the Arbre des batailles. In the prologue, he explained that he had chosen the image of a tree of battles (see figure) as a means of representing the different levels of suffering brought about by conflict and violence. At the top level were the battles fought in the names of the two rival popes during the Great Schism. Underneath these were the wars between Christian kings and princes, and then finally, at the bottom level, came the anguish caused by conflict between peoples and communities in lesser, private wars and feuds.1 Bovet’s powerful image in the Arbre des batailles graphically captured the constant presence of warfare and violence in late medieval France. Alongside wider economic pressures associated with famine, the Black Death and the recession of the fifteenth century, as well as the problems in the international Church that culminated in the papal schism from 1378 to 1418, the French endured a series of dramatic military disasters, civil wars and an endemic crisis of violence and public order.2 In 1302 the royal army was defeated by the Flemings at the battle of Courtrai – a portent of worse to come at the hands of the English at battles such as Crécy (1346), Poitiers (1356), Agincourt (1415) and Verneuil (1424). Further afield, the great successes of French royal crusaders in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries became a distant memory, as the limited enterprises of the fourteenth century were led by princes of the blood rather than the kings of France, and the crusaders endured humbling defeats such as at Alexandria in 1365 and Nicopolis in 1396.3 Meanwhile, war had a dramatic impact upon the people of France. Marauding English armies deliberately targeted civilians in an effort to damage the infrastructure that supported the Valois monarchy, and also perhaps to force the French kings to take to the battlefields in defence of their people.4 Even when the strategy of the English shifted towards conquest in the fifteenth century, their garrisons represented a serious burden on 1 2

3

4

Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 599–600. P. Charbonnier, ‘Society and the economy: the crisis and its aftermath’, in D. Potter (ed.), France in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford, 2004), 117–29; R. Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Poets, Saints, and Visionaries of the Great Schism, 1378–1417 (University Park, PA, 2006). N. Housley, The Later Crusades: From Lyons to Alcazar 1274–1580 (Oxford, 1992); J. Paviot, Les Ducs de Bourgogne, la croisade et l’Orient (fin XIVe siècle–XVe siècle) (Paris, 2003). See C. J. Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of strategy, 1327–1360’ Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 4 (1994), 83–102, and ‘The Vegetian “science of warfare” in the Middle Ages’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 1 (2002), 1–19, together with pages 208–10 below.

Crises affecting France

21

Frontispiece of Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles. Chantilly, Musée Condé MS 346, fol. 10v / Musée Condé, Chantilly, France / Giraudon / Bridgeman Art Library.

22

Texts and contexts

the wider population, despite the efforts of their commanders to restrain the worst abuses.5 In 1439 the bishop of Beauvais, Jean Juvénal des Ursins, declared that to narrate the impact of warfare upon the French people after the English invasions of 1415 and 1417 would have required a book as long as the Bible.6 It was not just invading foreign armies that posed a threat to the people of France, though; internal divisions led to more violence and damage than any invasion from across the Channel.7 The Breton war of succession that followed the death of Jean III de Montfort in 1341 destabilized the north-west until the defeat of Charles de Blois at the battle of Auray in 1364, paving the way for Jean V de Montfort to take control of the duchy.8 In the Languedoc, the counts of Foix were constantly in dispute with the rival count of Armagnac, leading, for example, to the battle of Launac on 5 December 1362, when Gaston III, count of Foix, defeated Jean I, count of Armagnac.9 In the fifteenth century, tensions between the Armagnacs and the Burgundians erupted into civil war following the assassination of Louis I, duke of Orléans, in 1407 by agents commissioned by Jean sans Peur, duke of Burgundy. Without this civil war, Henry V could not have hoped for the military successes that he enjoyed with the Agincourt campaign and the subsequent conquest of Normandy.10 Then, on 10 September 1419, the Dauphin Charles assassinated the Burgundian duke, ensuring that his heir, Philippe III le Bon, would throw his full support behind Henry V, paving the way for the Treaty of Troyes in 1420.11 Emotions certainly ran high on both sides, as demonstrated by the statement in 1417 by Jean de Montreuil, a former secretary of the duke of Orléans, that he would 5 6 7

8

9 10 11

See pages 217–20 below. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, ed. P. S. Lewis (SHF, 3 vols., Paris, 1978–93), I, 307. These civil wars created opportunities for logistical and strategic support for the English. M. C. E. Jones, Ducal Brittany, 1364–1399: Relations with England and France during the Reign of Duke John IV (Oxford, 1970); M. G. A. Vale, English Gascony, 1399–1453: A Study of War, Government and Politics during the Later Stages of the Hundred Years War (Oxford, 1970); C. T. Allmand, Lancastrian Normandy 1415–1450 (Oxford, 1983). M. C. E. Jones, ‘The Breton civil war’, in J. J. N. Palmer (ed.), Froissart: Historian (Woodbridge, 1981), 64–81; M. C. E. Jones, Between France and England: Politics, Power and Society in Late Medieval Brittany (Aldershot, 2003). P. Tucoo-Chala, Gaston Fébus: Prince des Pyrénées (1331–1391) (Anglet, 1993). A. Curry, Agincourt: A New History (Stroud, 2005); R. A. Newhall, The English Conquest of Normandy, 1416–1424: A Study in Fifteenth-Century Warfare (New Haven, CT, 1924). P. Bonenfant, Du meurtre de Montereau au traité de Troyes (Brussels, 1958), reprinted in P. Bonenfant, Philippe le Bon: sa politique, son action (Brussels, 1996), 105–336; R. C. Famiglietti, Royal Intrigue: Crisis at the Court of Charles VI, 1392–1420 (New York, 1982); B. Guenée, Un meurtre, une société: l’assassinat du duc d’Orléans, 23 novembre 1407 (Paris, 1992).

Crises affecting France

23

rather dine with the devil than with his own father if he had invited a Burgundian to eat with them.12 During her trial at Rouen in 1431, Joan of Arc recalled her childhood in Domrémy, where the children would fight running battles with their rivals from the neighbouring village of Maxey because they were loyal Burgundians; Joan declared that she would willingly have allowed the one Burgundian from her village to be executed.13 Even the extraordinary military successes of Charles VII between 1449 and 1453, expelling the English from all of France except for Calais, could not put an end to the internal tensions. In 1440 Charles I, duke of Bourbon, had led the revolt known as the Praguerie, supported by Georges de La Trémoïlle and the dukes of Brittany and Alençon, as well as the Dauphin Louis. Twenty-four years later Louis, as king, was faced by a similar uprising, the Guerre de la bien publique, led by the heir to the duchy of Burgundy, Charles le Téméraire, count of Charolais, and Louis’ own brother Charles de Valois, duke of Berry.14 On top of all these problems, civilians also faced abuse at the hands of the garrisons in the strongholds that littered the countryside, irrespective of their nominal allegiance and loyalty. At the start of the Hundred Years War there may have been as many as 4,000 French soldiers on the Gascon frontier.15 In the eight years following the battle of Poitiers there were 855 fortresses in northern and central France, manned by over 10,000 soldiers.16 These men frequently abused their right to requisition goods, the droit de prise, either paying less than the market value or offering valueless notes and tallies rather than real money.17 Moreover, soldiers often took advantage of the need to prevent supplies falling into enemy hands, by stealing moveable property from peasants who ignored orders to move into the shelter of royal garrisons.18 Those protected by the walls of a town or castle were expected to contribute to its defence, either financially or in person: at Saint-Mard, the inhabitants complained in October 1367 that they were being forced to stand watch upon the castle 12 13 14

15 16

17 18

Jean de Montreuil, Opera, ed. N. Grévy-Pons, E. Ornato and G. Ouy (4 vols., Turin and Paris, 1963–86), I, 347. Procès de condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, ed. P. Tisset and Y. Lanhers (SHF, 3 vols., Paris, 1960–71), I, 57–68. G. du Fresne de Beaucourt, Histoire de Charles VII (6 vols., Paris, 1881–91); M. G. A. Vale, Charles VII (Berkeley, CA, 1974); S. H. Cuttler, The Law of Treason and Treason Trials in Later Medieval France (Cambridge, 1981), 195–212. P. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1984), 221. S. Luce, Histoire de Bertrand du Guesclin et de son époque: la jeunesse de Bertrand, 1320–1364 (Paris, 1876), 459–509; N. Wright, Knights and Peasants: The Hundred Years War in the French Countryside (Woodbridge, 1998), 4. See, for example, La Guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du Parlement, 1337–1369, ed. P.-C. Timbal (Paris, 1961), 90–6. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 41.

24

Texts and contexts

of Passavant even though they never used it as a refuge.19 In times of emergency, the government frequently allowed garrisons to collect the taxes that paid their wages directly from peasants and townsmen.20 Thus, in the aftermath of Poitiers, the captain of Estampes was licensed to take the victuals necessary for his men-at-arms, and in 1363 Bertrand du Guesclin was authorized to draw upon local parishes to support his position as captain of Brée.21 As Wright argues, ‘Conventional, “peace-time” lordships had evolved over centuries of bargaining and conflict and were regulated by a host of individual charters of liberties; but these military lordships of the Hundred Years War were not regulated by custom in the same way.’22 Alongside the ‘official’ garrisons, unemployed soldiers known as routiers and écorcheurs ravaged the countryside.23 The majority of troops in service to either the French or the English crown were employed on short-term contracts, indentures and lettres de retenue, and therefore lost their source of income at the end of a military campaign. If they wanted to carry on earning money through their military skills, they needed either to find another paymaster or to go into business for themselves, often with the most superficial of legal justifications and titles to make war. For example, those journeying between Paris and Compiègne in the 1350s were forced to pay 100,000 francs to the routier garrison at Creil under John Fotheringay, who claimed to be fighting for the king of Navarre.24 The problem became particularly intense in the 1360s, when the Treaty of Brétigny had, theoretically, put an end to the legal justification for soldiers to fight on behalf of the French and English kings. Large numbers of men continued to roam France, in bands that were known by a range of grand titles, such as ‘les gens de la Grant Compaigne’ and ‘compagnies d’aventure’.25 Thus Seguin de Badefol described himself as ‘capitaine d’Anse pour le roy de Navarre’, and held La Charité-sur-Loire in the name of Charles de Navarre for more than a 19 20 21

22 23

24 25

La Guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du Parlement, 153–4. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 39. R. Cazelles, ‘La Jacquerie: fut-elle un mouvement paysan?’, Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 122 (1978), 664; Luce, Histoire de Bertrand du Guesclin, 582. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 44. A. Tuetey, Les écorcheurs sous Charles VII (2 vols., Montbéliard, 1874); P. Contamine, ‘Les compagnies d’aventure en France pendant la Guerre de Cent Ans’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome, moyen âge, temps modernes, 87 (1975), 365–96; K. Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies (Oxford, 2001). H. Denifle, La Guerre de Cent Ans et la désolation des églises, monastères et hôpitaux en France (2 vols., Paris, 1897–9), I, 219. Denifle, La Guerre de Cent Ans, I, 209; Contamine, ‘Les compagnies d’aventure en France’, 366–7, 369–71.

Crises affecting France

25

year. In 1364 the marshal, Arnoul d’Audrehem, reported to Charles VI that the Companies in Languedoc had declared that they were fighting for Navarre.26 These Companies ‘were the bane of the countryside and of the defenceless people who lived there. They were an affront to order, and especially to the royal authority, which feebly did its rather limited best to rid France of this affliction which seemed to be at its most dangerous during the periods of truce which punctuated the long war.’27 There was no obvious way to solve the problem. To drive them out of the country would have been expensive and dangerous, though many did go voluntarily to Spain, for example, to take part in the Castilian civil war between 1366 and 1369. Moreover, such men were always needed in the event that war resumed, as indeed happened between the French and English crowns in 1369. Even then, however, there were very few opportunities for permanent employment by the French crown, with perhaps just 6,000 men in the royal army during the 1370s and 1380s, or following the reforms that Charles VII implemented during the 1440s, and perhaps half this number for most of the reign of Charles VI.28 As a result, the Companies continued to plague France. In 1390 the Estates of Languedoc was forced to pay 250,000 francs to routier captains such as Chopin de Badefol, Guillaume de Caupène, Mérigot Marchès and Ramonnet de Sor, for them to leave their strongholds.29 During the reign of King Charles VII, from 1422 to 1461, the problem of discipline and control over troops again reached a crisis level.30 The army was fragmented into many clans, each under a prince or a great lord, and there were increasing numbers of foreign troops serving in the French army.31 Facing great financial difficulties, the king could not 26

27 28

29 30

31

G. Guigue, Récits de la Guerre de Cent Ans: les tard-venues en Lyonnais, Forez et Beaujolais, 1356–1369 (Lyon, 1886), 107–8; E. Molinier, ‘Étude sur la vie d’Arnoul d’Audrehem, maréchal de France, 1302–1370’, Mémoires présentés par divers savants à l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres de l’Institut de France, 2nd series, 6 (1883), 159. C. T. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, in K. Fowler (ed.), The Hundred Years War (London, 1971), 171. P. Contamine, Guerre, état et société à la fin du moyen âge: études sur les armées des rois de France, 1337–1494 (Paris, 1972), 210; K. Fowler, The Age of Plantagenet and Valois: The Struggle for Supremacy 1328–1498 (London, 1967), 134, 137. J. Monicat, Les grandes compagnies en Vélay, 1358–92 (2nd edn., Paris, 1928), 83–4. P. Contamine, ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XVe siècle: du “roi de Bourges” au “très victorieux roi de France”’, in A. Corvisier (ed.), Histoire militaire de la France, vol. I, Des origines à 1715 (Paris, 1992), 188–95. Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 261, 272; B. G. H. Ditcham, ‘“Mutton guzzlers and wine bags”: foreign soldiers and native reactions in fifteenth-century France’, in C. T. Allmand (ed.), Power, Culture and Religion in France c. 1350–c. 1550 (Woodbridge, 1989), 1–13.

26

Texts and contexts

offer regular pay, and wages were reduced to the lowest level. The result was a second great phase of mercenary bands, known as the écorcheurs, who provided ready recruits for private wars and lived off the land by pillaging or by the system of appâtis when there was no one to pay their wages.32 For example, the Spanish mercenary Rodrigo de Villandrando served as a captain in the royal army, but also fought for La Trémoïlle, the Bourbons and even the Pope, and ravaged villages and towns without any regard for their allegiance, all without ever losing his reputation and titles.33 The chronicler Pierre Cochon condemned the routiers who targeted the people of Normandy around 1429, describing them as thieves who were in service to the devil.34 In his entry for the year 1440, the Bourgeois of Paris denounced as thieves those soldiers who would demand ransoms for babies, lock men in bins and rape their wives on top of them.35

Reactions of the writers The impact of warfare and martial violence in late medieval France was well attested by contemporary chroniclers. Authors of Latin, monastic narratives such as the chronicle attributed to the Carmelite friar Jean de Venette, or that of the monk of Saint-Denis, Michael Pintouin (d. 1421),36 tended to offer a less sympathetic view of French knighthood than the vernacular, chivalric chronicles of Jean Le Bel (d. 1370), Jean Froissart (d. c.1404), Enguerrand de Monstrelet (d. 1453), Jean de Wavrin (d. c.1472–5) and Georges Chastellain (d. 1475),37 as well as heralds such as Gilles Le Bouvier, the Berry Herald (d. 1455), and Jean 32 33 34 35 36

37

Tuetey, Les écorcheurs sous Charles VII. J. Quicherat, Rodrigue de Villandrando: l’un des combattants pour l’indépendence française au quinzième siècle (Paris, 1879). Chronique normande de Pierre Cochon, notaire apostolique à Rouen, ed. C. de Robillard de Beaurepaire (Rouen, 1870), 302–3. Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 1405 à 1449, publié d’après les manuscrits de Rome et de Paris, ed. A. Tuetey (Paris, 1881), 355–6. See Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis de 1113 à 1300 avec les continuations de cette chronique de 1300 à 1368, ed. H. Géraud (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1843), II, 179–378, along with E. Le Maresquier, ‘La chronique dite de Jean de Venette, édition critique’, in École nationale des chartes, Positions des thèses (1969), 83–5, and Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis contenant le règne de Charles VI, de 1380 à 1422, ed. L. Bellaguet (6 vols., Paris, 1839–52). Chronique de Jean le Bel, ed. J. Viard and E. Déprez (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1904); Froissart (SHF); La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet en deux livres avec pièces justicatives (1400–44), ed. L. Douët-d’Arcq (SHF, 6 vols., Paris, 1857–62); Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories de la Grant Bretaigne, a present nommé Engleterre par Jehan de Waurin, seigneur du Forestel, ed. W. Hardy and E. L. C. P. Hardy (RS, 5 vols., London, 1864–91); Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, ed. K. de Lettenhove (8 vols., Brussels, 1863–8).

Reactions of the writers

27

Le Fèvre de Saint-Rémy, Toison d’Or (d. c.1468).38 During this period there was also a blossoming of chivalric biographies written in French, the majority of which celebrated the martial achievements and the glory of French princes and knights, who were presented as worthy of a place in the pantheon of chivalric heroes.39 Many are far less well known today than the Vie de Saint Louis (1309), written by Jean de Joinville (d. 1317).40 In the fourteenth century these biographies were generally written in verse, in order to elevate their subjects to the status of the great heroes of epic tales.41 For example, Guillaume de Machaut celebrated the life of King Peter I of Cyprus in La prise d’Alexandrie (c.1369– 71), while an obscure clerk named Cuvelier composed La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin in the mid-1380s – a work that was rewritten in prose in 1387 for Jean d’Estouteville, captain of Vernon.42 In the fifteenth century most of the leading military commanders of the reigns of Charles VI and Charles VII were the subject of prose biographies, from the anonymous life of Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut, written in 1409 long before his death in 1421, to the accounts of Louis II, duke of Bourbon (d. 1410), Arthur de Richemont, duke of Brittany (d. 1458), and Jean II, duke of Alençon (d. 1476), composed by Jean Cabaret d’Orville (d. 1420?), Guillaume Gruel (d. 1474/82) and Perceval de Cagny (d. c.1438), respectively.43 In addition to chronicles and biographies, there were other genres of writing that reflected the impact of warfare. Many authors composed works of consolation for those directly affected by difficult political and military circumstances. For example, Guillaume de Machaut (d. 1377) 38

39 40 41 42

43

See Les chroniques du roi Charles VII par Gilles le Bouvier dit le Héraut Berry, ed. H. C. Courteault and L. Celier (SHF, Paris, 1979), and Chronique de Jean Le Fèvre, seigneur de Saint-Remy, ed. F. Morand (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1866–81). Also see M. Stanesco, ‘Le héraut d’armes et la tradition littéraire chevaleresque’, Romania, 106 (1985), 233–53. See Tyson, ‘French vernacular history writers and their patrons’, and Gaucher, La biographie chevaleresque. Histoire de Saint Louis par Jean sire de Joinville, suivie du Credo et de la lettre à Louis X, ed. N. de Wailly (SHF, Paris, 1868). D. B. Tyson, ‘Authors, patrons and soldiers: some thoughts on four Old French soldiers’ lives’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 42 (1998), 111–12. Guillaume de Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie (The Taking of Alexandria), ed. and trans. R. B. Palmer (New York, 2002); La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin de Cuvelier, ed. J.-C. Faucon (3 vols., Toulouse, 1990–3). Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, dit Bouciquaut, Mareschal de France et gouverneur de Jennes, ed. D. Lalande (TLF 331, Geneva, 1985); Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon; Guillaume Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont, connétable de France, duc de Bretagne (1393–1458), ed. A. Le Vavasseur (SHF, Paris, 1890); Perceval de Cagny, Chronique des ducs d’Alençon, ed. H. Moranvillé (SHF, Paris, 1902).

28

Texts and contexts

wrote Le confort d’ami (1357) for Charles II, king of Navarre, after he was arrested by the French king Jean II, and both Machaut and Froissart wrote poems to console Jean, duke of Berry, when he was sent to England in 1361 as a hostage for his father, Jean II.44 In the Epistre de la prison de vie humaine (1418), Christine de Pizan (d. 1429) consoled those women who had suffered terrible losses at the battle of Agincourt, such as Marie de Berry.45 Contemporary events also formed a backdrop for other narratives. For example, Antoine de La Sale’s Jehan de Saintré (1456) was set in the time of King Jean II of France and claimed to tell the story of a real historical figure, the seneschal of Anjou and Maine from 1354 until his death in 1368, who was one of the knights taken prisoner at the battle of Poitiers in 1356.46 In Le livre du dit de Poissy (c.1400), Christine explored the question of whether a squire who had been rejected by his lady was more sad than a lady whose lover was captured at the battle of Nicopolis in 1396.47 Alain Chartier (d. c.1430) composed Le livre des quatre dames (1416), in which the narrator encountered four women grieving for their lovers who had endured very different fates during the battle of Agincourt the previous year. Their complaints about the cowards and deserters who had handed victory to the English carefully linked the treachery of such knights in warfare to their falsity and deceit as lovers.48 Moreover, writers such as Christine de Pizan and Alain Chartier reflected directly on the cruel hand of fortune, and debated the challenge of maintaining one’s faith in the face of dire circumstances, drawing heavily upon authorities such as Boethius and Boccaccio.49 Many French writers were themselves caught up directly in the warfare and violence. For example, Geoffroi de Charny died on the battlefield at 44

45

46 47

48 49

See Guillaume de Machaut, Le confort d’ami (Comfort for a Friend), ed. and trans. R. B. Palmer (GLML 67, New York, 1992), and The Fountain of Love (La fonteinne amoureuse) and Two Other Love Vision Poems, ed. and trans. R. B. Palmer (GLML 54, New York, 1993), together with Froissart’s Le dit dou bleu chevalier, in Jean Froissart, Dits et débats, avec en appendice quelques poèmes de Guillaume de Machaut, ed. A. Fourrier (TLF 274, Geneva, 1979), 155–70. Christine de Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, with An Epistle to the Queen of France and Lament on the Evils of the Civil War, ed. and trans. J. A. Wisman (GLML 21, New York, 1984), 28–30. Antoine de La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, ed. J. Misrahi and C. Knudsen (TLF 117, 3rd edn., Geneva, 1978). The Love Debate Poems of Christine de Pizan: Le livre du debat de deux amans, Le livre des trois jugemens, Le livre du dit de Poissy, ed. B. K. Altmann (Gainesville, FL, 1998), 203–74. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 280, (in general) 196–304. See, for example, Christine de Pizan, Le livre de la mutacion de fortune, ed. S. Solente (SATF, 4 vols., Paris, 1959–66), Le livre de l’advision Cristine, and Alain Chartier, Traité de l’espérance, ed. F. Rouy (Paris, 1989).

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Poitiers in 1356, having been given the signal honour of carrying the oriflamme for his king, Jean II.50 Honorat Bovet (d. c.1405) was prior of Selonnet in the diocese of Embrun in Provence, which he described as a ‘pays de guerre’ because of the conflict that raged between Raymond Roger de Beaufort, viscount of Turenne, and the duke of Anjou from 1388 to 1399.51 Charles d’Orléans (d. 1465) was taken prisoner at the battle of Agincourt and held prisoner in England until 1440.52 In 1418 the Burgundians seized Paris, and Armagnac supporters such as Gontier Col and Jean de Montreuil were murdered, while others, such as Jean Gerson (d. 1429), Christine de Pizan and Alain Chartier, were forced into exile. It should therefore not be a surprise that so many French writers reflected upon the range of problems and engaged in wider debates about reform triggered by crises such as the military defeats inflicted by the English and the collapse into civil war during the final years of the mad King Charles VI.53 On the one hand, there was a long tradition of intellectuals offering moral and practical advice and counsel to princes, dating back to John of Salisbury, Vincent de Beauvais and Giles of Rome. The most common form for such advice was the mirror for princes, which offered wide-ranging guidance on the moral and practical responsibilities of rulers, including military matters.54 Intellectuals and writers also composed other didactic works, however, such as sermons, letters and informal position papers. These texts offered commentary, advice and even protest about the problems affecting France, addressing not merely military matters but also other problems, such as the Great Schism and other political and social questions. This attempt by intellectuals to play a role in such important public debates may reflect in part the limited institutional mechanisms for dialogue between the king and his subjects in France. 55 Many of the authors cast themselves as

50

51

52 53 54 55

P. Contamine, ‘Geoffroy de Charny (début de XIVe siècle–1356), “le plus prudhomme et le plus vaillant de tous les autres”’, in G. Duby (ed.), Histoire et société: mélanges Georges Duby, vol. II, Le tenancier, le fidèle et le citoyen (Aix-en-Provence, 1992), 113–14. Honorat Bovet, Medieval Muslims, Christians and Jews in Dialogue: The Apparicion Maistre Jehan de Meun of Honorat Bovet, ed. M. Hanly (MRTS 283, Tempe, AZ, 2005), 148. W. Askins, ‘The brothers Orléans and their keepers’, in M.-J. Arn (ed.), Charles d’Orléans in England, 1415–1440 (Woodbridge, 2000), 27–45. See R. Cazelles, Société politique, noblesse et couronne sous Jean le Bon et Charles V (Paris, 1982), and Famiglietti, Royal Intrigue. Krynen, Idéal du prince et pouvoir royal en France. C. T. Allmand, ‘Some writers and the theme of war in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries’, in H.-H. Kortüm (ed.), Krieg im Mittelalter (Berlin, 2001), 178.

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truth-tellers on behalf of society as a whole, as well as advisors and counsellors to the crown. Through their ‘littérature engagée’, they spoke out about the causes of what Christine de Pizan described as ‘les maux de la France’.56 Of course, it would be naïve to imagine that these writers were independent thinkers, freely speaking out about the problems in France. In reality, most were closely affiliated with the monarchy, or at least the great princes of the blood, and so their public complaints were carefully controlled and orientated towards the interests of the crown.57 Indeed, the Valois monarchy had carefully cultivated intellectual champions. At the height of the Avignon papacy, in 1367, a spokesman for Charles V, Anseau Choquart, had been humiliated during a debate at the papal curia at Avignon.58 His opponent, Petrarch, had belittled Choquart for his clumsy and archaic Latin, and argued that it was useless to look for orators and poets outside Italy.59 Petrarch’s remarks became a major source of annoyance for French scholars, rhetorically at least, and provoked them to seek to defend their cultural heritage.60 Moreover, Petrarch’s defeat of Choquart clearly demonstrated to King Charles V the need for scholars and good rhetoricians.61 The king therefore strongly encouraged two related think tanks, namely the College of Navarre, of which Nicole Oresme, translator of Aristotle, had been grand maître, and the royal chancery, whose notaries and secretaries provided the Valois monarchy with a consistent supply of scholars throughout the fifteenth century.62 56

57

58 59 60

61

62

J.-C. Mühlethaler, ‘Le poète et le prophète: littérature et politique au XVe siècle’, Le moyen français, 13 (1983), 37–57, and ‘Une génération d’écrivains “embarqués”: le règne de Charles VI ou la naissance de l’engagement littéraire en France’, in J. Kaempfer, S. Florey and J. Meizoz (eds.), Formes de l’engagement littéraire (XVe–XXIe siècle) (Lausanne, 2006), 15–32; J. Blanchard, ‘L’entrée du poète dans le champ politique’, Annales: Histoire, Sciences Sociales, 41 (1986), 43–61. Many of the leading Valois writers, including Jean de Montreuil, Jean Juvénal des Ursins and Guillaume Cousinot II, were the authors of manuals for royal diplomats and administrators, setting out the legal arguments in the war with the English, including the fraudulent Salic law: C. D. Taylor, ‘War, propaganda and diplomacy in fifteenthcentury France and England’, in Allmand, War, Government and Power in Late Medieval France, 70–91. R. Delachenal, Histoire de Charles V (5 vols., Paris, 1909–31), III, 515–27. See Francesco Petrarca, Le “Senili” secondo l’edizione Basilea 1581, ed. M. Guglielminetti (Savigliano, 2006), 175 (IX, 1, spring 1368), and also see 139–55 (VII, 1, June 1366). E. Beltran, ‘L’humanisme français au temps de Charles VII et Louis XI’, in C. Bozzolo and E. Ornato (eds.), Préludes à la renaissance: aspects de la vie intellectuelle en France au XVe siècle (Paris, 1992), 125. Petrarch also attended the French court in 1360 as an ambassador for Galeazzo Visconti, and impressed Charles V, then Dauphin. Delachenal, Histoire de Charles V, II, 270–2; also see IV, 511–27. G. Ouy, ‘Le College de Navarre, berceau de l’humanisme français’, in Actes du 95e Congrès national des sociétés savantes (2 vols., Reims, 1970), I, 275–99; N. Gorochov, Le

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For example, Jean de Montreuil was a royal notary and secretary under King Charles VI, as was Alain Chartier, who entered royal service in around 1417 and became a loyal servant to Charles VII.63 Meanwhile, other important French writers were also affiliated to the court of the king or his dukes. For example, Honorat Bovet was in the service of Louis I, duke of Anjou, and his son Louis II, and Philippe de Mézières (d. 1405) had joined the court of King Charles V in 1373, where he may have served in some capacity as a tutor and advisor to the Dauphin, the future Charles VI.64 Christine de Pizan was the daughter of an astrologer at the court of Charles V, and received commissions from both the duke of Orléans and the duke of Burgundy.65 Chronologically, the first important French writer to reflect upon these themes during the Hundred Years War was Geoffroi de Charny, who wrote a manual known to modern audiences as the Livre de chevalerie (c.1350), as well as a closely related work in verse, the Livre Charny, and a set of questions on tournaments and warfare.66 These writings were heavily implicated in the reform programme of King Jean II, who had come to the throne in 1350 after a series of English victories at Caen, Crécy and Calais between 1346 and 1347, and after leading nobles such as Robert d’Artois, Godfrey de Harcourt and Charles de Navarre had already thrown their support behind Edward III.67 It was against this background that Jean II issued ordinances for the reform of the royal council and the army, and also announced the formation of a chivalric order, the Company of the Star.68 Charny’s questions on tournaments and warfare were certainly written for debate by the members of the

63 64

65

66

67 68

collège de Navarre et sa fondation (1305) au début du XVe siècle (1418): histoire de l’institution, de sa vie intellectuelle et de son recrutement (Paris, 1997). Laidlaw, ‘Alain Chartier and the arts of crisis management’. M. Hanly, ‘Literature and dissent in the court of Charles VI: the careers of the “courtierpoets” Philippe de Mézières and Honorat Bovet’, in N. van Deusen (ed.), Tradition and Ecstasy: The Agony of the Fourteenth Century (Ottawa, 1997), 273–90. R. Blumenfeld-Kosinski, ‘Christine de Pizan and the political life in late medieval France’, in B. K. Altmann and D. L. McGrady (eds.), Christine de Pizan: A Casebook (New York, 2003), 9–24. See The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny and M. A. Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre’ (PhD dissertation, University of North Carolina, 1977), together with Contamine, ‘Geoffroy de Charny (début de XIVe siècle–1356)’. Cazelles, Société politique, noblesse et couronne. Construire l’armée française: textes fondateurs de l’armée française, vol. I, De la France des premiers Valois à la fin du règne de François Ier, ed. V. Bessey (Turnhout, 2007), 63–7; also see Cazelles, Société politique, noblesse et couronne, 127–45, and D’A. J. D. Boulton, The Knights of the Crown: The Monarchical Orders in Later Medieval Europe, 1325–1520 (Woodbridge, 1987), 167–210.

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Company, and it seems very likely that his chivalric manuals were prepared for the same audience. Between 1386 and 1389 Honorat Bovet completed the Arbre de batailles for Charles VI. This offered a wide-ranging discussion of the laws of warfare based upon the Tractatus de bello, de represaliis, et de duello, written by Giovanni da Legnano in 1360.69 Bovet also wrote another important treatise, the Apparicion Maistre Jehan de Meun, completed in 1398, which included a lengthy discussion of the failures of contemporary French knighthood. Copies were given to Duke Louis d’Orléans, his wife Valentine, Jean de Montaigu and Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy.70 Between 1386 and 1389 Philippe de Mézières composed Le songe du vieil pelerin for King Charles VI, a wide-ranging didactic work offering detailed military advice that echoed his plans for a new crusading order, La chevallerie de la Passion de Jhesu Christ. Then, at the end of his life, Mézières composed two important letters, the first calling upon the English king, Richard II, to support peace with France to facilitate a crusade, and the second, in 1397, to make sense of the disastrous failure of the Nicopolis crusade the previous year.71 Eustache Deschamps (d. c.1406/7) studied law at the University of Orléans but was never credited with a degree, and instead served as a messenger and then as a huissier d’armes (royal sergeant-at-arms) to Charles V and to his son, Charles VI. As a self-appointed court poet, he wrote extensively about chivalry and warfare, influenced in part by his experience of serving in the wars in Flanders.72 Christine de Pizan explored chivalry and warfare from a wide range of perspectives in a series of treatises. After her earlier writing of ballads and the allegorical dimensions of chivalric virtues in her educational text the Epistre Othea (1400), she presented King Charles V as an exemplar of kingship and of chivalric behaviour in the biography Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V (1404), and then commented at length on kingship, 69 70 71

72

Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, and Giovanni da Legnano, Tractatus de bello, de represaliis et de duello, ed. T. E. Holland (Oxford, 1917). Bovet, Medieval Muslims, Christians and Jews in Dialogue. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin; A. H. Hamdy, ‘Philippe de Mézières and the New Order of the Passion (part II): the sources’, Bulletin of the Faculty of the Arts of Alexandria University, 18 (1964), 1–105; M. J. A. Brown, ‘Philippe de Mézières’ Order of the Passion: an annotated edition’ (PhD dissertation, University of Nebraska, 1971); Philippe de Mézières, Letter to King Richard II: A Plea Made in 1395 for Peace between England and France, ed. G. W. Coopland (Liverpool, 1975); Une epistre lamentable et consolatoire adressée en 1397 à Philippe le Hardi, duc de Bourgogne, sur la défaite de Nicopolis (1396), ed. P. Contamine and J. Paviot (SHF, Paris, 2008). Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps publiées d’après le manuscrit de la Bibliothèque nationale, ed. A. H. E. Queux de Saint-Hilaire and G. Raynaud (SATF, 11 vols., Paris, 1878–1903).

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chivalry and warfare in a series of didactic treatises: Le livre du corps de policie (1407), Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (1410) and Le livre de la paix (1412).73 The didactic works in particular belonged to a wider tradition of mirrors for princes, including the great translations prepared for King Charles V, as well as other treatises such as the Arbre de batailles. During the fifteenth century a number of royal officials offered extremely important contributions to these debates. Around 1419 the anonymous pamphlet Débats et appointements combined a highly practical set of suggestions for military reform, almost certainly written by a soldier, with an extremely partial account of the legal debates over the French royal succession, perhaps by a different author.74 Jean de Montreuil wrote two major treatises on the war with the English, A toute la chevalerie (1409–13) and the Traité contre les Anglais (1413–16).75 An even more prominent notary and secretary was Alain Chartier, whose wide-ranging discussions of chivalry and warfare included Le breviaire des nobles (post-1415), the Livre des quatre dames (1416), the Quadrilogue invectif (1422), Le debat du herault, du vassault et de villain (pre-1422), Ad detestacionem belli gallici (1423), De vita curiali (1425–8), the Dialogus familiaris amici et sodalis (1427) and Le livre de l’espérance (1428).76 Jean Juvénal des Ursins (d. 1473) served as an avocat du roi, and was successively bishop of Beauvais and then Laon, and archbishop of Reims. He wrote a series of important treatises, including Audite celi (1435), Loquar in tribulacione (1439) and Tres crestien, tres hault, tres puissant roy (1446).77 Meanwhile, the court of Charles VII’s brother-in-law René brought together a number of artists and writers, including Antoine de La Sale (d. c.1460/1), author of the famous romance Jehan de Saintré. Antoine was the illegitimate son of a mercenary captain named Bernard de La Sale, who had fought variously for the English, Bertrand du Guesclin and Louis I, duke of Anjou. Antoine de La Sale enjoyed a long career as a soldier and a diplomat in the service of René and his father, Louis II, and also wrote La salade (1442–4), a long didactic treatise for René’s son Jean, duke of Calabria, that included extensive discussions of warfare and 73

74 75 76 77

Christine de Pisan [Pizan], Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, ed. S. Solente (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1936–40); Corps du policie; Fais d’armes et de chevalerie; The Book of Peace. My next monograph will offer a study of Christine de Pizan’s writings on warfare and chivalry. L’honneur de la couronne de France: quatre libelles contre les Anglais (vers 1418–vers 1429), ed. N. Pons (SHF, Paris, 1990), 17–79. Montreuil, Opera, II. A toute la chevalerie was a French version of his Latin treatise Regali ex progenie, written in 1408. Alain Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, ed. E. Droz (2nd edn., Paris, 1950); The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier; Les œuvres latines d’Alain Chartier . Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins.

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chivalry. When Antoine was dismissed by René, in 1448, he joined the court of Louis de Luxembourg, count of St Pol, under whose patronage he wrote another didactic treatise, La sale (1451), and a treatise on tournaments, the Traité des anciens tournois et faictz d’armes (4 January 1459).78 Finally, the most important French soldier to commit his experiences to writing before the advent of printing was Jean de Bueil (d. 1477). A veteran of the wars of King Charles VII, Bueil had served with Jean II, duke of Alençon, and Étienne de Vignolles before being appointed admiral of France in 1450. He served as royal lieutenant on the Gascon frontier and was commander of the army that defeated John Talbot and the English at Castillon in 1453. When he fell out of favour with King Louis XI, Bueil used this enforced retirement to pen Le jouvencel (1461–8), a remarkable fusion of didactic work and allegorical military romance or roman à clef, to which Guillaume Tringant added a commentary between 1477 and 1483.79

Moral reform and discipline The most common reaction from writers to the disasters affecting France during the period of the Hundred Years War was a very traditional appeal for moral reform, aimed not only at the aristocracy but often at the whole of society. Throughout the Middle Ages, clerical writers and preachers had consistently complained about the moral weakness, pride and vainglory of the aristocracy and the corruption of courtly life. In the twelfth century Bernard de Clairvaux had contrasted the decadence and effeminacy of courtiers with the discipline of true knights, such as the members of the Order of the Temple, and John of Salisbury had compared the perils of the court to the infamous fountain of Salmacis, which robbed men of their masculinity and transformed them into women.80 When moralists complained about the corrupting and weakening effect of the court, they were highlighting a fundamental tension that existed at the very heart of chivalric culture, between the ideals of the courtier and of 78

79 80

Oeuvres complètes d’Antoine de La Sale, ed. F. Desonay (2 vols., Liège, 1935–41); La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, and Le réconfort de Madame de Fresne, édité d’après les manuscrits 10748 et II 7827 de la Bibliothèque royale de Bruxelles, ed. I. Hill (Exeter, 1979); S. Lefèvre, Antoine de La Sale: la fabrique de l’oeuvre et de l’écrivain, suivi de l’édition critique du Traité des anciens et nouveaux tournois (Geneva, 2006), 299–324. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, suivi du commentaire de Guillaume Tringant, ed. L. Lecestre (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1887–9). See Bernard de Clairvaux, Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae, 216, and John of Salisbury, Policratici, I, 329–30.

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the warrior. Chivalric literature was always ‘divided over the question of what male heroism consists of. Does it have its roots in physical or sexual aggression, or in the mastery of appearances, of words, and sentiments. . . [the] “effeminate”?’81 As a result, it was natural to look towards the corrupting effect of court as an explanation for the failure of knights as warriors.82 It is no surprise, then, that this was a persistent concern throughout the period of the Hundred Years War. For example, the Grandes chroniques de France presented the French defeat at Crécy in 1346 as a divine punishment inflicted upon the French nobility for their pride, greed and immorality, manifested in their interest in indecent clothing and fashion.83 In the letter of foundation for the Company of the Star, issued on 6 November 1351, King Jean II characterized his new chivalric order as an effort to inspire French knights to abandon idleness and vanity, and thereby recover the renown of the knights of old.84 These were central themes in Charny’s Livre de chevalerie, a work that addressed precisely the concerns that Jean II had raised regarding the failings of contemporary French knighthood and the need for a return to the customs and ideals of the past. For example, Charny inveighed against the dangers posed by sloth and decadence, warning of the dangers posed by soft beds, good food and wine.85 It was ironic, then, that an English force seized the castle at Guînes while the Neapolitan captain, Giacomo Bozzuto, was enjoying the festivities at Saint-Ouen during his initiation into the new Company of the Star.86 In practice, the Company of the Star was a failure. The original plan was for 500 members, but only around 100 individuals attended the first and only meeting, on 6 January 1352. At the battle of Mauron, on 14 August, many of the members died, and afterwards increasing tensions amongst the aristocracy, particularly between Jean II’s favourite, Charles d’Espagne, and Charles de Navarre may have made it impossible for Jean II to try to elect new members, before the defeat at Poitiers in 1356 put a final end to the project.87 Nevertheless, concerns about the decadence and softness of French knighthood remained a commonplace throughout

81 82 83 84 85 86 87

Putter, ‘Arthurian literature and the rhetoric of “effeminacy”’, 35. Keen, ‘Huizinga, Kilgour and the decline of chivalry’, 6–7. Les grandes chroniques de France, ed. J. Viard (SHF, 10 vols., Paris, 1920–53), IX, 285. Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, 178–9, 184–5, (in general) 167–210. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 122–4. Philippe de Mézières referred to this in 1389, when attacking lavish feasts: Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 318. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 206–7, and Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, 181–4, 190–3.

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the Hundred Years War, as French armies suffered one defeat after another. After Poitiers, François de Monte-Belluna composed his Tragicum argumentum de miserabili statu regni Francie (1357).88 Like Monte-Belluna’s work, the chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette offered a scathing condemnation of the moral degeneracy of the French aristocracy. The author repeatedly attacked the value placed upon fashion by knights and squires, including the wearing of beards, hoods and girdles encrusted with precious stones and silver, and hats bearing the plumes of birds, and their unseemly interest in gambling and games. Such self-indulgence provided an ugly and hypocritical picture when the aristocracy were stealing taxes from the ordinary people of France.89 More importantly, this provided a clear explanation for military disasters, and also the uprising of peasants in the Jacquerie. The chronicle was framed by the prophecies of Jean de Roquetaillarde, who had predicted that the haughtiness and luxury of the French aristocracy would be punished, and this clearly came to pass with the defeat at Poitiers.90 Thirty years later Honorat Bovet contrasted the behaviour of contemporary soldiers with ancient times, when knights had been able to endure all manner of hardships because they were used to eating beans, bacon and coarse meats, and had slept outside in the open, drinking clear water rather than wine.91 Similarly, Eustache Deschamps repeatedly attacked the nobility, and society in general, for greed and for a general malaise. In a ballad composed before an expedition to Scotland in 1385, Deschamps suggested that this was an opportunity for men who dressed as extravagantly as brides and were able to talk with ease about great deeds of arms finally to put such ideas into practice and to win real honour. He therefore called upon them to recover the lost honour of France, and to worry more about bravery than their fine clothes.92 Similarly, in La fiction du Lyon, he criticized the delicate lifestyles of the French knights, though, when remembering the hard times that he had personally endured while on military campaign in Flanders, he was rather more forgiving about the 88

89 90 91 92

See A. Vernet, ‘La Tragicum argumentum de miserabili statu regni Francie de François de Monte-Belluna’, Annuaire-bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de France, Années 1962–1963 (1963), 103–63, and ‘Documents nouveaux sur François de Monte-Belluna’, Annuairebulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de France, Année 1969 (1969), 73–108. Also see F. Autrand, ‘La déconfiture: la bataille de Poitiers (1356) à travers quelques textes français des XIVe et XVe siècles’, in P. Contamine, C. Giry-Deloison and M. H. Keen (eds.), Guerre et société en France, en Angleterre et en Bourgogne XIVe–XVe siècle (Lille, 1991), 93–121. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 184–5, 237–8. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 234–7. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 871 [ch. 199]. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, I, 156–7.

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good food and wine offered by his homeland.93 In his Lay de vaillance, he criticized the youth of his day for preferring to sleep late in the morning, eating too much fine food and worrying so much about their hair, clothes and jewellery. In contrast, ‘anciens chevaliers’ worked hard to develop their skills, learning from older knights and testing themselves on long journeys.94 The defeat of the crusade at Nicopolis in 1396 gave an added edge to such criticisms.95 Honorat Bovet even presented a Saracen as an expert witness, to explain the failures of French knighthood, contrasting the austerity of his people with the decadence and indulgence of the Christian soldiers.96 For many writers, such as Michel Pintouin, the author of the Chronique de Saint-Denis, the only viable explanation for the disaster at Nicopolis was arrogance, indiscipline and licentiousness on the part of the French men-at-arms.97 Pintouin reported a sermon that an Augustinian monk, Jacques Legrand, had delivered in front of the queen on Ascension Day in 1405, denouncing the moral weakness of all French society. Legrand claimed that Venus ruled at the court, decrying the debauchery that corrupted the morals of all, but in particular made the knights and squires effeminate, stopping them from taking part in military expeditions and making them fear being disfigured by injuries.98 In the aftermath of the disaster at Agincourt, Alain Chartier launched a scathing attack upon the French soldiers who had caused the defeat, voiced by ladies whose lovers had participated in the battle. One of these women contrasted the bravery of her lover, who had died in the battle, with the disloyal and weak cowards who had abandoned the royal family and falsely left them to their fate. She denounced these traitors who boasted and drank wine, were skilled in games and slept in soft beds, but knew how to avoid the heat of battle.99 Another lady in the poem was the lover of one of these cowards, whose flight had caused the deaths or capture of thousands of nobles. She described their decadence as a form of treason.100 Meanwhile, Pierre Cochon argued that the defeat at 93 94 95 96 97

98 99 100

Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, VIII, 247–338, V, 58–9. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 214–26. E. Gaucher, ‘Deux regards sur une défaite: Nicopolis (d’après la Chronique de Saint-Denis et le Livre des faits de Boucicaut)’, Cahiers de recherches médiévales, 1 (1996), 93–104. Bovet, Medieval Muslims, Christians and Jews in Dialogue, 88–96. Also see Mézières, Une epistre lamentable. See Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, II, 484–6, 496–8, 504, 510, and the more defensive views of Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 103–4. Also see Gaucher, ‘Deux regards sur une défaite’. Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, III, 269. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 224–6. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 275, 281.

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Agincourt was due to the pride of the French, who had believed that the might of their nobles would be enough to secure victory.101 In the aftermath of Henry V’s conquest of Normandy, Michel Pintouin gave voice to the city of Rouen, which condemned the knights of France for failing to protect them, claiming that the soldiers lacked courage and had gloried too much in looting, gambling and boasting, as a result of which they had become a laughing stock.102 In Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil took up the theme, as he described the journey of his hero from the hard but honourable world of a soldier to the more dangerous and corrupting world at court, inveighing against chevaliers de chambre and the softness of contemporary knighthood.103 The complaints of these writers regarding the decadence and softness of French knighthood during the late Middle Ages have resonated with modern scholars, especially as the terrible military disasters of the period took place against a backdrop of a courtly society in which clothing, ritual and games were becoming increasingly elaborate and self-indulgent.104 Just four years after the disaster at Nicopolis, King Charles VI founded a Cour amoureuse, with 600 members and a ‘prince’, Pierre de Hauteville. According to its very formal charter, issued on 6 January 1400, the court was to hold regular festivities at which poems would be presented, commending knightly service to women and honouring and praising ladies; status within the institution was supposedly to depend upon the nobility of one’s heart and lifestyle, rather than ancestry, power, wealth or one’s reputation for bravery.105 Two years later Boucicaut established the order of the Escu vert a la dame blanche (the White Lady with the Green Shield), a chivalric order dedicated to the defence of the honour of women.106 Elaborate courtly events remained commonplace throughout the fifteenth century, as demonstrated by a pair of matching manuscripts owned by the wives of Charles d’Orléans and Jean d’Angoulême. Each volume contained courtly poems, and both were personally signed by a large circle of friends, including René d’Anjou 101 102 103 104

105 106

Chronique normande de Pierre Cochon, 274. Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 307. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 114. For example, Kilgour has denounced the increasing aristocratic interest ‘in the pleasure of castle and court life [rather] than in military duties’: R. L. Kilgour, The Decline of Chivalry as Shown in the French Literature of the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, 1937), 17. C. Bozzolo and H. Loyau (eds.), La Cour amoureuse dite de Charles VI (3 vols, in 2, Paris, 1982–92), I, 35–45. D. Lalande, Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut (1366–1421): étude d’une biographie héroïque (Geneva, 1988), 93–4; also see Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 164–71.

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and Antoine de La Sale – guests at a great evening of poetry reading that took place in the middle of the fifteenth century.107 In practical terms, though, the real danger for French society in the late Middle Ages was not the decadence and softness of the knightly class but their violence and brutality. Even Jean Froissart, the great chronicler of chivalry, raised questions about knightly violence, especially when it was directed towards civilians, such as in his accounts of the sieges of Calais (1347) and Limoges (1370).108 Indeed, in the later books of his Chroniques and his revisions to earlier materials, Froissart increasingly explored the distance between the high ideals of knighthood and the brutal reality of contemporary warfare and politics.109 He was not content merely to describe the reality of knightly behaviour but, rather, sought to advocate a higher standard, articulated and justified through the idealistic and romantic models that he was narrating. His Chroniques offered a complicated mixture of celebration of prowess, bravery and adventure, along with thought-provoking discussion of the consequences of violence and the victims of war. Meanwhile, the same commentators who raised concerns about the decadence and softness of the aristocracy also inveighed against the brutality of soldiers. For example, the chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette repeatedly complained about the behaviour of violent freebooters and brigands who plagued the highways of France, and protested about the failure of the aristocracy to protect the people from not just the English but also the marauding soldiers, robbers and thieves, who picked upon defenceless travellers and peasants.110 In Le songe du vergier (1378), probably written by Jean Le Fèvre, abbot of Saint Vaast, the clerk said that it was the duty of soldiers to guard and defend the whole country, denouncing French knights who were doing the opposite.111 Eustache Deschamps decried those soldiers who were supposed to defend France against her enemies but instead robbed and pillaged. These men called themselves men-at-arms, but acted like enemies in stealing and driving the peasants from their lands.112 He warned the soldiers that they were 107 108 109 110 111

112

Alain Chartier, The Quarrel of the Belle Dame Sans Mercy, ed. and trans. J. E. McRae (London, 2004), 28–32. See page 198 below. P. F. Ainsworth, Jean Froissart and the Fabric of History: Truth, Myth and Fiction in the Chroniques (Oxford, 1990), 261–4, 268, 305. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 245–6. See Le songe du vergier: édité d’après le manuscrit Royal 19 C IV de la British Library, ed. M. Schnerb-Lièvre (2 vols., Paris, 1982), I, 15, and also see P. Chaplais, ‘Jean Le Fèvre, abbot of Saint-Vaast, and the Songe du vergier’, in C. Richmond and I. Harvey (eds.), Recognitions: Essays Presented to Edmund Fryde (Aberystwyth, 1996), 203–28. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, I, 159–60; also see I, 309–10.

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damning themselves and observed that, in ancient times, brave men had behaved completely differently.113 Philippe de Mézières gave voice to the complaints of the poor labourers who paid taxes but did not receive protection, especially from French men-at-arms and pillagers. War made them serfs, subject to taxes, pillage and servitude, and oppressed not just by the English but by their own lords.114 During the reign of King Charles VI, Jean Gerson preached similar themes in his famous sermons to the royal court.115 For example, in his sermon Vivat rex, delivered on 7 November 1405, Gerson described the soldiers as preying upon the people like wolves upon lambs, and concluded that France was more ravaged by the king’s knights than by the enemy. He imagined a poor and starving family made destitute by taxes, and then confronted by pillagers who demanded ransom.116 In 1439 Jean Juvénal des Ursins addressed a letter, Loquar in tribulacione, to King Charles VII, again giving voice to the suffering of the French people, especially in his diocese of Beauvais, at the hands of both English and French soldiers. He warned that royal soldiers were acting like tyrants and thereby alienating their own people.117 Commentators were often careful to describe the soldiers who were committing such acts of violence as robbers, pillagers, soldiers, routiers and écorcheurs, implying that true knights would not behave in such a fashion. In other words, the writers were attempting to draw a rhetorical distinction between the honourable and chivalrous knight, who served the community and the king, and the routier, who fought for his own interests and committed acts of illicit violence. Thus, in Le songe du vieil pelerin, Philippe de Mézières argued that men-at-arms who fought for the king against his enemies were true knights, whereas low-born routiers, such as the Breton Geoffroy Tête-Noire, were not knights at all and were even more cruel than Saracens. Knights should fight for the Church, for their lord and for the people, and defend those who were oppressed as well as the common good of the kingdom of France. Violence for other ends was contrary to the law and discipline of true knighthood.118 The challenge, of course, was to define the precise nature of the law and discipline of true knighthood. Philippe de Mézières was far from clear on this question, though he did list fifteen rules that combined 113 114 115 116 117 118

Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 179, (in general) 171–82. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 455–6. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1100–23, 1137–85. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1170–1. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 307–12. See Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 530–2, II, 387, and Letter to King Richard II, 126; also see pages 217–27 below.

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practical advice for a military commander waging war with issues of military discipline in the modern sense of that term.119 A more legalistic approach to the ‘discipline de chevalerie’ was voiced by Honorat Bovet in the Arbre des batailles, a treatise that tried to define a clear legal framework for knightly violence. Modern commentators on the history of the laws of war often regard the Arbre des batailles as a straightforward window into late medieval thinking on the matter.120 Yet Bovet was not simply describing the accepted rules governing warfare, but actively challenging those bad customs that had developed over time. In support of this reformist goal, he both used the rhetorical distinction between true knighthood and mere robbery and pillage, and also invoked the notion of older rules governing the behaviour of knights and soldiers, citing, for example, the ordinance of true knights and the ancient custom of noble warriors who had upheld justice, the widow, the orphan and the poor.121 Whereas Philippe de Mézières was vague about the origins of knighthood, citing the importance of teachings on this subject by the Assyrians, Jews, Romans and Greeks, Bovet focused upon the Romans.122 Echoing a commonplace idea, Bovet claimed that the knightly class had originated in Roman times when 1,000 men, the ‘milites’, had been selected to protect the common good. This enabled him to connect the ancient customs of knighthood with Roman law, as he argued that the military offices of the constables and marshals followed in the footsteps of the Roman magistri militum.123 The idea of the ‘discipline de chevalerie’ was a commonplace for the French commentators during this period, often alluding to the notion of rules and laws controlling and limiting the violence of knights, albeit with less precision than Bovet. For example, in his appeal to Charles VII in 1439, Loquar in tribulacione, Jean Juvénal des Ursins complained about the fact that royal troops were not obeying their commander and the military ordinances, and hence did not enjoy the ‘discipline de chevalerie’.124 Jean de Bueil argued that obedience by soldiers was necessary for a country to flourish, and therefore called upon true soldiers to recognize that it was in their own interest to obey the ordinances of war.125

119 120 121 122 123 124 125

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 509–20. See, for example, S. C. Neff, War and the Law of Nations: A General History (Cambridge, 2005), 69–71. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 835 [ch. 169]. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 524–5. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 752–3 [ch. 76], drawing upon Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 18, which had cited Digest, 49.16 (‘De re militari’). Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 408–9. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 155–7.

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Thomas Basin said that an army without order or discipline was not just useless but the source of all brigandage, crime and wickedness.126 Of course, the ‘discipline de chevalerie’ could also refer to the personal self-control required to overcome decadence and the temptations of courtly life.127 In other words, chivalric discipline offered a rhetorical solution to the twin problems of decadence and brutality. Thus, in Vivat rex, Jean Gerson presented Roman discipline and training as a solution to the problems affecting the ‘estat de chevalerie’. On the one hand, the Romans had proved the value of living frugally and moderating the consumption of wine and food. Individuals such as Marius, Augustus, Cato and Fabricius were sober in their diet and their dress, while Metellus dismissed the servants from the army that fought against Jugurtha, forcing the soldiers to cook their own meals and carry their own equipment. This self-discipline maintained combat effectiveness and allowed the swift movement that was so central to military success, as Caesar and Du Guesclin had demonstrated. Yet Gerson emphasized that discipline also meant obedience to the prince and to the captain in the army.128 Similarly, Christine de Pizan reported Valerius Maximus’ comments that Roman children were taken from their mothers as soon as they could endure hardship, and made to exercise and learn to wear armour. She noted that they were not fed dainty foods nor given fancy clothing like the aristocrats of her day, and slept on hard beds, woke early and endured all the discomforts of a soldier’s life.129 She also emphasized, though, that the Roman love of discipline also meant obedience to the rules and ordinances, all of which served as the foundation of the Roman victories and success.130 In the Enseignements paternels (c.1440), Hugues de Lannoy (d. 1456) recommended the model of the Romans, who exemplified the discipline of knighthood, offering illustrations and examples drawn from antiquity; he argued that honour was unattainable without virtue, and chivalry without discipline.131 126 127

128 129 130 131

Thomas Basin, Histoire de Charles VII, ed. and trans. C. Samaran (CHFMA, 2 vols., Paris, 1933–44), II, 25. The same is true of the concept of disciplina in Roman martial culture. See S. E. Phang, Roman Military Service: Ideologies of Discipline in the Late Republic and Early Principate (Cambridge, 2008). Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1137–85; also see 1100–37 (Veniat pax). Pizan, Corps du policie, 58–9 [II, ch. 2]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 62–3 [II, ch. 5]. See Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy: voyageur, diplomate et moraliste, ed. C. Potvin (Louvain, 1878), 456–7, and also see B. Sterchi, ‘Hugues de Lannoy, auteur de l’Enseignement de vraie noblesse, de l’Instruction d’un jeune prince et des Enseignements paternels’, Le moyen âge, 110 (2004), 79–117.

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The central importance of the Romans as a model for knightly discipline, training, loyalty and service had been a long-standing theme in the Middle Ages. They were championed, for example, by John of Salisbury, who had called for a revival of Roman discipline and training, designed to increase military readiness but also to reinforce an ethic of public service, channelling noble aggression away from banditry and towards the defence of the Church and the public sphere.132 The use of Roman models by French writers also echoed Italian commentators such as Giovanni da Legnano, Leonardo Bruni and Niccolò Machiavelli, who were themselves responding to very similar problems to those affecting France.133 Moreover, this reflection upon Roman ideas and models was amplified by the increasing influence of humanist scholarship in late medieval France.134 Petrarch himself had championed the application of lessons from Roman military history to the problems affecting France. In 1361 he had written to Pierre Bersuire, prior of the abbey of Saint-Eloi in Paris, arguing that Roman military virtues offered the key to French victory over the English.135 Classical writings were the foundation for the reforms advocated by Gerson and other Valois writers such as Christine de Pizan, Antoine de La Sale and their peers. Perhaps the most famous classical treatise expressing such Roman ideas was the Epitoma rei militaris, written by Flavius Vegetius Renatus between AD 383 and 450.136 These notions were also reflected in a wide range of classical texts, however, which were increasingly accessible in vernacular translations by the late Middle Ages. For example, the stories of great Roman military successes had been recounted in French in two works from the early thirteenth century, the Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César and Li fait des Romains, which drew upon the writings of Caesar, Suetonius and Lucan.137 In addition, Bersuire himself had translated the Livre de Tytus Livius de hystoire roumaine (1354–6), adding notes and commentary as well as a glossary of eighty

132 133 134

135

136 137

John of Salisbury, Policratici, II, 21–4, 34–7 [VI, chs. 8–9, 13]. See pages 276–7 below. C. D. Taylor, ‘The ambivalent influence of Italian letters and the rediscovery of the classics in late medieval France’, in D. Rundle (ed.), Humanism in Fifteenth-Century Europe (Oxford, 2012), 203–36. Francesco Petrarca, Letters on Familiar Matters: rerum familiarum libri XVII–XXIV, trans. A. S. Bernardo (Baltimore, 1985), 240–1 (XXII, 13); C. Samaran and J. Monfrin, ‘Pierre Bersuire: prieur de Saint-Eloi de Paris (1290?–1362)’, Histoire littéraire de la France, 39 (1962), 297–9. See Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 251–348, and also see Chapter 7. Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César (Estoires Rogier), ed. M. de Visser-van Terwisga (2 vols., Orléans, 1995–9); Li fet des romains, compilé ensemble de Saluste et de Suetone et de Lucan, ed. L.-F. Flutre and K. Sneyders de Vogel (2 vols., Paris, 1937–8).

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terms, using manuscripts and information supplied by Petrarch and scholars at Avignon.138 Between 1375 and 1379 Simon de Hesdin translated the first four books of Valerius Maximus as the Faits et dits dignes de mémoire, heavily influenced by the Latin commentaries written between 1327 and 1342 by Dionigi di Borgo San Sepolcro, a friend of Petrarch and teacher of Boccaccio. This translation was then completed by Nicolas de Gonesse around 1400–1, adding a gloss.139 It is not surprising, then, that, when Jean Gerson recommended a list of twenty-two books for the Dauphin, he included not only Vegetius and Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum but also Valerius Maximus, Titus Livy, Suetonius and Frontinus.140 Of course, the Roman models also underlined the importance of loyalty, obedience and service to the common good. These were especially significant themes in the context of the civil divisions and conflicts that plagued France in the late Middle Ages. Indeed, writers consistently championed a rhetoric of national unity and loyalty to the unambiguous authority of the Valois monarchy.141 In the middle of the fourteenth century François de Monte-Belluna argued in the Tragicum argumentum de miserabili statu regni Francie that the divisions within the royal house were at the root of the wars that divided France.142 Mounting tensions between the Armagnacs and Burgundians led Christine de Pizan in 1405 and 1410 to address letters to Charles VI’s queen, Isabeau of Bavaria, and to Jean, duke of Berry, calling upon them to bring an end to the civil war that threatened the ruin of cities and the destruction of towns, castles and fortresses.143 The second letter was written on 23 August 1410, months after the dukes of Berry, Brittany, Orléans and the counts of 138

139 140

141

142 143

See Samaran and Monfrin, ‘Pierre Bersuire’, 358–414, and G. Billanovich, ‘Petrarch and the textual tradition of Livy’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 14 (1951), 137–208, together with Translations médiévales, II, 250–3. Translations médiévales, II, 253–5. J. Verger, ‘Ad prefulgidum sapiencie culmen prolem regis inclitam provehere: l’initiation des dauphins de France à la sagesse politique selon Jean Gerson’, in D. Boutet and J. Verger (eds.), Penser le pouvoir au moyen âge (VIIIe–XVe siècle): études d’histoire et de littérature offertes à Françoise Autrand (Paris, 2000), 427–40. N. Pons, ‘Ennemi extérieur et ennemi intérieur: la double lutte des défenseurs du futur Charles VII’, Memini, 3 (1999), 91–125; C. Bozzolo, ‘Familles éclatées, amis dispersés: échos des guerres civiles dans les écrits de Christine de Pizan et de ses contemporains’, in A. Kennedy (ed.), Contexts and Continuities: Proceedings of the IVth International Colloquium on Christine de Pizan (Glasgow, 21–27 July 2000), Published in Honour of Liliane Dulac (3 vols., Glasgow, 2002), I, 115–28; Mühlethaler, ‘Une génération d’écrivains “embarqués”’, 15–32. Vernet, ‘La Tragicum argumentum, 123. Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, 86. Also see R. Blumenfeld-Kosinski, ‘Enemies within/enemies without: threats to the body politic in Christine de Pizan’, Medievalia et Humanistica, new series, 26 (1999), 1–15.

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Alençon, Armagnac and Clermont had signed an alliance in Gien, and taken to the field against the Burgundian Duke Jean sans Peur and his allies. Paraphrasing Lucan, Christine denounced those noble knights and squires who used to defend the crown and the common good, but were turning upon one another, father against son and brother against brother.144 Christine de Pizan was not the only voice to deplore the collapse into civil war.145 For example, Jean Gerson preached a sermon entitled Veniat pax on 4 November 1408, asking the dauphin to forgo any attempt to avenge the murder of Louis d’Orléans.146 Calls for unity under Valois leadership became even stronger after the alliance between the English and the Burgundians, and the Treaty of Troyes in 1420. Supporters of the dauphin, the future King Charles VII, employed the rhetoric of unity and loyalty as propaganda to rally Frenchmen behind their cause.147 At this time of profound division within France, writers increasingly championed the importance of love for the kingdom and patriotism.148 For example, in the poem Desolatio regni Francie (1420), Robert Blondel sought to rally support for the dauphin on the eve of the Treaty of Troyes. Lamenting the murder of the duke of Orléans in 1407, the Paris uprising of 1418 and the English conquest of northern France, Blondel called for a return to the virtues of the past. He spoke eloquently about his love for his country and compared it to a fire that could not be extinguished from his heart.149 Similarly, Alain Chartier raised these themes in a series of works, most notably in Le quadrilogue invectif (1422), in which he spoke of his ‘amour naturel’ for France and offered 144 145

146

147

148

149

See Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, 86–7, and Bozzolo, ‘Familles éclatées, amis dispersés’, 123–4. In 1407 Nicolas de Clamanges completed an oratio entitled Ad gallicanos principes dissuasio belli civilis, in which he warned of ‘bellum domesticum, bellum intestinum, bellum familiare, bellum consanguineum’. Paris, BNF MS latin 4909, fos. 22v–24v. Of course, Gerson was also the most public opponent of Jean Petit’s attempt to defend this murder as ‘tyrannicide’. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1005–30, X, 171–9. Moreover, he denounced the massacres perpetrated by the Burgundians in Paris in May and June 1418 as treason. G. Ouy, ‘Gerson et la guerre civile à Paris: la Deploratio super civitatem’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge, 71 (2004), 255–86. Pons, ‘Ennemi extérieur et ennemi intérieur’, 91–125, and ‘Intellectual patterns and affective responses in defence of the Dauphin Charles, 1419–1422’, in Allmand, War, Government and Power in Late Medieval France, 60–4; Bozzolo, ‘Familles éclatées, amis dispersés’, 115–28. J. Cerquiglini-Toulet, The Color of Melancholy: The Uses of Books in the Fourteenth Century (Baltimore, 1997), 99, 154. Also see D. Delogu, Allegorical Bodies: Power and Gender in Late Medieval France (Toronto, forthcoming). N. Pons and M. Goullet, ‘Robert Blondel, Desolatio regni Francie: un poème politique de soutien au futur Charles VII en 1420’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge, 68 (2001), 340.

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a plea for unity against the English not only between political factions but also across classes.150 In this work, France herself declared that all her people had a natural duty to protect their native land and the ‘commun salut’, just as animals defended their own lairs.151 In Le ditié de Jehanne d’Arc (1429), Christine de Pizan cited the arrival of the Pucelle as evidence for God’s support for both France and Charles VII, and therefore not only put pressure on the king to live up to his responsibilities, but also called upon all Frenchmen to rally behind his leadership, including those Parisians and other rebels who had previously refused to support him.152

Leadership Lurking behind such debates about the failings of the late medieval French aristocracy was a much more sensitive and acute problem of leadership. Repeated English military successes on the battlefields of France challenged the status and authority of the Valois monarchs.153 The capture of King Jean II at the battle of Poitiers in 1356 created the political instability that formed the backdrop not only for the Jacquerie but also for the political machinations of Charles de Navarre and Étienne Marcel.154 Similarly, the madness of Charles VI from 1392 onwards triggered intense political in-fighting between the princes of the blood that escalated into the intense civil war between the Armagnacs and Burgundians, and denied France a military leader to match Henry V.155 Faced by such profound challenges, Valois writers were inevitably forced to reassess the role of monarchs as leaders in times of war. Traditionally, chivalric culture had emphasized the role of kings as warriors leading from the front, as embodied in France by

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151 152 153

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Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif. Also see Laidlaw, ‘Alain Chartier and the arts of crisis management’, 39, 50, and R. Blumenfeld-Kosinski, ‘Alain Chartier and the crisis in France: courtly and clerical responses’, in C. Huber and H. Lähnemann (eds.), Courtly Literature and Clerical Culture (Tübingen, 2002), 214. Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 11–12, 64. France had also complained in Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 168–70. Christine de Pizan, Le ditié de Jehanne d’Arc, ed. and trans. A. J. Kennedy and K. Varty (Oxford, 1977). J. Hoareau-Dodinau, ‘Les fondements des préférences dynastiques au XIVe siècle d’aprés quelques lettres de rémission’, in La ‘France anglaise’ au moyen âge: actes du 111e Congrès national des sociétés savantes, Poitiers, 1986 (Paris, 1988), 113–21. Cazelles, Société politique, noblesse et couronne. Famiglietti, Royal Intrigue; Guenée, Un meurtre, une société.

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Charlemagne, Philippe Augustus and St Louis.156 Both Jean Le Bel and Jean Froissart had criticized Philippe VI for his reluctance to fight against Edward III, and praised Jean II for his bravery even in a losing cause at Poitiers.157 At the baptism in 1372 of Charles V’s second son, Louis, the future duke of Orléans, Bertrand du Guesclin placed the baby’s hand upon the hilt of his sword as constable, and called upon God to give the boy a good heart, so that he might become as worthy and good a knight as any king of France who had ever carried a sword.158 Meanwhile, Edward III and Henry V had played a key role in the English successes on the battlefield, and, in turn, their personal military success had underpinned their power and authority as monarchs. Indeed, the French were only too aware of the power of Edward III’s legacy. In Le songe du vieil pelerin, Philippe de Mézières presented King Richard II as a young man surrounded by black boars, the pro-war aristocrats inspired by the successes of his grandfather.159 As the disastrous consequences of the capture of Jean II became increasingly clear, however, Valois writers questioned more and more the wisdom of a king risking life and limb on a battlefield.160 Jean de Montreuil applauded Philippe VI for having wisely fled the battlefield of Crécy, and criticized Jean II for failing to do the same at Poitiers.161 Christine de Pizan acknowledged that the presence of the king could give heart to an army, citing the precedents set by Alexander the Great, Clovis, Charlemagne and even Charles VI,162 yet she argued nonetheless that the ruler should avoid battle except against rebellious subjects, lest he be captured, dishonouring him, his blood and his subjects, and also causing great harm to his country. Charles V therefore deserved praise for reconquering lands without moving from his throne.163 As an

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157 158 159 160

161 162

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G. M. Spiegel, ‘Les débuts français de l’historiographie royale: quelques aspects inattendus’, in F. Autrand, C. Gauvard and J.-M. Moeglin (eds.), Saint-Denis et la royauté: études offertes à Bernard Guenée (Paris, 1999), 395–404. See pages 142–3 and 180–1 below. Delachenal, Histoire de Charles V, IV, 451–2. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 395. Such concerns were not completely new. In 1306 Pierre Dubois had advised both King Philip VI and his eldest son not to take personal roles in the crusade that Dubois advocated, warning that the risks and danger were too great. Pierre Dubois, De recuperatione terre sancte: traité de politique générale, ed. C.-V. Langlois (Paris, 1891), 111–4. Montreuil, Opera, I, 327. Charles VI had taken part in the battle of Roosebeke on 27 November 1382, against the Flemish rebels led by Philip van Artevelde. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 33 [I, ch. 6], and also see Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 163–4. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 131–2, 242–44, and Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 33–5 [I, ch. 6].

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abridgement of the chronicle of Monstrelet famously remarked, it was better to lose a battle than a king, because losing a king could lead to the loss of the kingdom.164 Any other commander could be ransomed or avenged by the king if he were captured. According to such thinking, Charles VII did well to abandon his original plan to lead the French army that fought the English at Verneuil in 1424, even if this did hand an advantage to the rival commander, Bedford.165 Instead of emphasizing battlefield leadership by the king, Valois writers increasingly stressed the deeper importance of strategy and planning, using prudence, wisdom and learning to map out the path to victory in warfare. This accorded naturally with the wider context of royal and ducal patronage for intellectual writings. Capetian and Valois kings, as well as leading princes of the blood such as the dukes of Orléans, Burgundy and Berry, were all strong patrons of an intellectual culture that increasingly featured vernacular writings, including didactic treatises on kingship, government and society.166 Many of these were works on the subject of warfare and knighthood. For example, Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris had been translated into French in 1284 by Jean de Meun, the first of four major translations produced in late medieval France.167 The Epitoma rei militaris had also been an important source for the discussion of warfare in most of the famous mirrors for princes, including the Policraticus (1159), written by John of Salisbury and translated for King Charles V by Denis Foulechat in 1372, as well as Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum (c.1280), which was rendered into French by Henri de Gauchi in 1282.168

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165 166

167

168

Paris, BNF MS français 5365, fol. 50v: ‘[C]ar mieulx vault perdre bataille que roy, car pour perdre roy se pert royaume.’ Froissart dramatized this issue in the form of a debate within the royal council of Charles VI over whether the king should personally lead an expedition to Germany, in Froissart (SHF), XIII, 12–6. M. K. Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil (17 August 1424): towards a history of courage’, War in History, 9 (2002), 400. L. Delisle, Recherches sur la librairie de Charles V, roi de France, 1337–1380 (2 vols., Paris, 1907); G. Doutrepont, La littérature française à la cour des ducs de Bourgogne (Paris, 1909); J. Chapelot and E. Lalou (eds.), Vincennes aux origines de l’état moderne (Paris, 1996); G. Ouy, La librairie des frères captives: les manuscrits de Charles d’Orléans et Jean d’Angoulême (Turnhout, 2007). See Jean de Meun, ‘Li abregemenz noble honme Vegesce Flave René des establissemenz apartenanz a chevalerie, traduction par Jean de Meun de Flavii Vegeti Renati Viri Illustris Epitoma Institutorum Rei Militaris’, ed. L. Löfstedt (AASF, series B 200, Helsinki, 1977), and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 152–68, together with pages 249–50 below. Denis Foulechat, ‘Tyrans, princes et prêtres: Jean de Salisbury, Policratique IV et VII’, ed. C. Brucker (Le moyen français 21, Montreal, 1987), Le Policratique de Jean de Salisbury (1372): livres I–III, ed. C. Brucker (PRF 209, Geneva, 1994), Le Policratique de Jean de Salisbury (1372): livre V, ed. C. Brucker (PRF 242, Geneva, 2006); Henri de Gauchi, Li livres du governement des rois: A XIIIth Century French Version of Egidio

Leadership

49

Works such as the De regimine principum also provided indirect access to Aristotelian ideas on key ethical and hence knightly values, such as honour, courage and mercy, which were made more accessible when Nicole Oresme (d. 1382) translated Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics into French in 1374.169 There were also other military manuals, such as a translation of a brief treatise on the art of war written in 1326 in Greek and then Latin by Theodore Paleologus, second son of the emperor of Constantinople and marquis of Montferrat. The translation by Jean de Vignay was dedicated in 1335 to King Philippe VI as a guide for a planned crusade.170 A more influential work was the Strategemata of Frontinus, written after AD 84, which Vegetius himself had used as a source for the Epitoma rei militaris, and which was also used by Simon de Hesdin and Nicolas de Gonesse when they translated Valerius Maximus’ Facta et dicta memorabilia into French. Between 1422 and 1425 Jean de Rouvroy (d. 1461) prepared a fuller translation of Frontinus for King Charles VII.171 In 1378 Jean Le Fèvre (d. 1390), abbot of Saint Vaast, completed Le songe du vergier, a translation of the Somnium viridarii, a vast discussion of the powers of Church and state written by Évrart de Trémaugon (d. 1386) for King Charles V just two years earlier. These two encyclopaedic works provided important discussions of the canon and civil law debates framing the wars with the English, as well as just war theory, duelling, heraldry, nobility and mercenaries.172 The patronage of works of political and military science, along with a wide range of other genres and disciplines, served to underline a very clear image of the king as a prudent, wise and well-counselled ruler. In 1358 Pierre Bersuire praised Jean II as a prince who possessed great cleverness (‘engin’), and thus offered him a translation of Livy’s history of Rome, which provided information on the way in which the Romans had built their empire.173 Such notions were particularly useful for Jean’s heir, Charles V, who could not take personal control

169

170 171 172 173

Colonna’s Treatise De regimine principum, Now First Published from the Kerr MS, ed. S. P. Molenaer (London, 1899). Nicole Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote: Published from the Text of MS 2902, Bibliothèque royale de Belgique, with a Critical Introduction and Notes, ed. A. D. Menut (New York, 1940), and also see A. D. Menut, ‘Maistre Nicole Oresme: Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote, published from the text of the Avranches Manuscript 223’, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, new series, 60 (1970), 1–392. Jean de Vignay, Les enseignements de Théodore Paléologue, ed. C. Knowles (Modern Humanities Research Association Texts and Dissertations 19, London, 1983). See pages 250–1 below, and also see Translations médiévales, II, 196, 254–5. See Somnium viridarii, ed. M. Schnerb-Lièvre (2 vols., Paris, 1993–5), and Le songe du vergier; also see footnote 111 above. Samaran and Monfrin, ‘Pierre Bersuire’, 359–60; also see Translations médiévales, II, 250–2.

50

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of military matters lest he be captured by the enemy like his father.174 In 1404 Christine de Pizan completed Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V, a biography of the late king commissioned by Jean sans Peur, duke of Burgundy, ostensibly as a model of kingship for the Dauphin, Louis de Guyenne. The book argued that, even though Charles V had never been directly tested on a battlefield, he was nevertheless both a military leader and a model of knighthood (‘chevalerie’) because of his prudence and courage.175 This prudence came from his own innate wisdom, but also from the advice and counsel of learned scholars and his reading of great books. Indeed, she praised his patronage of a range of important books, including Vegetius, Valerius Maximus, Titus Livy and John of Salisbury. 176 Christine also praised the king’s choice of Bertrand du Guesclin as constable, echoing the advice of both Vegetius and Giles of Rome to appoint those who were expert in warfare, experienced but also willing to listen to counsel, and fiercely dedicated to the service of the common good.177 Eustache Deschamps had repeatedly praised Du Guesclin as the supreme man of war, wise and successful in his undertakings for the king.178 Similarly, Jean Juvénal des Ursins remembered Charles V as a king who had had a reputation for understanding, prudence and courage, but had also depended upon reliable captains such as Bertrand du Guesclin, Olivier de Clisson and Louis de Sancerre.179 The reassessment of the military and chivalric leadership of the king also raised important questions about military leadership by the aristocracy. If monarchs needed to be prudent and counselled by experts, so too did captains. Christine de Pizan drew upon Vegetius to argue that military commanders had a duty to be wise and well advised in their duties (‘saiges et avisez en leur office’).180 Such wisdom did not need to be acquired through book learning. Christine emphasized that military leaders ought to have been chosen for their experience, gained through the continual exercise of arms, because, as Vegetius had argued, 174 175 176 177 178 179 180

See pages 246–7 below. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 132–3, 243 [II, chs. 10, 39]. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 42–9, 50–2 [III, chs. 12–13, 15]. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 184–7; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 36–9 [I, ch. 7]. See, for example, Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 27–8 (item 206), 69–70 (item 239), 324–35 (item 312), X, xxxv–xxxvii, lxxvi–lxxvii, lxxix Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 226–8. Pizan, Corps du policie, 70 [II, ch. 9]; also see Flavius Vegetius Renatus, Epitoma rei militaris, ed. M. D. Reeve (Oxford, 2004), 85–7 [II, ch. 9].

Conclusion

51

experience was more important than age as an indication of skill in warfare.181 This in turn raised questions about the wisdom of automatically giving the highest positions of military command to those of highest status, rather than greatest experience or skill. After all, at disastrous battles such as Crécy, the most senior positions had been held by the king and princes of the blood.182 In Le debat du herault, du vassault et de villain (pre-1422), Alain Chartier highlighted the importance of wisdom and experience for captains, and also warned that these were not the automatic prerogative of those of high birth.183 Meanwhile, the flourishing genre of chivalric biographies served to emphasize the importance of the acquisition of practical skills and experience, in order to develop the ability to serve as a military commander and also as a lord with wider political responsibilities.184 Such delicate and careful comments both echoed and justified subtle changes within the French royal army. Improvements in military fortunes had depended most heavily upon the appointment of highly skilled commanders such as Du Guesclin, Boucicaut, Richemont, La Hire and Brézé, individuals who owed their position more to their practical skill and experience than their ancestry. In 1445 Charles VII’s military ordinances appointed captains who were commissioned to select the best troops from the companies and to supervise the disbandment of the remainder. This put an end to the notion of nobles in charge of regional troops, and established the idea of paid officers of the crown. As Solon has noted, ‘For the commanders the responsibilities were particularly great. Experience in the lower echelons of the profession gave the future commanders their best preparation.’185

Conclusion Modern military historians attribute the French military difficulties in the Hundred Years War to a range of practical factors, from tactical changes that gave dismounted men-at-arms and infantry the upper hand against cavalry charges to structural, financial and logistical advances that 181 182 183 184 185

See Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 36–7 [I, ch. 7]; also see Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 57 [II, ch. 23]. C. Schnerb, ‘Vassals, allies and mercenaries: the French army before and after 1346’, in A. Ayton and P. Preston (eds.), The Battle of Crécy, 1346 (Woodbridge, 2005), 269–70. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 430–1. The best example is the career of Le jouvencel, which paralleled that of the author: Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil. P. D Solon, ‘Popular responses to standing military forces in fifteenth-century France’, Studies in the Renaissance, 19 (1972), 93.

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enabled the English to match the French for over a century. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, however, commentators did not have this level of understanding of the crises, and instead viewed these disasters in moral terms, accusing the aristocracy of becoming soft and decadent. Their solutions most often focused upon the reaffirmation of idealized knightly values. Echoing the constant themes of estate literature, preachers and writers argued that the French nobility had become vaingloriously preoccupied with the maintenance of outward show and their lavish style of living, at the expense of true chivalric discipline. Rather than offering a modern analysis of the structural problems that underpinned these crises, medieval writers tended to advocate traditional notions of moral and personal reform. Indeed, for many, the only viable solution lay in the adoption of Roman values of discipline, loyalty and service to the crown and to the public weal. Nevertheless, such commentaries were not entirely divorced from the practical reality of martial culture in late medieval France. Ideas of discipline and service, and in particular Roman models of chivalry in which soldiers served the commonweal and in which the sovereign and his lawyers had ultimate say over the rules of warfare, both reflected and also helped to justify important military reforms enacted by the crown throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.186 Throughout the course of the Hundred Years War, Valois rulers repeatedly attempted to impose stronger military structures and greater discipline. For example, on 30 April 1351 King Jean II issued a military ordinance setting out a clearer organizational structure for the army, regular musters and specific rules against desertion, as part of a wide programme of reform that also included the establishment of the Company of the Star.187 Following the resumption of war in 1369, the new military strategy against the English was carried out by a French army of Grandes Compagnies, given official sanction by Charles V in an ordinance issued on 13 January 1374. Whereas previous French armies had been characterized by feudal service, collected for a limited time under the traditional banners and pennons, the new force was a professional army, more or less permanent, grouped into companies and placed under the command of the constable – Bertrand du Guesclin from 1370 to 1380.188 Unfortunately, the permanent army developed by Charles V did not survive the financial crisis of the first years 186

187 188

Contamine, Guerre, état et société; ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XIVe siècle: la France au rythme de la guerre’, in Corvisier, Histoire militaire de la France, I, 125–52; ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XVe siècle’, 171–208. See Construire l’armée française, I, 63–7, and pages 31–2 above. See Contamine, ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XIVe siècle’, 145, and Construire l’armée française, I, 75–9.

Conclusion

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of Charles VI’s reign, and as a result the army of Charles VII after 1422 was very different from that of his grandfather Charles V, or even his father. Knights were no longer the majority of the cavalry forces.189 Many captains of the companies were from the lesser nobility, often bastards, and the unwillingness of many French nobles to join the royal army required the use of volunteers, including foreigners from Italy, Spain and especially Scotland.190 This provided the context for the profoundly important military reforms that Charles VII introduced between 1439 and 1445, creating the Compagnies d’Ordonnance, a standing army that, for a short time at least, re-established France as one of the foremost military powers in western Europe.191 These complex military reforms were both echoed in and justified by contemporary writings on knighthood in warfare, and in particular the stress that the Valois authors placed on discipline, prudence, leadership and military science. Of course, the creation of the Compagnies d’Ordonnance and the defeat of the English in 1453 did not put an end either to debates about knighthood and warfare or indeed the problems of military discipline in France. Many writers defended the Companies as an effective means with which to enforce the royal monopoly over all military force, and certainly a better option than the disorder that would occur if the king were unable to control the soldiery.192 Their numbers increased under Louis XI, though, so that by the time of his death – in 1483 – there were 3,992 lances in forty-three companies, comprising almost 16,000 combatants. This placed a significant and increasingly unpopular tax burden on the people of France, if not the nobles, who were exempted. There was therefore a great outcry against both the unlawful activities of the soldiers who formed the Companies and the permanent taxation and requirement to provide food and lodging to support them, all of which was increasingly regarded as a form of tyranny and the most tangible representation of the Valois monarchy.193 189 190 191

192 193

Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 272. See Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 255–61, and ‘La Guerre de Cent Ans: le XVe siècle’, 193. See Construire l’armée française, I, 88–105, Contamine, Guerre, état et société, and ‘Structures militaires de la France et de l’Angleterre au milieu du XVe siècle’, in R. Schneider (ed.), Das spätmittelalterliche königtum in europäischen Vergleich (Sigmaringen, 1987), 319–34, together with P. D. Solon, ‘Valois military administration on the Norman frontier, 1445–1461: a study in medieval reform’, Speculum, 51 (1976), 91–111. See, for example, Chronique de Mathieu d’Escouchy, ed. G. du Fresne de Beaucourt (3 vols., Paris, 1863–4), I, 58–60. P. S. Lewis, ‘Jean Juvenal des Ursins and the common literary attitude towards tyranny in fifteenth century France’, Medium Aevum, 34 (1965), 114–16; Solon, ‘Popular responses to standing military forces’.

2

Honour

Honour, fame and glory were presented as the most valuable prizes to be won by those who lived up to the ideals of knighthood.1 Chivalric culture constantly emphasized the importance of impressing other people, from their peers to future generations who would read about them in chronicles and other records.2 Inevitably, however, there were complex debates about precisely how knights should earn respect. In the modern world the term ‘honour’ is often used as a synonym for virtue, as we imagine the truly honourable individual to be selfless and outstandingly moral. In the Middle Ages chivalric writers certainly tried to link honour to ethical behaviour, and increasingly to service to the crown and to the commonweal. Nevertheless, the rules of the game of honour are also defined by social groups themselves, influenced but not necessarily driven by the ideas of intellectuals and high culture. Moreover, the attempt by medieval churchmen to identify honour with virtue and service also reflected a fundamental tension within knightly culture between the ideals of Christianity, on the one hand, and a society and community that placed so much stock in the earthly value of reputation. Finally, there can be no doubt that chivalric honour was fundamentally bound up with physical violence, as knights and men-at-arms were encouraged to win respect through demonstrations of prowess and courage, and also to defend themselves against shame and humiliation. 1

2

Historians of chivalry have often cited the ideas of the anthropologist Julian Pitt-Rivers, including ‘Honour’, in D. L. Sills (ed.), International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences, vol. VI (New York, 1968), 503–11; also see J. G. Peristiany and J. Pitt-Rivers, ‘Introduction’, in J. G. Peristiany and J. Pitt-Rivers (eds.), Honor and Grace in Anthropology (Cambridge, 1992), 1–17. It is important to note that there are severe criticisms of his theoretical framework, as summarized by C. Stewart, ‘Honor and shame’, in N. J. Smelser and P. B. Baltes (eds.), International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences, vol. X (Oxford, 2001), 6904–7. This is not to imply that questions of honour and shame, and concern over reputation, were the exclusive province or concern of the aristocracy. See, for example, T. Fenster and D. L. Smail (eds.), Fama: The Politics of Talk and Reputation in Medieval Europe (Ithaca, NY, 2003).

54

Chivalric honour

55

It would be dangerous, though, to dismiss honour as an entirely negative force within chivalric culture. Knightly reputations also depended upon more socially constructive qualities such as largesse and, in particular, the keeping of oaths and promises, all of which formed the bonds that held chivalric society together. Chivalric honour The reputations, status and public standing of aristocrats in the high and late Middle Ages depended above all upon wealth and ancestry.3 Yet there were also powerful expectations about the way in which they would behave – namely the social norms or ideals that individuals were expected to follow if they wished to be honoured and respected by their peers, but also to avoid shame, humiliation and the loss of face. As Keen has stated: The key note of this aristocratic value system was honour. Honourable living, in war and at court, in danger and at dalliance, was the theme around which the authors of the romantic literature of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries had woven their didactic fictions; and those fictions. . .nurtured what we call chivalry and courtliness into a framework embracing virtually every facet of noble existence.4

That honour was so central to the chivalric world should come as no surprise, given its central importance in all warrior cultures, and indeed perhaps all societies.5 This is not to say, of course, that medieval knights were honourable in the way that that term is used in modern English, when it is often presented as a synonym for virtue and moral worth.6 In an ideal world, the most moral individuals would always be the most honoured and respected. In reality, judgements about reputation are not always made according to strict ethical standards, and many actions and qualities may be honoured even though they are not strictly moral or even legal. Honour is based upon social norms, which are the informal 3

4

5 6

See S. H. Rigby, ‘Approaches to pre-industrial social structure’, in J. Denton (ed.), Orders and Hierarchies in Late Medieval and Renaissance Europe (Basingstoke, 1999), 6–25, and English Society in the Later Middle Ages: Class, Status and Gender (Basingstoke, 1995), 181–205. M. H. Keen, ‘Chivalry and the aristocracy’, in M. C. E. Jones (ed.), The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. VI, c.1300–c.1415 (Cambridge, 2000), 219–20. Also see Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 3. M. G. A. Vale, War and Chivalry: Warfare and Aristocratic Culture in England, France and Burgundy (London, 1981), 1. See, for example, A. Welsh, What is Honor? A Question of Moral Imperatives (New Haven, CT, 2008), and K. A. Appiah, The Honor Code: How Moral Revolutions Happen (New York, 2010).

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rules that develop organically amongst social groups, and may be shaped by general principles such as laws or the Ten Commandments, but are not necessarily the same thing as legal and moral norms.7 Moreover, honour may be a universal concern in human societies, but this does not mean that different groups always regard the same actions or behaviour as either honourable or shameful.8 While it may be true that all warrior societies have cared about honour, medieval chivalric notions of honour were not quite the same, for example, as those for Japan during the contemporary Edo period, despite the assumptions made by early twentieth-century commentators on ‘bushido’, such as Inazo Nitobe.9 Honour is not so much a universal concept as a ‘conceptual field’, within which specific social groups determine which actions and behaviour are worthy of respect, and how public esteem will be communicated and expressed.10 The values of any social group, and often the identity of the social group itself, are far from constant and rarely defined with any clarity. Honour and shame are determined in practice by unwritten rules and criteria on how to function and to win respect in society, a habitus that everyone within the group understands and absorbs through observation of the clues offered by what other people say and do.11 Indeed, there is always an inherent ambiguity in honour and shame, given the wide range of behaviour, conduct and moral judgement that they can encompass, which poses a challenge for outsiders, particularly historians, seeking to understand and recover such ideas.12 Ikegami’s remarks about Japanese Samurai culture seem appropriate here: The fact that the samurai’s honor culture cannot be reduced to a neatly codified formula does not mean that no social code existed. The living form of any honor culture always remains an indeterminate position between formula and formlessness. In part, it was socially determined; in part, socially defined. More 7

8

9 10 11

12

S. Bagge, ‘Honour, passions and rationality: political behaviour in a traditional society’, in F. Englestad and R. Kalleberg (eds.), Social Time and Social Change: Perspectives on Sociology and History (Oslo, 1999), 122–3. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 51: social norms are inevitably ‘so affected not only by different values across cultures, but also by the spin individuals in each culture are willing to give it, that universals, if such there be, end up being too unspecified and unnuanced to be very interesting’. Inazo Nitobe, Bushidō: The Soul of Japan: An Exposition of Japanese Thought (Philadelphia, 1899). Peristiany and Pitt-Rivers, ‘Introduction’, 4. See E. Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (Garden City, NY, 1959), and Interaction Ritual: Essays in Face to Face Behavior (Chicago, 1967); P. Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge, 1977 [1972]), and The Logic of Practice, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge, 1990 [1980]). B. Wyatt-Brown, The Shaping of Southern Culture: Honor, Grace, and War, 1760s to 1890s (Chapel Hill, NC, 2001), 296.

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specifically, though there was always a tacit social agreement on the definition of samurai honor, it could be reinterpreted by a particular individual’s will, physical strength, and strategies in the game of honor.13

In chivalric society, the group granting honour and respect, and therefore determining what was honourable or shameful, consisted of a knight’s peers. A chivalric life was lived in front of those men with whom one competed for honour and status, and from whom one sought rewards and other marks of respect. This audience was a shifting, complex network of individuals, most immediately those men who shaped one’s career. On the one hand, a knight would value the opinions and marks of respect offered by older men of superior rank, who provided him with the opportunities to continue to build his name. Geoffroi de Charny began his career under the constable of France, Raoul I de Brienne, count of Eu, and subsequently served Charles de Blois, Humbert II, dauphin de Viennois, and the duke of Normandy, the future King Jean II.14 Marshal Boucicaut earned the love and respect of the duke of Bourbon,15 while Jean de Bueil began his career under the guidance of four older knights, including Étienne de Vignolles.16 In addition, the opinions of a knight’s equals would be paramount, particularly those loyal companions and supporters with whom relationships were marked by the exchange of gifts and oaths of loyalty.17 Chivalric rituals provided a stage upon which to measure and to flaunt one’s worth. Geoffroi de Charny observed that feasts were opportunities to display and to assess one’s reputation in front of an audience of peers.18 In practice, of course, seating arrangements were usually determined by the social hierarchy of the gathering.19 During the great feast or Eretisch held by the Teutonic knights during the Reisen, however, up to twelve places of honour at the high table were given to those men from foreign countries who had achieved the most notable deeds of arms, while the best warriors also received badges bearing the motto ‘Honneur vainc tout!’.20 Similarly, the royal letters of election to the Company of the Star indicated that the three most worthy princes, three bannerets 13 14 15 16 18 19

20

E. Ikegami, The Taming of the Samurai: Honorific Individualism and the Making of Modern Japan (Cambridge, MA, 1995), 8 (emphasis in original). Contamine, ‘Geoffroy de Charny (début de XIVe siècle–1356). Lalande, Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut; also see Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre. 17 Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, x–xxix, II, 271. See pages 74–86 below. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 120–2. S. Wells, ‘Manners maketh man: living, dining and becoming a man in the later Middle Ages’, in N. F. McDonald and W. M. Ormrod (eds.), Rites of Passage: Cultures of Transition in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2004), 67–81. Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 65–6.

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and three bachelors present would be elected to sit on the ‘Table d’onnour’ during the annual banquet, in order to create a group of Nine Worthies.21 The famous motto of the Order of the Garter was ‘Shame on him who thinks ill of it’ (‘Honi soit qui mal y pense’). It is possible that this originally referred to Edward III’s claim to the French throne, while more romantic stories have associated the motto with a courtly context, ranging from the embarrassment of a lady dropping a garter to the king’s supposed rape of the countess of Salisbury. Whatever the truth, the motto serves as a measure of the importance of shame in chivalric society.22 Indeed, knightly orders and fraternities often had shaming rituals for those who failed to live up to the high standards of the group. For example, members of the Cour amoureuse of Charles VI were to be expelled from the select society if they were judged to be the enemies of honour and of love (‘d’onneur et d’amours’); their shields would be defaced in the register of the court.23 Tournaments were the most obvious events for individuals to display their abilities in front of their peers, winning renown, prizes and perhaps an opportunity to advance their careers. These events also highlighted the role of women as audiences and judges of the worth of knights. In René d’Anjou’s famous description of an ideal tournament, written around 1460, the ladies and damsels were invited to view a display of crests and banners before the start of the competition – an opportunity not only to identify the participants but also to ask for redress against any man who had insulted them. Two of the most beautiful ladies were then asked to select a worthy knight to act on their behalf in the tournament, and they would step in to protect any knight or squire who was being beaten too severely. Finally, René prescribed how the ladies would distribute prizes to the most deserving knights at the end of the tournament.24 This account reflected the importance placed upon aristocratic women as an audience for knightly honour in chivalric culture.25 Geoffroi de Charny suggested that some men would be inspired by ladies to win honour through deeds of arms, and one of the questions that he 21 22

23 24 25

See Chronique des quatre premiers Valois (1327–1393), ed. S. Luce (SHF, Paris, 1862), 23–4, and Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, 199–201. See W. M. Ormrod, ‘For Arthur and St George: Edward III, Windsor Castle and the Order of the Garter’, in N. Saul (ed.), St. George’s Chapel Windsor in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2005), 3–34, and W. M. Ormrod, Edward III (New Haven, CT, 2011), 299–308. Also see S. Trigg, ‘“Shamed be. . .”: historicizing shame in medieval and early modern courtly ritual’, Exemplaria, 19 (2007), 67–89. Bozzolo and Loyau, La Cour amoureuse dite de Charles VI, I, 38–9. René d’Anjou, Traité de la forme et devis d’un tournoi, ed. E. Pognon (Paris, 1946). Karras, From Boys to Men, 20–66.

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posed to the Company of the Star asked if two equal groups of knights were to meet on a battlefield, one inspired by ladies and the other not, which would be more motivated.26 Of course, writers did examine the relationship between honour and love. For example, in Le chevalier de la charrete (c.1177), Chrétien de Troyes famously recounted how Lancelot had endured devastating shame by riding in a cart, accepting this disgrace in order to find out information about the abducted Guinevere. This raised the question of whether it was more honourable to serve one’s lover or to worry about the scorn and reproach of fellow knights.27 Moreover, Charny did not regard love as any better a motivation for knights than a desire for financial gain. Having praised those who carried out deeds of arms in order to win the love of a lady, he still uttered his familiar refrain, ‘Qui miex fait, miex vault’, demonstrating that this was not the supreme motivation for performing deeds of arms.28 By the late Middle Ages the great chivalric events were increasingly controlled by kings and princes. Above all, this reflected the sheer extravagance and expense of such occasions, such as the series of tournaments and pas d’armes held by René d’Anjou in Nancy, Saumur and Tarrascon in the 1440s or the great Feast of the Pheasant held at Lille on 17 February 1454 by Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy.29 René and Philippe were also the founders of chivalric orders, the Orders of the Croissant and of the Golden Fleece. These offered another way in which the great princes could identify themselves as the effective controllers and arbitrators of chivalric honour.30 Knightly orders had effectively replaced the crusading orders – a simple example of the mounting influence of kings and princes within chivalric culture.31 Even without these grand institutions, though, secular rulers had always 26 27 28 29

30

31

See The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 94, and Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 135–6. Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes édites d’après la copie de Guiot (Bibl. nat. fr. 794), vol. III, Le chevalier de la charrete, ed. M. Roques (CFMA 86, Paris, 1970), 11–13. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 94. C. de Mérindol, Les fêtes de chevalerie à la cour du roi René: emblématique, art et histoire (les joutes de Nancy, le Pas de Saumur et le Pas de Tarascon) (Paris, 1993); ‘Les joutes de Nancy, le Pas de Saumur et le Pas de Tarascon, fêtes de chevalerie à la cour du roi René (1445–1449)’, in Fêtes et cérémonies aux XIVe–XVIe siècles (Neuchâtel, 1994), 187–202; M.-T. Caron and D. Clauzel (eds.), La banquet du faisan, 1454: l’Occident face au défi de l’Empire ottoman (Arras, 1997). Boulton, The Knights of the Crown; P. Cockshaw and C. Van den Bergen-Pantens (eds.), L’ordre de la Toison d’or de Philippe le Bon à Philippe le Beau (1430–1505): idéal ou reflet d’une société? (Brussels, 1996); C. de Mérindol, ‘L’ordre du Croissant: mises au point et perspectives’, in N. Coulet and J.-M. Matz (eds.), La noblesse dans les territoires Angevins à la fin du moyen âge (Rome, 2000), 499–509. See Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, and the comments in Keen, ‘Chivalry and the aristocracy’, 209–11.

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been the most important sources of honours and titles, offices and gifts, all of which enhanced the reputation, prestige and status of the recipients. More importantly, their legal authority provided the most effective means of shaming individuals, taking away not only their wealth and possessions but also their honour. There were certainly powerful incentives for kings and princes to encourage chivalric culture, given that they were themselves players in the game of honour. The reputation of rulers mattered not merely in the eyes of other monarchs but also in front of their own subjects, particularly the supporters who made up their immediate retinue. As Keen has argued, ‘If the prince wished to win the hearts and minds of nobles, it was in his interest to project himself as the one who had taken the heroes of romance as his exemplar, and to present his court as the temple of honour and himself as its fount.’32 Reigning monarchs could not go off on Arthurian quests as their knights did, but such adventures were far from the only models available, given the prominence of great commanders and leaders such as Alexander the Great, Charlemagne and Julius Caesar in chivalric culture.33 Moreover, the stories of chivalric culture often placed great emphasis upon themes of unity, loyalty and service, either to the crown or the commonweal.34 The earliest Arthurian romances were written for leading nobles rather than the French monarchy, and this may explain in part why Arthur was not initially represented as a powerful or successful king.35 Yet rulers were quick to recognize the potential represented by the stories of the Round Table as celebrations of aristocratic service to the crown and, more importantly, as warnings of the importance of unity and the consequences of internal disagreements.36 Such themes were even more powerful in other tales, especially the histories of the Romans. In short, kings and princes did exercise considerable power, as a major fount not only of patronage and justice but also of honour and respect.37

32

33 34 35 36 37

See Keen, ‘Chivalry and the aristocracy’, 220, and ‘Chivalry and English kingship in the later Middle Ages’, in C. Given-Wilson, A. Kettle and L. Scales (eds.), War, Government and Aristocracy in the British Isles, c.1150–1500: Essays in Honour of Michael Prestwich (Woodbridge, 2008), 250–66. L. Ashe, ‘William Marshal, Lancelot, and Arthur: chivalry and kingship’, Anglo-Norman Studies, 30 (2008), 19–40. For the wider context of kingship and chivalric culture, see Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 91–127. Archibald, ‘Questioning Arthurian ideals’, 139. Pearsall, Arthurian Romance, 24. The term ‘honour’ itself was originally applied to the grants by sovereigns of land or privileges to collect tax, generally in return for military service: Pitt-Rivers, ‘Honour’, 504–5.

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Nevertheless, it is important to stress that rulers never exercised a complete monopoly on the bestowal of honour and the sanctioning of reputation. Honour and respect depended upon the audience of peers, and that judgement could not be completely usurped by kings and princes, especially when their grant of honours was subject to political factors and was therefore not simply a measure of genuine reputation and worth. As Mervyn James has famously argued, ‘Honour could not be imposed by a mere exercise of royal authority; it involved admission to a group which was self-selective and self-authenticating.’38

The role of texts Chivalric writings and texts played an important but complicated role in allocating and confirming honour, as well as defining the very rules of this game. The ultimate prize was fame and glory that would be remembered and celebrated long after death.39 Charny called upon his audience to follow his advice because this would make them loved, esteemed, honoured, recognized and remembered by their friends, by their enemies and even long after their death by people who had never met them.40 He argued that the man who won true honour would have less fear of death, knowing that his worth and reputation would always survive. Thus Charny called upon all knights and men-at-arms to aspire to a place in the pantheon of chivalry, in which only one individual had ever come close to perfection: Judas Maccabeus.41 To achieve a reputation that would endure after one’s death required the assistance of others to immortalize one’s achievements. Tombs provided a powerful memorial to the reputations of great knights, especially those men, such as Louis de Sancerre, who were buried at SaintDenis alongside the Capetian and Valois kings of France.42 Being honoured by one’s enemies was also a great mark of respect, as witnessed after the battle of Crécy, when Edward III had the most important princes and knights buried in the church of Maintenay and treated the body of Jean de Luxembourg, king of Bohemia, with special respect 38 39

40 41 42

M. James, English Politics and the Concept of Honour, 1485–1642 (Cambridge, 1978), 22. On fame, see P. Boitani, Chaucer and the Imaginary World of Fame (Cambridge, 1984), the collected articles in Médiévales, 24 (1993), and B. Guenée, Du Guesclin et Froissart: la fabrication de la renommée (Paris, 2008). The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 116, 194. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 154–66. V. Jouet, ‘Louis de Sancerre, ses dernières volontés et le Religieux de Saint-Denis’, in F. Autrand, C. Gauvard and J.-M. Moeglin (eds.), Saint-Denis et la royauté: études offertes à Bernard Guenée (Paris, 1999), 197–212.

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and honour.43 Froissart noted the French lament following the death of Sir John Chandos, and the mass that King Charles VI held at the Sainte-Chapelle for the Black Prince.44 The most effective means to be remembered was through the written word, however. In his Miroir de mariage, Eustache Deschamps argued that having a family was a reasonable and intelligent way to create a legacy, but he emphasized that, in the end, renown (‘renomée’) was so transitory that writing was the most important way to be remembered. A knight would have acted in vain if his actions were not written down.45 Chronicles, biographies and heraldic accounts served as witnesses and testimony to the honour, fame and glory of prominent knights.46 The biographers of King Peter I of Cyprus and Bertrand du Guesclin claimed that these two men merited a place amongst the pantheon of Nine Worthies.47 Moreover, these authors presented their subjects as glorious and epic figures by offering their biographies in traditional verse, at a time when chivalric narratives were increasingly being written in prose.48 The Livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre was written in 1409, perhaps at the behest of Boucicaut himself, though the author claimed that it was his friends who had commissioned the work and that the marshal had refused to take part, demonstrating Boucicaut’s lack of vanity and vaingloriousness.49 The Chandos Herald offered a highly selective verse biography of the Black Prince’s life, which concluded with a note of the epitaph from his tomb at Canterbury Cathedral and a list of his leading servants, allowing them to share in the glory while also emphasizing the prince’s success as a leader of men.50 Of course, chivalric writers usually took care to demonstrate that the reputation of a worthy individual was confirmed by the judgement of his 43

44 45 46

47 48 49

50

See Froissart (SHF), III, 191, and La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald: Edited from the Manuscript in the University of London Library, ed. D. B. Tyson (Tübingen, 1975), 58–9. Froissart (SHF), VII, 207. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, IX, 9–10, 260. L. J. Walters, ‘Constructing reputations: fama and memory in Christine de Pizan’s Charles V and L’advision Christine’, in Fenster and Smail, Fama, 118–42; also see T. Fenster, ‘La fama, la femme et la Dame de la Tour: Christine de Pizan et la médisance’, in E. Hicks (ed.), Au champ des escriptures: IIIe colloque international sur Christine de Pizan (Paris, 2000), 461–77. See Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 40–4, 340, 414, and La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 216, III, 257–9. Tyson, ‘Authors, patrons and soldiers’, 111; also see La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, III, 66–7. These friends did not want their names recorded, supposedly to demonstrate that the work was not a piece of flattery: Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 10–11, 448. La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald, 164–6.

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peers, and thus not merely the view of the author alone.51 For example, Guillaume de Machaut championed King Peter I of Cyprus in La prise d’Alexandrie, written shortly after his death in 1369. Machaut was careful to provide concrete evidence of Peter’s international fame, describing not only the respect paid to him by other Christian princes and kings during his tour to rally support for his crusade but also the fact that the Saracens compared him to Julius Caesar and were so afraid of him that they were willing to agree a treaty.52 Most important of all, though, were the loyalty and admiration owed to him by his own nobles and knights from Cyprus, who served to reflect glory upon Peter.53 Despite the feigned humility of those chivalric writers who presented themselves as merely recording the judgement of the knightly community, chroniclers, and particularly biographers, were undoubtedly publicists for their subjects. They deliberately constructed their narratives to highlight honourable deeds of arms, actions and qualities, and, more importantly, to shape their audience’s reactions to more ambiguous matters that could be construed in an honourable or shameful light – such as military defeats, tactical withdrawals from battle, or violence meted out towards enemies or prisoners.54 Furthermore, they often presented their narratives as inspiration for younger knights and squires. In the prologue to the Chroniques, Jean Froissart famously offered his account of the deeds of arms to young men, encouraging them to aspire to emulate such accomplishments and thereby to win honour and fame.55 In the late 1450s the anonymous Débat des hérauts de France et d’Angleterre declared that the reports of heralds ought to be proclaimed and published in order to incite princes and knights to undertake great exploits in pursuit of lasting fame and renown.56 Shame was an even more powerful weapon with which to shape aristocratic values and behaviour. Chivalric writers constantly warned their aristocratic audiences to be on their guard against embarrassment,

51 52 53 54 55

56

S. K. Gertz, Visual Power and Fame in René d’Anjou, Geoffrey Chaucer and the Black Prince (New York, 2010), 16–7. Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 78, 94–6, 202, 222–6. Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 112–14, 134–40. Of course, Machaut also had to recount the treacherous murder of the king by some of his leading noblemen: 396–414. For detailed discussions of examples, see Chapters 4, 5 and 7. Froissart (SHF), I, i, 2–3. Also see J. Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, trans. R. J. Payton and U. Mammitzsch (Chicago, 1996 [1919]), 75: ‘Froissart is one of the earliest to recommend bravery, without any religious or direct ethical motivation, for the sake of fame and honor and – being the enfant terrible that he is – for the sake of one’s career.’ Le débat des hérauts d’armes de France et d’Angleterre, suivi de The Debate between the Heralds of England and France by John Coke, ed. L. Pannier and P. Meyer (SATF, Paris, 1887), 1.

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shame and public humiliation.57 For example, in Lancelot do Lac, the Lady of the Lake advised the young Lancelot that a knight was not to do anything that could be regarded as dishonourable but, rather, should fear shame more than death (‘plus diter honteusse chose que mort sossfrir’).58 In a ballad describing the ideal qualities and values of a member of the order of knighthood, Eustache Deschamps declared that such a knight should keep to the path of honour so that he could not be charged with any blame.59 Hugues de Lannoy advised his son always to consider whether he was doing or saying anything that would bring shame on him or his lineage, warning him that he should fear cowardice more than the honour of death in battle.60 In short, chivalric texts were not merely reflections of the game of honour being played by knights and men-at-arms but were active contributors, shaping judgements, encouraging particular kinds of behaviour and even debating the rules themselves. Such efforts were most clearly visible in the more didactic and polemical works. For example, in the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny’s central contention was that every member of the order of chivalry should constantly strive to improve his reputation as a true man of worth, a ‘preudome’.61 Charny’s book therefore offered a guide to the qualities and achievements needed to build and to maintain a reputation as such a man of worth. In the introduction, he outlined his plan to describe the various ‘estas’ or stations of men-at-arms, past and present, all of which were ‘honorables’, but some more than others. By demonstrating the most worthy models and examples, his book inscribed the path to the highest honour – a journey framed by his motto, ‘Qui plus fait, miex vault’: the man who does more is of greater worth.62

Virtue and vainglory To be chivalrous required an audience, and that audience existed first and foremost upon earth, among one’s fellow men. Great emphasis was placed in chivalric culture upon ensuring that others were aware of a knight’s accomplishments. It was not enough to behave well; one had to 57 58 59 60 61 62

Y. Robreau, L’honneur et la honte: leur expression dans les romans en prose du Lancelot–Graal (XIIe–XIIIe siècles) (Geneva, 1981). Lancelot do Lac: The Non-Cyclic Old French Prose Romance, ed. E. Kennedy (2 vols., Oxford, 1980), I, 142–3. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, VI, 105–6. Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, 460; also see 456–7. See, for example, The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 134, 146. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 84–6.

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be seen to be doing so. For example, in the thirteenth-century prose romance Merlin, Arthur and his court accepted Merlin’s recommendation that knights recount under oath what had happened during their quests.63 According to Jean Le Bel, members of the Company of the Star were also to recount their adventures, good and bad, in order to be recorded and used to determine who was the most valorous.64 In his Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny warned knights and men-at-arms against merely performing deeds of arms for glory rather than to do right, but still maintained that all who demonstrated their prowess and bravery deserved praise and honour.65 Nonetheless, the importance of honour, reputation and glory before an audience of one’s peers did not sit easily alongside a framework of Christian ethics and the notion that humans were answerable to God, to the Church and to their own conscience. Charity, humility and selflessness with an eye towards an eternal reward in heaven were difficult to align with a love of honour, reputation and respect anchored in one’s earthly relationship and standing. Clerics were therefore very conscious of the fact that honour was not, properly speaking, a Christian virtue, and deeply concerned about the way in which competition for respect and reputation could lead to vices such as envy, pride and vaingloriousness. Indeed, they naturally questioned the appropriateness of behaviour motivated solely by the desire to impress others – that is to say, vainglory and pride.66 Thus the Church’s opposition to the early tournaments arose, in part, because these competitions were seen as encouragement to pride and self-glorification, which were sinful.67 In Arthurian stories such as the Vulgate Cycle and the prose Lancelot do Lac, the adulterous relationship between Guinevere and Lancelot was the trigger for the fall of the Round Table. The deeper cause, though, was the fact that Arthur’s knights were not worthy of the Grail, because of their attachment to the secular world of honour and glory rather than to the true values of Christianity.68 Chroniclers were also quick to blame military defeats on 63 64

65 66 67

68

Robert de Boron, Roman en prose du XIIIe siècle, publié avec la mise en prose du poème de Merlin de Robert de Boron, ed. G. Paris and J. Ulrich (SATF, 2 vols., Paris, 1886), II, 97–8. Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 204–6; also see Froissart (SHF), IV, 127, together with La queste del Saint Graal: roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. A. Pauphilet (CFMA 33, Paris, 1923), 279–80, and Lancelot do Lac, I, 298, 406, 571. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 92, 106, 124, 176–8. F. Joukovsky-Micha, ‘La notion de “vaine gloire”’. D. Carlson, ‘Religious writers and church councils on chivalry’, in H. Chickering and T. H. Seiler (eds.), The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches (Kalamazoo, MI, 1988), 141–71. See The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, Edited from Manuscripts in the British Museum, ed. H. O. Sommer (8 vols., Washington, DC, 1908–16), and Lancelot do Lac.

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pride and vanity, attributing, for example, the disaster at Crécy in 1346 not just to the arrogance and ill-discipline of the French knights under King Philippe VI but also to their deeper collapse into decadence, as they worried more about fashion than military effectiveness.69 In his letter to Richard II, Philippe de Mézières warned of the dangers of vainglory, arrogance, presumption and greed, which were inevitable threats for any great lord occupying a seat of honour.70 Nevertheless, theologians did not dismiss the importance and value of honour but, rather, sought to control it by emphasizing the importance of moderation and balance, and arguing that honour should be the reward for genuine accomplishments – virtue and service to the common good. St Thomas Aquinas had defined honour and recognition from others as the proper reward for virtue, both because the virtuous man served the common good and because honour encouraged men to do more.71 Aquinas drew heavily upon Aristotle’s notion of magnanimity, defined as the proper estimation of one’s one worth in relation to the honour that one received from others.72 Echoing this, Aquinas accepted that the human desire for glory, for praise and for honour was natural, but warned that it often originated in pride and ambition and that it could cause vice. In his discussion of vainglory, he argued that it was wrong to forget that the one true glory was that of God.73 It would be vainglorious to esteem worldly honour too highly, to seek more honour than one’s deeds merited or to desire honour for deeds that were not genuinely virtuous.74 These themes were repeatedly invoked in the writings of Christine de Pizan. The Epistre Othea laid out a programme of virtuous education for Hector, so that his renown (‘bonne renommée’) might take flight like Pegasus, the winged horse of Perseus. In her analysis of this particular image, Christine argued that the most important goal was to enter into the company of the saints in paradise, and that one should seek renown not out of vainglorious motives but, rather, for the pleasure of God.75 69 70 71 72 73 74

75

F. Autrand, ‘The battle of Crécy: a hard blow for the monarchy of France’, in Ayton and Preston, The Battle of Crécy, 273–86; also see page 35 above. Mézières, Letter to King Richard II, 125. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae (60 vols., London, 1964–75), XXXVIII, 10–14 [2a2ae. 63, article 3]. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. J. A. K. Thomson (rev. edn., London, 2004), 93–9 [IV, ch. 3]. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XLII, 142–58 [2a2ae. 132]. On the other hand, he argued that an excessive indifference to the receipt of honour would also be wrong: Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XLII, 98–112, 134–48, 156 [2a2ae. 129, articles 1–4; 2a2ae. 131, articles 102; 2a2ae.132, article 4]. Christine de Pizan, L’épistre Othea, ed. G. Parussa (TLF 517, Geneva, 1999), 209–11.

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In Le livre du corps de policie, she cited both Aristotle and Cicero in support of her central contention, that virtue was the only way to achieve honour and that praise or worldly glory was sufficient reward for virtuous deeds and excellence.76 Indeed, it could be good and even noble to desire glory in this world (‘gloire mondaine’), if this was to be won through living morally and virtuously.77 She had already argued in Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V that the remarkable worldly renown (‘renommée’) of King Charles V was the result of his virtue.78 Attempts to define honour in terms of virtue and service to the common good rather than individual pride and vainglory were most visible in accounts of the origins of knighthood. In Lancelot do Lac, the Lady of the Lake told Lancelot that knighthood was created to protect and defend the weak.79 Similarly, Ramon Llull argued that the people were originally divided into groups of 1,000, and one outstanding individual was elected from each to protect the people; each champion was given a horse, the most noble animal to serve man, and was therefore called a ‘chevalier’.80 Honorat Bovet took up this notion in the Arbre des batailles, declaring that the knightly class had originated in Roman times when 1,000 men, the ‘milites’, had been selected to protect the common good.81 In her biography of Charles V, Christine de Pizan also suggested that it would be valuable to reintroduce the original way in which members of the order of chivalry were chosen at its foundation by Romulus, who had taken the best of each 1,000 men-at-arms and called them ‘milites’.82 The increasing stress placed upon Roman history and models by late medieval Valois writers also provided an important context for redirecting and channelling notions of honour. The most obvious example of this was the repeated emphasis upon the triumph as a proper model for the community to acknowledge the worthy, publicly binding the successful soldier or general to the community as a whole.83 For example, Nicole Oresme glossed Aristotle’s notion of political and civil courage, motivated by a desire to serve the common good, by citing the Roman practice of rewarding such actions by granting triumphs and making statues of 76 77 78 80 81 82 83

Pizan, Corps du policie, 2 [I, ch. 2], 54–5 [I, ch. 33]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 83 [II, ch. 17]. 79 Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V. Lancelot do Lac, I, 142–3. Ramon Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, ed. V. Minervini (Bari, 1972), 87–8. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 626–7 [chs. 13–14]. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 116. Also see Les oeuvres poétiques de Christine de Pisan, 2–3. Beard, The Roman Triumph.

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those who had won great victories.84 Alain Chartier called upon the French to emulate the Romans, who had awarded statutes, arcs and triumphs to those who had used their virtue to increase Roman domination and the common good.85 Christine de Pizan denounced the fact that great warriors in France were treated as if they were not worth an apple, unlike ancient Rome, where warriors were celebrated for great victories.86 In Le livre du corps de policie, she explained in more detail the way in which heroes such as Fabricius, Scipio Africanus and other great generals were honoured publicly by their soldiers, the senate and the people in triumphs, drawing heavily upon Valerius Maximus and also citing Titus Livy.87 Indeed, accounts of Roman triumphs were readily available, with descriptions in the vernacular in Pierre Bersuire’s translation of Titus Livy, and Laurent de Premierfait’s translation of Boccaccio’s De casibus illustrium virorum (1409), as well as Jean Lebègue’s translation of Leonardo Bruni’s account of the Punic wars.88 It is perhaps not surprising, then, that the Bourgeois of Paris remarked that the duke of Bedford received more honour than was ever given at a Roman triumph when he entered into Paris after his victory at Verneuil in 1424.89 Of course, an emphasis upon honour as a reward for virtue also raised extremely difficult questions about the nature of nobility itself, at a time when there were already powerful economic and social pressures upon the aristocracy. Chivalric writers had traditionally linked nobility with virtue, primarily to justify the power and status of the aristocracy, but also as a subtle means to encourage a stronger association between honour and virtue.90 The notion that nobles deserved their pre-eminent position in society because virtue was the foundation of true nobility was a recurring theme for chivalric writers. Indeed, the common term ‘franchise’, which was repeatedly included in discussions of chivalric virtues and qualities, stood for this imprecise concept of good birth and virtuous behaviour. For example, Lancelot had proved that he merited his social status not simply because of his ancestry but also by virtue of his behaviour and his deeds.91 Indeed, in Lancelot do Lac, the famous knight 84 86 87 88

89 90 91

85 Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 210–11. Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 17. Les oeuvres poétiques de Christine de Pisan, I, 2–3. Pizan, Corps du policie, 19–20, 48–50, 68 [I, chs. 12, 29, II, ch. 8]. A. D. Hedeman, ‘Making the past present: visual translation in Jean Lebègue’s ‘twin’ manuscripts of Sallust’, in G. Croenen and P. Ainsworth (eds.), Patrons, Authors and Workshops: Books and Book Production in Paris around 1400 (Leuven, 2006), 173–96. Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 2001. See Keen, Chivalry, 143–61, and the essays and articles in Nobles, Knights and Men-atArms in the Middle Ages (London, 1996), 187–222. The Vulgate Version of the Arthurian Romances, III, 89, discussed by E. Kennedy, ‘Social and political ideas in the French Prose Lancelot’, Medium Aevum, 26 (1957), 102–4.

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contrasted the physical qualities, such as the agility or beauty that one inherited, with virtues such as courtesy, wisdom, loyalty and bravery, which came from the heart and could be demonstrated.92 Yet were members of the aristocracy automatically virtuous and worthy and therefore entitled to claim honour simply by right of inheritance? Although Christine de Pizan rarely questioned the status of the aristocracy, she did view honour as a matter of fundamental importance for all members of society, male or female, rich or poor.93 More abrupt was Jean de Meun in his continuation of the Roman de la Rose, when he argued that no individuals could claim honour and praise simply because they had inherited nobility from others, if they did not match the merit and prowess of their ancestors.94 In the Songe du vergier, Jean Le Fèvre argued that nobility could be inherited, but that it could also be assigned by the prince. He echoed sources such as Bartolo da Sassoferrato’s commentary on the title De dignitatibus (Codex 12.1.1) in arguing that children did not necessarily live up to the standards of their parents. For example, Cain and Abel, and the three sons of Noah, Ham, Shem and Japheth, all demonstrated that children of the same parents were not necessarily equally virtuous, while David rose from being a shepherd to become king.95 Others mounted more stout defences of old-fashioned ideas of nobility. For example, Giles of Rome agreed that virtue, rather than blood and ancestry, was the basis for true honour and nobility, but he argued that the descendants of those who were worthy and virtuous would want to live up to the standards set by their ancestors. Moreover, he suggested that nobles were subject to greater public scrutiny at court and as leaders of society, creating pressure upon them to be virtuous.96 Similarly, in his translation of Aristotle’s Politics, Nicole Oresme carefully adapted and glossed his source in order to defend the claims made for nobility. For example, whereas Aristotle had praised the virtue of the free man, which qualified him to rule, Oresme rendered the term ‘free man’ or ‘citizen’ as ‘noble’, and argued that the inheritance of such moral characteristics was the original cause from which first sprang noble lines and gentility.97 92 93

94 95

96 97

Lancelot do Lac, I, 141–2. Pizan, Corps du policie, 2 [I, ch. 2]. She did ask nobles to consider their right to such status if they failed to live up to the standards set by their parents and ancestors, for example in Corps du policie, 75 [II, ch. 13]. Guillaume de Lorris and Jean de Meun, Le roman de la rose, ed. A. Strubel (Paris, 1992), 974–80 (lines 18734–18894). See Le songe du vergier , I, 294–304; also see Somnium viridarii, I, 140–3, and M. Schnerb-Lièvre and G. Giordanengo, ‘Le Songe du vergier et le Traité des dignités de Bartole, source des chapitres sur la noblesse’, Romania, 110 (1989), 181–232. See Gauchi, Li livres du governement des rois, 135–8, and also see 379–81. Menut, ‘Maistre Nicole Oresme: Le Livre de Politiques d’Aristote’, 56–7.

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The notion that virtue is the touchstone of honour is often associated by modern scholars with the Renaissance. This was certainly an important theme developed by humanist writers. For example, in 1429 Buonaccorso da Montemagno wrote the Declamatio de vera nobilitate, recounting a debate before the Roman senate between Publius Cornelius Scipion and Gayus Flaminius. Scipion claimed the right to marry Lucretia, daughter of the senator Fulgentius Felix, because of his illustrious lineage and wealth, while Flaminius rested his case on his education, his virtue and his proven readiness to serve the state. Flaminius’ claim reflected the notion that true worth lay in virtue and the nobility of soul, taught by the studia humanitatis.98 In 1449 Jean Miélot translated Buonaccorso’s text as La controverse de noblesse, supposedly at the command of Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy, and the theme that true worth and nobility were based upon virtue was also echoed in other works such as Miélot’s Le debat de honneur entre trois chevalereux princes, a translation of a work by Giovanni Aurispa.99 It is important to note, however, that Burgundy was not the first court culture to heed the Italian, humanist debates about virtue. For example, René d’Anjou was the recipient of another Italian treatise on nobility, the Tractatus aureus de nobilitate by Giovanni Ludovico de Vivaldi.100 More importantly, French writers from Jean de Meun to Nicole Oresme, Philippe de Mézières and Christine de Pizan had been exploring these delicate and difficult questions, as part of a long-standing debate about the relationship between honour, virtue and nobility.

Violence and competition Despite the best efforts of chivalric writers to link honour and virtue, there is no doubt that knightly audiences valued and respected prowess and violence above all other behaviour and qualities.101 On the one hand, this 98 99

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Knowledge, Goodness, and Power: The Debate over Nobility among Quattrocento Italian Humanists, ed. and trans. A. Rabil (Ann Arbor, MI, 1991), 24–52. Qui sa vertu anoblist: The Concepts of ‘Noblesse’ and ‘Chose publicque’ in Burgundian Political Thought, ed. A. Vanderjagt (Groningen, 1981); also see C. C. Willard, ‘The concept of true nobility at the Burgundian court’, Studies in the Renaissance, 14 (1967), 33–48, and Vale, War and Chivalry, 14–32. The text was also translated into English by John Tiptoft; see R. J. Mitchell, John Tiptoft (1427–1470) (London, 1938), 215–41, and also see D. Wakelin, Humanism, Reading and English Literature 1430–1530 (Oxford, 2007), 160–90. G. Giordanengo, ‘Un traité de la noblesse dédié au roi René: le Tractatus aureus de nobilitate de Giovanni Ludovico de Vivaldi’, Bibliothéque de l’École des Chartes, 165 (2007), 415–52. This raises important and complicated questions regarding the gendering of honour and shame in chivalric culture, which go beyond the scope of this book.

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was a world in which the elite status of aristocracy was justified by military service, and physical victory over other knights was constantly invoked as the most important way for individuals to prove their worth. Chivalric narratives and treatises emphasized the importance of a youthful career spent building a reputation for prowess and courage in tournaments and on the battlefield, thereby earning a place in the service of a great lord who would continue to provide opportunities for further honour and glory. Eventually the knight would advance to such social standing that he could in turn support younger knights, and thereby continue to earn respect not only from these supporters but from the wider community as well.102 Many famous knights built their reputation and social standing through their skill at arms, such as Geoffroi de Charny, the grandson of Jean de Joinville, friend and chronicler of King Louis IX, and Bertrand du Guesclin, the son of a minor Breton nobleman.103 Their ancestry gave them access to these chivalric circles and the opportunity to develop their reputations and build their careers through their military success as soldiers, which in turn allowed them to acquire further wealth and status. Yet chivalric culture did not just encourage young men actively to seek honour, fame and glory through violence. The importance of honour and reputation may have also encouraged a more defensive, prickly concern to safeguard and to protect their public standing. Knights expected to be treated with respect, and therefore they would defend their reputations against any stains upon their honour, real or imaginary.104 The fear of shame and humiliation offers one of the most powerful motives for an individual to risk life or limb. Pitt-Rivers has argued that honour gives the individual compelling justification for violent actions to defend his status: ‘The ultimate vindication of honour lies in physical violence.’105 Even more strongly, Miller has remarked that ‘shame provided the very opportunity for doing those things that made one a person of honor. Nothing is more honorable than reclaiming one’s honor, than paying back affronts, humiliations, and shames.’106 To fail to respond to such shame and humiliation, in the world of chivalry, like so many other warrior societies, was regarded as a failure of manhood.107 102 103

104 105 106 107

See pages 91–8 below. See Contamine, ‘Geoffroy de Charny (début de XIVe siècle–1356)’, 107–21, and Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, 1357–1380, ed. M. C. E. Jones (Woodbridge, 2004), xv–xxxii. M. H. Keen, The Laws of War in the Later Middle Ages (London, 1965), 150. J. Pitt-Rivers, ‘Honour and social status’, in J. G. Peristiany (ed.), Honour and Shame: The Values of Mediterranean Society (London, 1965), 29. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 120. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 168; Putter, ‘Arthurian literature and the rhetoric of “effeminacy”’, 48–9: Karras, From Boys to Men, 60.

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Forgiveness could be interpreted as weakness or even effeminate behaviour by a man. Thus Jaeger has argued that attempts by clerics to encourage restraint on the part of the warrior class were opposed by the fact that ‘“maidenly modesty” meant cowardice, a sense of shame was an excuse not to fight, and politeness was a form of lying. Warrior ways were their traditions, and restraint meant effeminization and sapping the strength of their manly customs.’108 Honour would be at stake in all kinds of conflict, though the purest example might be cases stemming from slander and defamation. During the canonization trial of Charles de Blois in 1371, one knight reported that, the previous year, a Gascon named Bourt de Caumont had insulted the honour of Bretons, but was killed in a duel in front of an audience of over 400 people.109 In late medieval France, the violent defence of one’s reputation in the face of verbal attacks was regarded as a perfectly legally acceptable justification.110 The evidence of lettres de rémission clearly demonstrates that insults and inflammatory words were considered reasonable excuses for a physical response. It did not necessarily matter whether there was an actual audience for such provocations, or indeed whether the slurs were already widely held views within the community, though publicity would necessarily heighten the sense of damage represented by an affront.111 Of course, it is also necessary to recognize the difference between manly bluster and the reality of violence. Marcus Bull has observed: ‘The trappings of warfare and the language of conflict were central components of aristocratic identity, but fighting itself, especially that between members of the arms-bearing elite, was something done as little as possible; these men tended to talk a good fight rather more often than they exposed themselves to the unpredictable hazards of real warfare.’112 It was no easy thing to risk life and limb in the Middle Ages, especially given the brutality and face-to-face violence of medieval combat. There is a reason why warrior cultures need to celebrate violence, prowess and 108 109 110

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C. S. Jaeger, ‘Courtliness and social change’, in T. N. Bisson (ed.), Cultures of Power: Lordship, Status and Process in Twelfth-Century Europe (Philadelphia, 1995), 299–300. Monuments du procès de canonisation du bienheureux Charles de Blois, duc de Bretagne, 1320–1364, ed. A. de Serent (Saint-Brieuc, 1921), 247–8. P. D. Johnson, ‘Fighting words and wounded honor in late-fourteenth-century France’, in S. Hayes-Healy (ed.), Medieval Paradigms: Essays in Honor of Jeremy DuQuesnay Adams, vol. I (Basingstoke, 2005), 147. Also see F. R. P. Akehurst, ‘Good name, reputation and notoriety in French customary law’, in Fenster and Smail, Fama, 86–7. C. Gauvard, “De grace especial”: crime, état et société en France à la fin du moyen âge (2 vols., Paris, 1991), II, 734, (in general) 703–52. Bull, ‘The French aristocracy and the future’, 86.

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revenge, in order to persuade people to act contrary to their obvious selfinterest.113 Maintaining a condition of aggressiveness is not an easy thing, and so, even if chivalric culture encouraged standing up for one’s honour, this is not to say that people in practice did not find ways to avoid living up to such ideals through subtle strategies.114 Moreover, there is a danger that discussions of medieval honour, shame and violence have become contaminated by the rather different circumstances that emerged after the end of the Middle Ages. Early modern historians have stressed the importance of courtesy, civility and politeness within aristocratic society. Furthermore, they debate the extent to which codes of etiquette and polite behaviour either served to damp down the inherent fractiousness of a martial aristocracy or, instead, amplified the dangers posed by violent competition within a society that was so concerned about proper behaviour that the opportunities for insult were dramatically increased, leading to personal violence and duelling.115 Courtesy and courtliness were also important in the world of medieval chivalry.116 Writers frequently emphasized that manners and good behaviour served as a protection against shame and humiliation; the court was a dangerous place, in part, because the danger of embarrassment and public humiliation were so strong. Conduct books warned that men would lose social standing if they behaved without courtesy or demonstrated that they were not gentle and well governed.117 Thus Geoffroi de Charny emphasized that, for military men, the priority at court was to avoid shame and damage to their reputation and standing. He viewed good conduct as a necessary defence against reproach and shame, warning that those with the highest reputations would be subject to the most scrutiny.118 In other words, honourable lords and men-atarms faced a situation of eternal vigilance against shame, fearing that in one moment they might lose all that they had acquired over long years. 113

114 115

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W. I. Miller, ‘Clint Eastwood and equity: popular culture’s theory of revenge’, in A. Sarat and T. R. Kearns (eds.), Law in the Domains of Culture (Ann Arbor, MI, 1998), 165: ‘Honor cultures assumed risk averse man as the given. They thus developed elaborate means of goading, shaming, and humiliating to get people to do their dangerous duty’. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 209. F. Billaçois, The Duel: Its Rise and Fall in Early Modern France (New Haven, CT, 1990); M. Peltonen, The Duel in Early Modern England: Civility, Politeness and Honour (Cambridge, 2003); S. Carroll, Blood and Violence in Early Modern France (Oxford, 2006); Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 29–30. See Jaeger, The Origins of Courtliness, and Lemaire, Les visions de la vie de cour. A. Dronzek, ‘Gendered theories of education in fifteenth-century conduct books’, in K. Ashley and R. L. A. Clark (eds.), Medieval Conduct (Minneapolis, 2001), 150–1. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 108.

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Nevertheless, chivalric writers tended to be less concerned by the practical danger posed by challenges to one’s honour by rivals at court than by immorality and decadence caused by the weakening and degrading effects of courtly life. Charny’s warnings mostly concerned the dishonour that might ensue from indulging in too much food and wine, gambling and taking part in inappropriate sports.119 In Le curial, Alain Chartier focused upon the danger that those attending court would be forced to abandon morality in a world of courtiers who placed excessive value on reputation, and respected the wrong qualities.120 Towards the end of the Middle Ages there were writers who viewed these matters in a more practical and strategic fashion. Jean de Lannoy, for example, advised his son of the power of words to destroy an individual, warning that a courtier was what people thought of him, so that, if he had a bad reputation, then he could not exert any influence and effectively did not exist.121 Indeed, Lannoy compared words to arrows that could not be taken back.122 Yet Lannoy did not suggest that his son should take up arms himself to restore his honour in the face of such insults. Indeed, the importance of duelling as a means to restore honour in the face of embarrassment, humiliation or insult emerged in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Medieval duels were largely confined to the tournament lists or to trials by battle – a judicial procedure used to prove facts and claims rather than merely to rebalance lost honour. These trials by battle were not uncommon, but they were very different from the duels that became prevalent in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, which were heavily influenced by Italian ideas of etiquette and masculinity.123

Reciprocity and trustworthiness Too great an emphasis upon prickly honour risks overemphasizing the degree to which honour is a socially destabilizing force. Medieval society could not have functioned if the aristocracy lived in a permanent state of 119 120 121

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The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 110–16. Les œuvres latines d’Alain Chartier, 345–76. He also warned his son that his behaviour reflected upon their family name, and that he carried the burden of the reputation of their lineage. See B. de Lannoy and G. Dansaert, Jean de Lannoy le bâtisseur 1410–1492 (Brussels, 1937), 119–210, and B. Sterchi, ‘The importance of reputation in the theory and practice of Burgundian chivalry: Jean de Lannoy, the Croÿs, and the Order of the Golden Fleece’, in D’A. J. D. Boulton and J. R. Veenstra (eds.), The Ideology of Burgundy: The Promotion of National Consciousness, 1364–1565 (Leiden, 2006), 100–4. Lannoy and Dansaert, Jean de Lannoy, 128. Billaçois, The Duel, and Carroll, Blood and Violence.

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competition with one another, constantly fighting to improve their own standing at the expense of their peers. Honour did not merely encourage violence; it was also the very foundation stone of more socially cooperative values such as trust and reciprocity. Nobles and peasants alike depended upon networks of family and friends, and constantly interacted with local communities and with their social superiors and inferiors. All these relationships were different, but they depended upon cooperative qualities such as trust, reciprocity, friendship and love, all of which defined individuals’ honour and reputation every bit as much as their abilities with the lance. Martial prowess was not the only important factor in reputation and standing within a community, which must have also been affected by more socially positive qualities, led by trustworthiness and generosity. One of the most important ways in which an aristocrat could prove his reliability was to stand alongside his fellows and risk his life in their shared cause. Yet social standing and relationships also depended upon largesse and trust. The emphasis upon liberality in chivalric culture was not a celebration of selfless, philanthropic gestures. Rather, gift-giving was an expression of a social relationship that marked out both parties as honourable men.124 Exchanges of gifts between equals served as a mark of friendship and love, while demonstrating that both men were trustworthy because of their willingness to meet their obligations and to reciprocate appropriately.125 Between men of different status, gift-giving was a means for the social superior to mark out the recipient as worthy of friendship, goodwill and favour, and in return to receive loyalty, fidelity and gratitude, while also building a reputation as a man of means and generosity, and thus a worthy lord.126 There was, therefore, a powerful logic behind the celebration of generosity in chivalric texts. Chrétien de Troyes declared in Cligès that largesse was the queen and lady who brightened all virtues, and more than any other gift made a man worthy and brought him fame.127 Geoffroi de Charny emphasized that money was merely a means 124

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See M. Mauss, The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies, trans. I. Cunnison (New York, 1967 [1950]), K. Sykes, Arguing with Anthropology: An Introduction to Critical Theories of the Gift (London, 2005), and W. I. Miller, ‘Is a gift forever?’, Representations, 100 (2007), 13–22. Also see A. Cowell, The Medieval Warrior Aristocracy: Gifts, Violence, Performance and the Sacred (Woodbridge, 2007). R. Hyatte, The Arts of Friendship: The Idealization of Friendship in Medieval and Renaissance Literature (Leiden, 1994); M. J. Ailes, ‘The medieval male couple and the language of homosociality’, in D. Hadley (ed.), Masculinity in Medieval Europe (London, 1999), 214–37. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 18. Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes, vol. II, Cligès, ed. A. Micha (CFMA 84, Paris, 1970), 6–7.

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to an end for knights and men-at-arms. He advised wealthy lords to be generous, using their money to inspire and to fund younger men to achieve great deeds of arms, while those building a career needed to recognize that the goal was to win honour, rather than mere profit and wealth.128 In Lancelot do Lac, a wise man encouraged Arthur to remember the importance of largesse, warning that that no one was ever destroyed by generosity, but many had been destroyed by avarice.129 The importance of reciprocity and trust for knightly reputations was most apparent in the keeping of oaths and promises. A man’s standing and reputation within a community, whether a member of the chivalrous classes or not, depended upon his honesty and credibility. This was not merely a moral and ethical imperative, but essential for forming and sustaining a complex structure of bonds, promises and obligations when other, more formal mechanisms of safeguarding such agreements had limited power. As a result, the clearest measure of a man’s honour was whether he kept his public promises and oaths, and thereby demonstrated his trustworthiness and credibility.130 Worthy intentions were noble but less measurable than actions, which provided the most convincing evidence of an individual’s character.131 Giving one’s word by a promise or an oath was ‘performative speech’, in which saying something equalled doing it.132 Failing to keep a promise or an oath would not only incur shame but also cast doubt on one’s wider integrity and credibility. As Eustache Deschamps declared, to say one thing but do another revealed that one’s mouth and heart were not in agreement.133 The consequences of failing to keep one’s word were most obvious in a legal context, in which a man of ‘ill-repute’ or a convicted perjurer was viewed as having permanently damaged his status in front of the court.134

128 129

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The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 98, 106–8, 128–30. Lancelot do Lac, I, 288–9. Of course, gift-giving could also become competitive and antagonistic, and an unwanted or extravagant gift could impose an unwanted obligation or debt upon another person. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 17–18, 43, and Cowell, The Medieval Warrior Aristocracy, 9–10, 19. In Middle English, the term ‘trouthe’ stood for the quality of one’s word, and its standing, and was a direct measure of one’s ‘worship’. R. F. Green, Literature and Law in Ricardian England: A Crisis of Truth (Philadelphia, 1999), 9. P. C. Maddern, ‘Honour among the Pastons: gender and integrity in fifteenth-century English provincial society’, Journal of Medieval History, 14 (1998), 358–9. J. L. Austin, How to Do Things with Words (Cambridge, MA, 1975), 6, and James, English Politics and the Concept of Honour, 7–8, 15, 28. I owe a debt to the unpublished dissertation of my student Lauren Bowers for shaping my ideas on this subject: ‘Oaths of loyalty during the War of the Roses’ (MA dissertation, University of York, 2007). Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, I, 197; also see II, 62–3, where he declared that lying should not please a noble heart. R. Bartlett, Trial by Fire and Water (Oxford, 1986), 30.

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In French customary law, individuals who had destroyed their reputation by dishonesty were subjected to public shaming rituals, such as that described by Chrétien de Troyes when he explained that convicted criminals were paraded on a cart, demonstrating to everyone that they had lost their honour and could not give evidence in court.135 At Agen, witnesses who had given false testimony were paraded through the town with a skewer through their tongue.136 The importance of maintaining one’s honour by keeping oaths existed at every level of aristocratic society, from royal courts to the more mundane world of provincial society. Oaths could be made between equals, or between lords and vassals as part of the enactment of claims of deference, allegiance and authority. To be trustworthy and faithful to an oath sworn to a social and political superior was the hallmark of loyalty.137 Kings gave coronation oaths and in return received oaths of fealty and homage. For example, the English made careful use of oaths to support the Treaty of Troyes, by which King Charles VI had disinherited his own son and adopted Henry V and his heirs. When Henry and then Charles died in quick succession, the duke of Bedford demanded on 19 November 1422 that Parlement, the University and the merchants of Paris all swear oaths of loyalty to Henry VI as king of France.138 In 1435, when Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy, was considering whether to renounce his loyalty to Henry VI and join Charles VII, the duke commissioned a number of position papers by his closest counsellors in order to debate whether he might take this action without damage to his honour.139 The most overtly chivalric oaths were performed between knights. Brothers-in-arms swore oaths to each other to establish a martial, financial and legal bond between them.140 As part of the negotiations with the Armagnac party for mutual support against the Burgundians, Thomas, duke of Clarence, swore in November 1412 to serve, aid, counsel,

135 136 137 138

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See Akehurst, ‘Good name, reputation and notoriety’, 79–80, and Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes, vol. III, Le chevalier de la charrete, 11. Akehurst, ‘Good name, reputation and notoriety’, 81. Keen, The Laws of War, 186. Letters and Papers Illustrative of the Wars of the English in France during the Reign of Henry VI, ed. J. Stevenson (RS, 2 vols., London, 1861–4), I, lxxvii–lxxx. Also see N. Offenstadt, Faire la paix au moyen âge: discours et gestes de paix pendant la Guerre de Cents Ans (Paris, 2007), 278–85. See F. Schneider, Der Europäische friedenskongress von Arras (1435) und die friedenspolitik papst Eugens IV und des Basler konzils (Griess, 1919), 185–208, and J. Dickinson, The Congress of Arras, 1435: A Study in Medieval Diplomacy (Oxford, 1955), 241–4. M. H. Keen, ‘Brotherhood in arms’, History, 47 (1962), 1–17; E. A. R. Brown, ‘Ritual brotherhood in western medieval Europe’, Traditio, 52 (1997), 357–81.

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comfort and protect the honour and well-being of Charles d’Orléans. He guaranteed this promise by all the oaths that he could make as a man of worth (‘preudom’).141 Recruits to chivalric orders such as the Order of the Garter were required to swear to observe statutes, and any subsequent breach was regarded as treason and led to expulsion.142 Most famously, individual knights took oaths before setting out on military expeditions. For example, Les voeux du héron recounted the tale of the feast at which Edward III and his courtiers made spectacular oaths before the invasion of France.143 Over a century later Duke Philippe III le Bon of Burgundy held another magnificent feast at Lille, on 17 February 1454, ostensibly in support of action to assist Constantinople after its capture by the Turks the previous year. The feast was preceded by a joust, and then, at the end, a giant dressed as a Saracen led a weeping damsel (representing the Church) on an elephant, followed by a pheasant carried by the King of Arms and two knights of the Golden Fleece. All this ritual concluded with the making of extravagant vows, with individuals knights promising not to wear any armour, not to sleep in a bed or not to sit down to eat until they had performed certain deeds on crusade. Despite the extravagance of the event, there was clearly serious intent on the part of the Burgundians, and the duke did genuinely wish to go on crusade, raising taxes and encouraging more men to sign up at further meetings.144 Such grand gestures were meat and drink to chivalric chroniclers. For example, Jean de Joinville recounted the story of Geoffrey de Rançon, who swore in 1242 not to cut his hair until he had had his vengeance on Hugues X de Lusignan, count of La Marche. When Louis IX had captured and humiliated the count, Geoffrey regarded the oath as fulfilled, and so he cut his hair in front of the king.145 Froissart said that James Audley asked to be in the vanguard at Poitiers in 1356 because he

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See Choix de pièces inédits relatives au règne de Charles VI, ed. L. Douët-d’Arcq (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1863–4), I, 359, and Keen, ‘Brotherhood in arms’, 3–6, together with J. D. Milner, ‘The English enterprise in France, 1412–1413’, in D. J. Clayton, R. G. Davies and P. McNiven (eds.), Trade, Devotion and Governance (Stroud, 1994), 80–101. L. Jefferson, ‘Statutes and records: the statutes of the order’, in P. J. Begent and H. Chesshyre (eds.), The Most Noble Order of the Garter: 650 Years (London, 1999), 56; H. Collins, The Order of the Garter 1348–1461: Chivalry and Politics in Late Medieval England (Oxford, 2000), 176–8. The Vows of the Heron (Les voeux du héron): A Middle French Vowing Poem, ed. J. L. Grigsby and N. J. Lacy (GLML 86, New York, 1992). See Chronique de Mathieu d’Escouchy, II, 116–237, and Mémoires d’Olivier de La Marche, maître d’hôtel et capitaine des gardes de Charles Le Téméraire, ed. H. Beaune and J. d’Arbaumont (SHF, 4 vols., Paris, 1883–8), II, 340–94. Histoire de Saint Louis par Jean sire de Joinville, 46.

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had sworn an oath to be among the first attackers.146 Froissart also reported that John Waltham, a squire of Henry Percy, died at the battle of Otterburn in 1388 because he would not surrender, having sworn an oath at a recent feast that he would prove himself in battle, and neither surrender nor run away.147 In the Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, Cuvelier claimed that Henry of Lancaster wished to withdraw from the siege of Rennes in 1356–7, but was constrained by his oath that he would not give up until his flag was hanging from the battlements. Du Guesclin therefore allowed Lancaster to enter the town on his own in order to place his flag on the battlements, making careful effort to ensure that the people of Rennes appeared to be well supplied with food lest the Englishman realize how vulnerable they actually were.148 Chivalric writers constantly celebrated the importance of keeping one’s word. Ramon Llull said that true knights would not swear false oaths.149 In Le livre du corps de policie, Christine de Pizan identified being truthful and keeping one’s oath as one of the most important qualities in a knight, and denounced the ignoble vices of dishonesty and the inability to keep a promise.150 In chivalric romances, the importance of not breaking an oath was a constant theme, and fuelled the dramatic tension when promises and vows to ladies came into direct tension with the requirements of loyal service, as seen in the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, or Tristan’s relationship with Isolde, wife of King Mark.151 Indeed, the oath taken by the knights of the Round Table in the Vulgate Cycle of Arthurian romances was so central that loyalty usually meant obedience to this specific vow.152 Breaking one’s word and the inability to keep a promise or an oath were usually associated with youthful or even feminine inconstancy, changeability and weakness.153 In his book on tournaments, René d’Anjou reported that those guilty of lying and breaking their promises, especially in a matter of honour, were to be removed from their horses, 146 148 149

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147 Froissart (SHF), V, 33–4. Froissart (SHF), XV, 153–4. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 42–4. Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 121, and also see 148. For Charny’s similar comments, see Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 18–24. Pizan, Corps du policie, 62, 74–7 [II, chs. 5, 13]. D. Brewer, ‘The compulsions of honour’, in A. E. C. Canitz and G. R. Wieland (eds.), From Arabye to Engelond: Medieval Studies in Honour of Mahmoud Manzalaoui on His 75th Birthday (Ottawa, 1999), 88–9, and ‘The paradoxes of honour in Malory’, in A. Lupack(ed.), New Directions in Arthurian Studies (Cambridge, 2002), 40. Keen, The Laws of War, 186. See Secretum secretorum: Nine English Versions, vol. I, Text, ed. M. A. Manzalaoui (EETS os 276, Oxford, 1977), 43, 140, 221, and Four English Political Tracts of the Later Middle Ages, ed. J.-P. Genet (Camden Society, 4th series 18, London, 1977), 202.

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physically assaulted and then publicly shamed by being set on their saddles on top of the list barrier.154 Breaking an oath was commonly regarded as treason, whether it had been made to a sovereign or not, because it was a betrayal of knighthood itself. Thus members of the Order of the Garter were charged with treason if they broke their initial oaths to obey the statutes, and companions found guilty of such charges were expelled from the ranks.155 To say that keeping one’s word was central to chivalric honour, and that this was a way of developing trust and social stability, is not to argue that such systems were always stable. After all, the importance of a reputation for honouring one’s word meant that one of the most common ways of amplifying an insult was to charge the individual with deceit or lying.156 Perhaps the worst accusation that could be levelled against a knight was that he was false and did not keep his word.157 More importantly, chivalric writers placed this great stress upon keeping one’s word precisely because verbal promises were an unstable guarantee of agreements and contracts. The benefits of behaving in a trustworthy manner, and the shame of deceit and falsehood, were important incentives towards honourable behaviour, but, as Strickland has noted, the coercive force of these notions was limited: ‘Honour was ultimately a personal issue, with acceptance or rejection of convention being governed by the conscience and self-esteem of the individual.’158 In the Arbre des batailles, Honorat Bovet complained that, in his day, men-atarms had no shame or embarrassment (‘vergoigne ne honte’) about lying and breaking their word, and that treason had been rebranded as clever trickery and subterfuge (‘cauthele et subtilesses’).159 The sanction of shame was not enough to prevent individuals from breaking their word in the real world of politics and warfare. Even the great oaths that were performed as part of truces and attempts to bring a temporary or permanent end to violence and warfare were vulnerable.160 On 2 July 1419 the Dauphin Charles and Jean sans Peur, duke of Burgundy, met at the bridge by Pouilly-le-Fort near Melun and agreed a treaty of friendship. When they met again, on 10 September at

154 155 156 157 158 159 160

Paris, BNF MS français 2695, fos. 70v–72v, and see footnote 24 above. Collins, The Order of the Garter, 176–8. Johnson, ‘Fighting words and wounded honor’, 145; also see Maddern, ‘Honour among the Pastons’, 358–9. Brewer, ‘The paradoxes of honour in Malory’, 46. M. Strickland, War and Chivalry: The Conduct and Perception of War in England and Normandy, 1066–1217 (Cambridge, 1996), 124–5. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 837 [ch. 172]. Offenstadt, Faire la paix au moyen âge, 257–74.

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Montereau, the duke and Archambaud, lord of Navailles, were both murdered, despite powerful and solemn oaths that the Dauphin had taken to guarantee their safety. Following this infamous event, Charles was accused not only of murder but also of perjury, and on 3 January 1421 he was found guilty of lèse-majesté by a lit de justice, removed from the French royal succession and banished.161 When the duke of Bedford issued a challenge to Charles on 7 August 1429, he condemned him for the murder of the duke of Burgundy ten years previously, declaring it an action that was ‘contre loy et honneur de chevallerie’.162 Keeping one’s word was most difficult, but also most important, when dealing with enemies. In a state of war, trust is inevitably in short supply, even though it is also much more important as a mechanism to reduce barbarity and brutality.163 In such circumstances, honour, reputation and the trustworthiness of the enemy take on an even greater importance. In the worst case, a reputation for faithlessness and deceit may undermine any possibility of negotiation for peace. Modern theorists debate whether cooperative and altruistic behaviour is inherent in human nature, or learned behaviour, as individuals who are egotistically focused upon their own selfish interests develop strategies of cooperation because of the opportunities to share mutual benefits. A crucial question within this context is why individuals would willingly keep promises made to strangers, as opposed to members of one’s normal community. At first glance, there is much less reason to worry about telling the truth, keeping one’s word or obeying other social norms or customs in front of those with whom one has no long-standing relationship.164 Part of the explanation for overcoming such logic may be culture, as social and moral norms encourage cooperative behaviour and sanction individuals who breach such codes. Norms of fairness encourage people to ‘sacrifice what is in their rational short-term interest’ – although these norms of fairness will be context- and culture-specific.165 161

162 163

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Pope Martin V ultimately decided not to condemn the dauphin for perjury. Beaucourt, Histoire de Charles VII, I, 89–216, 328–9; Vale, Charles VII, 27–32; Guenée, Un meurtre, une société, 265–81. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 322. This conundrum has attracted a great deal of attention among economists and sociologists. See, for example, P. T. Leeson, ‘The laws of lawlessness’, Journal of Legal Studies, 38 (2009), 471–503. This is a concern for sociologists and economists focused upon rational explanations for social cooperation and game theory. See, for example, R. Hardin, Morality within the Limits of Reason (Chicago, 1988), 31–74, and ‘Norms and games’, 845–6. S. Banerjee, N. E. Bowie and C. Pavone, ‘An ethical analysis of the trust relationship’, in R. Bachmann and A. Zaheer (eds.), Handbook of Trust Research (Cheltenham,

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Such models offer extremely interesting ways of thinking about the behaviour of knights and men-at-arms in the age of chivalry. They were able to conceive of trusting one another in part because of their shared chivalric culture, and its emphasis upon honour and in particular the keeping of oaths. It is not necessary to imagine medieval warriors as extremely ‘honourable’ men, in the sense in which moralists use that term – as individuals of the highest virtue, ethics and nobility. Rather, chivalric culture celebrated the honour of keeping one’s word and being trustworthy for eminently practical reasons. Take, for example, the ransoming of prisoners. By and large, this was motivated less by romantic notions of chivalry and mercy than more prosaic financial gain. Captors agreed to spare their prisoners in return for ransoms, ‘debts of honour which were honoured by the prisoner as much out of fear of being reputed a liar and a cheat as from any misgivings about his eventual prosecution through the courts’.166 When a man was taken prisoner, he gave a verbal contract that was guaranteed by an oath, the breach of which was both shameful and treasonous. To fail to honour such promises was shameful and regarded as treason against knighthood itself. The Frenchman Marshal Arnoul d’Audrehem was captured at the battle of Nájera in 1367, fighting alongside Bertrand du Guesclin for Enrique da Trastámara. Audrehem had been captured eleven years earlier at the battle of Poitiers, when he had promised that he would fight only in the company of the king of France or princes of the blood. Therefore the Black Prince charged Audrehem with treason.167 In cases in which a prisoner did default on his ransom, a captor could seek to recover the money from those who had stood as pledges or sureties for the ransom, take reprisals on the lands and goods of the prisoner (or his pledges) or attempt to pursue the matter in court, as demonstrated in the cases recorded in the registers of the Parlement of Paris.168 It was also common, however, to proceed by dishonour

166 167 168

2006), 309, 315–16. One sociologist has even gone so far as to identify a society that can adopt norms of trust as an ‘aristocracy’, which is to say not ‘a society bound together by a militaristic code of honour and propped up by a toiling mass in bondage. . . [but] a society which turns on a code, in which the quality of persons is measured by the extent to which they observe this code, in which there can, that is, be said to be “persons of quality” – a society, in the familiar phrase, or “virtue and honour”’: G. Hawthorn, ‘Three ironies in trust’, in D. Gambetta (ed.), Trust: Making and Breaking Cooperative Relations (Oxford, 1988), 114. Also see C. Bicchieri, ‘Norms of cooperation’, Ethics, 100 (1990), 861. See Wright, Knights and Peasants, 75–6, and pages 188–92 below. See Molinier, ‘Étude sur la vie d’Arnoul d’Audrehem, 181, 318–28, and page 201 below. La guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du Parlement.

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(‘deshonnoirement’), attempting to shame the prisoner into meeting his obligations by publicly displaying either his arms reversed or a painting of the man hanging by his heels.169 Indeed, in the written enactment of a ransom agreement, a prisoner would usually declare himself a perjurer and a traitor to his faith if he failed to meet his obligations, and agreed that his captor might take any action to humiliate him such as displaying his arms reversed.170 When Monsard d’Aisne failed to pay a ransom to Étienne de Vignolles, the French captain rode on campaign with the reversed arms of Aisne’s pledge, Robert de Commercy, hanging behind his horse.171 The power of such accusations was ably demonstrated by the fate of the captain of Montcountour, who had displayed Bertrand du Guesclin’s arms upside down, accusing him of breaking his parole when he had been held by William Felton in 1363. Du Guesclin stormed the castle, took down the shield and hung the captain in its place.172 Indeed, this procedure of dishonour was often regarded as an act of war, and hence required the permission of the sovereign or of his constable.173 Again, it is necessary to emphasize that this was an unstable situation, open to abuse and misbehaviour, not least because of the limited sanctions that could be brought to bear upon those who did not keep their word in times of war. For some individuals, the short-term advantage of defaulting on a promised ransom outweighed any long-term damage to their reputation. Meanwhile, the potential shame of breaking one’s oath as a prisoner led to some very careful discussions of when one might honourably escape from a captor. This was a problem that Geoffroi de Charny addressed repeatedly in his Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre, for example, asking whether a prisoner would be reproached for escaping after he had given his word to his captor and whether he was freed from his obligation if he were beaten and mistreated, or simply rescued by a third party.174 Honorat Bovet argued that a knight could not break his oath except when his captor treated him with extraordinary harshness, refused to accept a reasonable ransom or was killing other prisoners.175 On the other hand, if the prisoner was simply held in a guarded tower, this did not justify escape: if the captor provided food, 169

170 172 173 174 175

Keen notes that dishonouring an individual in this manner was also a penalty for treason against a sovereign, demonstrating that ‘breach of faith was seen as the equivalent of this crime, and that a prisoner’s master stood in the same kind of relation to him as his lord did’: Keen, The Laws of War, 173–4. 171 Keen, The Laws of War, 55, 167–8. Keen, The Laws of War, 173. Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 89. Keen, The Laws of War, 173. Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 120–5. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 792–3 [ch. 122].

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drink and a bed, and was willing to treat for due and reasonable ransom, and the prisoner was in no danger of death or serious illness, then the captive was not to break his oath by trying to escape.176 Similarly, Christine de Pizan agreed that a prisoner might have a natural right to try to escape, but this was voided if he had given his word, unless he was being mistreated or forced to pay an unreasonable ransom.177 The reluctance of some men-at-arms to treat their oaths lightly was demonstrated by their punctiliousness in securing their honourable release by their captors.178 In November 1388 the duke of Guelders led a contingent to Prussia to fight against the Lithuanians. There, he was captured by a squire named Conrad, and then subsequently rescued from prison by the Teutonic knights. The duke insisted that he was bound by his oath to his captor, though, and so would have voluntarily returned to captivity if his men had not brokered his release, on the condition that he and descendants swore to forgo revenge for the matter.179 In 1420 the lord of Barbazan was captured by the English and held in Château Gaillard. When he was freed by French troops eight years later, he reportedly asked the English captain to discharge him from his oath so that he would be released from his obligations.180 That prisoners took their oaths seriously is also demonstrated by the fact that so many men who were released to arrange their ransoms kept their word. King Jean II famously returned to captivity in London on 14 January 1364, after one of the hostages for his ransom, Louis d’Anjou, had violated his parole.181 Chivalric writers certainly celebrated the bravery and honour of those who kept their words at great personal expense. For example, Christine de Pizan recounted the story of the Roman Marcus Atilius Regulus (consul in 267 and 256 BC), who was a Carthaginian prisoner, released to present his case before the senate. He advised against exchanging prisoners with Carthage, but then returned to his death at the hand of his captors because he was obliged to keep his word.182 In 1457 Antoine de La Sale completed Le réconfort de Madame de Fresne, for Katherine de Neufville, wife of Jacques de Fresne, who was grieving over the death of her firstborn son. La Sale recounted the fictional story of the lord of Chastel, who was commander of Brest when it was besieged by the 176 177 178 180 181 182

Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 793–4 [ch. 123]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 235–7 [III, ch. 23]. 179 Keen, The Laws of War, 167. Froissart (SHF), XV, 214–5. The First English Life of Henry the Fifth Written in 1513 by an Anonymous Author Commonly Known as the Translator of Livius, ed. C. L. Kingsford (Oxford, 1911), 171. Ormrod, Edward III, 423. Pizan, Corps du policie, 76–7 [II, ch. 13]; also see page 267 below.

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English, led by the Black Prince. Chastel agreed to surrender the fortress if no help arrived within four days and handed over his own son as a hostage for this pledge. When reinforcements did not arrive and it looked as if he would be forced to surrender the town, he and his wife agreed that he should sacrifice his own son rather than betray his original oath to protect and hold Brest.183 The story may have been inspired by the true events of 1373, when Bertrand du Guesclin had laid siege to Brest and reached an agreement with the garrison for their surrender, but Sir John Neville and the English soldiers had reneged on the deal, abandoning their six hostages, who were held as prisoners for four more years.184 This story illustrated the potential dilemma for captains defending against a siege, obliged by oath to protect their strongholds, but also aware of the profound dangers of resisting and fighting to the last against an attacking force.185 As Keen has argued, ‘Nothing short of the threat of personal dishonour and a traitor’s death was likely to ensure that forts were properly defended.’186 Simply to surrender a town without a siege was regarded as treason against the law of arms, and, since a point of honour was at stake, not only the king but any knight or soldier could charge a man with treason.187 Raoul II de Brienne, count of Eu, was reportedly executed by Jean II in 1350 for agreeing to surrender Guînes to the English.188 In 1418 Henry V sentenced Nicolas de Gennes, a French knight, to death, for surrendering the town of Cherbourg to the English in return for money, and thereby betraying his lord, King Charles VI. Because Nicolas had broken his word, he had committed treason against the very rules of honour, and therefore Henry felt empowered to act.189 It was possible to surrender honourably only if there was no longer a chance of holding on to the castle or town, and the captain had exhausted all possible means of defence. Because the English had failed to break the siege of Meaux in 1439, its captain, William Chamberlain, was acquitted of treason for surrendering.190 Thus defenders would accept a truce for a set period, at the end of which the stronghold would surrender if no relieving force had arrived.191 This created the kind of dilemma that La Sale dramatized in Le réconfort de Madame de Fresne, in 183 184 185 187 188 189 190

La Sale, Le réconfort de Madame de Fresne. See Froissart (SHF), VIII, 140–6, and also see Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, xxviii, and document 574. 186 See pages 192–4 below. Keen, The Laws of War, 126. Keen, The Laws of War, 124. See Cazelles, Société politique, noblesse et couronne, 247–52, together with Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 318. See Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 244; see also La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 242–3, together with 46–7. 191 Keen, The Laws of War, 125. Keen, The Laws of War, 128–9.

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which the captain had to weigh the obligation of his oath to protect the stronghold against the pledge that he had given in the truce. In 1424 Étienne de Vignolles declared that, if he failed to meet the terms of his treaty of surrender with the Burgundians attacking Vitry-en-Perthois, he would be dishonoured and a traitor who had abandoned God’s law while the town was still supplied.192 In short, knights and men-at-arms were able at least to imagine trusting one another even in extreme conditions in warfare because of their shared chivalric culture and the importance of honour. Their reputation itself served as the guarantee or pledge for contracts and agreements: ‘The fear of dishonour (in the formal sense of public reprobation) was the most effective sanction of the law of arms.’193 To understand this, it is not necessary to imagine knights and men-at-arms as extremely honourable men, in the sense in which moralists use the term – that is, as individuals of the highest virtue, ethics and nobility. After all, such agreements were valid only with other people who were also men of honour; non-aristocrats were excluded from the conversation because they were not noble, and also because there was no obvious advantage to extending the protection of the law of arms to ordinary people.194 Of course, such fragile systems were a poor substitute for proper legal enforcement. Chivalric ethics, concern for reputation and even enlightened self-interest were not enough to ensure complicity with the law of arms; both were far too unstable to force all men-at-arms to comply with the rules. Indeed, by the late Middle Ages, the sheer number of cases brought before law courts demonstrates the fragility of the system. Conclusion Honour remains an elusive and difficult concept for scholars across a range of theoretical disciplines, which in turn creates great difficulties for historians seeking to investigate its function in past societies. Two particular assumptions by modern audiences affect the study of honour in chivalric society. On the one hand, there has been a long-standing tradition of associating and identifying honour with virtue, while, from almost the opposite direction, there has come an emphasis upon the masculine, competitive and violent aspects of honour. It is certainly true that chivalric writers, the majority of whom were clerics, did attempt to link honour to virtue, emphasizing magnanimity rather than vainglory and pride. At the same time, chivalric texts played a central role in 192 194

193 Keen, The Laws of War, 130. Keen, The Laws of War, 20. Gillingham, ‘1066 and the introduction of chivalry into England’, 51.

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encouraging male competition and violence in pursuit of honour, fame and glory, if not quite the precise notion of prickly honour that became so commonplace in the early modern period. The crucial point is that chivalric commentators were involved in the honour culture of aristocratic society in extremely complex ways, not merely reflecting the rules and ways of thought that dominated their knightly audiences, but also attempting to shape and redirect honour, particularly through notions of service to the crown and to the community. One of the most important debates among modern scholars is the relationship between honour and reputation as external judgements made by the community, and the internal, emotional reactions of individuals to such social facts. There are very few people who are so selfsufficient that they do not care at all about the judgement of their peers. Theorists of honour therefore argue that reputation has a direct impact on an individual’s sense of self-worth.195 Indeed, in modern English usage, the term ‘honour’ is used for both the public reputation of an individual and the internal feelings that this induces, such as self-esteem, pride and integrity. In other words, honour can be used to describe both the external assessment of an individual by the community – that is to say, the external ‘social fact’ of that person’s reputation – and the individual’s emotions and feelings either in response to this evaluation or when employing the values and standards of the community to judge his own worth.196 As the anthropologist Pitt-Rivers famously stated, ‘Honour is the value of a person in his own eyes, but also in the eyes of his society. It is his estimation of his own worth, his claim to pride, but it is also the acknowledgement of that claim, his excellence recognised by society, his right to pride.’197 More simply, Schopenhauer argued: ‘Honor is, on its objective side, other people’s opinion of what we are worth; on its subjective side, it is the respect we pay to this opinion.’198

195 196

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Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 116. For the influence of this debate upon medievalists, see, for example, Brewer, ‘The compulsions of honour’, and ‘Chivalry’, in P. Brown (ed.), A Companion to Chaucer (Oxford, 2000), 59: ‘Honour relies both on the claim to social reputation and on the corresponding sense of inner worth.’ Pitt-Rivers, ‘Honour and social status’, 22 (emphasis in original). Also see Pitt-Rivers, ‘Honour’, 503: honour is ‘a sentiment, a manifestation of this sentiment in conduct, and the evaluation of this conduct by others, that is to say, reputation. It is both internal to the individual and external to him – a matter of his feelings, his behaviour, and the treatment that he receives. . . [H]onour is simultaneously all of these, for both its psychological and social functions relate to the fact that it stands as a mediator between individual aspirations and the judgement of society.’ A. Schopenhauer, The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer, vol. VII, The Wisdom of Life, trans. T. Bailey (University Park, PA, 2005 [1890]), 53.

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In practice, of course, it is extremely difficult to reconstruct the emotions of historical figures, especially for the Middle Ages, when sources so rarely explored the psychological and emotional consequences of honour and shame. Were individuals always affected emotionally by the judgements of their peers, or could they feel protected from socially accepted notions of what was honourable or shameful? In Le livre du Chevalier de La Tour Landry pour l’enseignement de ses filles (1371–2), the knight warned his daughters that there were many situations in which a woman could ruin her reputation simply by the suggestion of impropriety, such as spending time alone with a man who was not her husband.199 Faced by such public shame, a woman would certainly face a terrible ordeal, but would she have genuinely felt that she had done anything wrong beyond exercising insufficient caution? Slander could cause terrible damage to one’s reputation without the need for the individual to believe the lies that were being spread. Indeed, it is certainly possible to imagine an individual who would not care about rumours circulating amongst a group whose opinion was of no importance. In 1406 Le songe véritable reported hearsay (‘commune renommee’) about King Charles VI and the court, supposedly emanating from the ordinary people; in fact, it was a cover to allow criticism of Louis, duke of Orléans, Queen Isabeau of Bavaria and other key figures. Nevertheless, it is hard to imagine that the self-esteem of either Louis or Isabeau was troubled by scurrilous rumours circulating amongst the common people or their political enemies.200 The crucial issue is that it is not necessary for individuals to feel ashamed in order for them to care about the practical, external consequences. A man might well take violent action to defend his honour for entirely rational and strategic reasons, not because of any great threat to his sense of self-esteem but because a reputation for anger and aggression would force others to bend to his interests, whereas a reputation for weakness and cowardice would make future attacks more likely.201 Moreover, honour does provide a powerful justification for actions carried out for less noble reasons. An act of unprovoked aggression to

199 200 201

See Dronzek, ‘Gendered theories of education‘, 147–9, and R. Barnhouse, The Book of the Knight of the Tower: Manners for Young Medieval Women (Basingstoke, 2006), 142–8. H. Moranville, ‘Le songe veritable: pamphlet politique d’un Parisien du XVe siècle’, Mémoires de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Île-de-France, 17 (1890), 217–438. Of course, as Elster has pointed out, it makes no sense to imagine that, ‘while nobody cares about their own honor, everybody believes that others care about theirs’: J. Elster, ‘Norms of revenge’, Ethics, 100 (1990), 880. He also argues that ‘faking adherence to the norm [of revenge] cannot be a rational strategy unless some people genuinely adhere to it’: 875.

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seize land or money might be condemned as unjust, but defending oneself or one’s honour would probably command more support, whether from peers or legal authorities.202 As a result, historians of violence are increasingly interested in the ways in which the language and rhetoric of honour is used tactically to justify action done for completely different reasons. As Cohen has argued, ‘[H]onor is often best understood [as] a rhetorical process, one of several ploys for credit in a sceptical, dangerous world.’203 Similarly, Taylor has explored the ways in which early modern Spaniards employed phrases, gestures and actions to signal to audiences that their confrontations were honourable responses, thereby shifting attention away from the original humiliation and, in the process, ensuring that they were seen as honourable men.204 In such a circumstance, there is an important difference between the way that individuals might present themselves as feeling shame or humiliation and their genuine emotional state.205 As Miller has said, Much of the expression of emotion is mediated by the knowledge that it is presented to a public. Emotions (or at least their display) form an important part of the work of legitimizing and justifying our actions. The more obviously public the performance, the more the performance tends to take on a quasiformalized style, to have a ritualized aspect.206

It would therefore be unwise to take the rhetoric of honourable violence in chivalric culture too much at face value. The point is most obvious with regard to international conflicts and wars. According to Jean Froissart, Charles VI decided to attack Guelders in 1388 after the duke had insulted him by calling him Charles of Valois, and Enguerrand de Coucy had warned the king of the dangers of allowing such insults to pass without response.207 Did Charles VI take this decision for entirely strategic and Machiavellian reasons, or was he even in some small way genuinely affected by the insult? Similarly, did Edward III go to war with 202

203 204 205 206 207

See, for example, J. Black-Michaud, Cohesive Force: Feud in the Mediterranean and the Middle East (New York, 1975), 143, and W. I. Miller, Bloodtaking and Peacemaking: Feud, Law and Society in Saga Iceland (Chicago, 1990), 179–220. Patterson is more judgemental about this, in arguing that chivalry and honour justified actions and avoided self-examination of motives: ‘The term ‘honor’ became its own verbal system, a shorthand for motives that would not bear further inspection’: L. Patterson, Chaucer and the Subject of History (London, 1991), 174. T. V. Cohen, ‘Three forms of jeopardy: honor, pain, and truth-telling in a sixteenthcentury courtroom’, Sixteenth-Century Journal, 29 (1998), 987. S. K. Taylor, Honor and Violence in Golden Age Spain (New Haven, CT, 2008), 7, 21, 151–2, 155. Also see Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 227 note 34. P. R. Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation in Medieval England (Ithaca, NY, 2003), 34–68. Miller, Humiliation and Other Essays, 108. Froissart (SHF), XIV, 228–31, and also XIII, 252–4.

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Philippe VI of France because of the stain on his honour, and not merely for the practical gains to be won? Did his opponent choose to meet him on the battlefield at Crécy in 1346 because he genuinely feared the shame that he would incur for failing to accept the challenge, or because he recognized the practical consequences of showing cowardice in front of the assembled aristocrats in the French host?208

208

A. Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, in Ayton and Preston, The Battle of Crécy, 1346, 6.

3

Prowess and loyalty

Prowess was the defining quality of the ideal knight in chivalric culture. Young men were constantly bombarded with the message that the ability to perform deeds of arms and to defeat an opponent in a violent contest was the hallmark of manhood and the most important means to win honour, glory and the more tangible rewards for a knightly life. Lurking behind this constant glorification of prowess and violence were deeper questions for chivalric culture. Firstly, the way in which violence was portrayed in chivalric narratives was far from realistic, which has sometimes confused modern audiences into thinking that chivalric warriors regarded warfare as a game and a mere extension of the tournament lists. Secondly, chivalric writers also debated the moral and legal limits of such violence, attempting to establish an effective boundary between chivalric prowess and actions that were either illegal or immoral. This was a very complex problem, as the right of the individual knight to seek out glory, to defend his honour or to protect others was weighed against the higher obligations of loyalty and service to the Church, to his lord or to the commonweal. That late medieval French chivalric writers were far from successful in their attempt to control the conversation, or at least the actions of their aristocratic audiences, must tell us less about the influence of texts than the extremely difficult circumstances in which they were writing. Prowess and deeds of arms There is a modern, romantic tendency to identify chivalry with qualities such as courtesy, mercy and magnanimity. This has inevitably fuelled a deep sense of disillusionment at the fact that a society that celebrated these higher, moral qualities failed in any meaningful sense to channel or to control medieval aristocratic violence. Yet prowess was the real cornerstone of chivalric culture, in particular the strength and skill to knock an opponent from his horse, and to wound or kill him in a 91

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violent, physical contest.1 Chansons de geste, romances and other chivalric narratives offered endless tales of deeds of arms performed on quests, at tournaments or during the course of military campaigns, battles or sieges. Moreover, these stories repeatedly emphasized the rewards for knightly violence, including the respect of one’s peers, enhanced social status and the love of desirable women.2 In short, the heroes of chivalric literature were violent men whose ability with weapons or skilful command of armies was the foundation of their earthly power and of their eternal fame and glory. Prowess and courage were the foremost criteria for honour, glory and fame. In the twelfth century Bertran de Born said that no man could be respected until he had both given and received blows.3 In Des quatre tens d’aage d’ome, written around 1265, Philippe de Novare called upon young men to display prowess and courage in order to win honour and wealth while they could, rather than risk shame and sorrow by wasting their youthful vigour.4 Jean Froissart echoed this sentiment in the prologue to his Chroniques, declaring that, just as firewood could not burn without flames, so a gentleman could not achieve perfect honour and worldly renown without prowess. Thus Froissart advised all those who wished to advance themselves to secure a reputation for prowess, so that they might be counted amongst those who were worthy (‘preus’).5 Even a monastic chronicler such as the Religieux de Saint-Denis, Michel Pintouin, acknowledged the importance for a worthy knight of winning a reputation for prowess and courage.6 In short, chivalric society was no different from any other warrior culture, in that honour, reputation and heroism were built above all upon success in violent struggle and competition. An obsession with prowess meant that aristocratic youths were encouraged to win their spurs first and foremost through violence.7 Deeds of arms could be performed in war, but also in jousts and other combats where there was, in theory at least, no genuine intent to harm or kill an opponent. Such encounters could take place in a wide variety of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence; also see ‘Chivalry and the “civilizing process”’, 21–35. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 2, 129–60. The Poems of the Troubadour Bertran de Born, ed. W. D. Paden Jr., T. A. Sankovitch and P. H. Stäblein (Berkeley, CA, 1986), 341. Les quatre âges de l’homme: traité moral de Philippe de Navarre, ed. M. de Fréville (SATF, Paris, 1888), 38–9. Froissart (SHF), I, i, 2–3. See, for example, Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, I, 288, 450, III, 368, IV, 336, V, 226, discussed by Guenée, Du Guesclin et Froissart, 42. The phrase ‘obsession with prowess’ comes from Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 149. Kaeuper goes on to argue that ‘fierce physical competitiveness [was] so characteristic of what anthropologists have called honour cultures’: 150.

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contexts, of which the most famous were the tournaments, which provided an important opportunity for individuals to develop their skills in a protected environment, while performing feats of arms that would win the praise of their peers and secure them more favourable patronage.8 The importance of these events as the venues for the performance of such feats of arms owed much to the drama of chivalric literature. In stories such as the Arthurian romances, jousts and tournaments had provided the perfect context within which to merge the themes of martial adventure and courtly love, because of the presence of ladies as an audience for feats of arms. These literary representations increasingly influenced real tournaments, which became more elaborate and stylized, and thus disengaged from the specific skills and practices of the medieval battlefield.9 By the late Middle Ages tournaments increasingly involved blunted weapons and more protective equipment, not to mention completely different heraldic emblems, which also emphasized the distinction between the lists and the real field of battle. The increasing use of rules and safety measures made the relationship between tournaments and warfare less clear-cut in the later Middle Ages.10 In his gloss to Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, Nicole Oresme attacked the practice of tournaments, arguing that they were the refuge of men who feared death, citing a proverb: ‘Good in tournaments, coward in war’ (‘De bon tournëeur, couart guerrier’).11 The growing use of rules and the echoes of literature have caused many modern historians to question the value of jousts and tournaments as training for warfare: Hewitt has noted, for example, that Edward III discouraged the holding of tournaments, while his rival Jean II encouraged them, implying that the English took war more seriously.12 Nonetheless, late medieval French writers from Geoffroi de Charny to Eustache Deschamps and Christine de Pizan continued to champion 8

9

10 11 12

Keen, Chivalry, 83–101, 200–18; P. Contamine, ‘Les tournois en France à la fin du moyen âge’, in J. Fleckstein (ed.), Das ritterliche turnier im mittelalter (Göttingen, 1985), 425–49; R. Barber and J. Barker, Tournaments: Jousts, Chivalry and Pageants in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge, 1989); D. Crouch, Tournament (London, 2005); S. Muhlberger, Deeds of Arms: Formal Combats in the Late Fourteenth Century (Highland Village, TX, 2005). A. Lindner, ‘L’influence du roman chevaleresque français sur le pas d’armes’, in J.-M. Cauchies (ed.), Les sources littéraires et leurs publics dans l’espace bourguignon (XIVe–XVIe siècles) (Turnhout, 1991), 67–78. See Vale, War and Chivalry, 63–99; also see J. Barker, The Tournament in England, 1100– 1400 (Woodbridge, 1986), 17–44. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 205. See H. J. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition of 1355–1357 (Manchester, 1958), 12, and, for a more careful view of Edward III’s involvement with tournaments, see J. Vale, Edward III and Chivalry: Chivalric Society and Its Context, 1270–1350 (Woodbridge, 1982), 57–75.

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jousts and tournaments, as an important opportunity for men-at-arms to acquire experience and skill for war.13 Moreover, writers such as René d’Anjou and Antoine de La Sale composed treatises on tournaments, praising their value as training for the aristocracy.14 Deeds of arms, even at tournaments, continued to represent the purest form of male competition: a triumph of one man over another by skill and force of arms, fuelled by courage and strength of heart. They were valued, first and foremost, because of the skill, bravery and endurance required to win victory. In a joust, the knight or man-at-arms had to demonstrate his horsemanship by successfully controlling his mount in order to position himself to strike the opponent, delivering a powerful and accurate blow and remaining on his own horse after a collision at great speed and while being struck himself. In May 1390 three French champions, Boucicaut, Reginald de Roye and Jean de Sempy, faced thirty-nine English challengers in four days of jousts at Saint-Inglevert, running 137 lances or individual jousts without being unhorsed – a truly remarkable physical feat.15 Even knowing that the opponent would play by the rules and was not seeking to kill you, a joust required a great deal of courage and bravery, in terms of keeping one’s nerve and not flinching in front of an audience of peers.16 Even a critic of duelling such as Honorat Bovet recognized that those taking part in such contests bravely risked their souls, and also their honour and their bodies.17 Indeed, there were many casualties in medieval jousts, such as when Nicholas Clifford fought Jean Boucinel in the spring of 1381 and killed him by striking him in the throat – an action that the referee, the new constable of France, Olivier de Clisson, regarded as purely accidental.18 When chroniclers and authors of chivalric biographies recounted the ‘gestes’ or ‘faits d’armes’ of their subjects, they usually made little distinction between the different contexts in which an individual had proved his mettle. The heroes of such narratives often built upon the experience 13 14 15

16

17

The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 84–6; Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, I, 223–4; Pizan, The Book of Peace, 275–6. See René d’Anjou, Traité de la forme et devis d’un tournoi, and Lefèvre, Antoine de La Sale: la fabrique de l’oeuvre et de l’écrivain, 299–324. Jean Froissart, Chroniques, ed. J. M. B. C. Kervyn de Lettenhove (26 vols., Brussels, 1867–77), XIV, 55–8, 106–51; Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, I, 672–82; Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 65–74; E. Gaucher, ‘Les joutes de SaintInglevert: perception et écriture d’un événement historique pendant la Guerre de Cent Ans’, Le moyen âge, 102 (1996), 229–43. King Duarte of Portugal, The Royal Book of Jousting, Horsemanship and Knightly Combat: A Translation into English of King Dom Duarte’s 1438 Treatise Livro da ensinança de bem cavalgar toda sela (The Art of Riding on Every Saddle), trans. A. F. Preto and L. Preto (Highland Village, TX, 2005), 42–53. 18 Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 851 [ch. 183]. Froissart (SHF), X, 47–50.

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of success in tournaments to perform dramatic feats of arms on the battlefield, building their reputation as knights and lords.19 For example, the life and career of Marshal Boucicaut (1366–1421) was celebrated in Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, dit Bouciquaut (c.1406–9), a chivalric biography that demonstrated that the eponymous hero loved warfare in the same way that a beautiful woman loved feasting and a bird of prey hunting.20 The biographer celebrated not just Boucicaut’s great successes as a crusader but also the deeds of arms that he performed at Saint-Inglevert in 1390.21 Nevertheless, the battlefield was certainly seen as the ultimate test of prowess and courage. In the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny offered a detailed examination of the means by which men-at-arms might achieve the highest honour and reputation. The path to such a goal was a career in arms, developing one’s skill and public standing though jousting, tourneying and waging war, all of which merited praise and esteem because they required both tremendous physical ability and courage in the face of the personal risk involved. He recognized the value of jousts and tournaments as opportunities to perform deeds of arms that would win renown for the skill and agility required for victory, as well as the endurance of physical hardship and danger. Even so, he cautioned his audience to remember his dictum that the man who does more is of greater worth – ‘Qui plus fait, miex vault’ – and therefore urged them to go to war, when both the risks and the opportunities were so much greater.22 In essence, Charny offered a path through which the young man-at-arms wishing to build a reputation might progress, developing his skills and knowledge while testing himself against increasing levels of competition.23 The same point was made visually by the early fifteenthcentury Order of the Dragon, which established a very precise hierarchy of devices to signify martial achievements, based upon precious stones set into their badge: a dragon.24

19 20 21 22

23 24

Gaucher, La biographie chevaleresque. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 44. Also see Lalande, Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut. See footnote 15 above. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 84–92. Note also that the Company of the Star focused upon deeds of arms performed in battle, rather than jousts or tournaments: Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, 200–1. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 98–102. P. S. Lewis, ‘Une devise de chevalerie inconnue, crée par un comte de Foix?’, in Essays in Later Medieval French History (London, 1985), 28–36, and ‘Le dragon de Mauvezin et Jean I, comte de Foix (1412–36)’, in Essays in Later Medieval French History, 37–40. Also see M. G. A. Vale, ‘A fourteenth-century order of chivalry: the “Tiercelet”’, English Historical Review, 82 (1967), 340–1.

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The chronicler Jean Le Bel observed that the English had been held in little regard when Edward III had inherited the throne in 1327, but that by the time he was writing, on the eve of the battle of Poitiers in 1356, they had learned so much about fighting that they were renowned as the finest and most skilled of all combatants.25 Chivalric chroniclers and biographers relished the success and bravery of young squires and knights in battle. For example, Froissart recounted how James Audley wished to distinguish himself at Poitiers so much that he asked for the honour of fighting on the front line, where he fought bravely but was mortally wounded.26 At the age of twelve, the young Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut, served as a page under Louis de Bourbon on an expedition to confiscate fortresses in Normandy from Charles de Navarre. Boucicaut proved his worth by helping to defend the Île-de-France against Buckingham’s chevauchée two years later, in 1380, and the following year served under Louis de Sancerre in Guyenne.27 Chastellain claimed that Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy, fought with the heart of a lion, tiger or dragon at his first battle at Mons-enVimeu in 1421.28 Jean de Bueil commented in Le jouvencel that the true measure of a man’s worth was to fight in the open, without the protection of any fortifications or natural defences such as hedges or ditches, where there could be no running away. In such circumstances, one truly demonstrated heart and courage.29 Le jouvencel carefully recounted Bueil’s own extraordinary military career, during which he had risen from a squire in service on the Maine frontier under the viscount of Narbonne and then Étienne de Vignolles, eventually to become admiral of France in 1450 and commander of the army that defeated the English at Castillon three years later.30 Jacques de Lalaing built a formidable reputation as a jouster after winning his spurs before King Charles VII and René d’Anjou in a tournament at Nancy in 1445, as well as at the ritualized emprise and pas d’armes, which he himself had organized. Yet he had also won renown for his deeds of arms during a raid on the city of Luxembourg in 1443, and he achieved heroic status and fame when he fought in the Ghentish wars of the duke of Burgundy, and was killed in 1453 by a stray cannonball outside the town of Poeke.31

25 27 28 30 31

26 Chronique de Jean le Bel, I, 155–6. Froissart (SHF), V, 33–4, 36–7, 46–7. See Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 21–6, and Lalande, Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut, 10–13. 29 Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, I, 261. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 113. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, x–cclxxxvii. See E. Springer, ‘Les fais de messire Jacques de Lalaing de Jean Lefèvre de Saint-Rémy’ (PhD dissertation, Université Paris III Sorbonne nouvelle, 1982), together with

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Of course, battles were relatively rare in medieval warfare, which was dominated by raiding and sieges. As a result, many knights looked for any opportunity to display their prowess in feats of arms during military campaigns. During the siege of Rouen in 1346, for example, Sir Thomas Holland and another English man-at-arms launched themselves without support at the defenders, killing two men before returning safely to their own side, in an attack that a bourgeois of Valenciennes described as an ‘emprise oultrageuse’.32 Mounted knights and men-at-arms often served as scouts or as outriders, protecting foragers and lines of communication – activities that did occasionally give the chance for small-scale encounters with enemy knights. For example, on 20 November 1355 an English scouting party led by Bartholomew Burghersh, James Audley and John Chandos captured more than thirty French knights near Toulouse.33 Most remarkably, knights arranged encounters with the enemy during times of truce or an impromptu break in the fighting. These events, often referred to as jousts of war, tended to be represented by chroniclers as highly stylized games, in which opponents were evenly matched and courtesy and magnanimity transformed a brutal competition into something more noble. For example, on the eve of the battle of Crécy in 1346, Sir Thomas Colville crossed the river Somme to accept the challenge offered by a French knight to joust, at the end of which both men parted as friends.34 The most famous example occurred in Brittany on 26 March 1351, when thirty French knights under Jean de Beaumanoir fought against an equal number of English knights in a prearranged combat.35 William Bamborough, son of the captain who had led the English against Beaumanoir, fought in single combat five years later against Bertrand du Guesclin during the siege of Rennes.36 Indeed ‘combat as bailles’, or combats in front of the barriers, were common during long sieges, when men-at-arms took the opportunity

32 33

34 35

36

E. Gaucher, ‘Le Livre des fais de Jacques de Lalain: texte et image’, Le moyen âge, 95 (1989), 503–18, and La biographie chevaleresque. Récits d’un bourgeois de Valenciennes (XIVe siècle), ed. K. de Lettenhove (Louvain, 1877), 220. Geoffrey Le Baker, Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, ed. E. M. Thompson (Oxford, 1889), 136–7, and Robert Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus regis Edwardi tertii, ed. E. M. Thompson (RS, London, 1889), 435–6. Anonimalle Chronicle, 1333 to 1381, ed. V. H. Galbraith (Manchester, 1927), 22, 160. See H. R. Brush, ‘La bataille de trente Anglois et de trente Bretons, I’, Modern Philology, 9 (1912), 511–44, ‘La bataille de trente Anglois et de trente Bretons, II’, Modern Philology, 10 (1912), 82–136, and Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 194–6, together with M. C. E. Jones, ‘Breton soldiers from the Battle of the Thirty (26 March 1351) to Nicopolis (25 September 1396)’, in A. R. Bell and A. Curry (eds.), The Soldier Experience in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2011), 157–74. Froissart (SHF), V, 86; also see La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 42–8.

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to win honour and even spoils, and to prove their skills during military actions in which cavalrymen were of limited practical importance.37 Jean Froissart tells the story of John Asneton, a Scottish knight serving with Sir Robert Knolles, who jumped the barriers at Noyon in 1370, and challenged Jean de Roye, Lancelot de Lorris and ten (or twelve) others to an hour’s combat with lances in front of the people of the town.38 Lorris was killed nine years later in personal combat against Sir John Copeland during a skirmish near Cherbourg. Froissart lamented the untimely death of such a young, handsome and amorous knight who had jousted in honour of his lady.39 Representations of violence The importance of deeds of arms in chivalric society was demonstrated by the great care and attention given to both acknowledging and creating records of such accomplishments. There were prizes to be won, not only at tournaments but also in war. Edward III presented his prisoner, Eustache de Ribemont, with a chaplet adorned with pearls after their skirmish before Calais in late 1349.40 Less romantic were the surcoats taken from the bodies of French nobles killed at the battle of Crécy in 1346, displayed as trophies in the pavilion of Edward III.41 According to Jean Le Bel, members of the Company of the Star were required to recount their adventures before their peers; clerks were to record these adventures, not only so that they would be remembered but also to provide the information for the annual election of three princes, three bannerets and three bachelors.42 This echoed the reporting of deeds of arms in literary sources, such as the stories of the court of King Arthur.43 Meanwhile, chroniclers composed accounts of chivalric deeds, many still written in verse because this was said to make them more splendid and glorious, and also aided oral performance.44 For example, Cuvelier 37 38

39 41 42 43 44

C. J. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History: The Middle Ages (Westport, CT, 2007), 131. Froissart later added the story of an unidentified English knight on the same expedition in 1370, who fulfilled his oath to jump the barriers at Paris, whereupon he was sarcastically received by the French defenders and brutally killed at the hands of a butcher. Froissart (SHF), VII, 236–7, 246–8, discussed by P. F. Ainsworth, ‘Asneton, Chandos et “X”: Jean Froissart et l’éclosion des mythes’, in J.-C. Aubailly (ed.), Et c’est la fin pour quoy sommes ensemble: hommage à Jean Dufournet, vol. I, Littérature, histoire et langue du moyen âge (Paris, 1993), 60–8. 40 Froissart (SHF), IX, 138–40. Froissart (SHF), IV, 79–81. Récits d’un bourgeois de Valenciennes, 234–5. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 204–6, and also see Froissart (SHF), IV, 127. Lancelot do Lac, I, 298, 406, 571; La morte le roi Artu: roman du XIIIe siècle, ed. J. Frappier (TLF, Geneva, 1954), 1–2; La queste del Saint Graal, 279–80. Tyson, ‘Authors, patrons and soldiers’, 111.

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said that he had written his biography of Bertrand du Guesclin in verse because he wished to place his subject within the epic tradition, granting him a lasting and eternal life.45 By the late Middle Ages heralds were increasingly serving as witnesses to great deeds of arms performed in tournaments and battles, as well as deaths in action. It was a natural progression to become historians and biographers of great knights, as seen in the case of the Chandos Herald, Gilles Le Bouvier (the Berry Herald) and the Burgundian Jean Le Fèvre de Saint Rémy.46 Chroniclers and biographers also emphasized their own role as the recorders of the great deeds of arms and acts of prowess of the knightly classes. For example, in the prologue to his French chronicle, the historiographer of France, Jean Chartier, said that he wished to preserve for ever the actions and deeds (‘gestes et faiz’) of King Charles VII, his enemies and their knights (‘chevalleries’).47 Yet the resulting narratives often lacked realism in their portrayals of knightly prowess in warfare. Chivalric writers were somewhat slow to acknowledge the profoundly important military changes that were revolutionizing warfare and the battlefield in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, such as the increasing use of archery, artillery or other missile weapons – or, indeed, the fundamental truth that medieval warfare rarely involved the great, heroic battles of chivalric legend.48 More importantly, the violence described in chivalric romances, chronicles and biographies was highly stylized, designed to underline the heroic accomplishments of individual protagonists rather than to convey accurately the complex events and actions of the army as a whole. As Kaeuper has observed, such ‘sources show us single great men turning the tide of battle by their prowess, cutting paths through their enemies, who fall back in stunned fear’.49 Representing the brutal, terrible and chaotic reality of warfare in words is exceptionally difficult. Very few medieval writers had first-hand 45

46

47 48

49

See La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, III, 66–7, and R. Levine, ‘Myth and anti-myth in Cuvelier’s La vie vaillante de Bertrand du Guesclin’, Viator, 16 (1985), 260. Also see, for example, Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 29–33. See M. H. Keen, ‘Chivalry, heralds and history’, in R. H. C. Davis and J. M. WallaceHadrill (eds.), The Writing of History in the Middle Ages: Essays Presented to R. W. Southern (Oxford, 1981), 393–414, together with the special issue of Revue du Nord, 88 (2006), and K. Stevenson (ed.), The Herald in Late Medieval Europe (Woodbridge, 2009). Jean Chartier, Chronique de Charles VII, roi de France, ed. V. de Viriville (3 vols., Paris, 1858), I, 27. For an overview, see C. J. Rogers, ‘The military revolutions of the Hundred Years War’, Journal of Military History, 57 (1993), 241–78, together with the important comments of Vale, War and Chivalry. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 139.

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experience of battle. A rare exception was Jean de Wavrin, but even he admitted that he did not fully understand what had happened during the battle of Verneuil in 1424, for the very simple reason that he had been so occupied trying to defend himself.50 An anonymous cleric who witnessed the battle of Agincourt was less reflective about the practical disadvantages of observing the encounter from the extremely limited vantage point of the rear of the English army.51 More importantly, even if such witnesses had fully grasped the complexity of the battle swirling around them, putting into words the brutality of the violence and the emotions that it inspired was far beyond the ability and training of most medieval writers. Even modern authors of military memoirs struggle to articulate the trauma and horrors of war, either because of the difficulty of describing the reality that they have witnessed or because of their fear of giving voice to the emotions – both negative and positive – occasioned by such events.52 In the prologue to his play Henry V, Shakespeare solved these problems by calling upon his audience to use their imaginations to flesh out the limited representation of war that he could offer them on the stage.53 This would have been straightforward for those knights and men-at-arms who were reading or listening to chivalric narratives, and whose expertise would perhaps have required writers to be as realistic and plausible as possible in their portrayal of warfare. In the age of chivalry, soldiers were far from the only audience for chivalric texts, though. Aristocratic households included young boys who were preparing themselves for war, and also true non-combatants who rarely experienced the brutality and horror of the battlefield. Authors of chivalric narratives often claimed that they were not just keeping a record of what had happened but also teaching and instructing the young men going off to war.54 Yet these youths did not need to know just how terrible and dangerous a battlefield might be for them any more than the widows and daughters of military veterans.55 Indeed, there is plentiful evidence 50 51 52

53 54 55

Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 114. Gesta Henrici Quinti, ed. J. S. Roskell and F. Taylor (Oxford, 1975), 84. See, for example, the discussions in K. McLoughlin (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to War Writing (Cambridge, 2009), together with K. McLoughlin, Authoring War: The Literary Representation of War from the Iliad to Iraq (Cambridge, 2011). Also see J. Bourke, An Intimate History of Killing (London, 1999), 16–26, 64–7. K. McLoughlin, ‘War and words’, in McLoughlin, The Cambridge Companion to War Writing, 15. McLoughlin, ‘War and words’, 19. A. Taylor, ‘Chivalric conversation and the denial of male fear’, in J. Murray (ed.), Conflicted Identities and Multiple Masculinities: Men in the Medieval West (New York, 1999), 169–88.

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that chivalric narratives were owned, commissioned and read by women.56 When John Talbot gave a wedding gift to Margaret of Anjou, daughter of René, in 1445, he saw nothing wrong with offering her a manuscript that collected together the prose Roman d’Alexandre, romances recounting the stories of Charlemagne and his retainers, Guy of Warwick and Le chevalier au cygne, as well as chronicles and didactic treatises.57 A more subtle problem is presented by the fact that writers of war have inevitably tended to focus upon the experience of individuals, as a window through which to view the complexity of battle and warfare. From Homer onwards, epic narratives have concentrated upon the ‘duels of particular, named warriors, to which the remainder of the fighting acts as a backdrop. The struggles of these characters plot the trajectory of their armies’ fortunes while keeping the triumphs and the disasters of individual people firmly in focus.’58 This is certainly true for the chivalric focus upon knightly deeds of arms in chansons de geste, chronicles and biographies, which tended to represent warfare in a highly contrived manner, foregrounding the stories and experiences of individual heroes and villains as providing a better anchor for the audience than broader descriptions of faceless groups of soldiers in action. Inevitably, this focus upon individual encounters on the battlefield both obfuscated the real nature of violence in warfare and encouraged comparison with the deeds of arms performed in the stylized combat of jousts and tournaments. Indeed, the ready familiarity of medieval audiences with the world of the tournament, especially as the focus shifted from the free-for-all of the mêlée to the more controlled combat of the joust, may have made such a representational model even more effective. Kaeuper has described the typical violence described in texts such as Lancelot, the central romance in the anonymous Vulgate or Lancelot/Grail cycle of prose romances written in the early thirteenth century: ‘Nearly all of these fights involve a first stage of combat on horseback with lances, often with one or both men unhorsed and wounded, followed (if both survive) by lengthy combat with swords on foot, one man finally being hacked into 56

57 58

R. L. Krueger, Women Readers and the Ideology of Gender in Old French Verse Romance (Cambridge, 1993); J. R. Goodman, ‘“That wommen holde in ful greet reverence”: mothers and daughters reading chivalric romances’, in L. Smith and J. H. M. Taylor (eds.), Women, the Book and the Worldly (Cambridge, 1995), 25–30; S. D. Michalove, ‘Women as book collectors and disseminators of culture in late medieval England and Burgundy’, in D. L. Biggs, S. D. Michalove and A. C. Reeves (eds.), Reputation and Representation in Fifteenth-Century Europe (Leiden, 2004), 57–79. BL MS Royal 15 E vi, discussed by Fresco and Hedeman, Collections in Context, 99–188. L. V. Pitcher, ‘Classical war literature’, in McLoughlin, The Cambridge Companion to War Writing, 73–4.

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submission.’59 Such representations of individual acts of prowess reflected the world of the joust and the tournament far more than the reality of medieval battlefields or sieges.60 Chroniclers such as Le Bel and Froissart bridged the two, however, not just by their emphasis upon individual acts of prowess in warfare but also by celebrating particularly romantic stories about individuals knights and men-at-arms. For example, they reported that, during the siege of Hennebont in Brittany in the summer of 1342, Walter Mauny led a sortie against a siege engine of the attacking force loyal to Charles de Blois, and then turned to face the men-at-arms pursuing him, swearing that he would never again receive an embrace from his lover if he failed to unhorse one of his attackers.61 Similarly, Froissart recounted the exploits of Eustache d’Aubrichecourt in Brie and Champagne in 1359, inspired by the love letters and the gifts of Isabel of Jülich, niece of Edward III’s queen Philippa.62 In short, the way in which chivalric narratives represented prowess and violence tended to focus upon and thereby to magnify the deeds of arms of individuals, while playing down the full level of the brutality and chaos on the battlefield. These texts provided the essential means through which those without experience of warfare could imagine both the battlefield and the values that supposedly underpinned the warrior’s actions – encouraging the future warrior, providing the civilian with a framework within which to interpret the actions of those who did fight and justifying the glory and fame of those old soldiers whose exploits were reconfigured in a more socially acceptable form. By the late Middle Ages the tournament and the narratives of war offered by chivalric writers both tended to gloss over the real horror of martial violence, or at least to redirect responsibility for brutality towards those who were not part of the chivalric elite.63 In one sense, then, the dramatic representation of warrior values and warfare itself served to enable aristocratic society to comprehend violence and the horrors of war, re-establishing some kind of moral control over it. As Huizinga has argued, medieval writers used the ideal of knighthood to help them to comprehend the complexity of the world, in effect adopting it as a comforting lie that enabled them to ignore the painful imperfection of reality.64 59 60

61 62 64

Kaeuper, ‘Chivalry and the “civilizing process”’, 23. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 174–5: ‘The staple of all combat in all chivalric literature, of course, is the encounter of two mounted knights. . . Many thousands of these combats appear in works that were listened to or read for centuries.’ Froissart (SHF), II, 151–3, inspired by Chronique de Jean le Bel, I, 317–8. 63 Froissart (SHF), V, 158–60. See pages 221–7 below. Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, 72. Kilgour viewed chivalric games as an escape from the ‘grim horror of war’: Kilgour, The Decline of Chivalry, 66, and also see 8.

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The impression created by the combination of chivalric narratives and the style of tournaments that had come to dominate by the late Middle Ages was of a military culture that focused upon the individual, celebrating actions motivated more by honour or emotion than rational, strategic military logic. The sheer power of medieval, stylized accounts of knightly violence in warfare, combined with the romantic image of the tournament, has underpinned the modern assumption that chivalric warriors treated warfare as a game, ‘a combination of a kind of sport and profitable recreation’.65 Indeed, Huizinga famously presented medieval warfare as an extension of the duels and tournaments that knights fought, regulated by the principles of fair play and respect for one’s opponent. He compared the ideal chivalric contest with the Greek agon, an athletic contest in which victory was less important than the competition itself, and in which victory over an unworthy opponent was less valuable than honourable defeat at the hands of a worthy opponent. Huizinga’s thesis was that chivalric culture celebrated the mutual admiration of agonism rather than the disdain and brutality of antagonism. Knights saw one another as equals, and so, when they fought, either at a tournament or in a battle, they either had to follow the rules or lose honour. Only when they were faced by enemies of the faith or by the lower classes – that is to say, individuals who did not merit respect as opponents – would war degenerate into barbarity.66 As Allmand has put it, ‘War, having its own rules, became a kind of game, a chivalric game for those trained in the ways of chivalry, a dirty and underhand one for those disreputable elements who. . .existed in the armies of the time.’67 This playlike element of medieval warfare is said to have extended to the types of strategies and tactics that were regarded as acceptable in chivalric conflict. Huizinga declared: ‘Several forms of combat at once suggest themselves as being non-agonistic: the surprise, the ambush, the raid, the punitive expedition and wholesale extermination cannot be described as agonistic forms of warfare, though they may be subservient to an agonistic war.’68 This assumption that chivalric soldiers frowned 65 66 67

68

M. Bennett, ‘Military masculinity in England and northern France c.1050–c.1225’, in D. M. Hadley (ed.), Masculinity in Medieval Europe (Harlow, 1999), 77. J. Huizinga, Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture, trans. R. F. C. Hull (London, 1949[1938]), 89. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 168. Bennett has commented on ‘the dichotomy between the two ways of conducting a war: chivalry – noble and elevating: and soldiering – a grubby trade’: M. Bennett, ‘Why chivalry? Military “professionalism” in the twelfth century: the origins and expressions of a socio-military ethos’, in D. J. B. Trim (ed.), The Chivalric Ethos and the Development of Military Professionalism (Leiden, 2003), 41. Huizinga, Homo Ludens, 90.

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upon ambushes and stratagems has become a commonplace, and hence encouraged the notion that ‘strategy and tactics were of little importance; and the most important thing in war was not to win but to gain honour by adhering to the rules’.69 As a result, chivalry is seen as ‘empty-headed bravery and foolish courtesy to the enemy, completely undermining the necessary cunning of the art of war’.70 There is a danger, however, of confusing the representation of war, particularly by chivalric writers, with the reality, in which most medieval commanders clearly did not treat war as a game nor shun practical, realistic strategies that served best to secure victory. English armies of the Hundred Years War won by fighting on foot and as a collective, disciplined force, while the late fourteenth-century military recovery of the French under Bertrand du Guesclin was founded upon the wellestablished medieval military strategy of avoiding set-piece battles – hardly the ‘chivalrous’ way to wage war. Medieval warfare was not a game like the tournaments of the late Middle Ages, in which participants followed chivalrous rules and great care was taken to ensure that the combatants were evenly matched.71 When artillery began to emerge as a useful weapon in warfare, there is little evidence to suggest that commanders shunned it because it was not chivalric.72 At Agincourt in 1415, the French did not hold back from the battle because they heavily outnumbered their beleaguered opponents but, rather, attacked precisely because their enemy was so weak and vulnerable.73 It would be wrong to assume that the medieval world operated in a fundamentally different way from the modern one, in which norms are manipulated and in which individuals and groups are pragmatic and make tactical and strategic decisions about whether to follow society’s rules for morally correct behaviour. In the words of Bagge, ‘Politics and warfare aim at winning; the winner is praised, honour is linked to success, strategy and tactics are not absent, and the warriors are not too particular about rules of chivalric behaviour.’74 Few medieval knights and men-at-arms were merely gentleman amateurs playing at war. True, medieval soldiering was not properly a 69 70 71 72

73

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Bagge, ‘Honour, passions and rationality’, 109–29. M. Bennett, ‘The knight unmasked’, Military History Quarterly, 7 (1995), 16. See pages 236–43. Vale, War and Chivalry, 129–46; K. DeVries, ‘The impact of gunpowder weaponry on siege warfare in the Hundred Years War’, in I. A. Corfis and M. Wolfe (eds.), The Medieval City under Siege (Woodbridge, 1995), 227–44. See Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 193–224, and C. J. Rogers, ‘The battle of Agincourt’, in L. J. A. Villalon and D. J. Kagay (eds.), The Hundred Years War (Part II): Different Vistas (Leiden, 2008), 37–132. Bagge, ‘Honour, passions and rationality’, 116.

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profession in the way that it would become from perhaps the seventeenth century onwards, when the development of permanent armies led to the establishment of military institutions and cultures with their own corporate identity, hierarchy and mechanisms to train new recruits.75 Medieval armies were generally assembled for specific campaigns and therefore tended to lack the cohesion and sharpness of modern armies.76 Yet soldiering was a profession for medieval knights. As Kaeuper has noted, ‘Unlike modern soldiers, who may be conscripted from peacetime occupations for temporary service in military or naval forces, knights were professional warriors who defined their status and place in the world by their right to bear and use arms.’77 Michael Howard has distinguished between modern soldiers, who receive ‘regular employment, regular wages and career prospects’, and the medieval ‘members of a warrior caste fighting from a concept of honour or feudal obligation’.78 Even so, it would be too easy to overplay the contrast. Certainly, many medieval knights and men-at-arms inherited their social pre-eminence and standing, but the fact that they supposedly held lands in return for military service meant that their standing depended in theory at least upon their effectiveness as warriors.79 Moreover, many needed to fight in order to make money, moving around in pursuit of employment or finding alternative means to sustain their activities when no opportunities were available in service to great princes. Indeed, the threat posed by the sheer number of soldiers trying to make a living in late medieval France was a central influence behind the creation of the permanent Compagnies d’Ordonnance serving the Valois monarchy – the seed from which modern standing armies developed.80 Furthermore, medieval knights and men-at-arms were also professional in the sense that they dedicated themselves to the development of the skills necessary for war. They spent years training to master horsemanship and other skills, investing not only time but also a great deal of money in the purchase of equipment. There was no permanent 75

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This is very much the type of model described by P. H. Wilson, ‘Defining military culture’, Journal of Military History, 72 (2008), 11–41; also see D. J. B. Trim (ed.), The Chivalric Ethos and the Development of Military Professionalism (Leiden, 2003). Contamine, Guerre, état et société. Kaeuper, ‘Literature as essential evidence for understanding chivalry’, 11. See M. Howard, War in European History (Oxford, 1976), 54, and also see D. J. B. Trim, ‘Introduction’, in Trim, The Chivalric Ethos, 4. P. Contamine, ‘The French nobility and the war’, in Fowler, The Hundred Years War, 135–62: J. B. Henneman, ‘The military class and the French monarchy in the late middle ages’, American Historical Review, 83 (1978), 946–65. See Wright, Knights and Peasants, 51, and Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 98, together with the detailed discussion by Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 119–72.

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institutional structure to implement this training, or indeed any clear definition of precisely what a young squire needed to learn in order to move forward in his career, as would be found with modern professions. Moreover, the commanders of medieval armies often received their positions because of their social standing. Nevertheless, lessons and advice were delivered through informal apprenticeships to experienced warriors rather than schools or defined curricula, and success depended upon experience, preparation and mastering the skills needed to lead soldiers.81 In summary, medieval chivalric narratives testify to the central importance of prowess and violence in aristocratic society. Knights and men-at-arms were encouraged to demonstrate their skill, bravery and endurance in physical contests, both in the relatively peaceful setting of jousts and tournaments and in war. Nonetheless, the way in which deeds of arms were represented in such texts owed a great deal to the demands of genre, and so inevitably they tended to emphasize the heroism of individuals but also to offer a somewhat muted depiction of the brutal reality of battle. This in turn has led to an assumption that warfare was treated like a game by gentleman amateurs during the age of chivalry – a notion that has very little connection with the reality of the late Middle Ages. It may be more useful to understand the muted way in which knightly violence was represented as a consequence of genre and the difficulties of representing warfare in a truthful manner, especially to an audience that included many who had no experience of battle. At the same time, representing warfare and violence in a controlled manner served a deeper purpose: supporting a moral and legal framework within which violence could be identified as either chivalric or illicit.

Defining chivalric violence The central importance of prowess and violence in chivalric culture inevitably raised the question of when knights should take up arms. Few people in the Middle Ages denied either the legality or the reality of warfare and violence. As Keen has noted, ‘Peace was not regarded in the middle ages as the natural condition of states.’82 This reflected the fact that warfare was a constant presence in western Europe following the collapse of the Roman Empire, and that the Church constantly needed protection against the infidel and heretics.83 Theologians accepted that 81 83

82 See pages 239–43. Keen, The Laws of War, 23. T. Renna, ‘The idea of peace in the West, 500–1150’, Journal of Medieval History, 6 (1980), 143–67; K. Haines, ‘Attitudes and impediments to pacificism in medieval Europe’, Journal of Medieval History, 7 (1981), 369–88.

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warfare and violence were not only a fact of life but even ordained by God as a means to punish sinners.84 St Augustine, for example, had argued that the ultimate aim of warfare was to achieve peace, but original sin meant that this could never last in the earthly city and would be attained only in the spiritual context of salvation. He viewed war as a natural condition because of the eternal battle between good and evil, and argued that it even served as a means for God to punish and to cleanse sin from society.85 This assumption that God was responsible for all things, including warfare, largely triumphed over pacifist arguments during the Middle Ages. Debates about divine sanction for warfare echoed through French writings of the late Middle Ages. Honorat Bovet argued in the Arbre des batailles that warfare was justified by natural law, scripture and canon law and that its purpose was to defeat evil and to secure peace. He declared that battle first existed in heaven, but that Lucifer’s war had spilled over onto earth.86 More fundamentally, Bovet argued that war itself had been ordained by God in order to bring justice, to achieve peace and to force those who had done wrong to admit their error.87 Nevertheless, Bovet did condemn the evil things that were done in war, such as rape or the burning of churches, even though these examples did not prove that war itself was unnatural. Rather, these misdeeds were the result of false usage (‘maux usaiges’) and of war being wrongly conducted.88 In Le songe du vieil pelerin, Philippe de Mézières warned that defeat in war should be understood as divine judgement, and that the English were being used by God to punish the Scots and the French alike.89 In his plea in 1395 to King Richard II to join with Charles VI on a crusade, however, Mézières argued that the English might have won victories by divine decree and permission, but that the devil had enjoyed a greater victory through the 84

85

86 87 88

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J. Barnes, ‘The just war’, in N. Kretzmann, A. J. P. Kenny and J. Pinborg (eds.), The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1982), 771–84. For the late medieval French context, see T. Van Hemelryck, ‘“Il n’est tresor au monde que de paix”: d’Eustache Deschamps à Pierre Gringore: les marques pacifiques de la littérature française médiévale’ (PhD dissertation, 2 vols., Université catholique de Louvain, 2000). See F. H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages(Cambridge, 1975), 16–39, and ‘Love and hate in medieval warfare: the contribution of Saint Augustine’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 31 (1987), 108–24. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 600–1 [ch. 2]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 742–3 [ch. 68]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 743 [ch. 68]. Of course, others found it less easy to be certain about God’s guiding hand behind the violence that plagued society. In the Lay de guerre, written shortly after 1424, Pierre de Nesson described war as the work of Lucifer, an impersonal force of nature, uncontrollable and unstoppable: Pierre de Nesson et ses œuvres, ed. E. Piaget and E. Droz (Paris, 1925), 47–8. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 299–302, 397–8.

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souls doomed to damnation in these wars. Moreover, he declared that the true honour and victory in war was to obtain peace, citing the maxim that we make war in order to have peace.90 In Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil argued that Cain and Abel had brought an end to peace in the world, sowing the seeds of discord. When his hero became captain of Crathor, though, he gave a speech declaring that God loved those who went to war against sinners and those who had done wrong, but warned that to fight without a just cause would be to serve the devil.91 Chivalric writers also recognized that a world without violence was a world in which a knight could not prove his manliness and worth, or, more practically, make a living.92 Chivalric narratives often invoked the corrupting effects of a peaceful life at court, where decadence and indolence destroyed the knight’s ability as a warrior – the peril that the Jouvencel faced when his successful military career brought him to the court.93 In the story, the chancellor declared that men-at-arms were forbidden from relaxing (‘à gens d’armes est deffendu le repos’), and that such soldiers should delight in being given a just and legal war to fight.94 This echoed a long-standing debate within chivalric culture. For example, Bertran de Born had denounced rest and relaxation as the enemies of martial ability, and warned that a youth who did not feed on war would soon become fat and detestable.95 In the Geoffrey of Monmouth tradition, Sir Cador famously complained about the corrupting effects of peace, even if others at the court were more positive about its value.96 Geoffroi de Charny warned of the dangers of sloth and greed as vices that would distract a man-at-arms from his quest for honour and leave him unprepared for the tests and hardships of war.97 Jean Froissart reported a speech by Thomas, duke of Gloucester, in 1397 in which he complained that Richard II preferred to eat, drink and sleep rather than make war upon the French, even though the people of England desired war and could not live without it.98

90 91 92 93

94 95 96

97 98

Mézières, Letter to King Richard II, 113, 136. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 13, II, 21–3. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 162–3. See Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 41–56, II, 184–6, together with M. Szkilnik, ‘Déplaisir de la cour et joie du champ de bataille dans Le jouvencel de Jean de Bueil’, Le moyen français, 62 (2008), 117–32. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 156. The Poems of the Troubadour Bertran de Born, 357–9. A. Lynch, ‘“Peace is good after war”: the narrative seasons of English Arthurian tradition’, in C. Saunders, F. Le Saux and N. Thomas (eds.), Writing War: Medieval Literary Responses to Warfare (Cambridge, 2004), 127–46. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 110–16. Froissart, Chroniques, XVI, 2–3.

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In short, there were powerful arguments in support of warfare in the Middle Ages. Yet, while chivalric culture condoned, celebrated, valorized and encouraged certain types of violence, giving ethical meaning and value to them, other actions were characterized as dishonourable or illegal.99 There were a range of possible reasons for either approving or disapproving of an act of violence in chivalric culture. At the simplest level, skill and courage, the comparative status of the perpetrator and the victim, and the motives, purpose and goal that inspired the violence were important factors. For example, only knights and aristocrats could be chivalrous, and therefore commoners were very rarely credited with performing deeds of arms, even when fighting in battle. The Carmelite chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette was no supporter of the French aristocracy and therefore offered a very unusual celebration of valour of Guillaume L’Aloue, who led the peasant defence of a farmhouse in Longueil belonging to the monastery of Saint-Corneille against the English garrison of Creil in 1359.100 Philippe de Commynes also celebrated the son of a physician from Paris named Jean Cadet who made his name at the battle of Montlhéry in 1465 by protecting the count of Charolais.101 By and large, though, chivalric narrators drew a clear line between the actions of men-at-arms and the common soldiers – the ‘soillars’, ‘valets’, ‘pillars’ and ‘brigands’ who did most of the dirty work of warfare and whose violence was markedly unchivalric.102 For example, Jean Froissart distinguished between the chivalric deeds of aristocratic warriors, which was the subject of his Chroniques, and the brutal behaviour of ordinary soldiers, such as the English archers who wandered around battlefields slitting the throats of injured men-at-arms and were responsible for the terrorization of towns that succumbed to sieges. His account of the siege of Caen in 1346 offered an ironic juxtaposition of the barbaric behaviour of English soldiers rampaging through the city and the noble behaviour of Sir Thomas Holland, who carefully protected some French knights from the barbarity of his own men.103

99 100

101 102 103

Kaeuper, ‘Chivalry and the “civilizing process”’, 33. In reality, Guillaume may have served under Bertrand du Guesclin, and his ‘army’ may have included some experienced common soldiers. See Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 288–93, and S. Luce, La France pendant la Guerre de Cent Ans: épisodes historiques et vie privée aux XIVe et XVe siècles (Paris, 1890), 61–82. Philippe de Commynes, Mémoires, ed. J. Blanchard (TLF 585, 2 vols., Geneva, 2007), I, 28–9. See N. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 9–10, and ‘“Pillagers” and “brigands” in the Hundred Years War’, Journal of Medieval History, 9 (1983), 15–24. Jean Le Bel and Froissart were also deeply uncomplimentary about the citizens of Caen, who supposedly ran away as soon as they were faced by the advancing English

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Underpinning this characterization of non-aristocratic warriors was a concern about the growing importance of infantry on the battlefield, echoing wider social pressures on the aristocracy. Crossbows and longbows represented a threat to the mounted warrior, not just because of their effectiveness against all soldiers but also because of the opportunities that they offered to the lower classes to achieve a new level of military prominence.104 It is little wonder, then, that chivalric commentators were keen to underline the social exclusivity of the prowess and specific skills required of the knightly classes. In 1455 two burgesses of Valenciennes, Jacotin Plouvier and Mahuot Coquel, fought a duel in front of the duke of Burgundy; they were armed with clubs, smeared with grease and carried their shields upside down, so that no one might mistake this for a duel between noblemen.105 Of course, there was also a great fear amongst the ruling elite of the potential of an armed and trained peasantry. Gangs of armed peasants were referred to pejoratively as brigands in France from the middle of the fourteenth century, and usually received short shrift from commentators.106 Many modern historians have praised the patriotic resistance by such brigands to the English occupation of Normandy in the fifteenth century, but Thomas Basin, who came from the Pays de Caux, said that the royal troops were suspicious of the rebels and worried about the threat that they would pose if the English were driven out.107 The anonymous cleric known as the Bourgeois of Paris reported that, in 1418, the commons of Paris were besieging the castle at Montlhéry, held by Armagnac forces. Certain Burgundian noblemen with the Parisian force negotiated with the garrison, however, and were given money to lift the siege. The cleric reported that the real reason why these nobles had helped their enemies was that they were scared that the Parisians could utterly defeat the Armagnacs within two months, and thereby put an end to their war – something that the gentlemen did not

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army – a claim challenged by other chroniclers. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 81–3, and Froissart (SHF), III, xxxvii, 141–4, 158–60. See A. T. Hatto, ‘Archery and chivalry: a noble prejudice’, Modern Language Review, 35 (1940), 47, (in general) 40–54, and J. Bradbury, The Medieval Archer (Woodbridge, 1985), 3. Also see L. Crombie, ‘From war to peace: archery and crossbow guilds in Flanders c.1300–1500’ (PhD dissertation, University of Glasgow, 2010). Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, III, 38–49; Mémoires d’Olivier de La Marche, II, 402–7; Chronique de Mathieu d’Escouchy, II, 297–305. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 89. Basin, Histoire de Charles VII, I, 224–7. Also see A. Baume, ‘Text and interpretation: Thomas Basin and the revolt in the Pays de Caux (1435)’, in L. Carruthers and A. Papahagi (eds.), Paroles et silences dans la littérature anglaise au moyen âge (Paris, 2003), 193–209.

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want because they loved war, in contrast to the commons, who wished to put an end to the fighting.108 The clearest statement of the distinction between the chivalric violence of the aristocracy and popular violence was provided by the commentary on the Jacquerie, a widespread popular uprising that broke out in Île-deFrance in late May 1358. In their accounts of this uprising, Jean Le Bel and Jean Froissart offered a polemical attack upon the treacherous and inhuman violence of the rebels. Their actions were not chivalric, not just because they themselves were committing treason by attacking their social betters but also because of the animalistic, brutal way that they treated their enemies, even women and children. In their base violence, they clearly represented the very antithesis of the aristocratic and chivalric elite of both France and England, who set aside their temporary differences to suppress this horror.109 In book three of the Chroniques, Froissart interviewed Bascot de Mauléon, who recalled that he had been travelling with the Captal de Buch when they came upon the duchess of Normandy, the duchess of Orléans and other ladies surrounded by the Jacques. After rescuing the ladies, the men-at-arms supposedly killed 6,000 of the rebels.110 The Jacquerie was presented as such a serious threat because the rebels were in breach of their social responsibilities and obligations as subjects of the lords whom they were attacking. In other words, they were guilty of a specific kind of violence that could never be presented as chivalric: treasonous violence. Indeed, Froissart consistently denounced those who rebelled against their lords, such as the Flemings who rose up against their count, Louis de Mâle, only to be brutally suppressed by a French expeditionary force in 1382. The chronicler presented this defeat at Roosebeke as revenge upon the Flemings for their triumph over Robert, count of Artois, and a French army at Courtrai in 1302, eighty years beforehand, as well as a victory for aristocracy itself against these commoners who had perpetrated atrocities and rebellion against their lords.111 At the opposite end of the spectrum, certain kinds of aristocratic violence were not just condoned but championed within chivalric culture. Theologians and chivalric writers alike praised the use of aristocratic violence in order to defend the Church against its enemies, and in 108 109

110 111

Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 111–2. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 255–86, and Froissart (SHF), V, 99–106, together with M.-T. de Medeiros, Jacques et chroniqueurs: une étude comparée de récits contemporains relatant la Jacquerie de 1358 (Paris, 1979), 25–67. Froissart (SHF), XII, 96–7. Froissart (SHF), XI, 51–7; also see Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 36–40.

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particular the crusades.112 In the early twelfth century Bernard de Clairvaux had identified the Templars as the worthiest of all knights, motivated solely by a pure desire to defend Christianity and to fight for God.113 Such themes were common in crusading sermons, and were echoed and reinforced by the tales of great heroes such as Judas Maccabeus, Charlemagne and Godfrey de Bouillon, all of whom had fought against enemies of God.114 Geoffroi de Charny identified Maccabeus as the perfect knight, a man who was worthy and brave, handsome but without pride; he died while armed in God’s cause and so received from God earthly honour and eternal salvation, numbered among the saints.115 Philippe de Mézières argued that the stories of Judas Maccabeus and Godfrey de Bouillon would provide true inspiration for knights, demonstrating not only the importance of trust and faith in God but also the importance of avenging the wrongs done to God in the Holy Land.116 Indeed, in 1378 King Charles V hosted the Emperor Charles IV in Paris, and during the festivities they watched a dramatization of the capture of Jerusalem in 1099 by Godfrey de Bouillon.117 During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries numerous French writers continued to champion crusading as the highest form of knightly prowess, primarily to rally support during a period when the Holy Land and Jerusalem remained in Muslim hands and the Turks became an increasing threat to Christendom.118 The most prominent voice was that of Philippe de Mézières, who had had a vision of Christ while attending Mass in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem in 1347, inspiring his lifelong mission to preach the reconquest of the Holy Land. To that end he not only visited courts across Europe but also composed a sequence of treatises designed to rally support, including a sequence of

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See H. E. J. Cowdrey, ‘Christianity and the morality of warfare during the first century of crusading’, in M. Bull and N. Housley (eds.), The Experience of Crusading, vol. I, Western Approaches (Cambridge, 2003), 175–92, and Housley, The Later Crusades. Bernard de Clairvaux, Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae, III, 205–39. Crusade Propaganda and Ideology: Model Sermons for Preaching of the Cross, ed. C. T. Maier (Cambridge, 2000). The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 162. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 222–3, 379–80. See F. Autrand, ‘Mémoire et cérémonial: la visite de l’empereur Charles IV à Paris en 1378 d’après les Grandes chroniques de France et Christine de Pizan’, in L. Dulac and B. Ribémont (eds.), Une femme de lettre au moyen âge: études autour de Christine de Pizan (Orléans, 1995), 91–103, and L. J. Walters, ‘Performing the nation: the play performed at the great feast in Christine de Pizan’s biography of Charles V’, in E. Doss-Quinby, R. L. Krueger and E. J. Burns (eds.), Cultural Performances in Medieval France: Essays in Honour of Nancy Freeman Regalado (Woodbridge, 2007), 219–32. See, for example, J. Magee, ‘Crusading at the court of Charles VI, 1388–1396’, French History, 12 (1998), 367–83, and Paviot, Les Ducs de Bourgogne.

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writings on his proposed military order, the Order of the Knighthood of the Passion, and even a letter to King Richard II in 1395, pleading with him to secure peace with his French rival, so that they might join together in a war against the true enemies of the Church.119 In practice, of course, French and English monarchs rarely participated in crusades following the fall of Acre in 1291, in large part because responsibilities at home took priority. Nonetheless, they and their apologists repeatedly emphasized their commitment to an ideal that their ancestors had championed and embodied. When Philippe VI took a crusading vow before Pope Benedict XII in 1336, Jean Froissart compared the French king to Godfrey de Bouillon, and also said that the idea of such a crusade was very popular for those who wished to spend their time in arms but had no other opportunities at that time.120 Jean II decided to take the vow in 1363, shortly before his death. According to Froissart, Jean II was inspired by the pleas of King Peter I of Cyprus, the fact that his father, Philippe VI, had taken such a vow, and the opportunity that crusading offered as a means to export from France the Free Companies that were pillaging and robbing his subjects.121 In contrast, Edward III and his sons refused Peter I of Cyprus’ attempt to win their support for a crusade when he visited London in November 1363, although the English king had made a stronger commitment to crusading when he had been younger.122 Various chroniclers reported that, on his deathbed, King Henry V said that he would have been keen to go on crusade if only he had lived long enough to secure peace with France first.123 In the absence of royal leadership, countless French and English princes of the blood and lesser aristocrats did demonstrate powerful commitment to the crusading cause, usually during lulls in the wars between their two kings. In October 1357 Gaston III Phébus, count of 119

120 121 122

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A. Molinier, ‘Description de deux manuscrits contenant la règle de la Militia Passionis Jhesu Christi de Philippe de Mézières’, Archives de l’Orient Latin, 1 (1881), 335–64; A. H. Hamdy, ‘Philippe de Mézières and the New Order of the Passion’, Bulletin of the Faculty of the Arts of Alexandria University, 17 (1963), 45–54; Hamdy, ‘Philippe de Mézières and the New Order of the Passion (part II)’, 1–105; Mézières, Letter to King Richard II. Froissart (SHF), II, 114–8; also see C. Tyerman, ‘Philip VI and the recovery of the Holy Land’, English Historical Review, 100 (1985), 25–52. Froissart (SHF), VI, 83; also see Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 68–104. See Froissart (SHF), VI, 90–1, and Ormrod, Edward III, 452–3. In 1340 Edward III had issued a manifesto justifying his war against King Philip VI of France, expressing his desire to achieve peace as an essential prerequisite for his real goal: to join other Christian kings in making war on their real enemies, and securing the Holy Land. Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus, 309–10. See, for example, La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 112, and Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, I, 334.

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Foix, went on crusade to Prussia accompanied by his cousin, Jean de Grailly, Captal de Buch.124 Following a three-year truce agreed with the English at Leulinghen in June 1389, Louis II, duke of Bourbon, led a crusade that briefly captured the Maghribian port of Mahdia.125 King Charles VI refused to give Boucicaut permission to join this crusade, but shortly afterwards the marshal did return to Prussia for the Reisen, supported financially by Charles’ brother, the duke of Touraine, albeit with a short delay as Charles temporarily required his services in Italy.126 Meanwhile, between August 1390 and March 1391, Henry Bolingbroke, the future King Henry IV of England, also joined the Teutonic knights in the Reisen in Prussia.127 Philippe de Mézières’ Order of the Knighthood of the Passion attracted over eighty prominent nobles and clerics, from France and England in particular, to join or pledge their support, including the dukes of Orléans, Berry and Bourbon, Marshal Boucicaut, Constable Philippe d’Artois, count of Eu, Admiral Jean de Vienne and Bishop Pierre d’Ailly.128 Philippe de Mézières’ dreams were not fulfilled, however, and when a major crusade was finally mounted it was led by Jean de Nevers, eldest son of the Burgundian Duke Philippe III le Bon, and a cluster of French magnates including Boucicaut. King Sigismund joined them with Hungarian troops, and, despite initial successes along the Danube valley, on 25 September 1396 they were defeated at Nicopolis by the Ottomans under Sultan Bayezid I. The anonymous biographer of Marshal Boucicaut argued that the Christian soldiers who were killed in this disaster were martyrs, ‘sains en paradis’.129 Although crusading continued in the fifteenth century, nurtured in particular by the Burgundian court, French involvement never reached these heights again.130 Chansons de geste, romances, chronicles, biographies and manuals consistently represented knightly prowess itself as a means to win the approval of God, building upon and adapting the message of crusading 124 125

126 127 128 129 130

P. Tucoo-Chala, Gaston Fébus et la vicomte de Béarn, 1343–1391 (Bordeaux, 1959), 74–9. Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 220–57; L. Mirot, ‘Une expédition française en Tunisie au XIVe siècle: le siège de Mahdia (1390)’, Revue des questions historiques, 97 (1931), 357–406. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 74–7. Expeditions to Prussia and the Holy Land Made by Henry Earl of Derby, ed. L. T. Smith (London, 1884). M. Hanly, ‘Courtiers and poets: an international system of literary exchange in late fourteenth-century Italy, France and England’, Viator, 28 (1997), 311–13. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 114–15. Also see Mézières, Une epistre lamentable et consolatoire. J. Paviot, Les Ducs de Bourgogne, together with ‘Burgundy and the crusade’, in N. Housley (ed.), Crusading in the Fifteenth Century: Message and Impact (Basingstoke, 2004), 70–80.

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sermons and propaganda that presented the Christian knight, serving and fighting for God, as a worthy and even saintly figure. Crusaders risked death and suffering in a Christ-like manner, potentially martyring themselves in battle for God and the Church.131 Such themes were powerfully articulated by Geoffroi de Charny in his Livre de chevalerie, and were no doubt close to the heart of a man who had taken part in the crusade of Humbert II, dauphin de Viennois, in 1345.132 Charny did not explicitly refer to crusading, though, and indeed blurred the boundary between divine sanction for warfare on behalf of the Church and almost any form of warfare, using the idea of knightly suffering to argue that God sanctioned and approved of a much wider range of chivalric violence. He described the dangers of travelling to foreign lands, requiring bravery that was not found in most people, and graphically described the hunger and lack of sleep endured on campaign, the pain of wounds received in battles, and the risk of disdain from comrades if one failed to fight well, not to mention the humiliation of failing to please one’s lady.133 He even argued that knighthood itself was an order just like that of the priesthood, but that clerics were spared the physical dangers of the battlefield and the risks that this posed to one’s soul.134 The same idea was presented by Jean de Bueil in Le jouvencel when he argued that poor men-at-arms faced danger, poverty and discomfort, sustained by the pleasure of seeing and learning new things every day, winning honour and praise, but also by taking comfort in God. They knew that they would save their souls through fighting for God and justice, just as well as if they lived a contemplative life, sustained by a diet of roots.135 In short, the clerical propaganda in support of the crusade was often adapted to justify a much wider range of violence by knights and men-atarms. Moreover, the language of crusading and religious warfare was increasingly adopted in support of national wars, such as the conflict between the kings of France and England.136 For example, supporters of

131

132 133 134 135 136

S. Kangas, ‘Deus vult: violence and suffering as a means of salvation during the First Crusade’, in T. Lehtonen and K. V. Jensen (eds.), Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology (Helsinki, 2005), 163–74; also see K. A. Smith, ‘Saints in shining armor: martial asceticism and masculine models of sanctity, ca. 1050–1250’, Speculum, 83 (2008), 572–602, together with R. W. Kaeuper, Holy Warriors: The Religious Ideology of Chivalry (Philadelphia, 2009). The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 164. See Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 6–7, and The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 90–2. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 174–6, 180–90. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 20–1. N. Housley, ‘Pro deo et patria mori: sanctified patriotism in Europe, 1400–1600’, in P. Contamine (ed.), War and Competition between States (Oxford, 2000), 221–48.

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the Valois monarchy increasingly invoked the notion of the Israelites as a chosen people of God, to rally support for kings such as Charles VI and Charles VII.137 For example, in May 1429 Jacques Gélu, archbishop of Embrun and royal emissary to the Council of Constance, wrote to King Charles VII, praising Joan of Arc as a sign that God had finally taken pity on the French, whom he described as the people of Israel.138 Shortly afterwards Christine de Pizan, in Le ditié de Jehanne d’Arc, argued that the Pucelle had led the French out of evil just as Moses had rescued the Israelites.139 Indeed, Joan herself had emphasized God’s support for the French against their enemies, famously declaring in her first letter to the English, on 22 March 1429, that she had been sent by God to reclaim the blood royal and, if necessary, to drive the Englishmen out of France.140 Joan did at least pay homage to the notion of crusading when she advised the duke of Burgundy to make war upon the Saracens rather than in the holy kingdom of France, and threatened to take up her sword against the Hussites as enemies of the Church. These were very modest footnotes to her primary focus on a war waged against the English and the opponents of King Charles VII, however, and do not undermine her importance as the foremost example of the increasing tendency to shift the focus from crusading towards divinely sanctioned warfare on behalf of the kingdom and the king.141 Of course, even without the increasing rhetoric of divine support for national wars, service in the army of the king had always offered a rich opportunity for knights and men-at-arms to perform chivalric violence. On the one hand, the royal host represented the most important of all possible audiences for deeds of arms, not just because of the presence of the king, or at least his marshals and constables, but also because it brought together the leading members of the aristocracy. In 1385 Richard II gathered the last English feudal host in medieval history, and the simple act of convening such a prestigious gathering triggered a series of disputes about heraldry that had to be resolved in the court of 137

138 139 140 141

J. R. Strayer, ‘France: the Holy Land, the chosen people and the Most Christian King’, in Medieval Statecraft and the Perspective of History: Essays by Joseph R. Strayer (Princeton, NJ, 1971), 300–14. Mémoires et consultations en faveur de Jeanne d’Arc, par les juges du procès de réhabilitation, ed. P. L. d’Arc (Paris, 1889), 576. Pizan, Le ditié de Jehanne d’Arc, 32. Procès de condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, I, 221–2. Procès de condamnation et de réhabilitation de Jeanne d’Arc dite la Pucelle, ed. J.-E.-J. Quicherat (SHF, 5 vols., Paris, 1841–9), V, 126–7, 156–9. For a more optimistic view of Joan’s view of the crusades, see K. DeVries, ‘Joan of Arc’s call to crusade’, in A. W. Astell and B. Wheeler (eds.), Joan of Arc and Spirituality (Basingstoke, 2003), 111–26.

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chivalry.142 At the same time, fighting within the royal host also offered the best opportunity for honourable service to the king.143 Like their predecessors, late medieval French writers championed loyalty and service to the king and the community, often underlining the point by reference to the example of the Romans and drawing upon the authority of classical writers such as Vegetius and Valerius Maximus, as well as the Aristotelian tradition of emphasizing service to the commonweal. For example, Honorat Bovet repeatedly expressed the legal and moral duty of a knight to serve and to obey his king above all others, citing the sovereign authority of the monarch, and also the responsibility of men-at-arms to defend the kingdom as a whole.144 Christine de Pizan famously compared knights and men-at-arms to watchdogs entrusted with the protection of the sheep and the shepherd against wolves, and to the arms within the body politic, serving and protecting the head and the rest of the body.145 In the Breviaire des nobles, Alain Chartier declared that loyalty for true noblemen required service to their king and the defence of his subjects.146 This responsibility was underlined in Le quadrilogue invectif, as the Clergé identified ‘obeissance’ as one of the three key qualities needed to protect France and the common good: rather than emulate the Israelites, who were willing to support their attacker, Antiochus, the aristocracy needed to follow the example of the loyal Judas Maccabeus.147 In Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil declared that it was the duty of a man-at-arms to serve the king and the commonweal, and he denounced violence performed solely for selfish honour and vainglory, which was worth nothing.148 Echoing the ideas of Christine de Pizan, he described the knights as the hands and arms of the ‘corps mistique’, and his young hero was praised by the king and his court for having sacrificed so much in his service to the commonweal.149 Enguerrand de Monstrelet presented his account of wars and deeds of arms as encouragement to brave men to serve loyally their prince and sovereign lord, standing up for

142

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144 145 146 147 148 149

A. Ayton, ‘Knights, esquires and military service: the evidence of armorial cases before the Court of Chivalry’, in A. Ayton and J. L. Price (eds.), The Medieval Military Revolution: State, Society and Military Change in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (London, 1995), 81–104. K. Kim, ‘Être fidèle au roi: XIIe–XIVe siècle’, Revue historique, 293 (1996), 225–50; also see R. Horrox, ‘Service’, in R. Horrox (ed.), Fifteenth-Century Attitudes: Perceptions of Society in Late Medieval England (Cambridge, 1994), 61–78. See, for example, Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 751–2, 760 [chs. 75, 84]. See Pizan, Corps du policie, 13–5 [I, ch. 9], and pages 226–7 below. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 397. Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 48. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 100; also see I, 56. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 79, 154.

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his rights and defending him in his quarrels.150 The Rosier des guerres declared that men-at-arms were required to fight for their kingdom, and that the defence of the common good was their estate and vocation.151 The importance of prowess performed in service to the king and the kingdom was underlined by the rhetorical contrast between true knighthood and the unchivalric robber, brigand or mercenary, who knew nothing of such loyalty and was instead motivated solely by personal financial gain. Echoing Aristotle and Giovanni da Legnano, Honorat Bovet accepted that a warrior might be brave because of his greedy desire to win riches and profit, but he clearly regarded this as an inferior motivation. Indeed, he attacked selfish motives, denouncing men-atarms who joined the French army just for the chance to pillage and to rob.152 In Le songe du vieil pelerin, Philippe de Mézières famously imagined three types of mounted warriors: firstly, nobles, who would respond only to a personal summons from the king; secondly, knights and squires, who constantly served in the wars against the enemies of the king, whether he was there or not; and, thirdly, freebooters and routiers, upstarts and parvenus who might look like knights but who were really low-born people, worse than Saracens.153 Of course, the line between true knight and mercenary was profoundly unclear in practice, when routiers moved in and out of royal service. This is seen most clearly in the case of Bertrand du Guesclin. From at least seven years before his death, in 1380, Du Guesclin was being compared with the Nine Worthies of chivalric legend by Eustache Deschamps.154 The eulogizing reached its apogee in La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, written in the mid-1380s by an anonymous clerk from Picardy named Cuvelier, who was close to the court of Charles VI.155 The careful airbrushing of history by these apologists could not mask the fact, however, that Du Guesclin was no knight errant but, rather, had risen to his high station thanks in large part to his successes as a highly effective mercenary. He led the Valois army to victory over the Anglo-Navarrese forces under Jean de Grailly, Captal de Buch, at his first proper battle, at Cocherel, on 16 May 1364. Du Guesclin then returned to the service of 150 151 152

153 154 155

La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 128. Le rosier des guerres: enseignements de Louis XI roy de France pour le dauphin son fils, transcription du manuscrit, ed. M. Diamant-Berger (Paris, 1930), ch.4. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 740, 771 [chs. 65, 101], drawing upon Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 250–1, 108–9, 119, and Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 70–3 [III, ch. 8]. Also see Pizan, Corps du policie, 64–8 [II, chs. 7–8]. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 530–1. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 27–30, 69–70, 324–35, III, 100–2, IV, 111, X, xxxv–xxxvii, lxxvi–lxxvii, lxxix. See, for example, La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 216, and also III, 257–9.

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Charles de Blois, however, apparently without royal permission, and was taken prisoner by Sir John Chandos during Jean de Montfort’s victory at the battle of Auray on 29 September 1364.156 In 1365 Du Guesclin led his company into the Spanish peninsula, where he briefly served King Pedro IV in tandem with his brother-in-arms, the Englishman Sir Hugh Calveley, before the Black Prince arrived in Castile and took him prisoner at the battle of Nájera on 3 April 1367.157 Du Guesclin then returned to Spain on the orders of Charles V, in July 1368, helping Enrique da Trastámara to defeat Pedro the Cruel at the battle of Montiel in March 1369, before being recalled to France in spring 1370 to be appointed constable on 2 October. Many contemporaries believed that he had allowed Jean IV de Montfort to return to the duchy of Brittany in April 1379, torn between his loyalties as a Breton and as constable of France under King Charles V, who had found the duke guilty of treason. Indeed, Cuvelier may have ignored Du Guesclin’s involvement in Normandy and Brittany in 1378 and 1379 because of this stain on the constable’s reputation.158 The rhetorical contrast between a mercenary, who will fight anyone for loot and pay, and the chivalric knight and gentleman, loyally fighting in the service of his lord, has shaped the modern idea of the age of chivalry as a time when amateur warriors fought because of honour and feudal loyalty, before the advent of professional soldiers who fought ‘not because of a social obligation, or duty, to fight, but for money’.159 In practice, the line between amateurs and professionals was far from clear in the Middle Ages. By the time of the Hundred Years War, most soldiers received pay from the French and English crowns for their service. The real problem was that such wages were often insufficient to support the soldiers and would dry up when campaigns came to an end. Such men did not deny their loyalty and allegiance to their kings, but could not afford to live on the intermittent income provided by wages for service in royal wars or garrisons.160 Companies of soldiers continued to operate during lulls in the royal wars, such as after the Treaty of 156 157

158

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Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, xxiv–xxv, 34. See K. Fowler, ‘Deux entrepreneurs militaires au XIVe siècle: Bertrand du Guesclin et Sir Hugh Calveley’, in M. Balard (ed.), Le combattant au moyen âge (Paris, 1995), 243–56, and Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies, 118–54. See B.-A. Pocquet du Haut-Jussé, ‘La dernière phase de la vie de Du Guesclin; l’affaire de Bretagne’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 125 (1967), 142–89, and La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, II, 146–7, 151, III, 221–4. See Trim, ‘Introduction’, 4, and Bennett, ‘Why chivalry?’, 41–4. Also see C. Hanley, War and Combat, 1150–1270: The Evidence from Old French Literature (Cambridge, 2003), 28. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 51.

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Brétigny, because they were a business enterprise, with men-at-arms following a captain who would feed, arm and even discipline the men, who would share in the profits that they acquired. They supported themselves by hiring themselves out to local magnates who were involved in private wars, or simply held local populations to ransom.161 These men-at-arms were certainly expert at justifying their violence. During the wars in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century France, soldiers continued to fight during truces by simply changing their banners and adopting the colours of one of the other warring factions, such as the Navarrese, the Bretons or the counts of Foix and Armagnac during their private war in the 1360s. An English routier named John Verney even declared in 1365 that he was in service to Giannino di Guccio, an Italian merchant who claimed to be the lost son and heir of the French king, Louis X.162 At the beginning of the fifteenth century French soldiers who had broken a truce that had been agreed by Richard II and Charles VI in 1396 claimed to have been serving the king of Scotland.163 In late 1417 Breton routiers who had been terrorizing Saint-Denis took advantage of the civil war by alternately wearing the cross of St Andrew, used by the Burgundians, and the white upright cross of Armagnac.164 In 1431 Burgundian soldiers assaulted Belfort during a truce with King Charles VII but they were wearing the cross of St George, so that the duke could claim that they were acting for the English rather than him.165 In 1449, just before Charles VII abandoned the truce with the English and invaded Normandy, French soldiers attacked the English strongholds of Pont de l’Arche, Conches and Gerberoy under the banner of Brittany, whose duke was already at war with the English following an attack upon Fougères.166 There are two points to be made regarding the cavalier way in which soldiers seized upon legal authorization for their actions. On a positive note, it does demonstrate their practical concern to demonstrate the legality of their actions, in the face of harsh punishment for brigandage or because soldiers were legally entitled to take booty and other spoils 161 162 163 164

165 166

Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies. Keen, The Laws of War, 85; also see T. di Carpegna Falconieri, The Man Who Believed He Was King of France: A True Medieval Tale (Chicago, 2008). Keen, The Laws of War, 114. Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 154–6. Earlier Pintouin had reported Burgundian claims that, because King Charles VI was on their side, troops raised against them by Orléans and Armagnac qualified as ‘Compagnies’: IV, 538–40. Keen, The Laws of War, 113. Oeuvres de Robert Blondel, historien Normande du XVe siecle, ed. A. Héron (2 vols., Rouen, 1891–3), II, 30–4, and Les chroniques du roi Charles VII par Gilles le Bouvier, 291–6.

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only during open war. In the 1360s the Englishman William Bulmer was executed because he was nothing but a pillager and had no right to make war.167 Similarly, the routier Mérigot Marchès during his trial at the Châtelet in Paris in 1391 failed to prove that he had always acted with the legal authority of the English, and he was therefore executed. Marchès argued that the land held in fee by his father had passed into the possession of John of Gaunt and Edward III by the terms of the Treaty of Brétigny (1360), and that therefore his looting and pillaging had been carried out in service to his new masters.168 Froissart offered a more persuasive explanation, but also a warning to others, when he attributed to Marchès a speech extolling the pleasure, money and glory that he had won by robbing abbots and merchants, supported lovingly by the peasants of the Auvergne and Limousin, terrifying the countryside and enjoying memorable victories at Carlat, Caluset and the castle of Merquel.169 On a more negative note, there is a strong sense that, for many of these men-at-arms, the cause and authority for war mattered far less than the simple excuse that it offered to fight and to earn profit. When discussing the way that various Gascons switched allegiances between Charles V and Edward III in the late 1360s, Froissart drily commented that this inconstancy was typical of the Gascons, though they usually preferred the English to the French because their warfare was more worthy (‘belle’).170 As Wright has argued, ‘Their own “Englishness” and “Frenchness” was the justification rather than the reason for the murder and mayhem in which they were all engaged.’171 In a sense, this reflected the fact that royal or national war was still something of a construct in the late Middle Ages, poorly distinguished from a private war, quarrel or feud fought between one aristocrat and another. Until the end of the Hundred Years War there were no permanent English or French armies that served only their sovereigns. Instead, royal or national war formed intermittent interludes in careers that were a patchwork of military activity, from the occasional crusade to the feuding and private warfare that was far more common.172 Moreover, the reasons why Plantagenet and Valois monarchs made war upon one another were not profoundly different from the motivations of rival claimants to more local wars within France, such as the civil war in Brittany or the feuding between the counts of Foix and

167 168 169 171

Keen, The Laws of War, 100n. Registre criminel du Châtelet de Paris du 6 septembre 1389 au 18 mai 1392, ed. H. Duplès Agier (2 vols., Paris, 1861–4), II, 188–9, (in general) 177–213. 170 Froissart, Chroniques, XIV, 164–5. Froissart (SHF), XII, 206. 172 Wright, Knights and Peasants, 3. Keen, The Laws of War, 116.

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Armagnac. Jean Le Bel was less interested in the legal claim of Edward III to the French throne than the fact that he was more worthy than his rival, King Philippe VI; Edward always listened to good counsel, loved and honoured his men, defended his lands against his enemies, bravely risked his life alongside his men and was generous to them.173 Indeed, chivalric commentators repeatedly emphasized the honour to be won in war just as much as the legal cause at stake. In Guillaume de Machaut’s biography of King Peter I of Cyprus, the hero encouraged his men as they prepared to attack Alexandria by saying not only that this would pave the way for the reconquest of the Holy Land but also that it offered the chance for them to win such glory as had never been offered to any of them before. Later, Peter lamented the fact that their honour had died with their defeat.174 Of course, intellectuals, especially those in service to the French crown, tried very hard to stress the distinction between wars fought in the service of crown and state and private wars, tournaments and duelling. Theologians and lawyers had long argued that warfare had to be authorized by a proper authority, whether it be the emperor, pope or king, and was therefore fundamentally distinct from private, potentially criminal violence carried out by the aristocracy. Only a legal sovereign had the right to declare a true war in which enemies could be taken prisoner and property seized.175 This influential doctrine was widespread amongst intellectuals in the late Middle Ages. For example, Honorat Bovet declared in the Arbre des batailles that a prince alone had the authority to declare war, because no man should bear arms without the licence of a prince, and because only a prince could do justice upon someone who had done wrong. Bovet also admitted, though, that, in practice, even simple knights wished to have the right to make war and to take the law into their own hands against those who had wronged them.176 Similarly, Christine de Pizan declared that only a sovereign in charge of a temporal jurisdiction and without a legal superior could undertake a war or a battle.177 Since at least the middle of the thirteenth century French lawyers had argued that their king was just such a sovereign, heir to the power and authority of the Roman emperor, as encapsulated in the legal maxim that the king was emperor in his own kingdom.178 Thus, in 1363, the lawyers of Charles V argued that the king 173 175 177 178

174 Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 65–6. Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie, 152, 190. 176 Keen, The Laws of War, 68–71. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 748 [ch. 71]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 25–6 [I, ch. 3]. A. Bossuat, ‘The maxim “the king is emperor in his kingdom”: its uses in the fifteenth century before the Parlement of Paris’, in P. S. Lewis (ed.), The Recovery of France in the Fifteenth Century (London, 1971), 185–95; Krynen, L’empire du roi, 384–414.

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had ultimate control over the defences of the city of Reims because of his public authority, and hence overruled the claims of the archbishop to make decisions.179 Such claims were not uncontroversial even in late medieval France. Powerful regional noblemen were providing justice and law within their own territories, and there was a strong tradition behind the notion that every baron was sovereign within his own barony, as Philippe de Beaumanoir famously said in the Coutumes de Beauvaisis, the systematic treatise on customary law that he composed in 1283.180 Claims that the French king held a monopoly upon the prowess or loyalty of the knightly classes were equally fragile. For example, Beaumanoir declared that gentlemen could wage war according to their customs, and that, while fighting such wars, actions that would normally be civil crimes were permissible because of the right to private warfare.181 This provided a legal sanction and justification for individuals such as the count of St Pol, who targeted the friends, family, allies, counsellors, supporters and comforters of his avowed enemy, Bofremont, in the late fourteenth century.182 In the middle of the thirteenth century King Louis IX had attempted to restricts the rights of the nobility to engage in private wars, tournaments and single combats. He introduced the ‘quarantaine le roi’, a forty-day truce in private wars to allow members of the family of those engaged in hostilities to separate themselves from the feud, banned trial by battle in civil and criminal cases, limited tournaments and even attempted to prohibit private war.183 These efforts constituted one major factor in the resistance to royal authority mounted by the provincial leagues across France in 1314.184 Beyond legal debates about the status of private warfare, the long-term chaos and collapse of public order in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries was fuelled by, and in turn allowed French knights and aristocrats to pursue, private feuds and wars against one another. In his outline of the preliminary actions before a great crusade, Mézières asked for the Estates General to appoint men in each baillage to put an end to private wars and to settle drawn-out lawsuits.185 Such conflicts continued to be common, 179 180 181 182 183 184 185

Keen, The Laws of War, 79. The Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir, trans. F. R. P. Akehurst (Philadelphia, 1992), 368–9. The Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir, 612, (in general) 610–18. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 32. J. Firnhaber-Baker, ‘From God’s peace to the king’s order: late medieval limitations on non-royal warfare’, Essays in Medieval Studies, 23 (2006), 19–30. A. Artonne, Le mouvement de 1314 et les chartes provinciales de 1315 (Paris, 1912). He also called for an end to the custom in Picardy that, if one nobleman was at war with another, so were all his family up to twelve degrees: Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 416–8, 433.

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however. For example, on the night of 13 June 1392, Pierre de Craon and his men attacked Olivier de Clisson in the streets of Paris, and left him for dead. King Charles VI blamed the attempted assassination on Jean IV de Montfort, duke of Brittany, who had provided Craon with money in return for his castle of Sablé. It would appear, though, that the central motivation for this brutal assault was Craon’s belief that Clisson had caused him to be banished from the royal court for offending Louis, duke of Orléans.186 On 9 March 1449 Guillaume de Flavy was murdered by his wife, Blanche d’Overbreuc, and her lover, Pierre de Louvain, assisted by two accomplices. Flavy was avenged fifteen years later when his brothers killed Louvain on 15 June 1464, after they had failed to secure royal justice both for Blanche’s crime of adultery and for the murder of Guillaume, captain of Compiègne.187 Moreover, despite the claim by lawyers that the taking and ransoming of prisoners could occur only in a proper, just war, the fortunes of important French noblemen were repeatedly determined by battles such as Launac in 1362, when Gaston III, count of Foix, captured Jean d’Armagnac, the count of Comminges, Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret, his brothers and cousins, and dozens of lesser lords and captains; or at Bulgnéville in Lorraine in 1431, when René d’Anjou was captured by his rival for the duchy of Lorraine, Antoine, count of Vaudemont.188 Kaeuper has powerfully argued that ‘[t]he lay elite cherished as a defining privilege this right to violence in any matter touching their prickly sense of honour’.189 Honorat Bovet certainly complained about the foolish reasons that led to violence between knights, such as disagreements about which country had the best wine, women or soldiers, or who was the better fighter, dancer or lover.190 Froissart told the story of Sir Peter Courtenay, whose planned combat with Guy de La Trémoïlle in 186

187

188

189 190

J. B. Henneman, ‘Reassessing the career of Olivier de Clisson, constable of France’, in B. S. Bachrach and D. Nicholas (eds.), Law, Custom and the Social Fabrication in Medieval Europe: Essays in Honor of Bryce Lyon (Kalamazoo, MI, 1990), 226, and J. B. Henneman, Olivier de Clisson and Political Society under Charles V and Charles VI (Philadelphia, 1996), 152–6. C. Gauvard, ‘Entre justice et vengeance: le meurtre de Guillaume de Flavy et l’honneur des nobles dans le royaume de France au milieu du XVe siècle’, in J. Paviot and J. Verger (eds.), Guerre, pouvoir et noblesse au moyen âge: mélanges en l’honneur de Philippe Contamine (Paris, 2000), 291–311. See P. Tucoo-Chala, Gaston Fébus: un grand prince d’Occident au XIVe siècle (Pau, 1976), 38–42; B. Schnerb, Bulgnéville (1431): l’état bourguignon prend pied en Lorraine (Paris, 1993), 93–113, and M. L. Kekewich, The Good King: René of Anjou and FifteenthCentury Europe (Basingstoke, 2008), 27–32. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 8. He made these comments in the context of his discussion of the rules governing trial by battle, in Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 863 [ch. 197].

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Paris was prevented by Charles VI in 1388. After the aborted encounter, Courtenay was given safe conduct to travel back to Calais under the escort of the lord of Clary. During the journey Courtenay complained in front of the countess of St Pol that Charles VI had stopped the joust after just one lance, prompting Clary to demand the opportunity to defend the honour of the knights of France. In the ensuing joust Clary wounded Courtenay, and was therefore rebuked by the French royal council for breaching the terms of the safe conduct.191 In La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, the narrator described how Du Guesclin attended a parley with the English during the siege of Rennes during the winter of 1357–8, and was challenged to single combat by a kinsman of the captain of GrandFougeray Castle, who had died at Du Guesclin’s hands earlier in the story.192 In Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil warned that a young knight should consider his honour and his duty to God, and therefore take up arms only in a just quarrel, supporting his sovereign or his kinsman in their just case.193 Yet it would be dangerous to overemphasize the stereotype of knights constantly taking up arms to defend themselves against insults to their prickly sense of honour. This is a notion that fits more easily in the early modern culture of duelling, in which aristocrats were encouraged to be alert to insults and injuries that would constitute a challenge to their honour. In the late Middle Ages there were certainly examples of individuals who took up arms to protect their reputation, but such duels usually took place within the framework of the trial by battle, a legal mechanism to secure redress for grievances.194 These trials were normally restricted to members of the aristocracy, and could take place only when the honour of at least one party was at stake but there was insufficient evidence for a legal judgement in an ordinary manner.195 Furthermore, most judicial duels were fought over extremely serious matters, rather than simple rudeness. For example, in 1352 Henry of Lancaster challenged Duke Otto of Brunswick to a duel before the French king Jean II, accusing Otto of planning to kidnap the Englishman.196 On 24 November 1363 Sir William Felton accused Bertrand du Guesclin of 191 193 194

195 196

192 Froissart, Chroniques, XIV, 43–55. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 43, 46–8. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 118. See H. Morel, ‘La fin du duel judiciaire en France et la naissance du point d’honneur’, Revue historique du droit français et étranger, 4th series, 42 (1964), 574–639, and M. G. A. Vale, ‘Aristocratic violence: trial by battle in the later middle ages’, in Kaeuper, Violence in Medieval Society, 158–81. Keen, The Laws of War, 41. Henry Knighton, Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337–1396, ed. and trans. G. H. Martin (OMT, Oxford, 1995), 112–8: K. Fowler, The King’s Lieutenant: Henry of Grosmont, First Duke of Lancaster, 1310–1361 (London, 1969), 106–10.

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breaking his word to serve as a hostage for the truce between Jean de Montfort and Charles de Blois, and challenged him to a duel because the Frenchman had accused him of breaking his faith as a prisoner.197 Perhaps the most famous example of trial by battle in late medieval France was that fought between Jean de Carrouges and Jacques Le Gris before King Charles VI on 29 December 1386, at the end of a very long legal dispute between the two men regarding the accusation that Le Gris had raped Carrouges’ wife Marguerite.198 In this case, honour was clearly at stake for all parties, as both men fought to prove that they had been telling the truth, and Carrouges to defend his shamed wife. Of course, this example also demonstrates the powerful differences between these medieval trials by combat and early modern duels of honour. Their fight took place only after extensive attempts to secure a legal resolution to their dispute, precisely because the courts and judges were unable to determine the truth in a situation that ultimately came down to the word of one person against another.199 Moreover, buried beneath the rhetoric of honour was a more practical dispute between Carrouges and Le Gris regarding their interests in Normandy under their shared lord, the count of Alençon. This case is an important reminder of the fact that, during the age of chivalry, aristocrats did usually have some alternatives to physical violence when prosecuting disputes with rivals and enemies: violence and the rhetoric of honour were weapons that could be deployed in order to achieve their ends, alongside more mundane, legal negotiations.200 Certainly, other men did not feel the same need to resort to violence. For example, Sir John Fastolf faced extraordinary provocation in challenges to his reputation by John Lord Talbot and Thomas Overton, particularly with regard to their claims that he had acted with cowardice at the battle of Patay in 1429. At no point, though, did this dispute move outside the courtrooms of the Parlement of Paris and the Order of the Garter, or turn to violence.201

197 198

199 200 201

Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, 12–13, also see Morel, ‘La fin du duel judiciaire’, 615–18. See Froissart (SHF), XIII, 102–7, and Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, I, 462–6, together with B. Guenée, ‘Comment le Religieux de Saint-Denis a-t-il écrit l’histoire? L’exemple du duel de Jean de Carrouges et Jacques le Gris (1386)’, in M. Ornato and N. Pons (eds.), Pratiques de la culture écrite en France au XVe siècle (Louvain, 1995), 331–43. For duelling in post-medieval period, see Carroll, Blood and Violence. For parallel remarks about the use of the rhetoric of honour, see Taylor, Honor and Violence in Golden Age Spain, 17–64. H. Collins, ‘Sir John Fastolf, John Lord Talbot and the dispute over Patay: ambition and chivalry in the fifteenth century’, in D. Dunn (ed.), War and Society in Medieval and Early Modern Britain (Liverpool, 2000), 114–40. Also see pages 147–8 below.

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Chivalric writers often complained about trials by battle, primarily for religious reasons. For example, Philippe de Mézières called upon the king to forbid all trials by combat because they were offensive to God, trying to force him to make a public judgement on matters that were secret and unknown to mortal men, but also because they did not necessarily reveal the truth. He recalled his own experience presiding over a trial by battle between two knights at Pontorson in September 1354, when the man who was actually in the right was killed by his opponent. Moreover, he attacked the use of professional champions in Hainault and Liège who fought for money rather than truth, and would certainly go to hell.202 Similar arguments were voiced by the Somnium viridarii and its translation, Le songe du vergier, which stressed that neither a desire for glory nor anger were legitimate motives for taking part in such a trial by combat.203 Honorat Bovet accepted that royal custom and temporal lordship might allow such events to take place, recognizing that knights and their lords often preferred to decide matters by arms and combats, because of their training and because they would not easily stop a situation after a challenge.204 He cited the example of a duel between a Gascon, Amanieu de Pommiers, and a Frenchman named Foulques d’Archiac, which Jean II had permitted to take place in 1363 despite the opposition of Pope Urban V.205 Yet Bovet offered carefully prescribed rules for such events and emphasized the role of lawyers in advising and regulating such activities.206 Underpinning such debates about trials for battles was a fundamental tension within chivalric culture regarding the validity of such private violence. On the one hand, there was a long-standing notion that the knight or man-at-arms had the right – or indeed obligation – to defend himself, his honour, his family, his friends and his immediate lord against any injury, but there was also an increasingly powerful view championed by Church and state that violence and coercive force should be the monopoly of kings and rulers.207 Was it legitimate for individuals to take up arms to prove themselves in competition against one another? Did violence need to be carried out on the orders of a proper authority, whether it be a father, lord or king? Disagreement and debate about these questions resulted in a nebulous distinction between chivalric and 202 203 204 205 206 207

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 278–81. See Somnium viridarii, I, 126–30, and Le songe du vergier, I, 348–54; also see Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 732–4, 844–5 [chs. 59–60, 178]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 861–4 [ch. 197]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 734 [ch. 60]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 861–4 [ch. 197]. W. C. Brown, Violence in Medieval Europe (Harlow, 2011), 12.

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unchivalric violence that was constantly under scrutiny and debate by aristocrats and commentators alike, within various contemporary genres, but also in the different contexts within which the medieval aristocracy performed violence, from the tournament lists to the battlefield. This same tension is revealed by chivalric notions of treason. Treachery and disloyalty were the antithesis of true knighthood: as the Lancelot do Lac declared, a knight who was treasonous and disloyal (‘traïtres et desloiaus’) had renounced knighthood (‘chevalerie’).208 Nonetheless, treason could be defined in a very precise legal sense as betraying and seeking to harm the king, but also more generally and simply as breaking one’s oath or promise.209 Thus, in 1367, the Black Prince charged the Frenchman Arnoul d’Audrehem with treason because he was serving in arms with Enrique da Trastámara and Bertrand du Guesclin despite his promise given on his honour as a knight that, on being ransomed after Poitiers, he would fight only in the company of the king of France or the princes of the fleur-de-lys.210 Rather than risk breaking his oath as a member of the Order of the Garter, Enguerrand de Coucy renounced the Garter in 1377 when he joined the French side.211 When Henry V captured Rouen in January 1419, he was merciful to Guy Le Bouteiller, the garrison and the citizens who were willing to swear oaths of loyalty to him, but he executed Nicolas de Gennes as a traitor because he had sold Cherbourg to the English just five months earlier and then failed to depart before his safe conduct had expired.212 The murder of the duke of Burgundy, Jean sans Peur, at the bridge at Montereau in September 1419 inspired great anger, in part, because of the oaths that the two parties had taken before the parley. One of the murderers, Guillaume de Lara, viscount of Narbonne, was killed during the battle of Verneuil in 1424, but afterwards his body was hung, drawn and quartered like a traitor by the duke of Bedford.213 After the duke of Burgundy had abandoned the Dauphin Charles and supported the Treaty of Troyes, the translator of Blondel’s Desolatio regni Francie, Robinet, described Philippe III le Bon as a greater traitor than Ganelon, the infamous villain of the Chanson de Roland.214 Indeed, even mercenaries and routiers

208 210 211 212 213 214

209 Lancelot do Lac, I, 222. Cuttler, The Law of Treason and Treason Trials. E. Molinier, Étude sur la vie d’Arnoul d’Audrehem, 181; Keen, The Laws of War, 50–3. M. H. Keen, ‘Coucy, Enguerrand (VII) de, earl of Bedford (c.1340–1397)’, DNB [www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/53074, accessed 4 May 2011]. See Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 244, and La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 242–3, 308. See Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 117, and Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 198–9. Oeuvres de Robert Blondel, I, 103–4; also see 85, 100, 116.

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usually avoided fighting against their own lords. Arnaud de Cervole, known as the Archpriest of Velines, was a notorious routier who even laid siege to Avignon and forced Pope Innocent VI to pay him a ransom. Yet Arnaud refused to fight against the Navarrese at the battle of Cocherel in 1364, because they were led by his lord, the Captal de Buch.215 Two years later the Black Prince arrived in Castile to aid Pedro the Cruel against his illegitimate half-brother Enrique da Trastámara. Trastámara had seized the throne the previous year with the support of Bertrand du Guesclin and an army made up of both French and English soldiers. With the Black Prince’s arrival, most of the English and Gascon routiers returned to his service.216 Yet aristocratic tenants did, of course, have a right to resist their lords according to feudal, customary law. The loyalty required by a feudal oath was conditional, and, if the king did not keep up his end of the bargain, the nobleman was entitled by customary law to issue a formal defiance. As Keen has noted, a nobleman or knight ‘was not normally regarded as entitled to wage war if his liege lord was a principal on the other side, unless it was his own cause and he had formally defied him’.217 To counter and erode this right, French royal lawyers increasingly turned to Roman ideas of treason and the concept of lèse-majesté, to describe as illegal any crime against the majesty of the king and the crown, including regicide, attempted assassination, war against the king, consorting with the enemy, breaches of loyalty, crimes disregarding the king’s sovereignty, and treason by word. It was by these standards, for example, that Jean, duke of Alençon, was twice condemned to death for lèse-majesté in 1458 and 1476, having taken part in the Praguerie of 1440, accepted membership in the Order of the Golden Fleece and conspired with the English.218

Conclusion Prowess was the heart of chivalric culture, the constant theme running through literature, art, rituals and games. This is not to say that the description of knightly violence in chivalric narratives was completely accurate. Modern audiences have often been too quick to accept the 215 216 217 218

A. Cherest, L’archiprêtre: épisodes de la Guerre de Cent Ans au XIVe siècle (Paris, 1879), 246–50. Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies, 191–9. Keen, The Laws of War, 87. See S. H. Cuttler, The Law of Treason and Treason Trials, 195–212, and ‘A report to Sir John Fastolf on the trial of Jean, duke of Alençon’, English Historical Review, 96 (1981), 808–17.

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representation, without properly considering the gap between the violence described in narratives and the reality that underpinned them. This must be understood as a complex phenomenon, reflecting the demands of genre, the difficulties of describing the brutal realities of warfare and knightly combat, and the simple fact that many medieval authors had not personally experienced the violence that they were recounting. At the same time, chivalric descriptions of warfare and violence served a deeper purpose, as a contribution to a complex debate about the boundaries between licit and illicit violence. There is no doubt that chivalric culture regarded crusading as the epitome of worthy violence, and denounced in equally strong terms almost any fighting by the lower orders against their social superiors. Between the two lay a much greyer area, as writers and intellectuals reflected on the importance of national wars and the far more controversial issues of private warfare, feuding and duelling. These clearly had deep roots in aristocratic culture, but were increasingly challenged by Church and state, as French kings took other, more practical measures to reinforce their claim to a monopoly on warfare and violence. The tensions and debates inherent within chivalric culture make it extremely difficult to offer a simple answer to the question of whether chivalry – especially when defined narrowly as the textual representations of knighthood, rather than in the wider sense of culture as laws, rituals, social practices and values – encouraged or controlled the violence that was so commonplace in late medieval France. Chivalric literature glorified violence but also attempted to prescribe moral and legal limits to it. Many modern scholars have preferred to focus upon the civilizing messages, especially the emphasis upon just war and moral behaviour, pronounced either directly through sermons or more subtly through the moral lessons offered by chivalric tales. Yet the central importance of violence and prowess at the very heart of chivalric culture must raise difficult questions about the role of such literature in taming aristocratic violence. Kaeuper has argued that chivalric writers may have wished to establish controls and limits on the brutal behaviour of their aristocratic audiences, but violence was too central to knightly culture to be tamed: ‘Belief in the right kind of violence carried out vigorously by the right people is a cornerstone of this [chivalric] literature. Yet aggression and the disruptive potentiality of violence is a serious issue for these writers no less than for the historians.’219 Because prowess and violence were so engrained in chivalric culture, attempts to control 219

Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 22; also see Kaeuper and Bohna, ‘War and chivalry’, 284.

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such energies through notions of just war theory or a sovereign’s monopoly on violence were inevitably compromised. Kaeuper has argued that ‘[w]hen lords at all levels, and townsmen as well, sallied forth in arms to settle their own grievances, a long tradition of private rights buttressed by the ethos of chivalry ran headlong against a developing theory of public authority vested in kingship for the common weal’.220 Of course, in late medieval France, writers were increasingly trying to define the ethos and ideals of knighthood in terms of loyalty, service to crown and commonweal, and discipline. These were not new notions, of course, having been invoked by commentators on chivalry since the twelfth century and beyond, echoing the importance in particular of Roman models derived from authors such as Vegetius, but also central ideas in the work of Aristotle. In other words, chivalric culture did not offer a simplistic vision of knightly violence but constantly debated the difficult question of when aristocrats could legally and morally resort to arms to settle their disputes, echoing the complexity of the historical reality. It seems more sensible to recognize that texts were not simply inspirations for knightly violence or the solutions to the problems that it caused. Moreover, it is important to remember that there were more obvious, practical reasons why violence was so commonplace than the evil influence of high culture. In late medieval France, an almost permanent state of warfare with the kings of England, and a series of regional civil wars, contributed to the collapse of public order in a society constantly abused not just by mercenaries but also by troops employed by the crown. Even without the uniquely bellicose context of France under the Valois monarchy, uncertainties and disputes within the inheritance system, the lack of a state monopoly on violence and the importance of alternative mechanisms such as feuding all contributed to the likelihood of violence.

220

R. W. Kaeuper, War, Justice and Public Order: England and France in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford, 1988), 226.

4

Courage

Chivalric culture constantly praised courage and asserted that the shame of cowardice should be feared more than death itself. Nevertheless, representations of bravery were more complex and sophisticated than a superficial reading of heroic tales might suggest.1 Echoing Aristotle, medieval theologians emphasized that rashness and overconfidence could be just as dangerous as fear and cowardice, and also reflected very carefully upon the best ways to inspire soldiers, and ordinary people, to be brave. These twin debates echoed throughout chivalric culture, and became increasingly important in late medieval France, in the face of military disasters in which soldiers conspicuously failed to withstand the emotional challenges presented by warfare and battle.2

Debating courage Bravery was celebrated in chivalric society, just as in all warrior cultures. In the Middle Ages the greatest heroes had proved their courage on the battlefield. The Frankish knight Roland had called upon his men to fight bravely so that no one could sing a shameful song about them, according to the Chanson de Roland’s account of the battle of Roncesvalles on 15 August 778.3 According to the story, Roland sacrificed his own life and that of his men in order to secure victory over the Saracens, and after 1

2

3

For important introductions to the history of courage in the Middle Ages, see Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 250–9; J. F. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe during the Middle Ages: From the Eighth Century to 1340 (2nd edn, Woodbridge, 1997), 27–60, Taylor, ‘Chivalric conversation and the denial of male fear’, and Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 375–411. Also see W. I. Miller, The Mystery of Courage (Cambridge, MA, 2000). It is important to emphasize that battles were a relatively rare occurrence in late medieval warfare, even if the commentators tended to focus upon these events, and that sieges were the most important contexts within which bravery and cowardice were displayed. The Song of Roland: An Analytical Edition and Commentary, ed. G. Brualt (2 vols., University Park, PA, 1978), II, 64.

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his death he was carried to heaven by St Gabriel.4 In 1066 William the Conqueror’s jongleur, Taillefer, famously sang about Roland in order to rally the Normans before the battle of Hastings, and the Frank became an archetype for courage throughout the age of chivalry.5 For example, in Les voeux du héron, a French poem probably written around 1346, Jean de Hainault accused his fellow knights of believing that they were the equal of Roland and his companion Oliver.6 Shortly afterwards La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin (c.1380) reported that the constable of France had earned more honour than any knight since the time of Roland and repeatedly compared Du Guesclin with his illustrious predecessor.7 It was not just heroes of old who were celebrated for their bravery. Jean de Luxembourg, king of Bohemia, enjoyed a heroic death while fighting for Philippe VI at the battle of Crécy on 26 August 1346. According to Froissart, King Jean was blind and had to call upon his men to lead him forward into the fray so that he might strike a blow with his sword. They tied their horses to his and led their lord into the battle, where they all met their death. Afterwards their bodies were found alongside one another, with their horses still bound together.8 In his account of these heroic deeds, Froissart paid no attention to the emotions of the king and his loyal knights, and did not ask whether they had had to triumph over fear as they rode to their deaths. Nor did he mention the fact that Jean de Luxembourg had been forced to retreat from the battle of Vottem against the Liègois on 19 July 1346 – a shameful action that might have inspired his heroic self-sacrifice at Crécy as a means to redeem his honour.9 Nevertheless, Froissart did underline the moral of the story, that bravery was a supremely noble quality, and that true knights should prefer death to the shame of cowardice and flight.10 His praise of the heroic actions of Jean de Luxembourg and his retainers was subtly juxtaposed with the news that the king’s son Charles had left the battlefield when he saw that 4 5

6 7 8 9

10

The Song of Roland, II, 146. See A. Taylor, ‘Was there a Song of Roland?’, Speculum, 76 (2001), 28–9, and, for the wider reception, K. Pratt (ed.), Roland and Charlemagne in Europe: Essays on the Reception and Transformation of a Legend (London, 1996), and M. J. Burland, Strange Words: Retelling and Reception in the Medieval Roland Textual Tradition (Notre Dame, IN, 2007). See The Vows of the Heron, 52, and pages 155–6 below. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 6, 77, 189, 201, 468. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 108, and Froissart (SHF), III, 178–9, Froissart (Rome), 730–1, and Froissart (Amiens), 19. See C. Gaier, ‘La bataille de Vottem: 19 juillet 1346’, in Armes et combats dans l’univers medieval, vol. I (Brussels, 1995), 27–37, and K. DeVries, Infantry Warfare in the Early Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 1996), 150–4; also see Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 25n. Froissart (SHF), III, 178–9.

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the tide was turning.11 In La prison amoureuse (c.1372–3), Froissart explored the story of the sacrifice of the king of Bohemia and his knights in more detail, underlining its importance as evidence of the loyalty and dedication of the king’s retainers, demonstrating that worthy men should love and serve their lords, and thereby win true honour.12 The same point was underlined, for example, in French accounts of the battle of Nájera, on 3 April 1367. Froissart reported that the soldiers of Enrique de Trastámara were too ashamed to flee when their king was fighting so bravely, but once he had abandoned the field they too could retreat without reproach.13 La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin reported that, before the battle, Bertrand du Guesclin had advised Enrique de Trastámara to wait and to allow famine to weaken the army of the Black Prince. His advice was ignored, and the count of Denia even accused Du Guesclin of cowardice. As a result, the Frenchman deliberately took a prominent position in the battle in order to demonstrate that he was no coward, but when they were defeated Du Guesclin was taken prisoner.14 The message that men-at-arms who failed in their responsibilities to their captains and lords on the battlefield were cowards resounded in chivalric culture. Honorat Bovet declared that a knight ought to keep his faith and oath (‘sa foy et son sacrement’) to his lord, defending him and his honour.15 As Ramon Llull said, knights who abandoned their lords in battle because their courage gave way to fear were not members of the order of chivalry.16 The French term ‘couard’ derived from the Old French word ‘coart’, which in turn referred to the tail of an animal, suggesting the act of turning one’s back on the enemy and running away.17 In La fonteinne amoureuse, Guillaume de Machaut said that a knight who was cowardly was no more use than a clerk who wanted to be brave in battle, because each was acting against what was right.18 11

12 13 14 15

16 17

18

Froissart (SHF), III, 179. Guillaume de Machaut referred to those who had betrayed Jean II as cowards (‘couarts’) – presumably a reference to the battle of Poitiers – in La prise d’Alexandrie, 68. Jean Froissart, La prison amoureuse, ed. and trans. L. de Looze (New York, 1994), 4–6. Froissart (SHF), VII, 44. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 245–6; La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald, 129–30; Froissart (SHF), VII, 25–7, 30, 43. His source, Legnano, had argued that a man could even break an oath not to flee if the danger was beyond his strength and there was no hope of survival: Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 741 [ch. 66], and Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 109 [ch. 28]. Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 108. It may also have suggested the submissive posture of putting one’s tail between one’s legs: A. Lynch, ‘Beyond shame: chivalric cowardice and Arthurian narrative’, Arthurian Literature, 23 (2006), 2. Machaut, The Fountain of Love, 96.

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Chroniclers such as Froissart were certainly scornful of those who fled from a battlefield. He reported that French reinforcements who arrived the day after the battle of Crécy in 1346 fled in the face of the English army and were massacred in the open or under hedges and bushes.19 Earlier he had told the story of Wauflars de La Crois, who shamefully abandoned Sir William Balliol and their men in 1340, fleeing into a marsh, where he was discovered by his enemies; they killed him, refusing to ransom such a coward.20 Such accounts were commonplace. For example, the anonymous Bourgeois of Paris reported that, in 1439, English troops had boldly relieved Avranches, forcing the larger French army to lift their siege, with great dishonour.21 The Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont carefully defended the actions of Richemont as commander of this French force, reporting that the constable had wished to hold firm but was persuaded to retreat because so many of his soldiers had broken ranks ‘sans ordennance’.22 Georges Chastellain recounted how the Burgundian Duke Charles le Téméraire publicly shamed Bishop Louis de Bourbon and the lord of Boussu for their cowardice in abandoning the town of Huy to the army of Liège in September 1467. Boussu came in for particular scorn, because he had been charged with the defence by Duke Charles le Téméraire, but had abandoned his responsibility at the encouragement of the bishop.23 Courage and cowardice were complicated issues, though, subject to very careful scrutiny by medieval intellectuals. Fortitude, or strength, was one of the cardinal virtues, regarded as essential not merely for soldiers risking their life in war but for all members of Christian society. It was strength (fortitudo, translated into French as ‘force’ or ‘fortitude’) that enabled Christians to resist challenges to their faith and to accomplish what reason and justice demanded.24 Thus Honorat Bovet described fortitude (‘fortelesse’) as the strength of soul and the will to withstand any tribulation or temptation.25 Surveying the cardinal virtues, Christine de Pizan argued that fortitude (‘force’) enabled the individual to withstand pain by means of virtuous thoughts.26

19 20 22 23 24 25 26

Froissart (SHF), III, 188–9. Froissart had graphically described the brutality of the soldiers serving Edward III, who offered no mercy to their enemies: III, 181, 187. 21 Froissart (SHF), II, 60–2. Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 350–1. Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont, 156–7. Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, V, 332–4. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, vol. XLII, Courage (2a2ae. 123–40), ed. and trans. A. Ross and P. G. Walsh (London, 1965), 4–6, 12–14 [2a2ae. 123, articles 1, 3]. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 737–8, 754–6 [chs.62–3, 78–9]; also see Bovet’s source, Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 97–101 [chs. 21–3]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 2 [I, ch. 2].

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Medieval views of courage were dominated by the careful and nuanced analysis offered by Aristotle (384–327 BC).27 Aristotle’s discussion of courage (andreia) were extremely influential on medieval theologians such as St Thomas Aquinas and his student Giles of Rome, author of the De regimine principum, translated into French as Li livres du governement des rois by Henri de Gauchi.28 Aristotelian ideas also framed the discussion of fortitude (‘force’ or ‘forteresse’) in Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles, through the intermediary of the Tractatus de bello, de represaliis et de duello of Giovanni da Legnano.29 In addition, the first Latin translations of the Nicomachean Ethics appeared in the thirteenth century, and Brunetto Latini offered the first French translation in book two of his Li livres dou Tresor (1260–5), before Nicole Oresme presented King Charles V of France with a French translation and gloss entitled Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote (1374).30 Aristotle had raised two fundamental issues that shaped medieval debates about courage and fortitude. First and foremost, he rejected the simplistic assumption that bravery and cowardice were direct opposites. Rather, he believed that true courage (andreia) was the mean between the twin extremes of fear (deilia, or timor in Latin) and overconfidence (thrasutēs, or audacia in Latin). In other words, the brave man conquered the fear that might lead to cowardice, but also the opposite passion of overconfidence that would drive one towards rash and foolish choices.31 He accepted that to triumph over fear would be more difficult, because this is a far more powerful emotion than overconfidence; therefore, Aristotle did not view courage as an exact midpoint between the two extremes of cowardice and rashness, and he also regarded foolhardiness as less of a vice than cowardice.32 This notion that courage represented the rational and prudent balance between fear and overconfidence was extremely influential amongst medieval theologians and intellectuals. For example, Aquinas described fortitudo as the firmness of mind to accomplish virtue in general, but 27

28

29 30 31 32

This is not to deny the importance of other classical writers, such as Cicero and Macrobius, both of whom were cited extensively, for example, by Aquinas in Summa Theologiae, XLII. See Thomas Aquinas, Commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, trans. C. I. Litzinger (Notre Dame, IN, 1993), Summa Theologiae, XLII, and Gauchi, Li livres du governement des rois. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles; Legnano, Tractatus de bello. See Translations médiévales, II, 61–4, together with Brunetto Latini, Li livres dou Tresor, ed. F. J. Carmody (Berkeley, CA, 1938–48), and Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote. See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 66–9 [III, chs. 6–7], together with T. Nisters, Aristotle on Courage (Frankfurt, 2000). Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 74–5 [III, ch. 9].

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more specifically the virtue to face up to every danger without being diverted either by fear or rashness.33 Nicole Oresme defined a man as brave (‘fort’ or ‘hardi’) if he was able to overcome those things that he feared but also avoided the danger of being too brave or foolhardy (‘fol hardy’).34 This notion was graphically demonstrated in an illumination in a manuscript of Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote. ‘Fortitude’ was depicted as a brave (‘preuz’) mounted knight, with a similar figure, described as ‘trop hardi’, to his left, representing ‘oultre cuidance’. To his right was a third knight, described as ‘couart’, representing ‘couardie’, who was riding in the opposite direction.35 According to Oresme, foolhardy men (‘les fols hardis’) were impetuous and eager, but when danger actually arrived they fell apart, because they lacked the habit of virtue guided by reason.36 Similarly, Honorat Bovet argued that fortitude prevented one from being overwhelmed not just by the cowardly desire to flee from a dangerous situation but also by the rash temptation to charge headlong into the enemy.37 The second question that Aristotle raised concerned the inspiration for courage. He carefully examined seven factors that might lead a man to act, or at least appear to act, bravely: anger, ignorance of danger, selfconfidence, experience, the desire for recognition, the fear of punishment and the desire to do the right thing, which he described as the best motivation of all.38 The reason for rehearsing these different wellsprings for bravery was less an interest in providing practical advice about warfare than using this model to explore the theoretical basis for true fortitude. For Aristotle, the military context was of interest, because it was there that courage was most clearly demonstrated, in the face of the greatest danger.39 His real concern was to argue that true courage was the rational ability to overcome the passions of fear and overconfidence, and to emphasize that the individual should never place his personal desires ahead of the common good. Anger might encourage a soldier to 33 34 35

36 37 38 39

See, for example, Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XLII, 12, 78, 116 [2a2ae. 123, article 3, 126, article 2, 129, article 5]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 203, 208, 217 [III, chs. 14, 15, 21]. The Hague, Rijksmuseum Meermanno-Westreenianum MS 10 D I, fol. 37r, discussed by C. R. Sherman, Imaging Aristotle: Verbal and Visual Representation in FourteenthCentury France (Berkeley, CA, 1995), 76, 78–80. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 209 [III, ch. 16]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 754–6 [chs. 78–9]; also see Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 97–101 [chs. 21–3]. See Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 66–7, 70–3 [III, chs. 6, 8], and also Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XLII, 6, 88 [2a2ae. 123, article 1, 128, article 1]. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 67 [III, ch. 6]. Oresme was very critical of the tournament, citing a French proverb that a good tournamenter would be a cowardly warrior (‘de bon tournëeur, couart guerrier’): Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 205 [III, ch. 14].

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perform a great feat of arms, but this could not be described as a rational action. True courage could be demonstrated only when the goal was noble, because the nature of any given thing was determined by its end. Thus he famously declared that the man who feared or felt confident for the right reason, in the right way and at the right time was courageous.40 For late medieval French writers who drew upon Aristotle, this emphasis upon courage performed for the right reason served their wider ends of channelling knightly violence into the service of the community, and in particular the Valois monarchy. For example, Nicole Oresme asserted that the man who was brave or worthy (‘fort ou preux’) was one who could overcome fear according to reason and for the sake of good, which is the end of virtue.41 Furthermore, he glossed Aristotle’s statement that courage required the endurance of pain and risking one’s life for a proper goal, by underlining the notion that to die for the common good (‘le bien publique’) was the greatest of all possible motives, while to fail to act in such a manner would be a sin and would destroy one’s happiness.42 Similarly, he altered Aristotle’s text in order to emphasize the importance of fighting for the common good, arguing that the best contexts in which the courageous and worthy man faces peril are those in which he risks death in battle for the common good.43 In short, Oresme stressed that the truly brave man would put himself at risk for the common good, rather than on account of personal honour and shame, fear of punishment, experience and training, spirit and eagerness, optimism and ignorance, all of which were not worthy inspirations for courage.44 Similarly, Honorat Bovet argued that true fortitude depended upon a proper motivation. A knight who was fighting in a just war and defending a just cause had no fear of the danger to life and limb, and was displaying true fortitude.45 Those motivated by honour, anger or other influences might appear to be bold (‘bien hardy’) on the battlefield, but the virtue of courage was found only in those who were fighting for reason and justice.46 Similarly, Christine de Pizan called upon noblemen to be courageous on the battlefield, emphasizing their duty to sacrifice their blood or life for the sake of the prince, the country and the ‘chose 40 41

42 43 44 45 46

Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 68 [III, ch. 7]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 207–8 [III, ch. 15]. Aquinas had also emphasized that acts of courage and bravery that were not performed for the sake of achieving some good were not true examples of fortitude: Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XLII, 38–9, 64–5 [2a2ae. 123, article 10, 125, article 2]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 218 [III, ch. 21]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 205 [III, ch. 14]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 210–6 [III, chs. 17–20]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 738 [ch. 63]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 739–40 [ch. 65].

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publique’, but also the penalty of death and dishonour for fleeing from the battlefield out of fear.47 Despite the wider philosophical purposes framing these late medieval discussions of courage, their analysis of the range of factors influencing bravery still represents a far more sophisticated understanding of courage and morale than was implicitly offered by more narrative sources such as the Chroniques of Jean Froissart or chivalric romances. Indeed, they could even offer useful advice for commanders, especially when the more theoretical ideas of Aristotle were combined with the practical approach adopted by the Epitoma rei militaris written by Flavius Vegetius Renatus between AD 383 and 450. Vegetius had presented courage as an issue of real practical importance, because of his central premise that bravery and morale were more important than numbers in determining the outcomes of battles.48 His advice on the science of arms (doctrina armorum) included very careful reflection on training and discipline as a means to instil and to maintain courage, the importance of the commander in rallying and encouraging troops, and the need for military leaders to be coldly rational about the decisions about when to fight and when to flee.49 In short, influenced heavily by Greek and Roman traditions, late medieval French chivalric writers asked two very powerful and important questions about courage. Firstly, they explored the danger that an unsophisticated or emotional notion of either bravery or cowardice might encourage foolhardiness or rashness, and undermine a careful and rational assessment of the dangers of the battlefield. Secondly, they debated the ways in which courage might be instilled not just in knights and men-at-arms but also in other soldiers who were not members of the aristocratic, chivalric class.

Courage, cowardice and rashness Chivalric writers constantly emphasized that courage required the selfcontrol not merely to master fear but also to push aside the overconfidence that could drive soldiers to rush headlong into foolish situations. The notion that true bravery represented a careful, thoughtful balance 47 48

49

Pizan, Corps du policie, 62 [II, ch. 5]; also see 64–8 [II, chs. 7–8]. See Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 117 [III, ch. 26]; also see pages 247–50 below. For Roman notions of ‘virtus’, see M. McDonnell, Roman Manliness: Virtus and the Roman Republic (Cambridge, 2006), and W. V. Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, in S. Dillon and K. E. Welch (eds.), Representations of War in Ancient Rome (Cambridge, 2006), 300–17. See pages 166–72 below.

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between cowardice and foolhardiness was echoed in and supported by the ‘frequent praise of mesure, restraint, balance, and reason in all forms of chivalric literature’.50 Moreover, the point was underlined in didactic literature and treatises. For example, Ramon Llull praised the importance of courage for members of the order of knighthood, but warned that this needed to be tempered and moderated by wisdom and discretion.51 Geoffroi de Charny advised knights and men-at-arms in the Livre de chevalerie of the dangers of despair and cowardice (‘couardise’) but also of overconfidence and trusting too much in daring, which could cause a man to lose his life foolishly.52 Similarly, Christine de Pizan advised knights in her Livre de corps du policie that courage ought to be based upon reason, temperance and moderation. The truly brave warrior would limit his actions to the possible, avoiding foolhardiness, which was not honourable.53 She repeated the argument in Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie, declaring that foolhardy courage was not worthy of praise.54 Honorat Bovet argued that the man who possessed true fortitude would know how to attack, to defend or even to retreat wisely, honestly and fittingly (‘saigement et honestament et deuement’).55 Of course, in practice, the line between courage and rashness was extremely subjective and difficult to define, and overenthusiastic knights who committed acts of even suicidal bravery continued to be celebrated, as seen in the examples of both Roland and Jean de Luxembourg.56 Following the death of King Robert I of Scotland in 1329, Sir James Douglas undertook to carry his heart to Holy Sepulchre. While en route, Douglas joined Alfonso XI, king of Castile, in the battle of Turon against the Moors on 25 August 1330. Froissart described how Douglas deliberately withdrew to one side so that he could be more clearly seen, and then raced ahead into the battle, where he and his men were surrounded and killed. Froissart did not condemn Douglas for the rashness of his action but, instead, blamed the Castilians for failing to support him in the attack.57 Similarly, both the Chandos Herald and Jean Froissart recorded how Thomas and William Felton were surrounded by the Castilians during the Nájera campaign in 1367. William charged directly into the enemy line, where he was killed, whereas his brother and the other 50 51 52 53 54 55 56

Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, 145. Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 110. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 128. Pizan, Corps du policie, 65 [II, ch. 7]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 21 [I, ch. 1]. Pizan made this comment in referring to her own temerity to write a book on a subject for which she appeared unqualified. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 755 [ch. 78]. 57 See pages 132–4 above. Froissart (SHF), I, ii, 81–2.

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men-at-arms preferred to surrender. Froissart made little of the incident, though the Chandos Herald did describe William as having acted without proper advice and counsel.58 The chivalric biography of Jean II Le Meingre praised the fact that he and the French contingent on the Nicopolis crusade in 1396 had raced ahead of the army in order to seize Rahowa first.59 During the crusade of 1390, Boucicaut’s younger brother Geoffroy had challenged the Saracens to single combat at Mahdia in Tunisia and moved forward independently of his commander, Louis de Bourbon. According to the biography of Bourbon, Geoffroy was rebuked only very mildly for his actions.60 Nevertheless, it is obviously true that soldiers who were more intent on proving their own bravery than following orders and serving the collective cause represented a danger to the army as a whole. Success in medieval battle depended upon discipline, teamwork and the ability to function as a unit.61 Thus Honorat Bovet argued that any knight who led an attack against the order of the constable or marshal of the army deserved punishment, whether he was successful or not.62 Olivier de La Marche recounted how two Burgundian lords disobeyed orders during the battle of Gavre in 1453, and, even though their actions helped to secure victory, La Marche underlined the fact that they had done wrong in disobeying the command of the head of the army and his lieutenants, and described how these men had to acknowledge publicly their crime and plead for a pardon from the duke of Burgundy.63 Medieval chroniclers frequently blamed military disasters on the rashness and overconfidence of knights, to underline the dangers of youthful exuberance, but also sometimes to excuse the failings of their commanders. For example, Jean Le Bel and Froissart attributed the defeat at Crécy to the foolhardiness of the French knights, who had abandoned all order and discipline in their rush to win honour and glory.64 The same accusation was made by Michel Pintouin in his analysis of the defeat at Agincourt in 1415, when he argued that the French knights had been so confident of victory and so overcome by ardour and passion that they 58 59 60 61

62 63 64

Froissart, (SHF), VII, 23 and La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald, 123–4. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 94–5. Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 242–4. B. S. Bachrach, ‘Caballus et caballarius in medieval warfare’, in H. Chickering and T. H. Seiler (eds.), The Study of Chivalry: Resources and Approaches (Kalamazoo, MI, 1988), 197. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 741–2 [ch. 67], and also Pizan, Corps du policie, 62–4 [II, chs. 5–6]. Mémoires d’Olivier de La Marche, II, 320. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 102, and Froissart (SHF), III, 172–5; also see the Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 16.

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had ignored the advice and counsel of more experienced men.65 The Burgundian chronicler Jean Le Fèvre described French men-at-arms flooding onto the battlefield of Agincourt as if they were entering a tournament, and reported that Antoine, duke of Brabant, was so impatient to join the fray after arriving late that he raced ahead of his company, used a banner as a surcoat and then was quickly killed by the English archers.66 The fine distinctions between courage, cowardice and rashness were even more significant for military commanders. Decisions about whether to engage the enemy or to refuse to fight were inevitably subject to scrutiny, both by posterity and, more immediately, by the army itself. As Vegetius had warned, retreating before a battle would suggest that a commander was fearful and cowardly, and could also encourage the enemy.67 French crusaders had famously insulted King Richard I in songs after he had led them within sight of Jerusalem in 1192 but then retreated.68 Similarly, Jean Le Bel dramatized the early years of the Hundred Years War as a struggle between the brave King Edward III, a worthy warrior in the Arthurian tradition, and the cautious and even cowardly King Philippe VI.69 Some French nobles wore fox-fur caps to mock their monarch’s behaviour in avoiding battle in 1339.70 Such pressure may have contributed to Philippe’s decision to accept battle at Crécy in 1346, driven by the need to act bravely in front of his own troops. After all, when the king commanded an army in person, the royal host was led by such an important group of aristocrats that any hint of weakness or cowardice could even have serious political consequences.71 Another example occurred in 1355, as the Black Prince’s army threatened Toulouse in late October.72 According to Froissart, Jean I, 65 66 67

68 69

70 71 72

Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 558–64. Pintouin had already argued that the defeat at Nicopolis was due to indiscipline: II, 482–4, 496, 510. Chronique de Jean Le Févre, I, 249–59. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 109 [III, ch. 22]; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 74–5 [I, ch. 19], who described retreat in such circumstances as dishonourable (‘mal honnourables’). Ambroise. The History of the Holy War: Ambroise’s Estoire de la guerre sainte, ed. M. Ailes and M. Barber (2 vols., Woodbridge, 2003), I, 11. D. B. Tyson, ‘Jean le Bel: portrait of a chronicler’, Journal of Medieval History, 12 (1986), 321–2. Le Bel suggested that Philippe VI did not believe that his men would betray him, and warned that no prince who distrusted his own men would ever undertake fine deeds: Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 87. C. J. Rogers, ‘A continuation of the Manuel d’histoire de Philippe VI for the years 1328–39’, English Historical Review, 114 (1999), 1266. Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 22–3. See Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 55–7, and P. D. Solon, ‘Tholosanna fides: Toulouse as a military actor in late medieval France’, in L. J. A. Villalon and D. J. Kagay (eds.), The Hundred Years War: A Wider Focus (Leiden, 2005), 263–5.

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count of Armagnac, refused to give battle, because he was convinced that they would be defeated by the more experienced enemy. The people of Toulouse were so angry at the count, however, that they attacked his men within the city.73 The following month a French prisoner revealed that Jean de Clermont, marshal of France, had reproached Armagnac for shamefully failing to bring the Black Prince to battle.74 In short, military commanders had to weigh very carefully the potential shame of turning down a challenge to battle, not merely for the potential stain on their reputation but also for the practical impact that it might have upon the morale and confidence of the soldiers under their command. Indeed, knowing the value of making an enemy look cowardly, kings and commanders often challenged the enemy to battle under unfavourable circumstances, or even to single combat.75 On 14 August 1346 Philippe VI challenged Edward III to battle at one of two arranged locations, but on this occasion it was the English king who refused to allow his opponent to choose the conditions of such a confrontation.76 The following year Philippe VI challenged Edward III to abandon his camp outside Calais and meet the French on open ground, which the English king again declined.77 Ultimately, it was the result of a battle that determined whether a commander had acted courageously or rashly. The eventual outcome of the battle of Crécy could have been used as proof that Philippe VI’s earlier caution regarding battle with Edward III had perhaps been wise, though Jean Le Bel and Jean Froissart preferred to place the blame on illdisciplined French troops.78 Italian chroniclers attacked the rashness of Jean III, count of Armagnac, for rushing into battle with a Milanese army on 24 July 1391 at Alessandria in Lombardy, only to be heavily defeated. This foolishness stood in stark contrast to the cunning of Sir John Hawkwood, who had successfully evaded the same enemy forces shortly beforehand.79 Henry V’s decision to launch a chevauchée through the 73 74 75

76

77 78 79

Froissart (SHF), IV, 163, 173–4. See Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 137–8, and Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 67. M. Strickland, ‘Provoking or avoiding battle? Challenge, duel and single combat in warfare of the high middle ages’, in M. Strickland (ed.), Armies, Chivalry and Warfare in Medieval Britain and France: Proceedings of the 1995 Harlaxton Symposium (Stamford, 1998), 317–43. See C. J. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp: English Strategy under Edward III, 1327–1360 (Woodbridge, 2000), 256–7, and A. Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, in Ayton and Preston, The Battle of Crécy, 1346, 37, 51. Froissart (SHF), IV, 49–51; Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 20. See footnote 64 above. W. P. Caferro, John Hawkwood: An English Mercenary in Fourteenth-Century Italy (Baltimore, 2006), 303–5.

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French countryside after the capture of Harfleur on 22 September 1415 might well have been regarded as an act of rashness, but for the fact that a month later he defeated a much larger French force at Agincourt.80 Of course, such judgements would often depend upon the perspective and the affiliation of the chronicler. English writers were certainly circumspect about the defeat of Henry’s brother Clarence at the battle of Baugé on 22 March 1421, whereas French chroniclers were more willing to argue that he had been rash for joining battle with a larger FrancoScottish force, before the columns of his English and Welsh archers had arrived.81 In the aftermath of the early defeats during the Hundred Years War, French writers were increasingly willing to defend a more cautious approach to warfare, echoing the fundamental shift in French strategy. For example, Froissart described a French council of war in September 1373, at which Charles V, his brothers and the leading commanders such as Bertrand du Guesclin and Olivier de Clisson debated strategy against the English invaders, led by John of Gaunt. They recognized that many nobles and townsmen were concerned about the shame of refusing to accept the English challenges to fight, but the council supported Bertrand du Guesclin’s core principle that they would fight only if they held an advantage.82 This echoed Vegetius’ advice that battles were always an unpredictable proposition, and that the effects of defeat were so immense that only the foolish would risk such a roll of the dice if they were uncertain of victory. Indeed, his dictum that mistakes on the battlefield could not easily be corrected was often repeated by Valois writers.83 In Alain Chartier’s Le quadrilogue invectif (1422), a knight defended his class against the charge that they had failed in their responsibility to protect France. One of his arguments was that the people had pressured them into fighting the English too quickly, without time for proper planning and manoeuvring. This had led to the recklessness and rashness that had brought such disaster at Agincourt. It would have been much better to have recognized the value and honour of a commander who had the wisdom to retreat and to keep his army intact, rather than to lose it through the vain attempt to win a reputation for courage. When fortune was turning 80 81 82 83

Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 133–69; C. J. Rogers, ‘Henry V’s military strategy in 1415’, in Villalon and Kagay, The Hundred Years War: A Wider Focus, 399–428. J. D. Milner, ‘The battle of Baugé, March 1421: impact and memory’, History, 91 (2006), 484–507. Froissart (SHF), VIII, 160–3. See, for example, Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 9, and Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 236.

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against the French, it was necessary to snatch victory from the enemy through cautious prudence, learning from the example of the Roman Fabius Maximus, whose delaying strategy had famously defeated Hannibal and who saved Municius Rufus when he had rashly accepted the Carthaginian challenge to fight at Geronium.84 The potential danger of joining battle, especially under disadvantageous conditions, helps to explain why there were so many examples of armies lining up against one another, and sometimes even unfurling banners, without either side taking the initiative. In these cases, the battle was effectively lost, or ‘manquée’, in contemporary terminology. For example, in 1339 the English and French had agreed the date and site of a battle, Buironfosse, but this did not take place.85 Froissart described how Sir Robert Knolles’ army faced a local force from Auvergne and Limousin in 1359, with both sides simply squaring off against each other until nightfall, when they withdrew.86 In August 1369 John of Gaunt encountered a French army led by Philippe II le Hardi, duke of Burgundy, at Tournhem. The two armies set up in defensive positions, but, with neither side willing to take the offensive, there was a stalemate until Burgundy withdrew, leaving the English force free to pillage in the Pays de Caux.87 In 1424 Bedford and the French had agreed to fight outside Ivry on 15 August, but, when the French withdrew, Bedford was willing to take them on at Verneuil, a site that was less favourable for him.88 The most famous example came at Montépilloy in August 1429, when all the encouragement of Joan of Arc, and the momentum created by recent victories at Orléans, Beaugency and Patay, could not persuade either the French or the English commanders to join battle in a tactically disadvantageous position.89 Simply put, great caution is required in accepting Léon Gautier’s blanket claim that the refusal to retreat from an enemy was one of the ‘ten commandments’ of chivalry.90 Geoffroi de Charny repeatedly encouraged the members of the Company of the Star to discuss precisely this issue, suggesting that it was open to more debate than Gautier recognized. Charny posed seven questions concerning flight from a battle or a challenge, four of them directly asking whether a knight could either 84 86 87 88 89 90

85 Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 35–6. Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 171–2. Froissart (SHF), V, 186–9; Froissart (Amiens), III, 198–201. Froissart (SHF), VII, 166–7, 183–5, 374–5, 385–6. Also see Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 73, and Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 205. Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 377–8. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 325–9; Cagny, Chronique des ducs d’Alençon, 161–4. Gautier, La chevalerie, 66–70.

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leave the battlefield or surrender with honour.91 There were certainly circumstances in which withdrawal in the face of a superior army or disadvantageous conditions would be logical. As Verbruggen argues, ‘Men knew from experience that a lost battle did not necessarily mean a lost war, which would have been the case if they had all let themselves be killed; the absolute concept of honour had to be reconciled with the interests of society and of human safety.’92 Indeed, the ability to make a tactical withdrawal was regarded as a very useful and important piece of expertise. Charny declared in the Livre de chevalerie that young men-atarms should learn a range of practical skills, including how and when to make an honourable and safe withdrawal.93 Moreover, Vegetius certainly did not regard retreat as shameful or dishonourable, arguing that a disciplined withdrawal could offer opportunities to ambush the enemy. He provided careful advice on just this topic, for example suggesting ways to use deception against both the enemy and his own soldiers in order to avoid undermining their confidence. Christine de Pizan carefully repeated this guidance in Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie.94 The problem, of course, was the subjective nature of the decision on whether it was appropriate to stand and fight or to withdraw. These were matters of fine judgement, especially when cowardice carried a far greater stigma than rashness. The dilemma was highlighted in the Gesta Henrici Quinti, in which the anonymous author reported on a debate between the English soldiers about whether the Valois army would attack them during the Agincourt campaign. Some argued that the enemy had to avoid open battle because of internal divisions, while others rightly predicted that the French would have no choice but to attack if they wished to avoid the stain of dishonour and the opprobrium of cowardice.95 On 16 July 1465 Louis XI withdrew from the battle of Montlhéry, against the league of Le Bien Publique. While some Burgundian chroniclers such as Chastellain rebuked the king for this cowardice, Philippe de Commynes praised Louis for his bravery and presented the decision to retreat as a sound military judgement, given the fear that defeat would have inflamed the rebellion.96 On 14 March 1471 the Burgundian forces led by Jean de Neuchâtel, lord of Montagu, withdrew from battle against the French at Buxy. The day afterwards Neuchâtel said that he had retreated because it 91 92 93 94 95

Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 92, 103–4, 131, 138. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 57. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 102. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 109–12 [III, ch. 22]; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 74–7 [I, ch. 19]. 96 Gesta Henrici Quinti, 62–4. Commynes, Mémoires, I, 27–32.

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was becoming dark, and he was subsequently excused for this action by his fellow members of the Order of the Golden Fleece, because the duke of Burgundy’s banner had not been unfurled and so he had not blemished the honour of either the order or the duke.97 Perhaps the most interesting case study is that of Sir John Fastolf, who spent most of his life defending himself against the slur that he had acted in a cowardly manner at the battle of Patay in June 1429.98 The English had suffered a devastating defeat in that encounter, and the unmounted rearguard led by Lord Talbot and Lord Scales were captured. Fastolf had escaped, however, with the remnants of the army. Jean de Wavrin defended Fastolf’s retreat at Patay in 1429, reporting that the commander had not acted out of fear of death or capture but was persuaded to withdraw by his captains.99 Wavrin had served under Fastolf’s command in this engagement, and clearly had a stake in defending him, unlike Jean de Bueil, whose subsequent account in Le jouvencel also praised Fastolf for saving his company.100 Nevertheless, Fastolf’s enemies used the incident against him. Shortly after the battle Talbot charged Fastolf with cowardice, and the latter was briefly suspended from the Order of the Garter, starting a long-term feud between the two men.101 In 1433 Thomas Overton denounced Fastolf as a ‘chevalier fuitif’ during a lawsuit before the Parlement of Paris, in which Overton was defending himself against charges of theft from his former master. In response, Fastolf declared that the accusation of cowardice was the greatest charge that one could levy against a knight, and roundly defended himself as ‘saige, vaillant et preux’. He claimed that he had exercised tactical good sense, and this argument carried the day in court, though his reputation never fully recovered.102 Indeed, it would appear that Fastolf was haunted by the incident, judging by the Boke of Noblesse, written by Fastolf’s secretary, William Worcester, between 1451 and 1475. Firstly, this treatise emphasized the fact that the members of the Order of the Garter, such as Fastolf, were valiant knights, chosen for ‘for gret prowesse and here manlynesse in armes’.103 Then, in 1475, 97 98 99 100 101 102 103

R. Vaughan, Charles the Bold: The Last Valois Duke of Burgundy (London, 1973), 70–1; Keen, The Laws of War, 108. Collins, ‘Sir John Fastolf, John Lord Talbot and the dispute over Patay’, 114–40. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 302–4. Also see La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 328–32. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 279–80. Collins, ‘Sir John Fastolf, John Lord Talbot and the dispute over Patay’, 119–20, 126. English Suits before the Parlement of Paris, 1420–1436, ed. C. T. Allmand and C. A. J. Armstrong (Camden Society, 4th series 26, London 1982), 244–5, 263–4. William Worcester, The Boke of Noblesse, Addressed to King Edward the Fourth on His Invasion of France in 1475, ed. J. G. Nichols (London, 1860), 46.

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Worcester added a marginal note to the Boke of Noblesse, reporting that his master, Sir John Fastolf, had advised young knights and nobles to heed the example of the ‘manly’ man, who relied upon caution and good sense, rather than the ‘ardy’ man, who was courageous but far too rash, foolhardy and ‘bethout dicrecion of good avysement’, with his men paying the price.104

Inspiring courage In addition to debating the difficult line between courage, cowardice and rashness, chivalric writers also reflected on the ways in which soldiers could be inspired to bravery. After all, military campaigns could be long and extremely uncomfortable, posing a severe challenge to the morale of soldiers. Recalling an expedition to Scotland in 1327, Jean Le Bel painted a vivid picture of the difficulties endured by his fellow soldiers – or, at least, the common men, who lacked the comforts enjoyed by their aristocratic leaders.105 Eustache Deschamps painted an equally terrible picture of life on campaign during his service in Flanders, from which he learned the lesson that men-at-arms were full of bravery when their stomachs were full, but that such confidence could quickly fall victim to hunger or rain.106 For Geoffroi de Charny, the suffering of men-at-arms on campaigns, especially a long way from home, was inherently pleasing to God, because it echoed the suffering of Christ himself – a notion whose roots lay in the calls to arms of Pope Urban II and others preachers before the First Crusade.107 The real test of manhood came in sieges or pitched battles, which were far less common. It is hard to imagine that knights would have reacted any differently from other humans when faced by the imminent danger of injury or death in battle.108 Few would have relished the prospect of the violence to come, nor the wait for the action, as the armies formed up and last-minute negotiations took place.109 During battle itself, the mettle of 104 105

106 107

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Worcester, The Boke of Noblesse, 64–5. Chronique de Jean le Bel, I, 57–73; J. Devaux, ‘L’alimentation en temps de guerre: l’apport des sources littéraires’, in J.-P. Soisson and C. Thiry (eds.), La vie matérielle au moyen âge: l’apport des sources littéraires, normatives et de la pratique (Louvain-la-Neuve, 1997), 98–9. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 232; also see V, 58–9, 62–3. See The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 90–2, 108–10, 174–6, together with his description of the perils of adventure abroad in Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny’, 6–7, 24–34. Also see Kangas, ‘Deus vult’, 163–74. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 38. J. Gillingham, ‘Richard I and the science of war in the middle ages’, in J. Gillingham and J. C. Holt (eds.), War and Government in the Middle Ages: Essays in Honour of J. O. Prestwich (Woodbridge, 1984), 86.

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the soldiers would have been tested in different ways, with perhaps the greatest challenge facing those men who had to hold firm in the face of a great cavalry charge. As Morillo has noted, ‘Against a solid infantry formation, a cavalry charge was a psychological weapon, not a physical one. Its success had to depend on frightening at least some of the footsoldiers into breaking ranks or fleeing. Otherwise, cavalry horses would balk in the face of an obstacle they could neither jump over nor go around – the solid wall of footsoldiers.’110 Medieval writers were well aware of this. Echoing Aristotle, intellectuals such as Giles of Rome, Nicole Oresme and Honorat Bovet all argued that it required more bravery to fight in a defensive position than to throw oneself directly at the enemy.111 Reporting on the preliminaries to the battle of Aljubarrota in 1385, Froissart argued that those who sought battle were naturally more courageous than those trying to defend.112 It is often argued that warfare has become significantly more frightening in the modern age because of new and more deadly weapons, which have increased the chances of unexpected and even instantaneous death. Keegan has even suggested that violence was so commonplace in medieval society that soldiers would have been less afraid of the dangers posed by battle than their modern counterparts.113 Yet it would be wrong to underestimate the level of fear and psychological trauma occasioned by medieval battle, reflecting the sheer violence and brutality of hand-to-hand combat using bladed weapons. Chroniclers at times gave voice to such horrors. For example, Jean Le Bel offered a graphic description of the effect of arrows on cavalry.114 Similarly, Jean Froissart’s description of the death of Sir John Chandos on 2 January 1370, during an encounter at the bridge of Lussac, is almost ‘cinématographique’, according to Ainsworth, graphically describing the moment when Chandos stumbled and was struck with a lance in the face.115 Moreover, the battlefield was possibly becoming more dangerous towards the end of the Middle 110

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S. Morillo, ‘The “age of cavalry” revisited’, in D. J. Kagay and L. J. A. Villalon (eds.), The Circle of War in the Middle Ages: Essays on Medieval Military and Naval History (Woodbridge, 1999), 50. Gauchi, Li livres du governement des rois, 62–5, 120; Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 738–9 [ch. 64]; Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 206, 217 [III, chs. 14, 21]. Froissart (SHF), XII, 143. J. Keegan, The Face of Battle: A Study of Agincourt, Waterloo and the Somme (London, 1976), 115–16. Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 102–3; also see C. J. Rogers, ‘The efficacy of the English longbow: a reply to Kelly DeVries’, War in History, 5 (1998), 233–42. Froissart (SHF), VII, 202–3, discussed by Ainsworth, ‘Asneton, Chandos et “X”’, 56–60.

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Ages, because of the additional threat posed by crossbows, longbows and artillery, all of which were designed to kill an enemy at a distance without discrimination towards social rank or status.116 During the siege of Jargeau, in 1429, the duke of Alençon barely escaped being struck by a cannonball, reportedly saved by Joan of Arc, who had miraculously warned him to move from that particular spot just moments beforehand.117 Others were less fortunate. Thomas Montagu, earl of Salisbury, died a week after he had been struck by shrapnel from a stone cannonball on 27 October 1428 while organizing the siege of Orléans.118 Similarly, the great Burgundian knight Jacques de Lalaing was killed by a cannon shot during the siege of Poeke on 3 July 1453.119 The possibility of being taken prisoner, along with the protection afforded by armour, did mean that knights and men-at-arms faced a significantly reduced risk in battle compared with soldiers from the lower classes.120 Medieval chroniclers repeatedly celebrated the protection offered by armour, and archaeological evidence would support the claim that it offered reasonably effective security on the battlefield, especially when married with close formations that gave the individual additional cover.121 Indeed, Honorat Bovet even warned knights about the false bravado that could be created by putting faith in such equipment.122 Nonetheless, armour did not make soldiers invulnerable. The knights and men-at-arms were the main target in battle, not least because of their function as leaders of the medieval army, organizing and binding together the troops. At Crécy in 1346, ‘[t]he killing or disabling of so many of them tore the “hubs” out of the “aristocratic” network that held the French army together, and without its centres of command and control, Philippe VI’s host fell apart’.123 Moreover, in many medieval battles one side would break ranks, and this was when individuals were 116 117 118 119 120 121

122 123

Vale, War and Chivalry, 129–38. Procès en nullité de la condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, ed. P. Duparc (SHF, 5 vols., Paris 1977–89), I, 380–8. M. Warner, ‘Chivalry in action: Thomas Montagu and the war in France, 1417–1428’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 42 (1998), 146. Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, II, 360–4. See Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 216, and, for ransoming, see Chapter 5. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 63; Hanley, War and Combat, 1150– 1270, 126–8; Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 216; R. Jones, Bloodied Banners: Martial Display on the Medieval Battlefield (Woodbridge, 2010), 85–129. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 739–40 [ch. 65]. Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 24, and also see A. Ayton, ‘Armies and military communities in fourteenth-century England’, in P. R. Coss and C. Tyerman (eds.), Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen: Essays in Honour of Maurice Keen (Woodbridge, 2009), 215–39.

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most vulnerable and most liable to be killed.124 Jean Froissart warned that fleeing from the battlefield was more dangerous because one might be killed by the pursuit, whereas those who surrendered on the battlefield would be taken captive and treated well.125 Of course, capture by the enemy did not offer a certain path to survival, as demonstrated by the fate of many French prisoners at the battles of Nicopolis and Agincourt. Moreover, falling into enemies’ hands might lead to disaster in a different way, as ransoms could place a crippling financial burden upon individuals and their families.126 Quantifying the dangers of medieval warfare is extremely difficult.127 Contamine has suggested that, in a late medieval battle, ‘the defeated generally lost between 20 and 50 per cent of their numbers in relation to their total forces’.128 At the battle of Courtrai, in 1302, the defeated French may have lost seventy-five great lords and over 1,000 knights, representing perhaps 40 per cent of their entire cavalry force.129 Of course, it is often hard to be precise even about the size of armies that took part in battles.130 Moreover, our best sources for numbers of casualties are usually chroniclers, who were rarely witnesses to the battles in question and were also liable to use artistic license in support of their wider dramatic and didactic purposes. Suggesting that one side had endured a disproportionate number of losses was a clear way of magnifying a victory or of suggesting that one side had fled from the battle, and thus providing a moral warning against cowardice and the dangers of running away.131 It is therefore often difficult to determine whether such

124 125

126 127

128 129

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S. Morillo, ‘Expecting cowardice: medieval battle tactics reconsidered’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 4 (2006), 70–1; Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 92. Froissart (SHF), VI, 166. Vegetius had advised that a commander should always allow the enemy a path to escape, lest they be forced to fight to the death: Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 108–9 [III, ch. 21]. See Chapter 5. For comparative discussions, see G. Raudzens, ‘In search of better quantification for war history: numerical superiority and casualty rates in early modern Europe’, War and Society, 15 (1997), 1–30, and N. Morpeth, Thucydides’ War: Accounting for the Faces of Battle (Hildesheim, 2006). Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 257–8. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 258; C. J. Rogers, ‘The age of the Hundred Years War’, in M. H. Keen (ed.), Medieval Warfare: A History (Oxford, 1999), 141; C. GivenWilson and F. Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war: the battle of Poitiers and its context’, English Historical Review, 468 (2001), 804. See, for example, the debates in Schnerb, ‘Vassals, allies and mercenaries’, 268–9, Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 181–8, 274–9, and Rogers, ‘The battle of Agincourt’, 39–40, 42–5, 56–63. Froissart reported just such a huge disparity in casualty rates at the battle of Otterburn in 1388, but was quick to point out that ‘[l]à n’avoit couardise point de lieu’: Froissart (SHF), XV, 142.

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huge disparities in casualty numbers were a narrative device, a warning to others of the dangers of panic on a battlefield or accurate evidence.132 Chroniclers claimed that the victorious English lost as few as forty men at the battle of Crécy in 1346, but estimated the French casualties to have numbered between 2,000 and 4,000 men. The real figure may have been as high as 8,000, including a remarkable number of great noblemen.133 Following the battle of Poitiers ten years later, a newsletter from the Black Prince to Reginald, bishop of Worcester, dated 20 October 1356 reported that the French had suffered 2,445 casualties, and that nearly 2,000 men had been taken prisoner, including the French king, Jean II. This information may have been based on heralds’ lists, and hence perhaps offers the most accurate surviving information.134 English heralds reported that the French army suffered 7,262 casualties at the battle of Verneuil on 17 August 1424, while the Scottish contingent was virtually wiped out, with all commanders of rank killed.135 In short, medieval warfare must have been frightening and highly dangerous, even for knights. This therefore raises important questions about the ways in which soldiers were inspired to be brave and courageous. Writers certainly claimed that stories of knightly adventure and deeds of arms played a crucial part in this process. For example, Jean Froissart declared that his Chroniques would encourage young bachelor knights to do well, inspired by the memory of the brave actions of their predecessors.136 Within the pages of his chronicle, there were certainly many inspirational role models for young squires, including Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince, who successfully earned his spurs at the battle at Crécy in front of his father, Edward III.137 Similarly, Guillame de Machaut composed La prise d’Alexandrie (c.1369–71) not merely as a biography and memorial for King Peter I of Cyprus, who was presented as a descendant of the Nine Worthies, but also as encouragement for further crusading enterprises.138 Even more confident in the power of such stories was Jean de Montreuil, who offered his treatise A toute la chevalerie (c.1409–13) as a celebration of the prowess, courage and – most importantly – military successes of past Frenchmen such as 132 133

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135 137

Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 229–30, note 12. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 108–9, and Froissart (Amiens), III, 26, together with Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 270 note, Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 804–5, and A. Ayton and P. Preston (eds.), The Battle of Crécy, 1346 (Woodbridge, 2005), 19–20, 28, 190–1. See Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 803, 805–7, together with F. Bériac-Lainé and C. Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers (Paris, 2002). 136 Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 400, 405–7. Froissart (SHF), I, i, 3. 138 Froissart (SHF), III, 182–3. Machaut, La prise d’Alexandrie.

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Charles Martel, Roland and Oliver, Charlemagne and Godfrey de Bouillon, and especially those who had defeated the English, such as William the Conqueror, King Philippe II and St Louis. The purpose of this exercise was to rally and encourage his contemporaries as they prepared for the next phase of the war with the English. Montreuil declared that he was writing to protect the ‘honneur’ of the ‘chevalerie de France’ and of the realm, and to encourage readers to take to heart the prowess and bravery of their worthy predecessors.139 At the end of Philippe de Mézières’ Le songe du vieil pelerin (1389), Queen Sapience debated potential role models for King Charles VI, recommending amongst others ‘la force de Hector’ and ‘la hardiesse d’Alixandre’.140 Mézières himself preferred more Christian examples of courage from Judges, Kings and Maccabees, valuing brave and worthy knights such as Judas Maccabeus, who were not driven by arrogance and hope for empty glory but, rather, served God in battle.141 He also praised ‘tres vaillant et tres preux Charlemagne’, arguing that this emperor ‘passa en vaillance, en vertu, et en bon gouvernement’ all subsequent rulers.142 There is no doubt that Mézières believed in the power of heroic stories. He condemned the French knights, who imagined that their defeat of the Flemings elevated them to the company of great heroes such as Arthur, Godfrey de Bouillon and Charlemagne.143 He also accused the English of becoming drunk on pride, inspired by the victories of Gawain and Lancelot to attribute their successes to their valour and prowess when God was merely using them to punish the sins of the kingdoms of France and Scotland.144 Late medieval writers were well aware of the long-standing use of heroic tales as motivation and inspiration for warriors.145 Before and after battles, jongleurs and bards had traditionally recounted myths and stories of great warriors.146 In the Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (1410), Christine de Pizan reported that, in ancient times, children had been taught courage by means of the good doctrine of honourable words 139 141 142 143

144 145 146

140 Montreuil, Opera, II, 91. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 471–3. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 221, 379–80, 383. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 222; also see Mézières, Letter to King Richard II, 144. He also warned against the stories of the valorous Arthur and Lancelot because these were books of lies (‘livres des bourdes’): Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 525, II, 221–2. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 397. Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 305–6. A. Taylor, ‘Songs of praise and blame and the repertoire of the Gestour’, in F. G. Andersen, T. Pettitt and R. Schröder (eds.), The Entertainer in Medieval and Traditional culture: A Symposium (Odense, 1997), 47–72.

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(‘la bonne doctrine des parolles honnourables’).147 This in turn explains the emphasis that she placed on classical stories of courage, such as the accounts that Valerius Maximus had offered in his influential Facta et dicta memorabilia of three warriors who had bravely served Julius Caesar: Marcus Cesius lost an eye in battle but continued to fight, and only died after his shield had been pierced 120 times; Atilius lost his right hand in battle but simply switched his sword to his left; Scaevola was trapped on an island with his enemies but fought incredibly until he escaped.148 Citing Ovid, Christine argued that the gods favour the bold, enabling a small but courageous man to defeat a more powerful adversary: for example, Alexander was able to defeat the bigger and stronger King Porus of India.149 Her most famous example was that of Horatius Cocles, who held the bridge against the Etruscans but escaped with the aid of fortune.150 Similarly, she recounted the story of Paulus Crassus, who demonstrated extraordinary courage when he attacked his captors in order to make them kill him, thereby avoiding the shame of a life of slavery as a prisoner.151 For Christine, the ideal military commander was a man who would be able not just to talk to his soldiers about military matters and deeds of arms but also to recount tales of the courage of worthy men.152 The most obvious example of this was the speeches that they would give before battle. At Agincourt, French chroniclers reported, Henry V encouraged his men’s resolve by recounting previous English military successes such as Crécy and Poitiers.153 Soldiers on campaign would also amuse one another not only by recounting legendary stories but also by boasting about their own tales of prowess and courage. As Rogers observes, such ‘[g]roup bragging sessions could help build cohesion and trust, for such public affirmations of bravery made subsequent shameful behaviour more painful and hence rarer’.154 In the Chroniques, Froissart often relied upon tales told by military veterans, most notably the remarkable Gascon squire Bascot de Mauléon.155 Another Frenchman who clearly enjoyed telling a tale was Jean d’Aulon, one of the witnesses at the Nullification 147 148 149 151 152 153 154 155

Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 46 [I, ch. 10]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 66–7 [II, ch. 8]; also see 22–3 [I, ch. 13]. 150 Pizan, Corps du policie, 65 [II, ch. 7]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 67 [II, ch. 8]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 67–8 [II, ch. 8]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 39 [I, ch. 7]. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 203; Chronique de Jean Le Févre, I, 246; Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 556–7. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 69–70. See Froissart (SHF), XII, 95–116, and Voyage en Béarn, ed. A. H. Diverres (Manchester, 1953), 87–111, together with G. Pépin, ‘Towards a rehabilitation of Froissart’s credibility: the non-fictitious Bascot de Mauléon’, in A. R. Bell and

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Trial for Joan of Arc. Interviewed independently by two local notaries at Lyons on 28 May 1456, Aulon testified regarding his military service with the Pucelle twenty-five years earlier. Halfway through the interview he launched into a lengthy story of his own exploits at the siege of Orléans, firstly alongside a Spaniard named Arphonse de Partada at the storming of the bastille of Saint-Jean-le-Blanc, and then the following day carrying the Pucelle’s standard in the company of a retainer of the lord of Villars known as Le Basque.156 Nonetheless, there were also more sophisticated analyses of the ways in which soldiers could be encouraged to true martial bravery. First and foremost, many medieval writers recognized that heroic tales might simply instil a false sense of bravado which would quickly evaporate as soon as a warrior faced real danger in battle. Pierre de Blois had famously drawn attention to those knights who painted great battle scenes on their shields but then ran away from battle to protect themselves and their works of art.157 John of Salisbury also criticized those who boasted before and after battle, comparing themselves to Achilles and other heroes of the Trojan War, but carefully hid themselves away during real combat. He claimed that such men recast their cowardice into dazzling tales of their glory that were to be passed on by their descendants.158 This theme was dramatized in Les voeux du héron, an anonymous work written around 1346, almost certainly as a criticism of Edward III and the English aristocracy after the brutal campaign that they had waged in the Cambrésis in 1339. The villain of the piece, Robert d’Artois, count of Beaumont-le-Roger, carefully manipulated the English king and his closest companions into taking up arms against King Philippe VI, shaming them into making extravagant and often chilling oaths to commit acts of great brutality in France. At the climax of the event, Jean de Hainault, count of Beaumont, denounced the boasting by his fellow knights: I am astonished by so much talk. Boasts that are not accomplished mean nothing. When we are in taverns, drinking strong wines, And being watched by ladies With firm breasts in tight bodices And with bright eyes that sparkle with smiling beauty, Nature makes us desire

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A. Curry (eds.), The Soldier Experience in the Fourteenth Century (Woodbridge, 2011), 175–90. Procès en nullité de la condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, I, 473–88. Peter of Blois, Epistola XCIV Ad I. Archidiaconum, in PL, CCVII, 296. John of Salisbury, Policratici, II, 11–13 [VI, ch. 3].

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Courage To do battle – only to want mercy later on. Thus we conquer Yaumont and Agoulant, And others defend Oliver and Roland. But when we are in the field on our swift horses, Our shields hanging from our necks, our lances lowered, And the terrible cold is chilling us, And all our limbs fail us entirely, And our enemies are approaching us, Then we would rather be hidden in a cellar so deep That no one could ever find us. I would not give one besant for such boasting!159

Through these words of Hainault, the author of Les voeux du héron drew stark attention to the difference between the bravado of knights in the safe context of the court and the reality of warfare and the battlefield. This underlined the fundamental distinction between inspiring an individual to sign up for war, maintaining his morale during a long, arduous campaign and then enabling him to overcome his fear at a battle or siege, and even motivating him to kill the enemy, especially in hand-to-hand combat. Of course, in Les voeux du héron, Edward III and his knights were driven to make their extravagant boasts not merely by the power of chivalric tales but, more directly, by peer pressure. Robert d’Artois had carefully stage-managed a great feast, with alcohol flowing liberally and young ladies present, to magnify the pressure of the situation. Moreover, Artois chose a heron as the centrepiece of the event because of its power as a symbol of cowardice. Everything was directed towards shaming Edward and his knights into action, forcing them to make extravagant oaths to go to war in order to avoid letting themselves down in front of each other and the women present. Chivalric culture constantly emphasized the power of shame as a means to prevent cowardice and to encourage acts of bravery. Vegetius had argued that, if soldiers had a proper sense of morals and were of decent stock, then a sense of shame (‘verecundia’) would prevent them from turning tail to run.160 Honorat Bovet declared that the first reason why some knights were brave (‘ardis’) was a desire for vainglory, honour and commendation because they knew that the bold were honoured and that cowards were shamed.161 Chivalric literature and manuals constantly emphasized that a young knight should be more afraid of 159

160 161

See The Vows of the Heron, 52–3, together with A. Coville, ‘Poèmes historiques de l’avènement de Philippe VI de Valois au traité de Calais (1328–1360)’, Histoire littéraire de la France, 38 (1949), 268–82. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 11–2 [I, ch. 7]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 739–40 [ch. 65]; also see Pizan, Corps du policie, 64–8 [II, chs. 7–8].

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cowardice than of death. In the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny advised young men-at-arms that the root of cowardice was the fear of dying, but that they should be more afraid of shame (‘honte’) than death. Only those who loved comfort and wealth were scared of dying, whereas real men of worth were unafraid of either suffering or of death.162 In the Lay de vaillance, Eustache Deschamps praised the Romans because they never ran away or retreated but, rather, preferred to die at their posts, thereby winning true renown.163 Similarly, Jean de Bueil argued in Le jouvencel that the virtue of courage (‘force’) was found in those who preferred to die in combat rather than to flee to their dishonour.164 In the Enseignements paternels, written in the 1430s by Hugues de Lannoy, the narrator warned his son that it was better to die honourably than to be shamed by cowardice, and therefore urged his son to accept death in battle rather than come back in shame.165 Lannoy cited Valerius Maximus, Livy, Lucan, Orosius, Sallust and Justin as authors who had provided examples of men who faced death both for the sake of the public weal and to preserve their own reputations. He also recounted the story of Louis Robessart, who had died on 27 November 1430 when he and his fellow Burgundians had encountered a Valois force including Frenchmen and Scots near Amiens. Robessart had preferred to face death rather than take shelter in a castle, though he did order his men to withdraw when the battle was lost.166 Instrumental in his decision may well have been his obligations as a member of the Order of the Garter, especially so soon after Sir John Fastolf had left his fellow members of the order, John Lord Talbot and Thomas Lord Scales, to be captured at the battle of Patay on 18 June 1429.167 Moreover, Louis de Chalon, prince of Orange, and Jean de Neuchâtel, lord of Montagu, had been expelled from the Order of the Golden Fleece after abandoning the field at Anthon on 11 June 1430.168 162 163 164 165 166

167 168

The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 126–8, 132. Also see, for example, Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 132–3, and footnote 282 below. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 219; also see II, 233, where he condemned those men-at-arms who run away after the slightest wound. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 51. Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, 460; also see 456–7, together with Sterchi, ‘Hugues de Lannoy’, 79–117. See Chronique de Jean Le Fèvre, II, 194–5, and Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, II, 133–5. Also see D. A. L. Morgan, ‘From a death to a view: Louis Robessart, Johan Huizinga and the political significance of chivalry’, in S. Anglo (ed.), Chivalry and the Renaissance (Woodbridge, 1990), 93–5. Morgan, ‘From a death to a view’, 97; for Fastolf, see pages 147–8 above. This occurred just five months after the foundation of the order, and, as a result, Jean Le Fèvre did not even mention Neuchâtel’s name amongst the first members. See Chronique de Jean Le Fèvre, II, 172–3, and Keen, The Laws of War, 108. This

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Chivalric texts emphasized that the shame of cowardice was particularly powerful in front of women. This theme was central to Chrétien de Troyes’ first great romance, Érec et Énide, in which the Arthurian knight was shamed into going on a quest by his wife Énide, who was upset at rumours at court that he had allowed his love for her to distract him from his knightly responsibilities.169 La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin echoed this motif, when the poet blamed the decision to fight at Auray in 1364 on the intervention of Jeanne de Penthièvre, who had challenged her husband’s Charles de Blois’ manhood just as he was about to make peace with Jean de Montfort.170 In Le livre des quatre dames, written in 1416 by Alain Chartier, four ladies grieved at the fate of their lovers in a recent battle, undoubtedly the great disaster at Agincourt the previous year.171 One lady whose lover had died denounced all those disloyal, weak, cowardly and treacherous men who had abandoned their fellow knights and the royal family.172 Her companion was overcome with shame at the fact that her lover was one of these knights who had run away, and so she too denounced all those men who had fled from the battlefield and thereby caused the death or capture of their peers, to the shame of both themselves and their lineages.173 Her grief in the face of her lover’s behaviour served as ample commentary on the thousands of soldiers who had broken ranks, saving their own lives at the expense of their fellow Frenchmen. Indeed, Chartier made a direct link between their cowardice on the battlefield and their faithlessness in love, arguing that one kind of treason led to another.174 Romantic chivalric literature had constantly presented ladies as an important audience for knightly conduct, not only judging but also inspiring men to accomplish great acts of prowess, loyalty and courage. In the courtly romances that emerged from the end of the eleventh century, young knights were frequently driven by their love for ladies of

169 170 171 172 173 174

humiliation may have influenced Chalon’s decision to join Charles VII in 1432: R. Vaughan, Philip the Good: The Apogee of Burgundy (London, 1970), 62, 66. Also see page 162 below. Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes, vol. I, Érec et Enide, ed. A. Micha (CFMA 80, Paris, 1968). La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 127–8. The less partisan Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 159–60, attributed the decision to fight to Du Guesclin. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 196–304. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 224–6. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 275, 281–4. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 275, 280; also see my forthcoming article ‘Alain Chartier and chivalry’, in D. Delogu, E. Cayley and J. E. McRae (eds.), A Companion to Alain Chartier (Leiden, forthcoming).

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high status to prove their worth through acts of valour.175 Influenced by such literature, and in particular the Prose Lancelot, Geoffroi de Charny praised the roles of women and of love as inspiration for chivalric bravery.176 He imagined a great feast at which the lovers of worthy men-at-arms naturally rejoiced when their men were honoured and respected by all, while the shame of those miserable wretches who had refused to fight caused great grief for their ladies.177 Indeed, Charny defined the principal role of ladies within chivalric society as inspiring men, and then honouring and loving those who had achieved great deeds of arms in order to win their affections. In return, the men were to love, protect and serve those ladies who encouraged such great achievements. A man-at-arms was to aspire to good manners, behaviour and personal bearing and to seek great honour and recognition, because if his relationship were to become public knowledge his lady would be honoured for having inspired him to such achievements.178 This romantic notion that women could encourage men to acts of bravery became a standard motif in tournaments and jousts, and was celebrated by many chivalric chroniclers in their descriptions of great feats of arms. For example, during a siege in the winter of 1380, a local squire named Gauvain Micaille challenged any English man-at-arms to joust with him for the love of their ladies. Froissart was delighted to report that Micaille fought with an Englishman named Joachim Cator and afterwards was treated courteously by the English commander, Thomas of Woodstock, earl of Buckingham, who gave Micaille 100 francs and had his wounds treated.179 Later, Froissart reported on the great jousts held at Saint-Inglevert in May 1390, when three Frenchmen accepted the challenge of knights of all countries. Froissart reported that the inspiration for this event had come while the three French knights were enjoying the hospitality of some ladies of Montpellier.180 Nonetheless, despite the continued celebration of such notions in chivalric culture, there was also a growing awareness that the notion that women would inspire knightly courage was very much a romantic illusion. In Le livre du debat de deux amans, for example, Christine de Pizan 175 176 177 178

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Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, 219–25; Karras, From Boys to Men, 20–66. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 94, 164. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 120–2. Also see Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 7. Charny also urged his audience to protect the honour of ladies by not boasting about their relationships, arguing that there was more perfect joy in being a secret lover than making an affair a matter of public record and thereby dishonouring the lady: The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 118. 180 Froissart (SHF), IX, 272–4, 277–9. Froissart, Chroniques, XIV, 55–8, 106–51.

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argued that the idea of love as an inspiration for the bravery of knights was a literary fantasy that might have existed in the past but was no longer true in her day.181 Moreover, chivalric culture emphasized the importance of other figures in inspiring knights and men-at-arms. In Le livre des quatre dames, one of the ladies denounced the cowards who had tarnished their lineages by failing to live up to the good deeds of their ancestors and thereby forfeiting the honour that their fathers had held dear.182 Similarly, Michel Pintouin denounced those Frenchmen who had been taking pride and glory in their noble ancestry but had incurred shame at Agincourt by abandoning the path of their forefathers.183 The battle orations recorded in medieval chronicles repeatedly called upon soldiers entering battle to recall the memory of their ancestors and ensure that they upheld their honour and glory.184 In short, men-at-arms were obliged to honour and to live up to the examples of their own illustrious ancestors, and to consider their own fame and glory in the future. In practice, the most immediate and important audiences for the honour of courage and the shame of cowardice were undoubtedly their fellow soldiers, especially on campaign, when there were so few aristocratic women present. The medieval warrior performed in front of his fellow brothers-in-arms, and his honour and reputation depended first and foremost upon their opinion of his performance on the field of battle.185 In Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil famously described his young hero as a man inspired to bravery and deeds of arms by his companions. Recalling his own experiences in the capture of Louviers in 1439, Bueil declared that, when the Jouvencel was riding into battle, he took heart from the presence all around him of such good men.186 Earlier in the text, the Jouvencel had dined with his fellow soldiers in Crathor (Orléans), where he had made an even more powerful statement about the career of a man-at-arms. Arguing that God loved all those who risked their bodies for a good cause and to do justice unto those who were sinful, the captain had famously declared: It is a joyous thing, is war. . . You love your comrade so in war. When you see that your quarrel is just and your blood is fighting well, tears come to your eyes. 181 182 183 184

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The Love Debate Poems of Christine de Pizan, 107–8. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 226–8. Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 564–5. See J. R. E. Bliese, ‘Rhetoric and morale: a study of battle orations from the central middle ages’, Journal of Medieval History, 15 (1989), 214, and ‘When knightly courage may fail: battle orations in medieval Europe’, The Historian, 53 (1991), 493. Bennett, ‘Military masculinity in England and northern France’, 82–4; Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 54–5. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 86.

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A great sweet feeling of loyalty and of pity fills your heart on seeing your friend so valiantly exposing his body to execute and accomplish the command of our creator. And then you prepare to go and die or live with him, and for love not to abandon him. And out of that there arises such a delectation, that he who has not tasted it is not fit to say what a delight it is. Do you think that a man who does that fears death? Not at all: for he feels so strengthened, he is so elated, that he does not know where he is. Truly he is afraid of nothing.187

As Huizinga remarked, this was a remarkable piece of testimony on the psychology of courage in medieval warfare, emphasizing the importance of fidelity and self-sacrifice for one’s brother-in-arms.188 The Jouvencel’s famous and oft-quoted speech echoed earlier comments, such as an ode to war by the late twelfth-century lord and troubadour Bertran de Born, who had spoken of the pleasure that he felt in seeing an army arrayed, led by a courageous lord, with the soldiers earning respect by giving and receiving blows.189 The relationship between chivalric men-at-arms was usually represented as a powerful love, stronger even than family ties.190 Chivalric chronicles and biographies celebrated the bond between brothers-in-arms. For example, the biographer of Boucicaut stressed the mutual respect and affection between the marshal and Louis de Bourbon, invoking a common proverb that each man loves his equal (‘Chacun aime son semblable’).191 Similarly, Jacques de Lalaing forged a powerful bond with the duke of Cleves, his patron and companion, as well as the herald Toison d’Or, Jean Le Fèvre de Saint-Rémy, whose enormous grief upon the death of Lalaing was recounted by Chastellain.192 Some modern commentators have even suggested that chivalric writers eroticized death alongside one’s brothersin-arms as the ultimate union. At the very least, the bond was one that demanded vengeance for a lost brother, especially if he had fallen in a heroic manner.193 The bond between chivalric brothers was constantly performed and reinforced within chivalric culture, at great feasts and events, and by 187 188 189 190 191 192 193

Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 20–1, translated in Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, 81–2. Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, 81–2. The Poems of the Troubadour Bertran de Born, 338–43. R. E. Zeikowitz, Homoeroticism and Chivalry: Discourses of Male Same-Sex Desire in the Fourteenth Century (New York, 2003), 27–43. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 43. Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, II, 363. See B. Holsinger, ‘The color of salvation: desire, death and the Second Crusade in Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermon on the Song of songs’, in D. Townsend and A. Taylor (eds.), The Tongue of the Fathers: Gender and Ideology in Twelfth-Century Latin (Philadelphia, 1998), 156–86, and A. J. Frantzen, Bloody Good: Chivalry, Sacrifice, and the Great War (Chicago, 2004), 11–118.

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grand oaths, as described in Les voeux du héron. Chivalric brothersin-arms often swore oaths to one another, promising mutual support and also encouraging one another to perform acts of great bravery.194 The most notable context for this was provided by the knightly orders.195 Although these were not solely, or even principally, military organizations, they did provide a perfect context within which to encourage members to pursue honour on the battlefield, and, more importantly, to fear the shame of cowardice. Sir William Oldhall owed his election to the Order of the Garter in 1429 to his sterling history of military service, but particularly to his leadership of a small company that had broken out of a French ambush, killing fourteen of their opponents and capturing a further nine.196 No one could be admitted to the Company of the Star without the approval of the king or the majority of companions present. Moreover, members were asked to recount their adventures, good and bad, in front of their peers, and, echoing the example set in chivalric romances such as Lancelot do Lac, these deeds of arms were recorded and used to determine who was the most valorous and the most worthy.197 In their letter of election to the Company of the Star, new members were told that cowards would be suspended, and Jean Le Bel claimed that they even took oaths never to retreat from the battlefield. This reputedly led to the deaths of eightynine members at the battle of Mauron in Brittany on 14 August 1352.198 The Burgundian Order of the Golden Fleece also punished members who incurred the shame of cowardice by withdrawing from battle after they had unfurled their banners or pennons.199 Even for those who were not subject to the formal obligations imposed by election to a chivalric order, the dubbing ceremony reinforced an individual’s obligations in front of his fellow knights.200 Chivalric manuals repeatedly emphasized the duties and responsibilities of those who had been dubbed, and had hence entered, the order

194 195 196 197 198

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See Keen, Chivalry, 212–16, and pages 77–9 above. Boulton, The Knights of the Crown; also see Trigg, ‘“Shamed be. . .”’, 67–89. J. S. Roskell, ‘Sir William Oldhall, speaker in the parliament of 1450–1451’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 5 (1961), 94. Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 204–6; also see Froissart (SHF), IV, 127, together with La queste del Saint Graal, 279–80, and Lancelot do Lac, I, 298, 406, 571. Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 206–7, discussed by Boulton, The Knights of the Crown, 182, 196. For the casualties at the battle, see Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 807. Keen, The Laws of War, 108; Vale, War and Chivalry, 33–43. Also see page 157 above. J. Flori, ‘Pour une histoire de la chevalerie: l’adoubement dans les romans de Chrétien de Troyes’, Romania, 100 (1979), 21–53.

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of knighthood.201 In practice, of course, many squires were knighted at the start of military campaigns, which would undoubtedly have served to bolster their confidence while also underlining their responsibilities in the battles to come. For example, Edward III knighted his son Edward and other noblemen immediately upon landing at La Hougue on 12 July 1346, and then did the same for a further fifty men on the eve of the battle of Crécy.202 Military experts currently debate the importance of peer pressure in instilling courage under fire. Drawing upon research into the Wehrmacht in World War II, for example, researchers have stressed the importance of bonds between brothers-in-arms, arguing that, when such ties had been forged, soldiers became more afraid of losing face in front of their peers than of risking their lives. Thus the ability to withstand fear was increased by the bonds that an individual formed with his comrades and commanders, responding to the affection and esteem that they offered him by developing a sense of responsibility towards the group that could trump his instinct for self-preservation.203 As Taylor has stated, the theory is that ‘soldiers are afraid not just of battle itself, of being killed or mutilated, but of failing to pass the test, of letting others down or disgracing themselves’.204 For those who discuss the importance of this phenomenon in modern armies, the crucial issue is the continuity of the membership of small units, and hence the strength of the bonds that emerge between the soldiers. In this context, it is important to recognize the nature of late medieval armies. Most knights and men-at-arms had grown up and developed their skills within a small group, eating together, sleeping together and training together, learning to trust and depend on one another within the context of service to their lord.205 At jousts and tournaments, such men formed teams, and these types of units were echoed and reflected in the creation of small knightly orders such as the Order of the Garter or the Company of the Star. Similar ties and bonds may have developed amongst less illustrious groups, such as the 201

202 203

204 205

The discussion of the knighting ceremony in The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 166–70, drew heavily upon the early thirteenth-century Ordene de chevalerie, in Le roman des eles by Raoul de Hodenc and L’ordene de chevalerie, 73–146. Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 4–5. See S. L. A. Marshall, Men against Fire: The Problem of Battle Command in Future War (New York, 1947), and E. A. Shils and M. Janowitz, ‘Cohesion and disintegration in the Wehrmacht in World War II’, Public Opinion Quarterly, 12 (1948), 280–315, together with more recent work, such as L. Wong, ‘Combat motivation in today’s soldiers’, Armed Forces and Society, 32 (2006), 659–63. Taylor, ‘Chivalric conversation and the denial of male fear’, 174. Bennett, ‘Military masculinity in England and northern France’, 74.

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mercenary companies that were so stigmatized by late medieval chroniclers. These groups benefited from extensive experience of fighting alongside one another, and a sense of corporate responsibility resulting from the shared business activities of earning money through service and sharing ransoms.206 Before the great reforms implemented by Charles VII, French royal armies were loose confederations of smaller units that owed far greater loyalty to one another and to their immediate commanders than to the army as a whole.207 Men-at-arms were gathered together under the banners of the principal knights, usually their lords. In the French host assembled at Bouvines in 1340, the count of Alençon’s retinue numbered seventy-three men-at-arms, and there were also twenty-three units of between fourteen and sixty men-at-arms each led by a banneret, as well as another 120 retinues of between one and nineteen men each led by independent knights and esquires.208 These retinues formed a social network bound by ties of family, retinue, tenure or region. As Rogers has noted, the ‘medieval styles of fighting, in close order and among relatives, hearth companions, and lifelong friends, inherently strengthened the motivational powers of glory and shame’.209 Because they often combined kinsmen, vassals and friends, they enjoyed an ‘organic solidarity’ and a ‘“small-group cohesion” that in modern armies might have to be artificially constructed’.210 Of course, the strength of the ties within smaller units could also affect the cohesion of the army as a whole.211 For example, the presence of Englishmen, Welshmen and Gascons alongside one another in the Black Prince’s expeditionary force of 1355 may well have created problems of communication.212 Furthermore, there was a fundamental division

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209 210 211

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Fowler, Medieval Mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies. Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 168–70. Solon has argued that, with the creation of the Compagnies d’Ordonnance, ‘[c]ommands could be broken up and re-organized under other captains in the exigencies of combat. Neither could the captain rely on the loyalty of his men. A new spirit prevailed. A soldier was beginning to bestow his loyalty as much on his prince as on his commander and colleagues.’ Solon, ‘Popular responses to standing military forces’, 92. Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 81. The 1351 reform ordinance required smaller retinues to be combined into units of twenty-five to thirty men under a knight bachelor: Construire l’armée française, I, 65–6. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 171. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 73, 163–4; also see Ayton, ‘The battle of Crécy: context and significance’, 22. The vanguard would usually be controlled by the marshals and constables, and include the bulk of foreigners and men-at-arms who were not part of the retinues of magnates: Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 74. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 21–2.

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between the men-at-arms and the infantry because of class – a division that was embedded within chivalric culture itself.213 As Hewitt has noted, ‘the conversion of a heterogeneous mass of men into an efficient, military instrument. . .posed problems that were moral as well as organizational’.214 Before the battle of Baugé, in 1421, the French had challenged the duke of Clarence to fight with just men-at-arms, rather than wait for the arrival of his archers, and thus sought to ‘exploit the social divisions of their opponents’.215 In this context, it is important to note that representations of courage and cowardice in chivalric literature were almost entirely focused upon the aristocratic, military elite, rather than on the rank and file who formed the majority of most medieval armies. Writers emphasized the superior qualities of military leaders and men-at-arms, and consistently presented courage itself as an aristocratic trait.216 In Alain Chartier’s Livre des quatre dames, one of the widows declared that the cowards who had fled from the battlefield at Agincourt had forfeited their noble status and were only fit to work as swineherds.217 Few writers were interested in exploring the mundane reality of the ordinary soldiers. A rare exception was the Carmelite chronicler, usually assumed to be Jean de Venette, who catalogued the failings of the French aristocracy during the reign of Jean II and contrasted them with the brave defence of Longueil against the English by Guillaume L’Aloue and a band of peasant soldiers.218 In modern armies, the most effective means of overcoming a soldier’s fear of death and natural flight response are training and drills, which both suppress emotional responses and amplify unity and collective loyalty.219 As Morillo has noted, ‘[S]imple training and experience. . .impart multiple benefits including letting soldiers calculate more rationally the actual danger they face, teaching them more effective responses to those dangers other than flight, and perhaps above all bonding them into

213

214 216 217 218 219

Ayton has highlighted the increasing success in the fourteenth century of armies ‘built around foot soldiers, with little or no involvement for aristocratic warriors, and bound together by a solidarity founded upon common purpose and high morale’: A. Ayton, ‘Arms, armour, and horses’, in Keen, Medieval Warfare: A History, 202. 215 Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 98. Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 399. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 253. The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 225–7. The chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette, in Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 288–91. W. H. McNeill, Keeping Together in Time: Dance and Drill in Human History (Cambridge, MA, 1995).

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groups whose mutual experience causes them to value their companions’ lives as highly as their own.’220 Medieval writers were well aware of the value of training, thanks in large part to classical authorities. For example, the twelfth-century English chronicler Roger of Howden famously borrowed from Seneca to extol the benefits of military training for the sons of Henry II, arguing that the experience of violence and the strength gained by practice constituted essential preparation for battle.221 In the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle had emphasized the importance of military experience and training as one source for the morale and courage of warriors.222 Accordingly, the French translator of the Nicomachean Ethics, Nicole Oresme, declared in the gloss to his discussion of ‘fortitude militaire’ that this was the product of long training at deeds of arms.223 Nevertheless, he repeated Aristotle’s concerns that confidence built upon industry and expertise in the art of war might evaporate in the face of real danger and a superior enemy. In such circumstances, their fear of death would overcome them, unlike those who were fighting solely for the defence of their community.224 Oresme therefore argued that this ‘fortitude militaire’ resembled true courage in its science, bravery and strength (‘science, hardiesce et puissance’), but it was ultimately inferior because of its cause and objective.225 In this discussion of ‘fortitude militaire’, Oresme alluded to the most important classical source on military training, the Epitoma rei militaris. Vegetius had famously argued that training and an understanding of the science of war would increase the courage of soldiers.226 He did not believe that many men were born naturally brave, and so he emphasized the role of hard work and training in inducing this quality.227 While an untrained soldier would fear battle, a well-trained one looked forward to it.228 Troops needed to be mentally prepared because, in an emergency, things that happened suddenly were terrifying but things that were

220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228

Morillo, ‘Expecting cowardice’, 67. On the importance of trust between troops, see Morillo, ‘The “age of cavalry” revisited’, 52. Roger of Howden, Chronica magistri Rogeri de Hovedene, ed. W. Stubbs (RS, 4 vols., 1868–71), II, 166. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 71–2 [III, ch. 8]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 212 [III, ch. 18]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 212–13 [III, ch. 18]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 216 [III, ch. 20] Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 6 [I, ch. 1]. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 118 [III, ch. 26]. For his discussion of fear, see 86, 93–4, 101–2, 108–9, 115–16 [III, chs. 9, 12, 18, 21, 25]. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 9 and 59 [I, ch. 4, II, ch. 23].

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foreseen did not usually cause panic.229 The Epitoma rei militaris therefore provided careful information on the rituals of initiation into the army, the oaths of allegiance and the training regimes that aimed to develop stamina and proficiency with weapons and formations, instil a habit of obedience to orders and build morale and unity. Christine de Pizan drew heavily upon Vegetius in the Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie. She repeated his advice that a young man (‘jouvencel’) who was well versed in the art and science of warfare (l’art et science d’armes’) would have no fear of fighting against an adversary, and would, instead, find it a true pleasure and delight.230 She also advised a commander to look into his men’s faces before battle, to see if they were afraid; it was natural that inexperienced troops would feel fear, but, if the veterans were also displaying signs of nervousness, she advised the commander to delay combat.231 He was also advised to put young, inexperienced foreigners under loyal captains and place them where they could not run away, in case they put the outcome of the battle at risk.232 In practice, of course, collective military drill and training were effectively impossible for medieval armies, because of the way in which they were assembled at short notice. In the Middle Ages, men-at-arms certainly benefited from the opportunities presented by tournaments and chivalric games to sharpen particular skills.233 In their early stages, tournaments represented one of the most realistic forms of military training, almost indistinguishable from real warfare, because of the real threat of physical violence and danger.234 The value of tournaments as training had changed dramatically by the late Middle Ages, however, particularly as they came to focus upon individual combat, and as participants were increasingly protected by better armour, bated weapons and rules that combined to make the experience increasingly different from real war.235 Moreover, the social exclusivity of tournaments meant that they did not offer training for the non-aristocratic soldiers, who were encouraged to develop their individual skills in less formal contexts.236 229 230 231

232 233 234 235 236

Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 76 [III, ch. 6]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 47 [I, ch. 10]. Note that Pizan inverted the advice offered by Vegetius, who had warned the commander not to be overconfident if his inexperienced troops were raring to go: Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 85 [I, ch. 22], and Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 93–4 [III, ch. 12]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 85 [I, ch. 22]. As a child, Boucicaut would reputedly stage mock battles with his companions, riding as if they were men-at-arms: Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 17. Crouch, Tournament, 89–103. See Vale, War and Chivalry, 63–87, and Contamine, ‘Les tournois en France à la fin du moyen âge’, 425–49. See, for example, Bradbury, The Medieval Archer, and Crombie, ‘From war to peace’.

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The obstacles to coordinated training for armies represented one of the greatest challenges for medieval commanders, given that successful tactics depended upon marshalling soldiers in coherent formations. Jean de Bueil wrote that infantry should be lined up in such a tight array that an apple could not be thrown between them, and said that it was the job of captains to call upon them to close up during an engagement.237 The most effective solution to this problem was either to use experienced troops or, at least, to place such men alongside novices. Ayton notes that the Crécy army of 1346 mixed contracted companies of men-at-arms and archers with arrayed companies of foot soldiers who were likely to have been less willing and experienced.238 Indeed, the most important role for veterans was carrying the banners that were so important for the coordination and morale of the army in the midst of the sheer noise and confusion of the battlefield.239 Echoing Vegetius, Christine de Pizan reported that, in ancient times, banners had been used to organize the soldiers and the army, and that these had been carried by the most valiant and dependable knights. This practice continued to her day, when the banner was used to organize and direct the host.240 During the battle of Verneuil, in 1424, Jean lord of Saâne, a minor knight from the pays de Caux, inspired the English forces by recovering the standard when it was lost in the mêlée, and thereby saved the day.241 Normally, only experienced men such as Geoffroi de Charny, who carried the French royal banner at the battle of Poitiers in 1356, could be relied upon not to drop them in order to defend themselves during battle. Chivalric writers were also well aware of the value of punishment as a means to force soldiers to follow orders and to instil the kind of discipline that could prevent cowardice and desertion in action.242 In Roman armies, physical injury and public shaming were often combined in a 237

238 239

240 241

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Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 246. Also see Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 73–7, and J. France, Western Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, 1000–1300 (London, 1998), 161. Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 68–9. See E. Armstrong, ‘The heraldry of Agincourt: heraldic insights into the battle of Agincourt’, in A. Curry (ed.), Agincourt, 1415 (Stroud, 2000), 123–32, and Jones, Bloodied Banners, 33–55. See Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 64–5, 87–8 [I, chs. 15, 23], and Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 47 [II, ch. 13]. See Les cronicques de Normendie (1223–1453) réimprimées pour la première fois d’après l’édition rarissime de Guillaume Le Talleur (mai 1487), ed. A. Hellot (Rouen, 1881), 73, and also Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 398–9. Harris notes that the important distinction between courage and action enforced by discipline has traditionally not mattered to military historians viewing matters from the perspective of the commander who simply wants his orders to be obeyed: Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 301–2.

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brutalizing spectacle, as soldiers were punished by the withholding of pay, floggings, beatings with cudgels and the decimation of units that had deserted.243 For medieval commentators, Roman law provided the most direct window into the rules that had guided these ancient armies. For example, Digest 49.16.3 reflected Roman law as it stood by the early third century AD, calling for capital punishment for those who had failed to obey an order in wartime, had taken flight during battle or had otherwise malingered out of fear of the enemy.244 Giovanni da Legnano and Honorat Bovet cited this authority, including the list of crimes for which soldiers could be punished with death, including both acts of cowardice and of false courage, such as breaking formation in order to prove their courage and to win honour and glory in single combat with the enemy.245 On the other hand, Nicole Oresme echoed Aristotle in raising concerns that punishment was not an appropriate way to motivate soldiers, by driving them to act out of fear of their commanders. Oresme argued that true courage came not from such necessity but, rather, from contemplation of the common good.246 There is no doubt that the punishments for cowardice could be severe, especially for ordinary soldiers. In 1444 Charles VII led an army against the city of Metz, in support of his brother-in-law, René d’Anjou. During one of the battles, François de Clermont, lord of Dammartin, hanged one of his men who had shown cowardice.247 Medieval commanders were not usually in a strong enough position to enforce Roman standards of military discipline upon their armies, however. In the late Middle Ages such matters were formally controlled by two marshals, under the constable, though the captains of retinues also played an important role.248 By and large, the primary concern of regulations was the maintenance of harmony within the army. For example, at the siege of Luxembourg in 1443, one of the archers in the bodyguard of Philippe III le Bon, known as the little Scotsman (‘le petit Escocois’), was executed for striking a knight and thereby

243 244 245 246 247 248

See A. D. Lee, ‘Morale and the Roman experience of battle’, in A. B. Lloyd (ed.), Battle in Antiquity (London, 1996), 203–4, and also Phang, Roman Military Service, 111–200. See Digest 49.16.3.13, 15, 16, 19, and Digest, 16.6.3.5. Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 110–1, and Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 753–4 [ch. 77]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 211–12 [III, ch. 17]. Cronique Martiniane: édition critique d’une interpolation pour le règne de Charles VII restituée à Jean Le Clerc, ed. P. Champion (Paris, 1907), 56. See Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 198–202, and Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 752–3 [ch. 76]. Captains in the Compagnies d’Ordonnance were to read the rules to their men every week, and, in Le jouvencel, Jean de Bueil reported that ordinances were proclaimed before battle. See P. D. Solon, ‘Charles VII and the “compagnies d’ordonnance,” 1445–1461: a study in medieval reform’ (PhD dissertation, Brown University, 1970), 58–9, and Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 194.

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breaching the ordinance against fighting.249 French military ordinances also attempted to prevent soldiers from withdrawing from the battlefield. For example, Jean II’s ordinance of April 1351 required men-at-arms to take an oath not to leave a company without the permission of the captain.250 The English military ordinances issued in 1385 stressed the importance of keeping ranks in the battle to which a company was assigned, even more so than French and Scottish equivalents.251 The orders issued before the battle of Cravant in July 1423 also stressed discipline in combat.252 Chivalric writers usually suggested that the most important influence upon the bravery and morale of soldiers was the quality of their leader. Vegetius and his followers repeatedly emphasized the power of a commander to encourage his soldiers before battle.253 Chroniclers dramatized this through the stirring speeches that princes and commanders delivered before great battles. For example, before the battle of Crécy in 1346, Edward III delivered an oration to his troops, holding the white baton in his hand and accompanied by the two marshals, and Henry V was widely reported to have spoken inspirationally before the battle of Agincourt in 1415.254 Such orations usually appealed to soldiers to fight for honour, revenge or their just cause, to take heart from the tactical advantages that they enjoyed and the weaknesses of the enemy, to believe in God’s support and to fear the shame of cowardice or defeat more than death.255 As Miller has stated, ‘Exhortation speeches try to counter fear and reluctance with other passions: revenge, perhaps, anger, confidence, bloodlust, and often, in extremis, desperation.’256 249

250 251

252 253 254

255

256

La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, VI, 92–3. Also see A. Curry, ‘Disciplinary ordinances for English and Franco-Scottish armies in 1385: an international code?’, Journal of Medieval History, 37 (2011), 284–5. Construire l’armée française, I, 65. M. H. Keen, ‘Richard II’s ordinance of war of 1385’, in R. E. Archer and S. Walker (eds.), Rulers and Ruled in Late Medieval England: Essays Presented to Gerald Harriss (London, 1995), 47–8; also see Curry, ‘Disciplinary ordinances’, 269–94. B. Schnerb, ‘La bataille rangée dans la tactique des armées bourguignonnes au début du quinzième siècle: essai de synthèse’, Annales de Bourgogne, 71 (1989), 24–5. See Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 86, 93, 102 [III, chs. 9, 12, 18], and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 83–4 [I, ch. 21]. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 106 (and also, for example, I, 65), together with Froissart (SHF), III, 170, and Froissart (Rome), 719. For the speech of Henry V at Agincourt in 1415, see Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 203–4, together with A. Curry, ‘The battle speeches of Henry V’, Reading Medieval Studies, 34 (2008), 77–97. Such themes have been carefully analysed in a series of articles by J. R. E. Bliese, including ‘Rhetoric and morale’, 201–26, and ‘When knightly courage may fail’, 489–504. Also see the comments by Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 167–9. W. I. Miller, ‘Weak legs: misbehavior before the enemy’, Representations, 70 (2000), 42.

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At first glance, these reports of speeches seem to provide ‘a psychological profile of the structure of morale and courage for the medieval man at arms’.257 Yet some caution is necessary regarding medieval accounts of battle orations. First and foremost, the chroniclers were rarely present in person when such speeches were given, and their versions of such orations were not verbatim reports of what was said but, rather, formulaic and genre-driven. In other words, their accounts must have owed more to convention and to classical sources than the rhetorical ability of the commanders in question.258 Bliese has argued that this may not matter, because chroniclers needed to present a plausible version of a battle speech to their audiences.259 Yet many medieval chronicles were written in Latin for clerical audiences, and even the more military and chivalric chronicles often sacrificed authenticity and realism in their effort to present a dramatic and compelling account of warfare.260 It is certainly possible that medieval commanders were in turn inspired by the accounts given by chroniclers when it was their turn to give speeches on the battlefield, or even followed the advice offered by Vegetius or later writers such as Christine de Pizan, who told commanders to follow the example of Scipio, Julius Caesar and Pompey when giving such speeches.261 Christine also advised a commander to speak to the captains rather than to the entire army, however, recognizing the difficult practicalities of the situation. This may suggest that the ordinary solders would not have heard a true, inspiring oration in the way that chroniclers often imagined.262 Moreover, we must be cautious in accepting that such orations provide a true account of the real motivations for soldiers in battle. Battle speeches recorded in chronicles usually placed great stock on their common and just cause, the obligation upon the soldiers to fight because of their oaths and their wages, and the opportunities to win honour and 257 258

259

260

261 262

See Bliese, ‘When knightly courage may fail’, 492, (in general) 489–504, as well as ‘Rhetoric and morale’, 201–26. See M. H. Hansen, ‘The battle exhortation in ancient historiography: fact or fiction?’, Historia, 42 (1993), 161–80, and Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 303, 306. Bliese denies that medieval orations were influenced directly by the classics, although he does accept that one medieval author might copy such a speech from another writer: Bliese, ‘Rhetoric and morale’, 203, and ‘When knightly courage may fail’, 491. It is instructive to consider the wide differences between the accounts of Henry V’s speech at Agincourt as reported in chronicles, highlighting the fact that such reports were powerfully influenced by the attitudes and agendas of the chroniclers: Curry, ‘The battle speeches of Henry V’, 77–97. See Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 86, 93 [III, chs. 9, 12], and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 83–4 [I, ch. 21]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 83–4 [I, ch. 21].

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profit.263 How far such ideals equated to the practical reality is extremely difficult to assess. Indeed, the real problem with reports of medieval battle orations is that they served as an easy indicator within the chronicle of the role of the commander in inspiring or maintaining morale, at the expense of less glamorous factors that may have played a much greater role in encouraging or demoralizing ordinary soldiers. Such accounts served as a shorthand explanation for military success, underlining the importance of leadership and command as the key factors, and thus honouring and glorifying the prince or commander.264 Chroniclers consistently emphasized the inspirational and motivational power of the leader of the army, and contrasted this with the devastating effects of a cowardly commander.265 It is true that, in contrast to most modern armies, a medieval commander was almost always on the battlefield with his troops, thereby enabling them to have a direct influence on the soldiers around him, setting them an example and urging them on. Yet there is a danger in accepting the emphasis placed upon the inspirational power of the commander within chivalric writings. Late medieval French chivalric texts were framing their representations of courage and morale within the demands of two important themes. First and foremost, narrative writers were acting as judges, or at least advocates, for the way in which posterity would view the behaviour of individuals in war, and in particular the commanders, who enjoyed most attention because of their elevated status and their powerful voice as patrons and audiences for the vernacular literature of chivalry. Secondly, Valois writers such as Honorat Bovet and Christine de Pizan were building upon earlier traditions, dating back to classical writers such as Aristotle and Vegetius, in emphasizing the responsibility of knights and men-at-arms to fight in service to the king, the commonweal and the community.

Conclusion There was more debate about courage on the part of late medieval French writers than is often recognized. Shaped by a long-standing tradition of moral philosophy, the complex and even subjective line 263

264 265

Vegetius had emphasized the value of the oaths of military service (‘sacramenta’) taken by Roman soldiers, promising to follow the emperor’s commands, never to desert and never to refuse death for the Roman state: Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 38–9 [II, ch. 5], echoed by Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 54 [I, ch. 12]. Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 310–11. J. Devaux, ‘L’image du chef de guerre dans les sources littéraires’, in Images et représentations princières et nobiliaires dans les Pays-Bas bourguignons et quelques régions voisines (XIVe–XVIe siècles) (Turnhout, 1997), 115–29.

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between courage, cowardice and rashness was explored both in theory and in practice, as writers passed judgement on the behaviour of soldiers and commanders in war. At the same time, intellectuals reflected on the way in which soldiers could be encouraged, not just by heroic tales of adventure but also by more practical forces, such as peer pressure, training, discipline and leadership. Nevertheless, it is true that chivalric romances, chronicles and other stories of knights told by chivalric writers rarely offered insight into the complex psychology of courage and the emotions of panic, fear or trauma in battle. Chivalric courage and cowardice were usually represented externally, in terms of behaviour, rather than internally and psychologically.266 Courage became largely a description of deeds rather than a triumph over fear or a ‘special set of motives or a trait of character’.267 As a medieval French maxim declared, ‘Do what must be done, come what may.’268 Few writers of such tales discussed the fear or stress that warfare might bring, and hence the notion that courage represented a personal triumph over fear. Chivalric narratives usually depicted an idealized model of heroic, virtuous courage, no doubt in part because the writers generally had limited experience of warfare, but also because they were influenced by their own ‘agendas and inhibitions’ when writing about martial activities.269 In particular, their accounts of warfare were shaped by genre, literary stylings and cultural expectations. The same is true of narratives of war produced by other warrior societies. For example, Harris concludes his study of Roman representations of courage by reporting that ‘we have not found any vivid recreation of the world of the soldier in the ranks. . . None of this should cause great surprise, since we are more or less familiar with the conventions of ancient narrative; and also with the conventionality of the great majority of what passes for military narrative in the modern world.’270 It is only in recent times that first-hand military memoirs, letters and diaries have exposed the deeper emotions occasioned by warfare, submerged underneath the conventions of heroic 266

267 268 269

270

See Y. N. Harari, ‘Martial illusions: war and disillusionment in twentieth-century and Renaissance military memoirs’, Journal of Military History, 69 (2005), 70, and Renaissance Military Memoirs: War, History, and Identity, 1450–1600 (Woodbridge, 2004), 133–48, 152–5. Miller, The Mystery of Courage, 6. ‘Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra’, in Machaut, Le confort d’ami, 170. Taylor, ‘Chivalric conversation and the denial of male fear’, 169–88. The phrase ‘agendas and inhibitions’ is borrowed from Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 316. Harris, ‘Reading in the narrative literature of Roman courage’, 316.

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narrative.271 The authors of these modern records may not have been completely objective witnesses, their memories distorted or reshaped for consumption by a wider audience; moreover, as writers, they were liable to take a more intellectual approach to the experience of war than their former comrades-in-arms.272 Nevertheless, such sources, when read with appropriate care, offer insight into the experience of soldiers dealing with the challenges of warfare, from the terror of the battlefield to the deep emotional burden of ending the life of another human being.273 If there was such a significant gap between the heroic representations of courage and the reality of battlefield psychology, this raises extremely important questions about chivalric culture. Did the bravado of these cultural representations of courage and cowardice have a direct and genuine impact upon the emotions of medieval soldiers? When chivalric narratives valued actions over emotions, presented a polarized dichotomy between courage and cowardice and paid little attention to complex psychology and emotions of war, did this actually limit the emotional landscape for soldiers? After all, historians of emotions have emphasized the importance of social and cultural conditioning. Cognitive psychology holds that emotions are the response to stimuli that combine not only physiological reactions but also cognitive evaluations, appraisals and perceptions. Although emotions are universal, the way in which they are triggered, experienced and displayed may be affected by cultural norms and individual personality. Public emotions such as courage and cowardice will be particularly susceptible to social and cultural norms. As a result, emotions and the display of emotions are not human constants but, rather, are formed and shaped by society, community and culture, and therefore vary according to place and time.274 Many historians are optimistic about the effectiveness of chivalric narratives as a means to persuade soldiers to risk death or injury in battle in preference to incurring the shame of cowardice.275 For example, Jones 271 272 273 274

275

See Harari, ‘Martial illusions’, 51, 65, and Renaissance Military Memoirs, 94–8, together with Bourke, An Intimate History of Killing, 16–26, 64–7. Miller, The Mystery of Courage, 39. See Bourke, An Intimate History of Killing, and Miller, The Mystery of Courage. See B. H. Rosenwein, ‘Worrying about emotions in history’, American Historical Review, 107 (2002), 821–45, and Emotional Communities in the Early Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 2006), together with Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation in Medieval England, 34–68. Also see P. N. Stearns, ‘Emotions, history of’, and K. R. Scherer, ‘Emotions, psychological structure of’, in N. J. Smelser and P. B. Baltes (eds.), International Encyclopedia of the Social and Behavioral Sciences (Oxford, 2001), 4466–71, 4472–7. S. Isaac, ‘Cowardice and fear management: the 1173–74 conflict as a case study’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 4 (2006), 51.

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has argued that ‘[t]hese tales did not serve as a diversion from war, or an idealization of it. Rather they formed an exemplar, a scale of values, that was as important in practice as in the imagination of the reader.’276 Indeed, from a wider perspective, many military historians have recently re-emphasized the importance and influence of culture upon soldiers, shaping their expectations of and behaviour in battle.277 Nonetheless, the complex discussions of courage and cowardice offered by a range of writers, influenced heavily by Aristotelian ideas and the extremely practical advice of Vegetius, suggest a more nuanced understanding of these questions than the narratives alone would indicate. Intellectuals were only too aware of the important distinction between chivalric tales (that is to say, ‘high’ culture in our terminology) and the wider context of peer pressure, training, discipline and leadership as forces to encourage and inspire a soldier to overcome his fear. Courage and cowardice were not emphasized merely within the stories that knights and men-at-arms enjoyed in the Middle Ages but also in the rituals, military codes and communities within which they went to war, giving honour and shame a tangibility that went far beyond an individual’s desire to emulate the heroes of old. Moreover, fear was hardly ignored within chivalric culture. Chivalric writers engaged with this subject, usually within chansons de geste and romances that dealt with more distant events and contexts.278 Even military veterans could be direct about the fear occasioned by the battlefield, though.279 For example, Jean de Wavrin said that, at Verneuil in 1424, there was no man brave enough not to have feared death during the fiercest battle that he had ever seen.280 Geoffroi de Charny graphically described the horror of the battlefield in the Livre Charny, calling upon his audience to imagine the enemy advancing towards them with their lances lowered and their swords ready, while arrows and crossbow bolts rained down, and the bodies of friends lay upon the ground all around. Faced by such horrors, Charny suggested, a man-at-arms would draw strength from the greater fear of dishonouring himself by running 276

277

278 279 280

M. K. Jones, ‘The relief of Avranches (1439): an English feat of arms at the end of the Hundred Years War’, in N. Rogers (ed.), England in the Fifteenth Century (Stamford, 1992), 42. This approach is particularly associated with the work of John Keegan and Victor Davis Hanson, and for debates about this in regard to the medieval period see, for example, R. Abels, ‘Cultural representation and the practice of war in the Middle Ages’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 6 (2008), 1–31, and Lynn, ‘Chivalry and chevauchée’. Lynch, ‘Beyond shame’, 1–17. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, 165. He reported that ‘nestoit homme tant feust hardy ou asseure quy ne doubtast la mort’: Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 112, (in general) 107–18.

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away, and also because he could imagine himself to be on the verge of martyrdom.281 Returning to the same theme in his Livre de chevalerie, Charny urged men-at-arms not to think of defeat, flight or the risk of capture when advancing into battle but, instead, to focus on what they would do to the enemy.282 Less well known is the advice that King Duarte of Portugal offered on the fear that might beset a jouster, as he bore down on his opponent in the lists. He graphically described the emotions that affected the jouster, whose fear might commonly cause him to close his eyes during combat.283

281 282 283

Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 18–19. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 194. King Duarte of Portugal, The Royal Book of Jousting, Horsemanship and Knightly Combat, 45, 51–2.

5

Mercy (part I): soldiers

The French historian Michelet suggested that the Hundred Years War was a conflict fought between gentlemen. He argued that the worst that happened to those who were defeated was to be taken prisoner, when they were feasted and treated most courteously.1 He made these comments in the context of his account of the battle of Poitiers in 1356, at which the English had captured some 2,000 prisoners, including the French king, Jean II, who subsequently spent years in captivity in England – just as his great-grandsons Charles d’Orléans and Jean, count of Angoulême, would do later after the battle of Agincourt.2 Yet Michelet was surely overstating the extent of civility in warfare during the late Middle Ages. It is true that the Hundred Years War was not a guerre mortelle (‘bellum mortale’ in Latin), waged like that of the Romans, who had refused to show mercy to the defeated and therefore felt free either to kill or to enslave them. The French and the English both took prisoners, and so the conflict might more appropriately be termed a guerre guerriable – that is to say, a war fought under the feudal droit de guerre.3 The number of prisoners taken at Poitiers was exceptional, however, and brutality towards other soldiers and especially towards civilians and non-combatants was far more common than romantic assumptions about chivalry would suggest.4 Indeed, the modern use of the term ‘chivalry’ as a synonym for mercy in warfare fails to recognize the extent to which this was debated in chivalric culture. Mercy and magnanimity were opposed by notions of vengeance, justice and

1 2

3 4

J. Michelet, L’histoire de France (17 vols., Paris, 1833–67), III, 373. See Bériac-Lainé and Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers, 133–64, and Ormrod, Edward III, 385–413, together with Arn, Charles d’Orléans in England, and R. Ambühl, ‘Le sort des prisonniers d’Azincourt (1415)’, Revue du Nord, 89 (2007), 755–88. Keen, The Laws of War, 104–6. Contemporary chroniclers estimated the number of French prisoners taken at Agincourt in 1415 as anything between 700 and 2,200: Ambühl, ‘Le sort des prisonniers d’Azincourt’, 756.

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righteous anger, which could – and did – serve to justify actions and brutality that are shocking to the modern sensibility. Moreover, the taking of prisoners in war was not the product of the civilizing influence of knightly romances but, rather, the result of eminently practical considerations. The enticement of ransoms and the value of hostages were weighed against other arguments against mercy, not least of which was the logistical challenge of capturing and holding enemy soldiers. Textual discussions of the exercise of mercy in warfare must be read against this complex reality, not merely as mirrors to the behaviour of knights and men-at-arms but as active attempts to champion reform and the stabilization of practices that were developing and evolving. An even more problematic subject was the treatment of noncombatants (discussed in Chapter 6). Contrary to the romantic ideal of the knight as a protector of women, children and the weak, medieval armies often targeted non-combatants during campaigns, while soldiers and garrisons abused the wider population during truces and breaks in the rhythm of warfare. It was against this background that late medieval French writers turned to the rhetoric and moral exhortation that has so captured the modern imagination and that has become synonymous with chivalry.

Mercy and vengeance Chivalry has become identified with mercy in the modern imagination. It is this, more than the universal martial values of prowess, courage or loyalty, that is most commonly regarded as the defining, unique essence of chivalry. Children’s books imagine that knights were uniquely noble and civilized warriors, who treated war as a game in which they courteously offered mercy to their defeated or humbled opponents. Indeed, modern military historians now commonly use the term ‘chivalry’ to refer to the conduct of war in a noble and magnanimous manner, irrespective of whether this was during the period traditionally ascribed to knights and chivalry.5 The association of knighthood with mercy and magnanimity was certainly a prominent and even distinctive theme in chivalric literature and culture, from Chrétien de Troyes onwards.6 Pearsall has argued that ‘this voluntary rejection of what might more profitably serve the self and its 5 6

See pages 4–5 above. M. Strickland, ‘Killing or clemency? Ransom, chivalry and changing attitudes to defeated opponents in Britain and northern France, 7–12th centuries’, in H.-H. Kortüm (ed.), Krieg im Mittelalter (Berlin, 2001), 115.

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appetite for survival is a specifically medieval contribution to the ideal of the hero, one which King Alfred would not have understood, and quite different from the cool, laconic nonchalance of the Icelandic sagaheroes’.7 The heroes of chivalric tales frequently dismounted to fight unarmed opponents, would not gang up on a single opponent and sometimes even refused to take on another knight when he was tired or disarmed.8 In the final romance of the Vulgate Cycle, Le Mort le Roi Artu, Lancelot was forced to fight in single combat against an angry Gawain and even knocked King Arthur from his saddle. This presented Lancelot with the opportunity to end the war, but he refused to kill Arthur and even helped him to climb back onto his horse.9 Mercy was a prominent theme in Antoine de La Sale’s famous romance Jehan de Saintré, completed in 1456. In this story, a lady at the court of King Jean II, identified only as the Dame des Belles Cousines, provided the young squire Jean de Saintré with careful tuition in how to become a worthy knight. One of her lessons emphasized the importance of biblical injunctions towards pity and mercy, as she advised him to abandon vengeance and cruel wrath after defeating his enemies in battle. Saintré clearly took this advice to heart, not only treating one opponent in a tournament as a brother rather than a blood enemy, but even living up to her advice when he fought the shameful abbot at the very climax of the tale.10 As the Dame des Belles Cousines suggested, biblical models and injunctions were lurking behind the chivalric representations of mercy and magnanimity. Christ himself had forgiven the Roman centurion Longinus, whose lance had pierced his side, as was noted at the end of the expanded version of Raoul de Cambrai when Bernier pardoned his enemy Guerri the Red.11 In the Epistre Othea (c.1399–1400), Christine de Pizan presented a programme of education for a young man who was commencing his training for knighthood. She explained that he should emulate the ‘misericorde et compassion’ of the good knight Jesus Christ, citing Matthew, 5:7: ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’12 In the Epistre de la prison de vie humaine, written shortly after the battle of Agincourt, Christine praised the virtue of patience as she consoled women who had suffered losses, and in particular Marie de Berry, whose son and husband, Charles d’Artois, count of Eu, and Jean

7 8 9 11 12

Pearsall, Arthurian Romance, 101. Brewer, ‘The paradoxes of honour in Malory’, 37–9. 10 La morte le roi Artu, 139–45. La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, 42–3, 124–33, 297–8. Raoul de Cambrai, ed. and trans. S. Kay (Oxford, 1992), 490. Pizan, L’épistre Othea, 212–13.

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de Bourbon, had been captured. Christine counselled these women to love their enemies, emulating the example of Christ towards Judas Iscariot. The key was not to give oneself up to anger, vengeance and impatience but, rather, to trust in justice and the law.13 Indeed, in Le livre du corps de policie (c.1406–7), Christine had warned that anger and wrath could easily degenerate into hatred and ultimately into cruelty, the worst quality in a prince. Drawing upon Valerius Maximus and Aristotle, she explained that achieving vengeance might bring an end to anger, but that hatred could not be satisfied and, instead, would continue to grow.14 Such themes were familiar to all Christians, and were enshrined in the Lord’s prayer. Theologians and preachers constantly warned of the dangers of the deadly sin of anger and wrath, and thereby championed the value of mercy, peace and self-restraint.15 Sermons and didactic literature emphasized charitable restraint, mercy and piety as bulwarks against sinful violence, stressing the importance of mercy as a true foundation of a good reputation.16 The importance of charity, fellowship and social discipline was also underlined by rituals such as the prohibition of violence within the physical space of the church and the restriction of the benefits of the Eucharist to those who were charitable and humble rather than angry and violent.17 Even more direct were the lovedays and other public rituals of reconciliation and peace, performed, for example, between supporters of the Armagnacs and the Burgundians during the civil war that raged during the reign of King Charles VI.18 Of course, it was one thing to grant mercy, and another to receive it. To run away from battle might be cowardly and shameful, but to surrender and be taken prisoner could also be seen as shameful and even emasculating. Many chroniclers contrasted the bravery of Jean II and the other French knights captured at the battle of Poitiers in 1356 with the cowardice of those others who had simply fled the field, though there 13 14 15

16 17

18

Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, 28–30. Pizan, Corps du policie, 52–3 [I, ch. 31]. R. Miner, Thomas Aquinas on the Passions: A Study of Summa Theologiae 1a2ae 22–48 (Cambridge, 2009), 268–86; Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation in Medieval England, 50–4; Vengeance in Medieval Europe: A Reader, ed. D. L. Smail and K. L. Gibson (Toronto, 2009), 363–74. D. E. Thiery, Polluting the Sacred: Violence, Faith and the ‘Civilizing’ of Parishioners in Late Medieval England (Leiden, 2009), 91–100. J. Bossy, ‘Blood and baptism: kinship, community and Christianity in western Europe from the fourteenth to the seventeenth centuries’, Studies in Church History, 19 (1973), 129–43, and ‘The mass as a social institution 1200–1700’, Past and Present, 100 (1983), 29–61; Thiery, Polluting the Sacred, 29–90, 111–52. N. Offenstadt, ‘The rituals of peace during the civil war in France, 1409–19: politics and the public sphere’, in T. Thornton (ed.), Social Attitudes and Political Structures in the Fifteenth Century (Stroud, 2000), 88–100; Offenstadt, Faire la paix au moyen âge.

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were also sources such as the Complainte sur la bataille de Poitiers that rebuked even the French prisoners for giving up so easily.19 Jean Froissart described the enormous respect paid to King Jean II after he had been taken prisoner, when the Black Prince personally served the French king at dinner, in tribute both to his royal status and to his great deeds of arms, in what had been, in reality, one of the worst military defeats in French medieval history.20 This story served to enhance the status of the Black Prince as a modest man and a flower of chivalry, but was also carefully designed to minimize any shame that the French king might have incurred through his defeat and capture.21 Keen has argued that ‘[i]n the open field of battle there was no stigma attached to surrender’, and it is certainly true that as prominent a figure as Bertrand du Guesclin could be captured four times without grave consequences for his chivalric reputation.22 When Geoffroi de Charny posed a series of Demandes to the members of the elite Company of the Star, however, he repeatedly asked them to debate whether a knight could surrender with honour.23 In chivalric literature, knights frequently surrendered and thereby secured an honourable defeat rather than death, but ‘the truly heroic prefer to die without ever yielding, without ever once having said “the loath word” of surrender’.24 Indeed, it is important not to underestimate the potential shame and humiliation of surrender.25 Kaeuper has noted that chivalric romances frequently presented a defeated knight as being humiliated by his captor, forced to beg on his knees for his life, exposing his bare neck to his enemy, with this shame serving to balance in some measure against the original matter that had brought them to blows.26 When garrisons 19

20

21 22 23

24 25

26

See C. de Beaurepaire, ‘Complainte sur la bataille de Poitiers’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 12 (1850), 257–63, together with Coville, ‘Poèmes historiques de l’avènement de Philippe VI’, 315–24. Also see Autrand, ‘La déconfiture’, 93–121, and Bériac-Lainé and Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers, 219–29. Froissart (SHF), V, 63–4. The English chronicler Geoffrey le Baker reported that the prince did not dine with King Jean because he was attending to Sir James Audley, who had been mortally wounded in the battle: Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 153–4. Froissart (SHF), V, 32–64. Keen, The Laws of War, 124. For the career of Bertrand du Guesclin, see Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, xxii–xxxii. He also asked them to discuss the impact of either flight or surrender upon the morale of the enemy: Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 92, 103–4, 109, 131, 137–8. Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, 154. Évrart de Trémaugon and Jean Le Fèvre argued that prisoners were serfs, and so when a noble was captured he effectively lost his aristocratic status. See Somnium viridarii, I, 153, and Le songe du vergier, I, 302–3. R. W. Kaeuper, ‘Vengeance and mercy in chivalric mentalité’, in T. B. Lambert and D. Rollason (eds.), Peace and Protection in the Middle Ages (Durham, 2009), 176–9.

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surrendered, they were often publicly shamed and humiliated because of their refusal to submit to the authority of the king or prince leading the siege.27 For example, at Calais in 1347, Edward III demanded that the garrison march out bareheaded with reversed swords in their hands, and the burgesses follow them with halters about their necks. This was a sign that Edward had taken the town by force of arms unconditionally, and that the men were at his mercy, even though it had not been stormed.28 English chroniclers reported that, at Harfleur in 1415, Henry V had Raoul de Gaucourt, the captain of the town, come out along with other defenders, wearing ropes around their necks, and that the king then kept them waiting before receiving their surrender.29 In 1423 Thomas Montagu allowed the garrison of Montaguillon to leave only on condition that they left behind their weapons, that their heads were bare, in sign of humility, and that they carried a white staff in their hands.30 Shortly afterwards, Montagu paraded through Paris soldiers from the garrison of Orsay who had plagued the region around the city. They were led bareheaded and with halters round their necks and swords held to their breasts before the regent, Bedford, who pardoned them when his wife Anne of Burgundy interceded.31 In 1424 Bedford took Compiègne, but allowed the Armagnac garrison to leave unharmed. They then seized the castle of Gaillon in Normandy, so, when this was retaken by the English, the Frenchmen were executed.32 On the other hand, surrendering to a brave and noble warrior might mitigate any potential shame. Froissart described an attack upon Calais at the end of December 1349, during which Edward III fought an epic duel with Eustache de Ribemont, finally forcing the Frenchman to surrender. Edward had fought incognito under the banner of Sir Walter Mauny, and therefore surprised the French knight when he awarded him a chaplet adorned with pearls, and released him without demanding a 27

28 29

30 31 32

Surrendering during a siege was complicated by the potential dishonour and treason of breaking oaths, given either to one’s own side to defend the stronghold or to the enemy in an agreement relating to surrender. See Keen, The Laws of War, 119–33, and also pages 84–6 above. Knighton’s Chronicle, I, 84. See The Chronicle of Adam Usk, 1377–1421, ed. and trans. C. Given-Wilson (OMT, Oxford, 1997), 254, and Chronicles of London, ed. C. L. Kingsford (Oxford, 1905), 118–19. Also see Gesta Henrici Quinti, 52. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 32–3. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 34–5. See La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 176–8, 186, and L. Carolus-Barré, ‘Compiègne et la guerre, 1414–1430’, in La ‘France anglaise’ au moyen âge, 385–6.

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ransom.33 During the siege of Verteuil in 1385, Louis de Bourbon fought incognito against the captain, Regnault de Montferrand, who was so impressed when he discovered the identity of his opponent that he surrendered the town on the condition that Louis personally knighted him.34 In May 1429 the earl of Suffolk was captured on the bridge at Jargeau, but, according to chroniclers, he was so reluctant to be taken by a mere squire that he knighted Guillaume Regnault before formally surrendering.35 From a wider perspective, the emphasis upon mercy in medieval Christianity was important precisely because vengeance was a constant presence both within aristocratic society and chivalric culture.36 Gauvard has suggested that perhaps four out of five murders in late medieval France were motivated by a desire for brutal revenge.37 Vengeance was a commonplace theme in chivalric narratives such as the chansons de geste, Raoul de Cambrai or the story of Achilles at the siege of Troy. Although Froissart had celebrated the magnanimity and mercy of the Black Prince towards King Jean II after Poitiers, he also graphically described the same Englishman’s angry desire to avenge the treason committed by the bishop of Limoges, culminating in the brutal siege of that town in 1370.38 Froissart also told the story of the efforts of Hugues de Châtillon, lord of Dampierre, to take revenge upon the seneschal of Pontieu, Nicolas de Louvain, who had ambushed Hugues near Abbeville in 1369 and then refused to ransom him.39 Ramon Llull advised knights to take vengeance upon the enemies of true chivalry, and in his Livre de chevalerie Geoffroi de Charny called upon men-atarms to be cruel avengers against their enemies.40 He himself demonstrated how seriously he took this invocation with his vendetta against the mercenary Aimery de Pavia, who had betrayed a plot to capture Calais in 33 34 35 36

37 38 40

Froissart (SHF), IV, 79–84. Edward III’s reaction to Ribemont contrasted sharply with his view of Geoffroi de Charny’s role in the same incident. See page 268 below. Cabaret d’Orville, Jean. La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 151–2. Les chroniques du roi Charles VII par Gilles le Bouvier, 137–8. For example, see W. I. Miller, ‘In defense of revenge’, in B. A. Hanawalt and D. Wallace (eds.), Medieval Crime and Social Control (Minneapolis, 1999), 70–89, H. Kaminsky, ‘The noble feud in the later Middle Ages’, Past and Present, 179 (2002), 56–83, Hyams, Rancor and Reconciliation in Medieval England, D. Barthélemy, F. Bougard and R. Le Jan (eds.), La vengeance 400–1200 (Rome, 2006), Vengeance in Medieval Europe: A Reader, Kaeuper, ‘Vengeance and mercy in chivalric mentalité’, 168–80, and S. Throop and P. R. Hyams (eds.), Vengeance in the Middle Ages: Emotion, Religion and Feud (Aldershot, 2010). Gauvard, “De grace especial”, II, 755–6, 758. 39 Froissart (SHF), VII, 243–5, 249–53. Froissart (SHF), VII, 111–13, 193–5. See Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 107, and The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 128.

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late 1349. Even though he was bound by a truce, Charny snatched Aimery during a night-time raid in July 1351 and then had him executed.41 Vengeance had powerful cultural, intellectual and theological roots in the Middle Ages. On the one hand, the notion of revenge as a form of justice was enshrined in the law of talion’s call for an eye for an eye,42 as well as in both Roman law and the customary practices that emerged during the Middle Ages.43 Moreover, medieval Christianity sanctioned vengeance and retribution, particularly when carried out by God or by his representatives on earth.44 The Old Testament was full of tales of a vengeful God who punished sinners and restored order, such as his threat to punish the children and descendants of those who broke the commandment not to worship false idols in Exodus 20:5–6.45 Judas Maccabeus was one of the most prominent heroes within chivalric culture, celebrated in part because the Old Testament story of his vengeance against King Antiochus of Egypt for the defilement of Jerusalem paralleled the events of the early crusades.46 While the New Testament largely championed peace over anger and hatred, there were still pivotal injunctions that served to justify all vengeance and violence, such as Romans 12:19 – ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord’ – and Romans 13:4, which declared public authorities to be the servants of God and agents of his wrath to punish wrongdoers.47 According to the New Testament, Christ will punish sinners at the Last Judgement, and in romances he was often depicted as questing for the souls of men. Moreover, popular texts such as La Vengeance de Nostre-Seigneur recounted God’s vengeance upon the Jews for the death of Christ, through the hand of the Roman Emperor Vespasian, who destroyed 41 42 43

44

45 46

47

See Froissart (SHF), IV, 70–81, 98–9, and La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald, 60, together with the discussion in The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 10–14. W. I. Miller, Eye for an Eye (Cambridge, 2006). Of course, in late medieval France, for example, the customary right to private warfare was slowly challenged by royal ordinance. See The Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir, 610–26, and Firnhaber-Baker, ‘From God’s peace to the king’s order, 19–30. See H. Avalos, Fighting Words: The Origins of Religious Violence (Amherst, NY, 2005), and P. Buc, ‘La vengeance de Dieu: de l’exégèse patristique à la réforme ecclésiastique et à la Première Croisade’, in Barthélemy, Bougard and Le Jan, La vengeance 400–1200, 451–86, together with R. Girard, La violence et le sacré (Paris, 1972); also see W. M. Swartley (ed.), Violence Renounced: René Girard, Biblical Studies and Peacemaking (Telford, PA, 2000). Vengeance in Medieval Europe: A Reader, 3–25. See Buc, ‘La vengeance de Dieu’, 468–73, and N. Morton, ‘The defence of the Holy Land and the memory of the Maccabees’, Journal of Medieval History, 36 (2010), 275–93. Vengeance in Medieval Europe: A Reader, 27–8.

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Jerusalem and enslaved the Jewish people.48 In short, medieval Christian culture emphasized the importance of vengeance as punishment for sin, and, as Huizinga gravely observed, sin was all too often ‘whatever their enemy did’.49 The crusades were represented, in part, as an enactment of God’s divine anger against those who had rejected Christianity and injured both Christ and the Church.50 Discussing the actions of the Franks who took part in the First Crusade, Rubenstein says that they were fighting a holy war, whose rules of combat were inherently different from normal warfare. . . [They] were not seekers after God’s justice but were the embodiment of God’s will – the wrathful God described in the Apocalypse and portrayed above church doors throughout Europe. They were the new Chosen People, engaged in combat against an undifferentiated, unbelieving adversary. . .in a series of battles fought on an appropriately prophetic, Old Testament scale.51

This perception that the crusaders were an instrument of divine vengeance may lie at the root of famous atrocities such as the massacres in Jerusalem in July 1099, which were accepted as either ‘a glorious cleansing of pagan contamination or else as a strategic necessity to hold the city against immediate counterattack’, and the infamous cannibalism perpetrated around the siege of Ma’arra in 1098, which was subsequently explained away as the actions of an ‘ill-defined army of the poor’.52 Certainly, the evident justice of the crusading enterprise encouraged extreme barbarity towards the enemies of God, regarded as unworthy of mercy because of their inherent inferiority and their enmity towards Christianity. Of course, reports of the violent abuses unleashed in the crusades caused theologians to pay much stricter attention to the notion of ius in bello, as well as to the importance of conversion rather than 48

49 50

51

52

See The Oldest Version of the Twelfth-Century Poem La Venjance Nostre Seigneur, ed. L. A. T. Gryting (Ann Arbor, MI, 1952), and La Vengeance de Nostre-Seigneur: The Old and Middle French Prose Versions, ed. A. E. Ford (2 vols., Toronto, 1984–93), together with S. K. Wright, The Vengeance of Our Lord: Medieval Dramatizations of the Destruction of Jerusalem (Toronto, 1989). Huizinga, The Autumn of the Middle Ages, 20. See S. Throop, Crusading as an Act of Vengeance, 1095–1216 (Abingdon, 2011), together with ‘Vengeance and the crusades’, Crusades, 5 (2006), 21–38, and ‘Zeal, anger and vengeance: the emotional rhetoric of crusading’, in Throop and Hyams, Vengeance in the Middle Ages, 177–201. Also see Buc, ‘La vengeance de Dieu’, 451–86. J. Rubenstein, ‘Cannibals and crusaders’, French Historical Studies, 31 (2008), 551; also see Rubenstein, Armies of Heaven: The First Crusade and the Quest for the Apocalypse (New York, 2011). Rubenstein, ‘Cannibals and crusaders’, 525–52; also see B. Z. Kedar, ‘The Jerusalem massacres of July 1099 in the Western historiography of the Crusades’, Crusades, 3 (2004), 15–75.

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extermination.53 Moreover, the Muslim enemy were often represented in a complex manner in chivalric literature, for example through the topos of the noble Saracen, usually but not necessarily prefacing their conversion to Christianity.54 Even ransoming was possible between Christian and Muslim forces, though this was far from a stable system. St Louis was taken prisoner during his failed crusade of 1250 and subsequently ransomed, but Joinville reported that his queen, Marguerite, asked her guard to cut off her head rather than allow her to fall into the hands of the Saracens.55 The biographer of Boucicaut did not feel the need to explain or to justify the decision to massacre Muslim prisoners during the Nicopolis campaign in 1396 and three years later, near to Constantinople.56 The actions of Boucicaut and the crusaders in 1396 may have influenced the subsequent, infamous treatment by the Turks of their prisoners from the battle at Nicopolis, when just 300 out of 6,000 Christian soldiers were ransomed, after the majority had been executed.57 Christian kings and lords could also claim to be enacting divine justice and anger when they dispensed violent retribution against rebels and traitors who opposed their will, all in the interests of re-establishing God’s peace. Deuteronomy 20 famously advocated violence against those who resisted their rightful lord.58 As divine agents, such princes ‘might grow righteously angry when evil threatened their positions or the areas under protection’, and those that rejected their authority ‘would come to be seen as sinful, as deserving recipients of zealous rage’.59 Such notions

53 54

55

56 57 58 59

See Cowdrey, ‘Christianity and the morality of warfare’, 175–92, and C. Tyerman, The Debate on the Crusades, 1099–2010 (Manchester, 2011), 22–5. M. J. Ailes, ‘Chivalry and conversion: the chivalrous Saracen in the Old French epics Fierabras and Otinel’, Al-Masaq, 9 (1996), 1–21; M. A. Jubb, ‘Enemies in the Holy War, but brothers in chivalry: the crusaders’ view of their Saracen opponents’, in H. van Dijk and W. Noomen (eds.), Aspects de l’épopée romane: mentalités, idéologies, intertextualités (Groningen, 1995), 251–9, and ‘The crusaders’ perceptions of their opponents’, in H. J. Nicholson (ed.), Palgrave Advances in the Crusades (Basingstoke, 2005), 225–44; H. Möhring, ‘The Christian concept of the Muslim enemy during the crusades’, in H.-H. Kortüm (ed.), Transcultural Wars from the Middle Ages to the 21st Century (Berlin, 2006), 185–93. Histoire de Saint Louis par Jean sire de Joinville, 107–10, 119–21; also see Y. Friedman, ‘Captivity and ransom: the experience of women’, in S. B. Edgington and S. Lambert (eds.), Gendering the Crusades (Cardiff, 2001), 128, 133–5. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 98, 146. See J. Richard, ‘Les prisonniers de Nicopolis’, Annales de Bourgogne, 68 (1996), 75–83, and B. Schnerb, Jean sans Peur: le prince meurtrier (Paris, 2005), 91–4. See page 193 below. R. E. Barton, ‘“Zealous anger” and the renegotiation of aristocratic relationships in eleventh- and twelfth-century France’, in B. H. Rosenwein (ed.), Anger’s Past: The Social Uses of an Emotion in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 1998), 159.

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were resonant during the Anglo-French wars of the late Middle Ages, both because English kings had paid liege homage to Capetian and Valois monarchs for the duchy of Aquitaine and because the rivals for the French throne frequently characterized each other as rebels and traitors.60 From the perspective of French kings such as Philippe VI and Jean II, the English chevauchées were direct challenges to their royal authority and clear acts of rebellion by a vassal, Edward III, who had paid homage for his lands in France. Therefore these French kings went into battle against the English bearing the oriflamme, described by one English chronicler as the scarlet standard that was the token of death, as an indicator that they would offer no mercy and take no prisoners.61 The French also displayed the oriflamme in their brutal wars against the Flemish rebels.62 On the other side, the Annales Gandenses reported that, before the battle of Courtrai in 1302, the leaders of the Flemish army ordered that anyone who tried to take a Frenchman prisoner should be put to death by their fellow soldiers.63 The English were ruthless towards the Scottish soldiers who fought with the French at the battle of Verneuil on 17 August 1424. These troops were effectively wiped out, presumably because the duke of Bedford regarded their commander, Archibald, earl of Douglas, as a rebel and a traitor, having broken his oath of fealty to Henry V. One of the few to escape was Eustace Hart, who was pardoned for his involvement in the ‘rebel’ action led by Douglas after he swore allegiance to Henry VI and the Treaty of Troyes.64 In short, it would be wrong to imagine chivalric culture as constantly and simplistically advocating mercy and magnanimity towards the enemy. These themes existed in tandem with powerful notions of justice, vengeance and righteous anger, which were invoked throughout the Middle Ages to justify and to explain some of the most barbaric and brutal behaviour. Contrary to modern, romantic ideas of the chivalric Middle Ages, princes, knights and men-at-arms did behave in extremely unpleasant ways, and could cite legal and cultural norms to defend their actions. 60

61

62 63 64

See, for example, P. Chaplais, Essays in Medieval Diplomacy and Administration (London, 1981), and C. D. Taylor, ‘“La querelle Anglaise”: diplomatic and legal debate during the Hundred Years War, with an edition of the polemical treatise Pour ce que plusieurs (1464)’ (DPhil dissertation, University of Oxford, 1998). Knighton’s Chronicle, II, 142; also see Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 82–3, together with P. Contamine, L’oriflamme de Saint-Denis aux XIVe et XVe siècles (Nancy, 1975). Froissart (SHF), XI, 51–4. Annales Gandensis: Annals of Ghent, ed. and trans. H. Johnstone (OMT, Oxford, 1951), 31. See Actes de la chancellerie d’Henri VI concernant la Normandie sous la domination anglaise (1422–1435): extraits des registres du Trésor des chartes aux Archives Nationales, ed. P. Le Cacheux (2 vols., Rouen, 1907–8), II, 143–5, together with Jones, ‘The battle of Verneuil’, 405–7.

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The treatment of combatants The taking of prisoners in high and late medieval warfare is often assumed to be an extension of the courtliness and politeness cultivated at the court and described in chivalric literature.65 In reality, the most powerful argument for mercy on a medieval battlefield was financial. Prisoner-taking was an extremely profitable business during the age of chivalry, both for soldiers and for the captains and commanders above them. In modern, regulated armies, soldiers are paid by the state and denied the right either to steal from civilian populations or to take prisoners for ransom. In contrast, medieval armies fully expected to share in the spoils of war.66 Before the battle of Auray, in 1364, some English men-at-supposedly arms advised Sir John Chandos to reject the last-minute peace overtures by Charles de Blois because they were poor and needed the chance to make their fortune.67 Hugues de Lannoy advised his son in the Enseignements paternels that one of the paths to success was to capture a prisoner of wealth and standing.68 The financial rewards and risks for knights and men-at-arms were both amply demonstrated by the example of Bascot de Mauléon.69 According to Froissart, Bascot fought under the Captal de Buch at Poitiers in 1356, when he captured a knight and two squires, thereby securing 3,000 francs in ransoms.70 Just eight years later Bascot was fighting for the Navarrese at the battle of Cocherel, and was captured by Bernard de Terride, to whom Bascot promised a ransom of 1,000 francs in return for a safe conduct to return home, from where he sent the money to his captor straight away.71 Meanwhile, Gaston III Phébus, count of Foix, defeated and captured his nemesis, Jean d’Armagnac, at the battle of Launac on 65 66

67 68

69 70

71

Robinson, Military Honour and the Conduct of War, 62. Keen, The Laws of War, 156–85; P. Contamine, ‘The growth of state control. Practices of war, 1300–1800: ransom and booty’, in P. Contamine (ed.), War and Competition between States (Oxford, 2000), 163–93. Also see R. Ambühl, Prisoners of War in the Hundred Years War: Ransom Culture in the Late Middle Ages (Cambridge, 2013). Froissart (SHF), VI, 159. Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, 471. Of course, the potential profits from ransoms had to be weighed against the risk of capture, leading to soldiers forming partnerships to share both profits and cost of a ransom: see K. B. McFarlane, ‘A business partnership in war and administration 1421–1445’, in England in the Fifteenth Century: Collected Essays (London, 1981), 151–74, and M. K. Jones, ‘Ransom brokerage in the fifteenth century’, in P. Contamine, C. Giry-Deloison and M. H. Keen (eds.), Guerre et société en France, en Angleterre et en Bourgogne XIVe–XVe siècle (Lille, 1991), 221–35. Pépin, ‘Towards a rehabilitation of Froissart’s credibility’, 175–90. Froissart (SHF), XII, 96–7. Note that this claim was not confirmed in the most extensive research on the prisoners of Poitiers: Bériac-Lainé and Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers. Froissart (SHF), XII, 100–1.

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5 December 1362. Armagnac paid a ransom of 300,000 florins, his supporter Arnaud-Amanieu d’Albret paid 100,000 florins, and in total Gaston may have received 600,000 florins. With just one victory, Gaston became one of the richest lords of Gascony and Languedoc.72 Jean de Chalon was held prisoner for over ten years after the battle of Auray in 1364 and was eventually ransomed for 60,000 gold francs.73 The Burgundian nobleman Guillaume lord of Châteauvillain was captured at Marigny in 1430 and ransomed for 20,000 saluts d’or – 20 kilograms of gold coin for each of the four captors.74 Captains and commanders shared in ransoms and therefore had an incentive to allow their soldiers to take prisoners. Captives could also be valuable hostages for wider goals, however. Prisoner-taking became increasingly common during the eleventh and twelfth centuries not only because ransoms provided important additional sources of revenue to finance warfare, but also because important prisoners represented potential bargaining chips that could be exchanged for strongholds such as fortified towns and castles, which were increasingly difficult to secure by force alone.75 The value of high-status prisoners was constantly demonstrated throughout the late Middle Ages. Edward III’s military successes were capped by the capture and ransom of King Jean II of France and King David II of Scotland, which fundamentally shaped his diplomatic negotiations with those countries.76 In 1431 René, duke of Anjou, was captured at the battle of Bulgnéville by Martin Frinard, who sold him to Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy, for 10,000 livres.77 René was ultimately ransomed by Philippe, in February 1437, for 400,000 écus as well as the cession of his lands in Flanders, Cassel and Bois-de-Nieppe. He was forced to marry his eldest son, Jean, duke of Calabria, to Marie de Bourbon, daughter of the duke of Bourbon and niece of the duke of Burgundy, with two-thirds of her dowry of 150,000 écus serving to pay towards the ransom. They also agreed that René’s nine-year-old 72 73 74 75

76 77

Tucoo-Chala, Gaston Fébus: un grand prince d’Occident, 38–42. Jean de Chalon is incorrectly identified as Louis by Wright, Knights and Peasants, 70–1. A. Bossuat, ‘Les prisonniers de guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Guillaume, seigneur de Chateauvillain’, Annales de Bourgogne, 23 (1951), 7–35. J. Gillingham, ‘Conquering the barbarians: war and chivalry in twelfth-century Britain’, Haskins Society Journal, 4 (1992), 67–84; ‘Thegns and knights in eleventh-century England: who was then the gentleman?’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 6th series, 5 (1995), 129–53; ‘1066 and the introduction of chivalry into England’, 31–55; ‘Killing and mutilating political enemies in the British Isles from the late twelfth to the early fourteenth centuries: a comparative study’, in B. Smith (ed.), Britain and Ireland, 900–1300: Insular Responses to Medieval European Change (Cambridge, 1999), 114–34; Strickland, War and Chivalry. Ormrod, Edward III, 385–413. Schnerb, Bulgnéville (1431), 93–113.

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daughter Yolande de Bar would marry Frederick, son of the count of Vaudémont; the wedding took place in 1445.78 In 1449 Charles VII secured the castle of Gisors from its captain, Richard Merbury, in return for releasing his two sons, John and Hamon, without ransom.79 In addition, prisoners could also offer useful information about enemy forces. During the Crécy campaign in 1346, a French prisoner revealed to Edward III the ford over the Somme at Blanquetaque in return for a reward.80 On 26 November 1355 the Black Prince’s men captured a French prisoner, who revealed that there was tension between the leaders of the French army, Jean de Clermont, marshal of France, and Jean d’Armagnac.81 The value of prisoners helps to explain why the French and the English crowns both usually reserved for themselves the most important prisoners.82 Edward III’s indentures often said that ‘great’ prisoners should be handed over to the crown, with some specifying that the king should have control of captives whose ransoms were worth over 4,000 crowns (£666).83 In his capacity as Lancastrian ‘governor’ of France, the duke of Bedford took control of one of Sir John Fastolf ’s prisoners, Guillaume Remon, in 1424 and threatened to execute him if the garrison of Compiègne did not surrender the town. When they complied with his demands, Bedford released Remon, forcing Fastolf to spend eight years pursuing financial compensation from the duke.84 Six years later Joan of Arc was captured by a servant of Jean de Luxembourg at Compiègne, and the English successfully negotiated control of her from the Burgundians.85 Indeed, in France, Honorat Bovet and Christine de Pizan both emphasized that all prisoners – and, indeed, all booty – ultimately belonged to the sovereign.86 Moreover, Christine cited the 78 79 80

81 82 83

84

85 86

Kekewich, The Good King, 27–32. Chartier, Chronique de Charles VII, II, 135–7, and Les chroniques du roi Charles VII par Gilles le Bouvier, 310–11. Froissart (SHF), III, 157–8. Froissart also reported that in 1327, during the Scottish invasion of England, the English captured one of the enemy knights and forced him to reveal their plans: Froissart (SHF), I, i, 69. Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 137–8. Keen, The Laws of War, 145, 148, 175–6. The indenture between Edward III and Black Prince, dated 10 July 1355, only reserved the head of an enemy army for the king. Register of Edward, the Black Prince, Preserved in the Public Record Office, ed. M. C. B. Dawes (4 vols., London, 1930–3), IV, 143–5. B. J. H. Rowe, ‘A contemporary account of the Hundred Years War from 1415 to 1429’, English Historical Review, 41 (1926), 512; Carolus-Barré, ‘Compiègne et la guerre’, 385–6; C. A. J. Armstrong, ‘Sir John Fastolf and the law of arms’, in C. T. Allmand (ed.), War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages (Liverpool, 1976), 47–9. Procès de condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, III, 3–14. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 757 [ch. 81], and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 220 [III, ch. 17].

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custom in France, dating perhaps from the reign of Charles V, that the king could buy a prisoner from any subject for 10,000 francs, regardless of their actual worth at ransom.87 In practice, there were many cases in France when the king secured prisoners for less money. For example, in around 1436–8, Arthur de Richemont paid 200 écus for an English partisan, Milles de Saux, who had been captured at Beaumont.88 In 1451 Charles VII compensated Jacques de Clermont with 1,500 écus for the Englishmen who had been freed in order to secure control of Gisors in 1449.89 There were also powerful arguments for ensuring that certain prisoners did not go free. Le jouvencel reported a debate between soldiers over the rules governing ransoming, in which it was clearly stated that no man-at-arms could release any prisoner who their captain or the prince would not want to be freed, especially those who represented a threat to the common good, such as traitors or spies.90 Enemy captains and commanders were particularly important figures, and logic might suggest that it would be better to hold on to such men, or even kill them, rather than allow them to return to the field.91 The Chronique des quatre premiers Valois reported on the slaughter of 300 English prisoners by Norman and Navarrese forces in 1366, arguing that, if this had happened in the past, the war could have ended sooner.92 Similarly, in 1355, Edward Balliol asked Edward III to issue orders that Scottish prisoners captured at the battle of Neville’s Cross were not to be released because the practice of ransoming had extended the war.93 The following year Edward III bought the rights to the prisoners taken at Poitiers, in part because the removal of the king and many of his leading noblemen weakened France militarily and also politically, and thereby increased pressure for a peace treaty.94 After being captured at the battle of Nájera in 1367, Bertrand du Guesclin supposedly claimed that the Black Prince was too afraid to release him, effectively shaming the Englishman into ransoming him, albeit for a very high price.95 In the fifteenth century Charles d’Orléans was such an important hostage for the English that he was not released 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95

See Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 215–17 [III, ch. 15], and Contamine, ‘The growth of state control’, 169. Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont, 255. See Contamine, ‘The growth of state control’, 169, and footnote 79 above. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 214–15; also see II, 10. Strickland, ‘Killing or clemency?’, 96, 104–5. Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 169–70. Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 827; Bériac-Lainé and GivenWilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers, 312–18. Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 830. Froissart (SHF), VII, 62–4; also see La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 282–4.

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until 1440, twenty-five years after his capture at the battle of Agincourt.96 For different reasons, Henry VI expressly warned Bishop Cauchon that, if the Rouen trial failed to convict Joan of Arc on charges of heresy, she would not be released.97 John Talbot was released in 1433, four years after his capture at Patay, only in exchange for an important French commander, Poton de Xaintrailles, and a hefty ransom.98 Gillingham has underlined the risks that aristocratic captives faced during the late Middle Ages, when so many were refused mercy, ostensibly as a punishment for treason or rebellion.99 The most prominent examples of such brutality occurred in the context of civil warfare. For example, Enrique da Trastámara captured Pedro the Cruel, his rival claimant for the throne of Castile, at the battle of Montiel in March 1369. Pedro was assassinated shortly afterwards, and English and Spanish sources claimed that Bertrand du Guesclin had taken an active role in this, though French sources denied that he had had any involvement.100 In France, tensions mounted between Armagnacs and Burgundians following the murder of the duke of Orléans in 1407. Jean sans Peur’s military campaigns were brutal, while the chronicler Jean Le Fèvre de St Rémy was angry that the Armagnacs carried the oriflamme ‘as if against the Saracens’ when they invaded Artois in 1414, though they did not unfurl it.101 There was very little mercy for those responsible for the murder of Jean sans Peur at Montereau in September 1419. In the summer of 1420 Arnaud Guilhelm, lord of Barbazan, was captured during the siege of Melun after personally fighting with Henry V in a mine under the walls, and would certainly have been executed for his part in the treasonous murder of Jean sans Peur but for the fact that he was a brother-in-arms to the king.102 The viscount of Narbonne was less fortunate, being quartered and hung even after he had been found dead on the battlefield of Verneuil in 1424.103 Acts of brutality were most likely to occur in the context of a siege. The threat of merciless treatment was the best means to bring defenders to terms, and a reputation for barbarity was a powerful weapon with which to demoralize opponents. Commanders therefore gave defenders every 96 97 98 99 100 101

102 103

Askins, ‘The brothers Orléans and their keepers’, 27–45. Procès de condamnation de Jeanne d’Arc, I, 14–15. A. J. Pollard, John Talbot and the War in France, 1427–1453 (London, 1983), 113–14. Gillingham, ‘Killing and mutilating political enemies’, 130–4. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, III, 209–20. See K. DeVries, ‘John the Fearless’ way of war’, in Biggs, Michalove and Reeves, Reputation and Representation in Fifteenth-Century Europe, 39–55, and Chronique de Jean Le Fèvre, I, 170. Keen, The Laws of War, 48–9. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 117.

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opportunity to surrender, often mustering in the open before major assaults in order to put psychological pressure on the garrison.104 It was important to impress upon the defenders the dire consequences of continuing to fight, and in the particular the very real threat that the attacking army would sack the town. In 1385 the marshal of Louis de Bourbon threatened to hang the defenders of the town of Montlieu, in order to frighten them into surrendering.105 At the start of the siege of Harfleur, in 1415, Henry V reportedly cited the authority of Deuteronomy 20, which demanded that attackers should offer peace to defenders who were willing to surrender, but declared that, if the city refused, then all males should be put to the sword, and the women, children and all property would become spoils of war, to be shared amongst the attacking soldiers.106 Two years later the brutal sack of Caen demonstrated just how ruthless and dangerous the English king would be, and therefore served as a powerful warning to subsequent defenders to surrender.107 For the same reason, leaving civilians to starve in front of the city walls put additional psychological pressure on the garrison to end the siege.108 In 1420 Henry V even sent prisoners captured in the town of Montereau to negotiate on his behalf with the remaining defenders inside the castle. When the garrison refused to surrender, Henry carried out his threat to execute the prisoners.109 At the same time, there was also honour at stake during a siege. Once a commander had begun a siege, he had publicly declared his intention to secure victory, and any effort by the defenders to stop him was a potential threat to shame and embarrass him.110 In his questions for the Company of the Star, Geoffroi de Charny asked whether it was a greater dishonour for a man to fail to win a town to which he had laid claim or to decline a challenge to battle in the field.111 While Louis, duke of Bourbon, was besieging the fort of Verteuil in 1385, he was summoned to join Charles V, and therefore faced the dishonour of having to break the siege. 104

105 106 107 109 110 111

See, for example, Henry V’s siege of Meaux that began on 6 October 1421, during the course of which the English and French troops exchanged threats and insults. The defenders even placed a donkey on their wall and made it bray, in mockery of Henry. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 386, 393–4, 401–4. Also see B. Bove, ‘Deconstructing the chronicles: rumours and extreme violence during the siege of Meaux (1421–1422)’, French History, 24 (2010), 501–23. Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 142–4. Gesta Henrici Quinti, 34–6, and also see 48 and 154, together with Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 526–30, and La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 78–81. 108 Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 102–8. See pages 211–12 below. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 320–2. Keen, The Laws of War, 131. Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 103–4.

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Fortunately, the captain, Regnault de Montferrand, surrendered when he discovered that he was fighting hand to hand with Louis in one of the mines that the attackers had dug.112 When Philippe III le Bon withdrew from Calais in 1436, he was at pains to stress that he had not officially started a siege.113 The question of honour was even more pronounced when the defenders were viewed as rebels against a legitimate authority, so that the law of treason justified harsh action towards them. When the Black Prince laid siege to Carcassonne in November 1355, the townsmen initially tried to defend the town, but were forced to retreat into the castle. When they then offered 250,000 écus d’or to the prince not to burn the town, he refused to treat with them because they were rebels.114 A few days later the Black Prince’s army seized the town, and then burned the city of Narbonne, taking prominent citizens hostage, ransoming some and killing others.115 The following year the count of Périgord and his brother, a cardinal, asked for papal help in persuading the Black Prince to leave the town of Périgueux untouched. The prince refused to be bought off, though, because of his duty to punish all those who were rebelling against his father.116 In 1358 the Dauphin Charles promised to allow recruits to his army to plunder Paris because of its rebellion.117 Henry V’s brutal behaviour at Rouen over the winter of 1418 must be explained in part by their obstinacy and refusal to surrender to him.118 Henry V also took revenge on the French gunners, who had narrowly missed killing him when they blew up his tent during the siege of Louviers in 1418, sparing one of the men only at the prompting of Cardinal Orsini.119 It is less clear why Joan of Arc refused to accept the surrender of the Fortress of Saint-Loup at Orléans in May 1429, and instead executed the soldiers within after it had been captured.120 There were also powerful practical reasons for a medieval commander not to allow his soldiers to take prisoners during a military encounter. When success in battle depended upon organization and discipline, individual soldiers could not be allowed to place their personal financial gain ahead of the interests of the army as a whole. Stopping to take prisoners could represent a serious threat to military effectiveness, 112 113 114 115 116 118 119

120

Cabaret d’Orville, La chronique du bon duc Loys de Bourbon, 147–51. Keen, The Laws of War, 132. See Froissart (SHF), IV, 165–7, and Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 132–3. SeeFroissart (SHF), IV, 170–3, and Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 133–4. 117 Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus, 456–7. Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 80. See page 211 below. See J. Taylor, ‘The chronicle of John Strecche for the reign of Henry V’, Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, 16 (1932), 162, and H. Wylie and W. T. Waugh, The Reign of Henry the Fifth (3 vols., Cambridge, 1914–29), III, 113. Cagny, Chronique des ducs d’Alençon, 144.

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especially if the front line were to be weakened as men conducted prisoners away from the centre of fighting. In the Livre de chevalerie, Charny denounced soldiers who focused too much upon the opportunities to secure prisoners and booty, and in the process risked their honour, their lives and the outcome of the battle.121 The English chronicler Geoffrey Le Baker claimed that, before the battle of Crécy, French noblemen had been choosing which Englishmen should be their prisoners, forcing King Philippe VI to ban the taking of captives.122 Froissart reported that, during the course of that battle, the English were not allowed to quit the ranks in order to take prisoners, and so they were forced to leave a French knight trapped under his horse until his page was able to reach him.123 The Burgundian battle plan of 17 September 1417 explicitly refused to allow anyone to take any enemy prisoner until the battle was over, with disobedience to be punished by death.124 Similarly, the regulations issued by the marshals of the Anglo-Burgundian army that fought at Cravant on 31 July 1423 explicitly prohibited the taking of prisoners, again on pain of death.125 In 1449 the Anglo-Gascon force sent to relieve Guiche from the siege of Gaston IV, count of Foix, was supposedly ordered not to take prisoners until the battle had been won.126 The sheer chaos, brutality and emotion of the battlefield inevitably made it very difficult to take prisoners. Offering mercy to the enemy may well have been somewhat easier in a medieval battle than in modern warfare, but notions of restraint and self-control could easily be washed away in the face of the confusion and terror of a closely fought battle, when the aggression and fury of the successful side would be profoundly difficult to control.127 In the Middle Ages the taking of prisoners during a military encounter devolved entirely upon individual soldiers, who made private agreements with their captives. To complete the contract, the captor had to take the prisoner’s right gauntlet and then shake his hand, with the gauntlet serving as a token of his right thereafter.128 Then it was the captor’s responsibility to protect the prisoner and shepherd him from danger; if he simply abandoned him on the field, he lost his right to any 121 122 124 125 126 127 128

The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 98. 123 Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 81–2. Froissart (SHF), III, 180–1. Schnerb, ‘La bataille rangée dans la tactique des armées bourguignonnes’, 25. La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 160. Guillaume Leseur, Histoire de Gaston IV, comte de Foix, par Guillaume Leseur: chronique française inédite du XVe siècle, ed. H. Courteault (SHF, 2 vols., Paris, 1893), I, 77–9. See Strickland, War and Chivalry, 166, and ‘Chivalry at Agincourt’, in Curry, Agincourt, 1415, 121. Keen, The Laws of War, 165–6; also see Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 221–5.

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ransom.129 In the confusion of a battle, though, this might not be an easy task. The battle of Poitiers was unusual in part because Jean II’s forces were surrounded and therefore had no choice but to surrender, no doubt influenced by the knowledge of the massacre that had taken place at Crécy ten years earlier.130 Nevertheless, surrendering remained problematic: the count of Dammartin was first taken prisoner by John Trailly, an esquire of the Black Prince’s household, but abandoned into various hands until he fell to a servant of Sir John Blankmouster, who took him to his master and the earl of Salisbury.131 One of Henry V’s chaplains reported that, at Agincourt in 1415, the English did not have time to accept the surrender of soldiers in the French vanguard, and therefore killed them without regard to their status. Only after the attack had been broken were the English soldiers free to take prisoners, but, when the French rearguard launched a new assault, Henry famously gave the order for many of these captives to be executed.132

Praising mercy In short, commanders and their soldiers both faced difficult questions when deciding whether to take prisoners, balancing the potential rewards against both practical and emotional arguments in favour of ruthlessness and even revenge.133 This had important consequences for writers dealing with the treatment of aristocratic enemies in war. The ambiguities surrounding these questions enhanced the drama and perhaps also offered points for debate by the audiences. At the same time, narrators might wish to push their audiences towards a particular judgement on an individual’s behaviour, or indeed make wider didactic points designed to influence future behaviour. For example, some late medieval French writers emphasized the social ties that bound together members of the aristocratic classes from different countries, thereby presenting 129 130 131

132 133

Keen, The Laws of War, 166, 175; also see Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 93–5. Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 828. Both Salisbury and the Black Prince laid claimed to this prisoner, but Salisbury won. See Register of Edward, the Black Prince, IV, 339, and Bériac-Lainé and Given-Wilson, Les prisonniers de la bataille de Poitiers, 46. 180–2. Gesta Henrici Quinti, 90–2. See page 204 below. For the notion of a ‘captor’s dilemma’ in twentieth-century warfare, identifying additional issues, such as the value that prisoners offered by performing labour services, see N. Ferguson, ‘Prisoner taking and prisoner killing in an age of total war: towards a political economy of military defeat’, War in History, 11 (2004), 155, (in general) 148–92, together with B. Dollery and C. R. Parsons, ‘Prisoner taking and prisoner killing: a comment on Ferguson’s political economy approach’, War in History, 14 (2007), 499–512.

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knighthood as an international brotherhood that transcended the specific squabbles that had brought them temporarily to blows. Jean Le Bel and Jean Froissart famously attributed the savage brutality of the sack of Caen in 1346 to the English archers rather than their knights. The chroniclers made this contrast clear thanks to the story of Sir Thomas Holland saving Raoul de Brienne, count of Eu, and Jean de Melun, count of Tancarville, from the clutches of the barbaric common soldiers, after recognizing these French noblemen from their service together in Prussia and Grenada.134 This theme was often repeated by chroniclers, such as the Chronique de la Pucelle’s report that, after the capture of Jargeau on 12 June 1429, ordinary soldiers in the French army murdered many of the English prisoners, so that the high-ranking captives led by William de La Pole, earl of Suffolk, had to be escorted to Orléans for their own safety.135 Writers often emphasized the danger that treating an enemy in a barbaric fashion would provoke reciprocal violence and destroy any chance of trust.136 Froissart told the story of how the duke of Anjou decapitated four hostages in late 1373, in order to force the English garrison holding Derval in Brittany to keep an agreement to surrender. In retaliation, Robert Knolles beheaded four French prisoners and threw their bodies into the ditch outside the castle.137 The Histoire de Charles VI, attributed to Jean Juvénal des Ursins, recounted the atrocities committed by Tanguy du Chastel and Guillaume, lord of Barbazan, who would hang their prisoners rather than ransom them, and so the two men were not offered mercy when they were finally captured.138 Thomas Walsingham reported that, at the siege of Caen in 1417, English attacks became more fierce after the defenders had burned alive the wounded Sir Edward Sprenghose.139 According to Wavrin, a small force of around fifty or sixty Frenchmen took shelter in the castle of Rougemont shortly after the capture of Dreux in 1421, and they were all killed by Henry V in 134 135

136 137 138 139

See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 81–3, and Froissart (SHF), III, 143–4. Holland received a very generous ransom for these prisoners: Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 294. Guillaume Cousinot, Chronique de la Pucelle ou Chronique de Cousinot, suivie de la chronique Normand de P Cochon, relatives aux régnes de Charles VI et de Charles VII, ed. A. Vallet de Viriville (Paris, 1859), 299, 302. Also see, for example, La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 430–2, VI, 259–60. It is this fear of reciprocal countermeasures that underpins most rules of war: Moelker and Kümmel, ‘Chivalry and codes of conduct’, 295. Froissart (SHF), VIII, 142, 158–60. Choix de chroniques et mémoires relatifs à l’histoire de France avecs notices biographiques, ed. J. A. C. Buchon (Paris, 1875), 546. Thomas Walsingham, The Saint Albans Chronicle: The Chronica Maiora of Thomas Walsingham, ed. J. Taylor, W. Childs and L. Watkiss (OMT, 2 vols., Oxford, 2003–11), II, 718.

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retaliation for the death of just one Englishman during the siege.140 In November 1429 the English garrison at Alençon captured soldiers from the retinue of Regnault Guillem, brother of La Hire. When the English captain, William Oldhall, began to execute the French soldiers, their captain, Guillem, threatened to hang his own prisoners, though even this did not dissuade Oldhall.141 The clearest exposition of the matter was provided by Le Bel and Froissart in their famous accounts of the siege of Calais in 1347. In Froissart’s story, Edward III was filled with righteous anger at the citizens of Calais for rebelling against him. Sir Walter Mauny pleaded for the people of Calais, pointing out that the French had served with honour, but also warning that Edward’s plan to kill the defenders risked setting a very bad precedent for any English soldiers garrisoning strongholds in the future, who would be only too aware that the French would be looking for revenge.142 When six burgesses volunteered to sacrifice themselves, Mauny continued to call for mercy, warning of the potential damage to Edward’s reputation. Only the arrival of Edward’s queen, Philippa, finally put an end to his anger.143 Froissart returned to these themes in his description of the personal feud between the Black Prince and the Bishop of Limoges, which culminated in the prince’s siege of Limoges in 1370, when he unleashed his troops upon the city in a brutal and merciless sacking.144 Some authors also raised concerns that an enemy would fight more fiercely knowing that their only alternative was death. French chroniclers reported that the English had fought so hard at Agincourt because they were so afraid of the brutal consequences of defeat. For example, Jean de Wavrin famously said that Henry V had inflamed his troops by claiming that the French would cut off three fingers from the bow hand of any archer who was captured.145 Inspired in part by Vegetius’ Epitoma rei 140 141

142 143

144

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Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 385. The story is recounted in the Livre des miracles de Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois, 1375– 1470, ed. Y. Chauvin (Poitiers, 1976), 63–5, because one of the French soldiers, Pierre du Fons, miraculously survived four attempts to hang him and was released. Froissart (SHF), IV, 53–7, which was based upon the account in the Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 160–4. Froissart (SHF), IV, 57–65. The true story of what happened at Calais was quite different from Froissart’s account. See Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 273–85, and J.-M. Moeglin, Les bourgeois de Calais: essai sur un mythe historique (Paris, 2002), 21–100, together with P. Strohm, Hochon’s Arrow: The Social Imagination of Fourteenth-Century Texts (Princeton, NJ, 1992), 95–119. Froissart (SHF), VII, 243–5, 249–53. Again, there is debate about the extent to which Froissart exaggerated the story, as argued by A. Leroux, Le sac de la cité de Limoges et son relèvement, 1370–1464 (Limoges, 1906). Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 204. Also see Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 562–3, and La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 105;

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militaris, Christine de Pizan argued in the Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie that a commander should always allow an escape route for an enemy army, so that they did not feel that they had to fight for their lives. She also advised that enemies be treated with honour and respect, avoiding undue severity towards prisoners that might make the enemy feel that they had to fight to the death, therefore making victory more difficult to obtain.146 Similarly, a commander ought to be reasonable when negotiating before a battle, setting out his cause and rights, but being willing to compromise if it was reasonable and honourable. Even if the enemy was weaker or more peaceful, the commander should not refuse to come to an agreement out of pride, because refusing just offers would incur punishment from God.147 In Le livre du corps de policie Christine took a different tack, by presenting copious evidence that the great successes of the Romans had been built, in part, upon their exercise of mercy, liberality and humanity. For example, drawing upon a long passage in Valerius Maximus, Christine reported that the Romans had returned 1,747 Carthaginian nobles without demanding ransoms.148 She also cited numerous examples of great commanders acting with respect, honour and mercy towards their defeated enemies, from Lucius Emilius Paulus, who treated the captive King Perses as a brother, to Hannibal, who always sought to bury with honours any princes and knights who he defeated in battle. She took care to note that Valerius Maximus had reported that this earned Hannibal more fame and praise than his victories.149 Yet she was also insistent that there was a practical benefit to acting with mercy. According to Valerius Maximus, the Romans were conquerors because they were not proud of their good fortune at all. They gained more by sparing the vanquished than by their conquests.150 Most important of all, chivalric commentators attempted to define and to sharpen the legal framework for the behaviour of knights and men-atarms in warfare. During the Middle Ages there was no international law code like the modern Geneva Convention, governing the behaviour of soldiers and armies towards one another, recognised and universally enforced by kings and princes. The rules that did exist were primarily customs and usages that had evolved over time, particularly regarding the taking and ransoming of prisoners, and the distribution of the spoils of 146 147 148 149 150

Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 73–4, 98 [I, chs. 18, 27], and also see 38 [I, ch. 7], together with Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 108–9 [III, ch. 21]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 79–80 [I, ch. 20]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 23–4 [I, ch. 14]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 26, 30–1 [I, chs. 15, 17]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 31 [I, ch. 18]; also see 24 [I, ch. 14].

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war, which in turn shaped the military ordinances issued for particular campaigns.151 These customs and traditions were invoked by Jean Froissart when he recounted how three French knights surrendered to John of Gaunt and the earl of Cambridge during the siege of Limoges in 1370, asking to be treated according to the ‘droit d’armes’, the law of arms.152 Similarly, one manuscript of the Chroniques denounced the mistreatment of the knight who had killed Sir John Chandos earlier in 1370 and was then allowed to die of his wounds contrary to the ‘droit d’armes’, which required that all prisoners should be treated in the same way.153 A window into the nature of the law of arms in the late Middle Ages was offered by Geoffroi de Charny when he explored the rights and duties of knights in his Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre.154 The majority of these 134 questions asked how a particular issue should be judged according to the law of arms. Charny’s questions primarily demonstrate that the law of arms did not apply exclusively to military matters, and that no sharp distinction was made between the legal status of the battlefield and the wider context for knighthood in jousts, tournaments and other activities.155 Moreover, implicit in these questions was the notion that the law of arms was determined by the soldiers themselves.156 Charny’s questions were addressed to the members of the Company of the Star, asking them to discuss their experiences and understanding of the rules governing their activities as knights and men-at-arms, without any suggestion that lawyers should shape the conversation. Disputes under the law of arms were brought in the first place before the king and his lieutenants in war, his constables and marshals, or royal lieutenants acting as civil and military governors of provinces.157 Outside 151

152 153 154 155

156 157

See N. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles of Honoré Bouvet and the laws of war’, in Allmand, War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages, 21, and Knights and Peasants, 42, together with the general sudies offered by Keen, The Laws of War, Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 184–204, and Construire l’armée française, I. Also see A. Curry, ‘The military ordinances of Henry V: texts and contexts’, in Given-Wilson, Kettle and Scales, War, Government and Aristocracy in the British Isles, 214–49. Froissart (SHF), VII, 251–2. Froissart (SHF), VII, 396. Also see the references to ‘ius militari’ in Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 86, 96, 154. Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 77–138. Keen argues that the law of arms did not just concern activity on the battlefield, and was therefore not just a martial or military law but, in fact, a ‘law of chivalry’: Keen, The Laws of War, 19, 23, 63. Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles’, 20. Keen, The Laws of War, 30–3. Also see Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 198–202, and B. Schnerb, “L’honneur de la Maréchaussée”: maréchalat et maréchaux en Bourgogne des origines à la fin du XVe siècle (Turnhout, 2000), 155–75.

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military campaigns, cases could be heard by the constable’s court in England, known as the Court of Chivalry, and by the French Parlement, in which lawyers acted in conjunction with experienced knights: ‘[O]nly soldiers could adequately judge their conduct as members of the profession of arms.’158 In theory, though, breaches of the law of arms could be tried by any court, irrespective of the allegiances of the individual, because they were breaches of the universal rules of honour and the law of arms and of knighthood – the ‘discipline de chevalerie’.159 The way in which the law of arms was evolving through custom and precedent became increasingly apparent in the late Middle Ages. In 1356, for example, Arnoul d’Audrehem was taken prisoner at Poitiers and agreed by the terms of his ransom never to fight again except in the company of his king or the princes of the blood. When Audrehem was recaptured at the battle of Nájera in 1367, the Black Prince charged him with treason for breaking his original promise. The prince assembled a court of twelve knights drawn from the host who found Audrehem not guilty of the charge, which would otherwise have led to his death. This in turn set a precedent that was cited in the Parlement of Paris in 1390.160 Another example occurred in 1418, when Henry V sentenced the Frenchman Nicolas de Gennes to death for treason in selling Cherbourg to Humphrey, duke of Gloucester. This was cited as a precedent by the duke of Norfolk in 1453, when he charged his rival, the duke of Somerset, with having committed treason by surrendering Caen and other Norman towns to the French in 1450 without a formal siege.161 Of course, customs and rules could differ from one place to another, particularly when the king or military commander implemented specific disciplinary ordinances to control the conduct of his soldiers.162 Jean de Bueil highlighted the problem in Le jouvencel, when he told the story of a man-at-arms who broke the local rule that no one could hold a prisoner within the city of Crathor without the permission of the captain. The moral of the story, according to Bueil, was that men-at-arms should know both the law of arms and the specific ordinances in force within their army.163 Similarly, in 1417, the Parlement of Paris debated the

158 159 160 161 162 163

See Keen, The Laws of War, 56, and ‘The jurisdiction and origins of the constable’s court’, in Gillingham and Holt, War and Government in the Middle Ages, 159–69. Keen, The Laws of War, 53. See Molinier, ‘Étude sur la vie d’Arnoul d’Audrehem’, 181, 318–28, together with Keen, The Laws of War, 33–4, 50–3. See Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 244, and La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 242–3, together with Keen, The Laws of War, 46–7. Curry, ‘Disciplinary ordinances for English and Franco-Scottish armies’, 269–94. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 8–14.

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ownership of an English prisoner captured by Scottish soldiers serving King Charles VI in Paris. The Scotsmen cited the general rule of the law of arms that a prisoner belonged to his captor, claiming that, as foreign soldiers, they were not subject to the French custom that prisoners taken within an enclosed town belonged to the king because they were assumed to be spies.164 The complex nature of the law of arms provides a context within which to understand the increasing efforts of lawyers to codify the rules governing warfare during the late Middle Ages, and in particular the series of treatises that are the most familiar windows for modern audiences into the laws governing the behaviour of soldiers in war: Giovanni da Legnano’s Tractatus de bello, de represaliis et de duello (1360), Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles (1386–9), Christine de Pizan’s Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie (1410) and Nicholas Upton’s De studio militari (1446).165 Their pronouncements were not straightforward expositions of the law of arms that governed the behaviour of the knights and men-atarms. Rather, as the writers themselves stressed, they were attempting to codify existing customs, and at the same time to test the validity of the practices that had developed amongst the soldiers.166 Driving this process was the assumption, as Dame Opinion claimed in Christine de Pizan’s Advision Cristine, that the evils committed in war were not natural but the result of bad practices that had become customary.167 The intellectuals were therefore measuring the traditional, customary ‘law of arms’ against higher authorities such as Roman and canon law, as well as the natural law of reason itself. This explains the different balance between the questions that Charny posed and those of Honorat Bovet in the Arbre des batailles, for example, with the Provençal lawyer far more concerned to debate the rules governing the impact of warfare upon civilians and non-combatants than to focus upon how knights and men-at-arms should share the spoils of war.168 164

165

166

167 168

The royal lawyer also argued that prisoners taken by soldiers paid by the king belonged to the king: Keen, The Laws of War, 18, and Contamine, ‘The growth of state control’, 170. Legnano, Tractatus de bello; Bovet, L’arbre des batailles; Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie; C. G. Walker, ‘An edition, with introduction and commentary, of John Blount’s English translation of Nicholas Upton’s De studio militari (Bodleian Library, Eng. Misc. d. 227)’ (DPhil dissertation, University of Oxford, 1998). See Keen, The Laws of War, 14–21, and Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles’, 30. Also see Bossuat, ‘Les prisonniers de guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Guillaume’, 23–4, and La Guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du Parlement, 269. Pizan, Le livre de l’advision Cristine, 85. Also see Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 742–3 [ch. 68], and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 24 [I, ch. 2]. He explored the question of the spoils of war in just one section: Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 779–80 [ch. 110]; also see Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles’, 23.

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There were clear differences of opinion between the lawyers and the soldiers.169 For example, Bovet argued that the practices of marque and reprisals, by which individuals would seek recompense for injuries done to them by an enemy army or subjects, were not permitted by written law. Nevertheless, he had to accept that these practices had been used by princes for a long time and therefore had the authority of custom.170 Similarly, Bovet asserted that divine, canon and civil law all prohibited trial by battle (‘gaige de bataille’), but accepted that it still happened and therefore referred to the customs and usages (‘coustumes et usaiges du monde’) governing such actions. Thus he reported that, in the spring of 1363, a duel had taken place before Jean II at Villeneuve-les-Avignon. Pope Urban V had done his best to ban this because canon law forbade such actions, but the French king rejected this attempt to interfere and upheld royal customs regarding trial by custom, which had been standardized in 1306 by an ordinance of Philippe IV.171 In the case of the taking and ransoming of prisoners, the law of arms remained somewhat fluid and unstable, and practice was often defined by the specific agreements made between captors and captives in the contract of surrender, which in turn opened them up to consideration by normal courts of law.172 The legal theorists and other writers debated questions such as the way in which prisoners were treated after their capture. For example, they emphasized the important distinction between acts that were committed during the heat of battle and violence inflicted upon prisoners after they had formally surrendered and therefore been accepted into the protection of their captor. Honorat Bovet and Christine de Pizan acknowledged that, in ancient times, captors had been able execute their prisoners at will, and also argued that, in their day, those taken in battle could be killed. Once a man had been taken prisoner, however, canon law required that he be treated with pity and mercy, and both writers emphasized that the only possible justification for killing an enemy away from the battlefield was that he might escape and thereby prolong or escalate the war.173 It was precisely this distinction that made the killing of the Christian prisoners following the battle of Nicopolis in 1396 so shocking.174 On the other hand, there was far less 169 171 172 173 174

170 Wright, ‘The Tree of Battles’, 22. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 813–14 [ch. 146]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 732–4, 844–8 [chs. 59–60, 178–9]. Also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 257–63, 264–9 [IV, chs. 6–7, 9]. See Keen, The Laws of War, 156–85, and Ambühl, Prisoners of War in the Hundred Years War. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 756–7, 783 [chs. 80, 113]; Pizan, Corps du policie, 27, 77 [I, ch. 15, II, ch. 13], Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 219–21 [III, ch. 17]. See footnote 57 above.

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concern amongst contemporaries, even on the French side, about the fact that Henry V ordered the execution of French prisoners during the course of the battle of Agincourt.175 Indeed, there was a precedent for this in the battle of Aljubarrota, on 14 August 1385. Froissart described how the Portuguese and English forces defeated the vanguard of the Franco-Castilian army, but were then faced by a second great wave. Realizing the danger that their prisoners might break free during the attack, the king of Portugal gave the order to kill them all. Froissart described this as a great pity, but accepted that it was better to slay than to be slain (‘il vault mieulx occhirre que estre occhis’), and that there could be no trust in one’s enemy (‘nul ne doit avoir fiance en son ennemi’).176 Honorat Bovet accepted that prisoners could be locked up and even held in chains, but argued that imprisonment in unhealthy and dangerous conditions would normally free a prisoner from the obligation of his oath of surrender, and torture to induce prisoners to pay ransoms was also unacceptable.177 In practice, many captors did resort to torture and brutality in order to extract payment from their prisoners. For example, Jean Le Gastelier testified before the Châtelet in Paris in 1391 that he had beaten prisoners in order to make them agree to the largest ransoms possible, on the orders of his captain, Robert Chesnel.178 Henriet Gentian testified in 1440 that he had been placed into a dungeon at Romenay with eighteen serpents and other reptiles by his captor, François de La Palu, who then wrote to the duke of Bourbon threatening to pull out Gentian’s teeth if he did not receive a ransom of 6,000 crowns. When the money did not arrive, Gentian’s teeth were indeed knocked out by a hammer, boiling water was poured onto him and he was hung up by his thumbs.179 Less brutal, but no less deadly, was the situation of Sir John Bourchier, who agreed to pay an exorbitant ransom in 1374 because he was so worried that his illness might prove fatal.180 Baudet L’Allemant escaped captivity at La Villaines, near Le Mans, in 1421 after his captor had threatened to kill him because he could not pay the ransom of 300 gold crowns.181 175 176 177

178 179 180 181

See Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, V, 564, La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 108, and Chronique de Jean Le Févre, I, 258–9, together with footnote 132 above. Froissart (SHF), XII, 161–2; also see J. G. Monteiro, ‘The battle of Aljubarrota (1385): a reassessment’, Journal of Medieval Military History, 7 (2009), 75–103. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 792–4 [chs. 122–3]. Also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 235–40 [III, chs. 23–4], La guerre de Cent Ans vue à travers les registres du Parlement, 322–9, and Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 153. Registre criminel du Châtelet de Paris, II, 92–100. Keen, The Laws of War, 180; Wright, Knights and Peasants, 64–5 Jones, ‘Ransom brokerage in the fifteenth century’, 223. Livre des miracles de Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois, 41–2.

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The importance of treating prisoners properly was a major theme in Jean Froissart’s chronicle.182 He condemned the Englishmen who left the slayer of Sir John Chandos, Jacques de Saint-Martin, to die of his wounds.183 He also praised examples of proper behaviour, such as the courtesy of the Black Prince towards the defeated Jean II after Poitiers, and commented during his account of the battle of Otterburn in 1388 that the English and Scots treated prisoners well without pressing too hard for money, behaving chivalrously – unlike the Germans, who did not obey the laws of arms.184 Indeed, he claimed that the Germans had no mercy on Christian gentlemen who fall into their hands as prisoners, instead extorting ransoms to the full of their estates and even beyond, holding their prisoners in chains, irons and close prison like thieves and murderers.185 The appropriate value of ransoms was also a controversial subject, reflecting the fact that arrangements were usually made on a case-bycase basis, with the terms defined by the written contract for surrender.186 According to La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, the constable reacted to the Black Prince’s decision to demand a huge ransom from him in 1367 by declaring that there was not a spinster in France who would fail to contribute.187 Contamine has suggested that the normal ceiling for ransoms was five or six times a man’s annual income, but there was no fixed scale of fees, and many men-at-arms were promoted far above their social status, which could lead to confusion about the real level of an individual’s income and his ability to pay.188 Certainly, ransoms were rarely reasonable for the prisoner: demands for excessive fees, for example, destroyed the inheritances of the Rodemack and Châteauvillain families.189 Antoine de Bourgogne, duke of Brabant,

182 183 184 185 186 187

188

189

C. T. Allmand, ‘Historians reconsidered: Froissart’, History Today, 16 (1966), 843. See page 200 above, together with Froissart (SHF), VII, 206–7, and Froissart, Chroniques, VII, 459. See page 183 above and Froissart (SHF), XV, 152. Froissart (Amiens), III, 122. Also see Froissart (SHF), XIII, 13–14. See Keen, The Laws of War, 156–85, and Ambühl, Prisoners of War in the Hundred Years War. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 287–8; also see Froissart (SHF), VII, 62–4, and Delachenal, Histoire de Charles V, III, 451–61. Many ransoms were not paid in full, particularly those imposed on the most important prisoners: Given-Wilson and Bériac, ‘Edward III’s prisoners of war’, 829–30. See, for example, Froissart’s description of the ransoming of Jean de Grailly, Captal de Buch, after his capture at Soubise in September 1372: Froissart (SHF), VIII, 85. Also see Contamine, ‘The growth of state control’, 166, and Jones, ‘Ransom brokerage in the fifteenth century’, 223. A. Bossuat, ‘Les prisonniers de guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Jean, seigneur de Rodemack’, Annales de l’Est, 5th series, 3 (1951), 145–62, and ‘Les prisonniers de

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was probably killed alongside other French prisoners during the course of the battle of Agincourt because he had been trying to conceal his identity, presumably to avoid paying too high a ransom.190 To assist with the payment of ransoms, a prisoner theoretically acquired special rights, designed to protect the financial interest of his captor. He was regarded as a non-combatant and was usually granted safe conduct, though this did not apply if the individual took up arms again, with or without the permission of his master. Furthermore, his lands technically became immune from war, in order to fund the ransom; thus the siege of Orléans in 1429 was technically illegal, because the duke, Charles, was a prisoner in England.191 Unsurprisingly, writers were keen to make the case for a reasonable approach to ransom demands. Geoffroi de Charny broached these questions repeatedly in his Demandes, asking, for example, whether a captor could charge whatever he liked for a ransom, out of malice and anger at the prisoner.192 Bovet suggested that ransoms should not be set at a level beyond the resources of his patrimony, and, echoed by Christine, attacked those tyrants who mercilessly imposed excessive charges.193 Moreover, he argued that a prisoner could licitly seek to escape if the captor refused to accept due and reasonable ransom, and also declared that a prisoner was not obliged to return to his captor after failing to secure a ransom if he feared that he might then be killed.194 Conclusion Late medieval writers, led by Jean Froissart and Honorat Bovet, have been instrumental in shaping modern, romantic perceptions of the late Middle Ages as an era of mercy and nobility in warfare. They and their fellow French writers certainly made every effort to depict a martial culture built upon respect for other knights and men-at-arms, carefully

190 191

192 193 194

guerre au XVe siècle: la rançon de Guillaume’, 7–35. Also see the examples offered from the English side by Jones, ‘Ransom brokerage in the fifteenth century’, 221–35. S. Boffa, ‘Antoine de Bourgogne et le contingent brabançon à la bataille d’Azincourt, 1415’, Revue belge de philologie et d’histoire, 72 (1994), 275–8. See Cousinot, Chronique de la Pucelle, 256–8, together with Keen, The Laws of War, 160–1, and M. K. Jones, ‘“Gardez mon corps, sauvez ma terre”. Immunity from war and the lands of a captive knight: the siege of Orléans (1428–1429) revisited’, in Arn, Charles d’Orléans in England, 9–26. Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 100; also see 122–3, 126–30. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 784–5 [ch. 114], and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 219–21 [III, ch. 17]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 792–3, 799–800 [chs. 122, 127]; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 235–7 [III, ch. 23].

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and safely regulated to ensure that those who were defeated could expect mercy and reasonable behaviour. Yet their rhetoric often conflicted with the reality of warfare, and therefore provides the most important example of the complex truth that chivalric writings were not simply mirrors to the world around them, but often actively attempted to shape attitudes and to encourage better behaviour. Moreover, as Jean Régnier warned, it is crucial to recognize that those without financial resources could not buy mercy, which was really the province of the chivalric elite.195 The vast majority of soldiers below the rank of knight or man-at-arms, from pages and varlets to archers, gunners, pillars and pavesiers, had little prospect of mercy on a medieval battlefield.196 None of these men could afford to ransom themselves, and hence were not protected by the law of arms.197 The ancient practice of enslaving enemies had disappeared, and so ordinary prisoners had little value, and – worse – represented a significant logistical burden.198 Indeed, animosity between men-at-arms and the lower classes, particularly the English archers and the Flemish artisans who were playing an increasingly important role in battles during this period, may have exacerbated the risk of bloodshed and brutality.199 The disdain for non-aristocratic warriors was most visibly demonstrated on the battlefield of Crécy in 1346, when the French men-at-arms brutally rode down the Genoese crossbowmen in their own service, in order to attack the English. The chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette claimed that the crossbowmen were unable to shoot because the strings of their weapons had become wet in the rain, leading the French knights to accuse them of treachery.200

195 196

197 198

199 200

See, for example, Jean Régnier, Les fortunes et adversitez de Jean Regnier, ed. E. Droz (SATF, Paris, 1923), 13, and Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 284. There may have been some sense that it was unchivalric to kill pages and other noncombatants on the battlefield. For example, the duke of Bedford freed Antoine de Chabannes, a French page captured at Verneuil in 1424, without demanding a ransom. Contamine, Guerre, état et société, 414n. Gillingham, ‘1066 and the introduction of chivalry into England’, 51. Also see Friedman, ‘Captivity and ransom: the experience of women’, 124. J. Gillingham, ‘Christian warriors and the enslavement of fellow Christians’, in M. Aurell and C. Girbea (eds.), Chevalerie et christianisme aux XIIe et XIIIe siècles (Rennes, 2011), 237–56. See Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 256–8, 289, and C. J. Rogers, ‘The age of the Hundred Years War’, in Keen, Medieval Warfare: A History, 144, 172–3. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 201–2; also see Froissart (SHF), III, 175–7.

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Mercy (part II): civilians and non-combatants

Most of the violence committed against non-combatants during the wars fought in France in the late Middle Ages was perpetrated not by men-atarms and members of the chivalric classes but, rather, by common soldiers such as archers and crossbowmen, varlets and pillagers.1 Ravaging was hard work and therefore fell mostly to ordinary troops, while mounted warriors were better deployed as scouts and protectors of the army.2 The limitations of medieval military technology meant that killing had to take place face to face, and was therefore physically and psychologically challenging.3 There was no shortage of brutal thugs serving in medieval armies to take on such tasks. Froissart warned that there were bad men and evildoers with little conscience in any host, such as the one that Edward III led against Caen in 1346, when anything between 2 and 12 per cent of the soldiers were convicted criminals, many of them murderers.4 Similarly, Robert Knolles secured royal pardons for fifty-five named criminals to join his expedition in 1370, including fortythree murderers.5 Nevertheless, the simple fact that the pillaging, burning and raping were carried out largely by ordinary soldiers cannot excuse the knights and noblemen who either ordered such actions or employed the brutality of their soldiers as a weapon.6 Ravaging and the targeting of civilians were carried out under the direct orders of the chivalric leaders.7 From the very beginning of the Hundred Years War, in 1337, the English 1 2 3

4 5

6

See Wright, ‘“Pillagers” and “brigands”’, 15–24, and Knights and Peasants, 62–79. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 90; also see Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 3. D. J. Hay, ‘“Collateral damage?” Civilian casualties in the early ideologies of chivalry and crusade’, in N. Christie and M. Yazigi (eds.), Noble Ideals and Bloody Realities: Warfare in the Middle Ages (Leiden, 2006), 4. See Froissart (SHF), III, 146–7, and H. J. Hewitt, The Organization of War under Edward III (Manchester, 1966), 28–30. Calendar of Patent Rolls Preserved in the PRO, Edward III A.D. 1327–1377 (16 vols., 1891– 1916), XIV, 392–454; also see J. Sherborne, ‘Indentured retinues and English expeditions to France, 1369–1380’, English Historical Review, 79 (1964), 723–5. 7 Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence, 3. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 25.

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launched a series of brutal raids that deliberately targeted non-combatants. In 1339 Edward III led a chevauchée into the Cambrésis, cutting a devastating swathe that at times stretched as wide as twelve miles.8 Before the arrival of the English, the constable of France had ordered villagers with cattle and other foodstuff to bring them into the fortresses, and those who did not became fair game for robbery even by their own side.9 Afterwards Edward III wrote to the archbishop of Canterbury reporting on the success of the military campaign, without showing any sign of remorse for the impact upon non-combatants.10 During the 1346 Crécy campaign, English troops ravaged in a swathe up to fifteen or even twenty miles around the line of march.11 In 1355 Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince, led around 5,000 men south from Bordeaux into the lands of the count of Armagnac, an expedition described by one historian as an invasion by pillaging brigands rather than a regulated military campaign.12 In a newsletter that he sent to England, the Black Prince certainly made no apologies for this raid through Languedoc, and the destruction and burning of towns around Toulouse.13 Non-combatants were also deliberately targeted by French armies, for example in Flanders and in Aquitaine under Jean de Claremont, marshal of France, in 1354.14 There were clear reasons for such strategies.15 The proliferation of castles and fortified strongholds during the high and late Middle Ages meant that invading armies could either mount long, expensive wars of attrition to besiege these fortified places or, instead, engage in short-term raids through enemy countryside. These chevauchées combined foraging to support the army, pillaging to enrich them and ravaging to devastate and weaken the enemy’s resources, targeting in particular his landed wealth – crops, livestock and peasantry.16 As Vegetius had declared in 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

The effects were described in the chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette, in Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 163–5. Also see C. J. Rogers, ‘By fire and sword: bellum hostile and “civilians” in the Hundred Years’ War’, in M. Grimsley and C. J. Rogers (eds.), Civilians in the Path of War (Lincoln, NE, 2002), 40–4, together with Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 157–73. Rogers, ‘A continuation of the Manuel d’histoire’, 1265. Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus, 304–6. See Rogers, ‘By fire and sword’, 38, together with War Cruel and Sharp, 238–72, and Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 35–107. Denifle, La Guerre de Cent Ans et la désolation des églises, I, 86; also see Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, and Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 286–324. Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus, 434–7. For Flanders, see, for example, Froissart (SHF), I, ii, 193–4, and (Amiens), I, 305–6; for Aquitaine, see Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 125–6. See pages 236–9 below. See Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 85–90, and Gillingham, ‘Richard I and the science of war’, 83–5, together with Strickland, War and Chivalry, 259.

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the Epitoma rei militaris, the overriding importance of food supplies meant that commanders had a responsibility to ensure the provisions for their own soldiers, but could also use famine as a very powerful weapon with which to destroy the enemy.17 According to Froissart, French soldiers warned Juan I, king of Castile, in 1386 that the invading English army under John of Gaunt would target churches that had been fortified as refuges for the people and their property, precisely because these strongholds offered the resources that they needed to sustain their campaign.18 At the same time, such raids were intended to intimidate the enemy population, creating fear and insecurity and thereby undermining the authority of the king and the aristocracy, who were failing in their duty to protect their people.19 Indeed, such raids may well have been intended to draw out the enemy’s military forces from defensive strongholds, by creating a diversion that would force them to split their army or change their plans, or even by forcing them into a decisive encounter on the battlefield. Rogers, for example, has argued that Edward III and the Black Prince engaged in their famous chevauchées in order to force their Valois adversaries into battle, confident in the capabilities of their English armies and recognizing the huge advantages that victory would offer.20 In short, ‘[r]avaging was a strategic device, intended to intimidate the local population and provoke those in political and military authority. It was also good for the army’s morale and its collective sense of purpose.’21 Of course, there were limits to the value of such strategies. Hewitt noted that ‘the practices of pillage and destruction are detrimental to the morale of any army, for they imply that the military commander is indifferent to the lot of the civilian population. Further, ordained destruction sanctions the most purposeless violence. . . It is but a step to the abandonment of all restraint in dealing with the local population.’22 Commanders certainly needed to be extremely careful about allowing their soldiers to ravage the countryside of allies. Edward III issued a military ordinance on 13 July 1346, the day after his expedition had landed at La Hougue, appointing the constable and marshal to enforce discipline, and also forbidding the burning of towns and manors, 17 19 20

21

18 Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 68–70 [III, ch. 3]. Froissart (SHF), XII, 321–2. C. T. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant in the middle ages’, in M. H. Keen (ed.), Medieval Warfare: A History (Oxford, 1999), 260–2. See Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of strategy’, 83–102, together with ‘Henry V’s military strategy in 1415’, 399–428. Also see M. Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages: The English Experience (New Haven, CT, 1996), 198–204. 22 Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 65. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 47.

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the sacking of churches and the harming of women or children.23 Far from being an attempt to maintain discipline in order to win the hearts and minds of the Normans in general, Ayton suggests that this was designed to ensure that any devastation was done at the discretion of the king, particularly when the army would be crossing lands that belonged to his Norman allies, and that it was as disciplined as possible in case of counter-attack or ambush.24 During the chevauchée of 1355, the Black Prince carefully avoided damage to the lands of Gaston III Phébus, in order to ensure that the count of Foix remained neutral while the English were weakening the position of his great local rival, Jean I, count of Armagnac.25 Yet even the Black Prince did not have complete and effective control over this army, which included Gascons with longstanding grievances against the count of Armagnac; the town of Seissan was set on fire on 23 October 1355, contrary to the orders of the Black Prince.26 In the fifteenth century Henry V issued special ordinances that included protections for women, children and churchmen, reflecting his intention to seize the duchy of Normandy and other lands in northern France, and therefore the importance of ensuring local support.27 The most brutal moments of medieval warfare occurred during sieges. While such enterprises were under way, the civilians caught up in the action were at very great risk. Froissart reported that Edward III allowed non-combatants to leave Calais during the siege that ended in 1347, but other chroniclers claimed that Edward left the poor people expelled from the city to die of hunger, trapped between the defenders and the besiegers.28 This was certainly the case during Henry V’s siege of Rouen in the winter of 1418, while, within the town, there was terrible starvation as food supplies ran short.29 Worse horrors occurred when an attacking army broke into a fortified town or castle, and enjoyed free rein over the lives and fate of the defeated, so that almost any atrocity might be legal. 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

This was reported in the Acta bellicosa, in J. Moisant, Le Prince Noir en Aquitaine, 1355–6, 1362–70 (Paris, 1894), 160. Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 62–7. Also see Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 238–43. See Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 128, 135, 138, together with Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 45–6, 64. See Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 130, and Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 74–5. Curry, ‘The military ordinances of Henry V’, 214–49. Froissart (SHF), IV, 2–3; Knighton’s Chronicle, 78–80; Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 207. See John Page’s poem on the siege of Rouen in The Historical Collections of a Citizen of London in the Fifteenth Century, ed. J. Gairdner (Camden Society, new series 17, London, 1876), 1–46, La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 299, and Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, II, 253, 257.

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In theory, churches and churchmen were technically secure, but they were not always spared. Women could be raped and men killed out of hand, whether they were part of the defending garrison or noncombatants. In 1346 Edward III’s army plundered Caen just as they had recently stripped Barfleur, Cherbourg, Valognes and Saint-Lô.30 Froissart reported that, after the defeat of the Flemings at the battle of Roosebeke on 27 November 1382, the French pillaged and destroyed the city of Courtrai.31 At Caen in 1417, some 2,000 people were killed in the market, and no mercy was shown except to women, children and priests, though the castle was able to surrender on terms.32 The town of Sézanne in Champagne refused to surrender to the English, and it was therefore sacked, and the majority of the inhabitants massacred, in June 1424.33 Soldiers expected to secure supplies and booty to supplement their pay, especially at the end of a dangerous siege, when commanders faced a very difficult task restraining them in the event that fortifications were taken by force of arms. At Fronsac in 1451, the defenders had peacefully surrendered to the French, but two pages shouted ‘St Denis!’ and ‘St George!’ from the city walls while the commanders were at dinner, triggering looting and almost leading to a massacre.34 Nevertheless, it may have been rare for the sack of a captured city truly to spin out of control, because such a whirlwind of violence would inevitably have encouraged fiercer resistance by the defenders, and looters would not have wished to incite such a desperate last stand.35

Commentary on the treatment of civilians in war Chivalric writers rarely questioned the targeting of peasants and urban artisans during the course of military campaigns. Few expressed the level of enthusiasm for such violence of the twelfth-century poet and warrior Bertran de Born, who relished the fact that, during a campaign, peasants and merchants would not be safe on the roads, and gleefully imagined the fire and the blood that would ensue.36 Just as evocative is Henry V’s 30 32 33 34 35

36

31 Froissart (SHF), III, 133–47. Froissart (SHF), XI, 70. Chronique du Religieux de Saint-Denis, VI, 102–8; The Brut, or the Chronicles of England, ed. F. W. D. Brie (2 vols., EETS, original series 131, 136, London, 1906–8), II, 383–4. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 97–8. Keen, The Laws of War, 112. Rogers argues that, if inhabitants had genuinely been forced to fight for their lives, then one might expect to find much higher casualty rates amongst attackers during the final stage of a siege: Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 143. Also see M. C. E. Jones, ‘War and fourteenth-century France’, in A. Curry and M. Hughes (eds.), Arms, Armies and Fortifications in the Hundred Years War (Woodbridge, 1994), 117. The Poems of the Troubadour Bertran de Born, 399; also see 359, 455.

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supposed declaration that war without fire was as worthless as sausages without mustard. This remark was supposedly uttered in response to complaints from the people of Meaux during the siege that lasted from October 1421 to May 1422, though the French chronicler who reported it could not have been present at the meeting.37 In general, chivalric narratives rarely offered direct criticism of the targeting of civilians in war. Gillingham has demonstrated that the biographer of William Marshal regarded chevauchées as entirely normal aspects of warfare, designed to win plunder and to put economic pressure on the enemy.38 In his biography of the Black Prince, the Chandos Herald reported without anxiety the fact that, during the Crécy campaign, the English army had made many a widowed lady and orphan.39 This nonchalance about strategic decisions to harry non-combatants reflected in part the self-confidence of an aristocratic elite that believed automatically in its inherent superiority and right to use violence against people of lower status. Certainly, the ruling classes were terrified of the potential for popular violence that bubbled to the surface in uprisings such as the Jacquerie and the Tuchinerie, and the actions of peasant brigands that plagued Normandy during the English occupation.40 Nonetheless, echoing earlier intellectual traditions, Valois writers were desperate to establish some limits to the behaviour of soldiers on campaign. Philippe de Mézières declared that troops should not be allowed to touch churches, women or small children, and that merchants bringing food to the army were also to be protected.41 Christine de Pizan offered a stark plea for mercy at the end of sieges, warning that soldiers who inflicted massacres on the cities that they captured were breaking natural and divine law, and warning of the consequences for their eternal souls. Their mercilessness contrasted starkly with the tears that the Roman Marcus Marcellus had shed for his enemies after he had captured the city of Syracuse.42 In a similar vein, René d’Anjou was lectured by

37 38

39 40

41

Choix de chroniques et mémoires, 565. J. Gillingham, ‘War and chivalry in the History of William the Marshal’, in P. R. Coss and S. D. Lloyd (eds.), Thirteenth Century England, vol. II, Proceedings of the Newcastle upon Tyne Conference, 1987 (Woodbridge, 1988), 12. La Vie du Prince Noir by Chandos Herald, 55. Froissart’s account of the Jacquerie highlighted the atrocities committed by the peasants: Froissart (SHF), V, 103–6. Also see Wright, Knights and Peasants, 18–23, together with V. Challet, ‘Tuchins and Brigands de Bois: peasant communities and self-defence movements in Normandy during the Hundred Years War’, in L. Clark (ed.), The Fifteenth Century, vol. IX, English and Continental Perspectives (Woodbridge, 2010), 85–99. 42 Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 517. Pizan, Corps du policie, 26–7 [I, ch. 15].

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St Bernardino de Siena on the need to restrain the excesses of his soldiers during his 1438 Neapolitan campaign against Alfonso V of Aragon.43 The crucial problem was that, in a bellum hostile such as that fought between the crowns of France and England, soldiers were entitled to take prisoners and to profit from the spoils of war – that is to say, any moveable property belonging to the subjects of the enemy.44 As a result, ravaging and pillaging during military campaigns were neither unlawful nor dishonourable.45 Honorat Bovet admitted the principle that all those who supported the war effort and gave their king aid and countenance were legitimate targets. If good, humble and innocent people were to suffer during the course of such a war, then they were like the good plants that are accidentally removed when a gardener pulls up weeds, or the good humours that are affected alongside bad ones by strong medicine.46 Indeed, lawyers such as Bovet even recognized a law of marque, which allowed the recovery of property stolen by a foreigner not just from the original thief but from any of his fellow subjects or citizens, even if they were innocent of the specific crime.47 For these lawyers, the crucial issue was that anyone lending support to the war effort was a valid target, and it was upon this principle that they took their stand. In a tradition dating back to the Truce of God and to Gratian’s Decretum, theologians and canon lawyers had argued that certain categories of people were immune from acts of war, including priests, students, pilgrims, women and children, and peasants working the land.48 Thus Bovet argued that these people were immune from war and should not be attacked during the course of pillaging, taken prisoner or subject to the law of marque. He emphasized that it was forbidden to attack ambassadors, clerks and pilgrims who did not participate or support war actively; the latter were covered by the highest and most binding safe conduct of all, the safeguard of the Holy Father of Rome, and breaking this was a mortal sin punishable by excommunication.49 Visiting students, and their servants, fathers, brothers or cousins coming to visit them, were not to be made prisoners or subject to marque unless 43 45 46 47

48 49

44 Kekewich, The Good King, 59. Keen, The Laws of War, 106–8. Strickland, War and Chivalry, 289; J. Bradbury, The Medieval Siege (Woodbridge, 1992), 320; D. Green, The Battle of Poitiers 1356 (Stroud, 2002), 14. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 743–4, 786 [chs. 68, 115]; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 223 [III, ch. 18]. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 813–14 [ch. 146], and also Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 421–2, and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 205–8 [III, ch. 11], together with Keen, The Laws of War, 218–38. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 253–8. Also see The Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir, 617–18. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 830–4 [chs. 163–6].

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the king had expressly forbidden the people from entering his enemies’ country or they were spies.50 In addition, the insane, the old, the very young and women were not to be taken prisoner or subjected to marque, because they did not aim to harm others and no one could prove their bravery by attacking such people.51 The blind, deaf and dumb who fought with the enemy merited mercy and were to be freed, though their goods could be confiscated, and, if they were advising the enemy, they could be ransomed too.52 In short, Bovet argued that only those who actively supported the war were legitimate targets.53 This logic enabled Bovet to go further, and to argue that protection and immunity should also be extended to peasants whose labour supported all men but who had no direct concern with war.54 He therefore attacked those tyrants who mercilessly imposed excessive ransom fees upon the poor people working the fields, and denounced those who pillaged and robbed poor labourers.55 Christine de Pizan also drew heavily on Bovet’s arguments, arguing that the common people should be exempt because they wanted only peace, did not bear arms and passed no judgement on the justice of war, and also because there was no honour in harming them.56 Nevertheless, as even Bovet confessed, the problem was that these legalistic distinctions did not reflect the reality of warfare at that time. As he acknowledged, the actions of soldiers demonstrated that they did not agree with many of his proposals, such as the arguments that ransoms should not be demanded from the common people, that the father of an English student at the University of Paris should be allowed to visit his son or that a walled town or fortress might not be lawfully captured during a truce.57 It is no surprise, then, that Bovet dedicated twenty chapters to his controversial and polemical vision of immunities, and just four to the less problematic discussion of ransoms and the treatment of prisoners. Honorat Bovet and Christine de Pizan were championing rules that originated in papal decretals and canon law that in theory bound all Christians, but in practice had real teeth only if kings and princes supported them and imposed such rules upon

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57

Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 820–2 [chs. 152–7]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 824–9 [chs. 158–61]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 829 [ch. 165]. Christine de Pizan largely replicated these arguments in her Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 224–34 [III, chs. 19–22]. See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 785–6 [ch. 115]; also see 826–8 [ch. 160]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 833–5 [chs. 167–9]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 784, 834–5 [chs. 114, 169]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 222–3 [III, ch. 18]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 784, 823, 836 [chs. 114, 155, 170].

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their troops.58 It is clear, though, that military commanders took the view that any able-bodied man who could potentially fight – or, more importantly, finance the war by his taxes – was a valid target.59 As Allmand has noted, even if one accepted the theory that ‘the person of the noncombatant should be respected unless he offered armed resistance, his property (the basis of a community’s wealth which could be used to advantage in time of war) constituted a legitimate target’.60 Indeed, even the wealth of clerics and monks could be seen as a target in war, given the financial contribution that members of the Church in France made through taxation following the great debates of the reign of King Philippe IV.61 In 1346 the abbey of Saint-Lucein, near Beauvais, was destroyed by English soldiers, even though this was contrary to the orders of Edward III, who hanged the perpetrators.62 The chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette reported that the English attacked clerics and nuns in 1357, that every monastery around Paris was attacked by freebooters in 1358 and that even his own side destroyed monasteries at Noyon and Orléans.63 At around the same time, the curé of Comblisy was forced to become chaplain to a Navarrese garrison because he could not afford the ransom that they demanded.64 Hugh de Montgeron, prior of Brailet in the diocese of Sens, left moving testimony of his experiences at the hands of the English garrison from Chantecocq in October 1358.65 An eyewitness in 1373 testified that he had seen more than 100 chalices used as drinking bowls at supper by the English knight John Harleston and his companions.66 Honorat Bovet himself was forced to flee from the priory of Selonnet because of the wars of Raymond Roger de Beaufort of Turenne.67 Faced by such a brutal reality, chivalric narrators sometimes took a more subtle approach to the problem. For example, Froissart clearly 58 59

60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

See Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 835 [ch. 169]; also see Le songe du vergier, I, 22, where the knight questions the importance and authority of the decretals. P. Contamine, ‘Rançons et butins dans la Normandie anglaise (1424–1444)’, in Actes du 101e Congrès national des sociétés savantes, Lille 1976 (Paris, 1978), 243–4; Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 261–2. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 261–2. J. B. Henneman, Royal Taxation in Fourteenth Century France: The Development of War Financing, 1322–1356 (Princeton, NJ, 1971). Froissart (SHF), III, 151–2, and (Amiens), II, 389. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 217, 257, 279. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 65. J. Quicherat, J. ‘Récit des tribulations d’un religieux du diocèse de Sens pendant l’invasion Anglaise en 1358’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 18 (1857), 357–60. E. de Fréville, ‘Les Grands Compagnies au quatorzième siècle, part II, guerres de France: aperçus généraux’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 5 (1844), 246. Bovet, Medieval Muslims, Christians and Jews in Dialogue, 148.

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aimed to teach a lesson by the story of an English squire serving under Sir Peter Audley in 1359. This soldier stole the chalice from a church at Ronay during High Mass. As he was leaving the church, he witnessed his horse strangling itself, and was so taken aback that he promised never to rob or violate a church again – though Froissart admitted that he did not know whether this promise was kept.68

The treatment of civilians outside military campaigns Even if soldiers were acting legally in ravaging and pillaging during military campaigns, they were not justified in targeting non-combatants after the campaigns had ended. Theologians and canon lawyers were extremely clear that booty and other spoils could be taken only during the course of properly authorized and sanctioned wars. As Keen has said, ‘[F]rom the moment the war ended the same actions which had won them renown and profit in its course would stamp them traitors and outlaws.’69 Thus, when the Black Prince furled his banners on 28 November 1355 at the end of his great chevauchée, his troops were required to purchase the food that they had previously been stealing and were also prohibited from burning houses. They were therefore forced to pay compensation for a dwelling that was set alight at Mezin.70 Yet it was also much more difficult to control troops outside military campaigns, when disciplinary ordinances and the chain of command within the host offered greater possibilities for regulating the behaviour of soldiers.71 Indeed, the most significant threat to non-combatants in France during the late Middle Ages came from the garrisons that were supposedly there to protect them. In the Combat des trente Bretons, Jean de Beaumanoir challenged Richard Bamborough to their famous duel in 1351 because the English captain had attacked French labourers whose work supported the aristocracy.72 In practice, 68

69 70

71

72

Froissart (SHF), V, 175–6. This echoes many of the miracle stories, which offered some kind of response for the wider population to the ravages committed by soldiers. See M. E. Goodich, Violence and Miracle in the Fourteenth Century: Private Grief and Public Salvation (Chicago, 1995), 121–46. See Keen, The Laws of War, 83, and also see Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 259. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 68. Military ordinances often emphasized the captain’s liability for unauthorized pillaging: Keen, The Laws of War, 150, and Construire l’armée française, I, 94. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 35. Under Edward III, English garrisons in Brittany were forbidden from pillaging and requisitioning goods from those loyal to their side, but this was not enforced: Froissart, Chroniques, XVIII, 339–43. Brush, ‘La bataille de trente Anglois et de trente Bretons, II’, 39.

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whether men-at-arms or other soldiers were ostensibly loyal to the Valois monarchy or claimed to hold their strongholds in the names of rivals such as the kings of England or Navarre, they consistently abused the local civilian populations. Free from the demands of a campaign, soldiers had more time to track down those who could normally flee or at least seek temporary protection from a passing army.73 Individuals and communities were forced to pay ransoms, known as appâtis or raencons du pays – little more than protection money to buy off the threat posed by the soldiers. Wright has argued that these levies against non-combatants were the dominant form of ransoms during the Hundred Years War.74 The problems were particularly acute in frontier zones, where authority and allegiances were constantly in question. The squire Jean Dorenge served as a captain on the Breton border, where he robbed, raped and took prisoners within the territory that he was assigned to protect, only to receive a pardon in 1363 in light of his service to Bertrand du Guesclin.75 Further south, the jurats of Bergerac prepared a list of atrocities committed by the men-at-arms in local garrisons against the people of Bergerac between 20 February 1379 and 15 June 1382, in the hope that the criminals would eventually be punished. They reported that 168 noncombatants had been taken prisoner and forced to pay ransoms, and sixteen had been tortured. The average ransom was about five or six gold francs, paid either in coin or in goods.76 Between 1420 and 1444 English garrisons in twenty-six strongholds in northern France were extremely brutal towards peasant non-combatants, though they never took a cleric prisoner, and rarely seized women.77 In 1440 the bishop of Beauvais, Jean Juvénal des Ursins, complained that it was not just Englishmen but also French soldiers who kidnapped, raped, tortured and killed local citizens.78 Appâtis were often seen as a kind of tax that garrisons levied upon their own people to finance their role as defenders, supplementing or replacing their official wages.79 Writers such as Philippe de Mézières complained about the impact of corrupt officials, whose abuses deprived knights and 73 74

75 76

77 78 79

Rogers, ‘By fire and sword’, 48. See N. Wright, ‘Ransoms of non-combatants during the Hundred Years War’, Journal of Medieval History, 17 (1991), 323–51, together with Keen, The Laws of War, 137–8, 251–3. Luce, Histoire de Bertrand du Guesclin, 582–3. E. Labroue, Le livre de vie: les seigneurs et les capitaines de Périgord Blanc au XIVe siècle (Bordeaux, 1891), 10–11, 37, 405–24. Also see Wright, ‘Ransoms of non-combatants’, 326–7, and Knights and Peasants, 37, 71, 75. Contamine, ‘Rançons et butins’, 257. See Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 308–10, and also see 56–7, 308–10. Keen, The Laws of War, 138.

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squires of the resources that they needed to defend the country, and also called for major reform of the tax system.80 In Alain Chartier’s Quadrilogue invectif, the Chevalier denounced those common people who complained about their own hardship without recognizing the great sacrifices that the knights were making to protect France, arguing that the people should be more ready to pay taxes.81 Such a mindset might easily justify the financial abuse of the peasantry, as the captain of Crathor in Le jouvencel indicated when he declared that, if the king could not provide them with provisions or pay their wages, the soldiers ought to take what they needed from their enemies, and from their own side as well.82 As Wright has noted, the ‘effective maintenance of a strong garrison in a state of military preparedness, and the effective prosecution of a war, necessitated the brutal exploitation of non-combatants’.83 A dangerous precedent was set when the government allowed garrisons to collect taxes directly from peasants and townsmen in times of emergency. For example, following the capture of Jean II at Poitiers, the captain of Estampes was licensed to take the victuals necessary for his men-atarms, and in 1363 Bertrand du Guesclin was authorized to draw upon local parishes to support his position as captain of Brée.84 At the same time, the crown presented the cost of maintaining fortifications as the responsibility of the captains, with royal officials threatening to confiscate or even destroy those that were not up to scratch. The costs of such work would be a problem for those already affected by falling rents, damage by war and even ransoms. In 1364 first the royal bailli of Mâcon and then the count of Armagnac, as royal lieutenant, confiscated the castle of Robert de Bicher, who seized it back and then began to attack merchants travelling to Marcigny-les-Nonnains, presumably to finance repairs to the castle.85 In the fifteenth century Henry V and then his brother Bedford took some care to maintain discipline on the part of the garrisons that occupied Normandy and other territories in the north of France. From 1418 onwards civilians were encouraged to bring complaints against soldiers to the vicomtes, and disciplinary ordinances set careful limits on the ability of garrisons to take provisions from the locals.86 Jean Juvénal des 80 81 82 84 85 86

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 458, II, 385–400. Also see, for example, L’honneur de la couronne de France, 77–8. Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 28–30, 32–3, 39–40. 83 Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 95–6. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 29. See Wright, Knights and Peasants, 39–40, together with Cazelles, ‘La Jacquerie: fut-elle un mouvement paysan?’, 664, and Luce, Histoire de Bertrand du Guesclin, 582. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 55. See B. J. H. Rowe, ‘Discipline in the Norman garrisons under Bedford, 1422–35’, English Historical Review, 46 (1931), 194–208, and A. Curry, ‘Les “gens vivans sur le païs” pendant l’occupation anglaise de la Normandie (1417–1450)’, in P. Contamine

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Ursins recognized that the English were more disciplined than the French.87 Nevertheless, the soldiers continued to raid enemy territory, and there were savage reprisals against those accused of being brigands or Armagnac sympathisers.88 Moreover, as English finances deteriorated, so did the discipline of the troops in France.89 A further threat was posed by the persistence of private warfare.90 Royal lawyers might well argue that arson, pillaging and the taking of prisoners and booty were not allowed in ‘guerre couverte’ (private war). Yet French noblemen certainly persisted in such practices, echoing the customary rules. For example, the thirteenth-century Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir argued that the ‘droit de guerre’ did in fact allow a range of actions, including the taking of prisoners.91 In January 1375 Gilles de Verlette and his son admitted their acts of war along the eastern border of France against opponents such as Pierre de Bar, lord of Pierrefont.92 Around the same time, the count of St Pol targeted the friends, family, allies, counsellors, supporters and comforters of his avowed enemy, Bofremont.93 During his trial before the Parlement of Paris in 1395 for his private war against the count of Armagnac, Geraud de Pardiac was reported to have burned down seventy-three houses, stolen animals and taken thirty-one prisoners, even castrating one of them.94 In practice, the only real difference between such raids and the great chevauchées led by Edward III and the Black Prince was scale.95 The impact of such private wars on civilians was a constant theme in chivalric narratives. For example, in the Chanson d’Aspremont, the duke

87 88

89

90 91 92 94 95

and O. Guyotjeannin (eds.), La guerre, la violence et les gens au moyen âge, vol. I, Guerre et violence: actes du 119e Congrès national des sociétés savantes, Amiens, 1994 (Paris, 1996), 209–21. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 402–3. B. J. H. Rowe, ‘John duke of Bedford and the Norman “brigands”’, English Historical Review, 47 (1932), 583–600; M. G. A. Vale, ‘Sir John Fastolf’s “report” of 1435: a new interpretation reconsidered’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 17 (1973), 78–84; Contamine, ‘Rançons et butins’, 241–70; M. R. Evans, ‘Brigandage and resistance in Lancastrian Normandy: a study of the remission evidence’, Reading Medieval Studies, 18 (1992), 103–34. A. Curry, ‘The first English standing army? Military organisation in Lancastrian Normandy, 1420–1450’, in C. D. Ross (ed.), Patronage, Pedigree and Power in Later Medieval England (Gloucester, 1979), 208. See pages 123–4 above. See The Coutumes de Beauvaisis of Philippe de Beaumanoir, 610–8, together with Keen, The Laws of War, 104, and also 64–5, 70–1, 79, 106. 93 Wright, Knights and Peasants, 68–9. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 32. Documents relatifs à la chute de la maison d’Armagnac-Fezensaguet et à la mort du comte de Pardiac, ed. P. Durrieu (Paris, 1883), 10–33; Wright, Knights and Peasants, 32–3. See M. G. A. Vale, ‘The Gascon nobility and the Anglo-French war 1294–8’, in Gillingham and Holt, War and Government in the Middle Ages, 141, and Wright, Knights and Peasants, 68.

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of Burgundy declared to his knights that he was perfectly willing to respond in kind if his neighbour burned his lands or seized his castles.96 Similarly, the twelfth-century Girart de Roussillon, rendered into prose in the fifteenth century by both Jean Wauquelin and David Aubert, graphically represented the price to be paid for the rebellion of Girart against Charlemagne. The king complained that Girart had killed or wounded 100,000 of his men and that he had ravaged and devastated his realm. In response, however, Charlemagne’s men burned 10,000 churches, according to the bishop of Saint-Sauveur, and the Pope warned them all that God was angry for this destruction and the injuries that they had inflicted upon ordinary people.97 The weakness of formal legal controls on violence committed by soldiers and mercenaries outside the formal military campaigns, as well as by French soldiers towards their own civilians, inevitably meant that writers were forced to turn to moral arguments on behalf of the victims. In a pastourelle written soon after the battle of Poitiers, a shepherd and his son complained about the actions of routiers from Bolougne who had stolen their sheep. The father denounced such men as robbers who would be too cowardly to joust or to fight on the battlefield, but were marvellously brave when pillaging and robbing defenceless peasants. The narrator concluded that such mercenaries and thugs should be thrown into the fire as soon as they began to cry ‘St George!’.98 Eustache Deschamps gave voice to peasants affected by French and English troops alike, who prevented them from earning a living.99 He repeatedly attacked such men as pillagers and robbers, and argued that a true man-at-arms would be satisfied with booty won in battle, because one could lose all honour through such greed.100 In his ‘xv reigles de la discipline de chevalerie’, Philippe de Mézières emphasized that soldiers were not allowed to pillage their own lands.101 He complained sorrowfully on behalf of those poor people of France who were killed or ransomed not just by enemies but even by their own knights. He 96 97

98

99 100 101

The Song of Aspremont (La chanson d’Aspremont), ed. and trans. M. A. Newth (GLML 61, New York, 1989), lines 5012–17. Girart de Roussillon: chanson de geste traduite pour la première fois, ed. and trans. P. Meyer (Paris, 1884), 298–9; also see A. Coville, ‘Le Roman de Girart de Roussillon’, Histoire littéraire de la France, 38 (1949), 404–30. W. W. Kibler and J. I. Wimsatt, ‘The development of the Pastourelle in the fourteenth century: an edition of fifteen poems with an analysis’, Mediaeval Studies, 45 (1983), 54–8; also see J. I. Wimsatt, ‘Froissart, Chaucer and the Pastourelles of the Pennsylvania manuscript’, Studies in the Age of Chaucer, Proceedings, 1 (1984), 74–5. See, for example, Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, III, 93–5. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, III, 82. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 516–17.

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compared the soldiers who did this to leeches who were never satisfied and always returned again and again for more blood.102 In Honorat Bovet’s Apparicion Maistre Jehan de Meun, it was a Saracen who criticized the French soldiers for abusing their own people, declaring that such men did more damage to the countryside than the enemy.103 In Vivat rex, Jean Gerson famously complained that unpaid soldiers were preying upon the ordinary people, and that French soldiers were more dangerous than the English.104 Christine de Pizan denounced the behaviour of those soldiers who were responsible for the protection of the people but, instead, robbed them with greater cruelty than their nominal enemies, and declared that soldiers could not pillage in a friendly country.105 Central to such rhetoric was a powerful distinction between the honourable and worthy knight, who would never target the weak and innocent, and the mercenary or routier, who preyed upon the people. Bovet provided the clearest statement of the dichotomy between the true knight and the robber when he played his last card in his effort to persuade his aristocratic audience to leave peasants and non-combatants in peace. He denounced the actions of soldiers who targeted the poor people and their animals, refusing to dignify this with the title of war but describing it, rather, as mere pillaging. He claimed that the ordinance of worthy knighthood and the ancient customs of noble warriors required soldiers to uphold justice, widows, children, orphans and the poor, but that, instead, the opposite was happening as these men set fires, robbed and destroyed churches and imprisoned priests. He concluded that, because of all of this, ‘the knights do not have not the praise or the glory of the good knights of olden days, and their deeds should not lead them to a good end’.106 This rhetorical contrast between the true knight and the robber or mercenary was a standard theme in chivalric culture, and one that had been voiced by clerics for centuries. For example, in 1095 Pope Urban II’s famous sermon that launched the First Crusade had called upon those knights who had been murderers, robbers and mercenaries to serve the Church and thereby become true soldiers of Christ.107 Both Bernard de Clairvaux’s Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae and the Rule of the Templars contrasted their true knighthood with the perverted 102 103 104 105 106 107

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 528, II, 379, 407. Bovet, Medieval Muslims, Christians and Jews, 108. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1138, 1170–1. Pizan, Corps du policie, 14 [I, ch. 9], and Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 196 [III, ch. 7]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 835 [ch. 169]. J. Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading (London, 1986), 13–30.

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earthly form that practised robbery and murder, rather than defending the poor, widows, orphans and the Church.108 Given what was happening in late medieval France, it is hardly surprising that French writers constantly utilized the contrast between true knights and robbers, mercenaries and pillars, the socially inferior agents employed by nobleman and knights to do their dirty work.109 In Le songe du vergier, the knight attacked the Pope’s use of mercenaries to recover Rome, because no Christian ought to make war by means of such men as formed the Companies – that is to say pillagers and robbers (‘pyllars et robeurs’), who destroyed the lands of the Church as well as its enemies.110 In Le songe du vieil pelerin, Philippe de Mézières contrasted the truly worthy and chivalrous nobles, knights and squires, who fought against the enemies of the king, with the freebooters and routiers, who were upstarts and parvenus who might look like knights but were really low-born people, more cruel than Saracens. The rules of true Christian knighthood (‘vraye chevalerie crestienne’) offered protection to those who were oppressed and unable to defend themselves.111 In Alain Chartier’s Quadrilogue invectif, La Peuple complained about the brigandage and violence committed by the soldiers, not against the enemies of France but against her own people, destroying their miserable lives.112 Christine de Pizan warned that, if an army was motivated by greed for pillage rather than a rightful cause or for the honour of knighthood and for glory, then they should be called ‘pillars et robeurs’ rather than men-at-arms.113 She even suggested that soldiers who failed to protect the poor and simple folk were acting like Saracens rather than Christians.114 Of course, the distinction between a chivalrous knight and a freebooter was extremely hard to sustain in reality, especially when the routiers moved in and out of royal service so easily. Men such as Bertrand du Guesclin, Robert Knolles, Hugh Calveley, Poton de Xantrailles, Antoine de Chabannes, La Hire, Ambroise de Loré and Rodrigo de Villandrando had all enjoyed enterprising careers both as freebooters and within the armies of English and French kings.115 Froissart offered a long account of the deeds of Mérigot Marchès, who had crusaded with the count of

108 109 110 111 113 114 115

Bernard de Clairvaux, Liber ad milites Templi de laude novae militiae, III, 205–39. Wright, ‘“Pillagers” and “brigands”’, 19. Le songe du vergier, I, 335–6 and also I, 14–15. 112 Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 530–2. Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 21. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 57 [I, ch. 14]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 223 [III, ch. 18]. Also see Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 528. Contamine, ‘Les compagnies d’aventure en France’, 365–96; Fowler, Medieval mercenaries, vol. I, The Great Companies; Tuetey, Les écorcheurs sous Charles VII.

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Armagnac in 1390, but was also one of the most notorious captains of the Free Companies, guilty of terrible crimes in the Rouergue.116 Froissart was also enthralled by Bascot de Mauléon, who had constantly engaged in acts of war, no matter what the moral or legal justification for such actions, simply by ensuring that he had a banner under which to fight.117 Moreover, the targeting of civilians was part of a much wider problem, namely the abuse of lordship and power by the aristocracy. Peasants were vulnerable at the hands of soldiers who could use the excuse of warfare to ignore local customs and obligations of lordship. The chronicle attributed to Jean de Venette complained that French lords and princes delighted in the heavy burdens imposed upon the peasantry by taxation and the danger posed by robbers.118 The most obvious example of this was the breach of the local customs of Beauvaisis and Saint-Leud’Essérent by French soldiers that triggered the Jacquerie in 1358.119 The problem was most acute when land and castles were captured, and soldiers could therefore ignore the traditional obligations of lordship and any customary agreements with the peasantry. France was full of what Wright has termed ‘borrowed lordships’: castles and strongholds seized by routiers and écorcheurs as bases.120 Accordingly, French writers also emphasized the essential connection between chivalry, lordship and the traditional obligations of the aristocracy to protect the rest of society. Invoking the authority of Vegetius, the clerk in Le songe du vergier argued that soldiers had a duty to protect and to defend the public sphere (‘la chose publique’) but were actively doing the opposite, abusing and pillaging the poor.121 Philippe de Mézières denounced the nobles for their failure to love both the Church and the people, and to inspire, comfort, unify, guard and preserve them. The rebellions of the common people were caused by the fact that they were robbed first by tax collectors and then by men-at-arms and pillagers, who took what was left but failed to protect them.122 This notion that the aristocracy was obliged to protect the people was engrained in the mythology of knighthood, especially the stories that were told of its origins. In Lancelot do Lac, the Lady of the Lake told

116 117 118 119

120 122

Froissart (SHF), XIV, 159–212; also see Ainsworth, Jean Froissart and the Fabric of History, 125–49. See Froissart (SHF), XII, 95–116, and Voyage en Béarn, 87–111. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 325. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 261–7. Also see D. M. Bessen, ‘The Jacquerie: class war or co-opted rebellion?’, Journal of Medieval History, 11 (1985), 43–59, and Wright, Knights and Peasants, 84–5. 121 Wright, Knights and Peasants, 45–61. Le songe du vergier, I, 14–15. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 454–6, 526–7.

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Lancelot that knighthood was created to protect and defend the weak.123 Similarly, Ramon Llull argued that the people were divided into thousands, alluding to the Latin term for ‘soldiers’ – ‘milites’. From each thousand, one outstanding man was elected to protect the people, and he was given a horse, the most noble animal to serve man, and was therefore called a ‘chevalier’.124 Honorat Bovet took up this notion in the Arbre des batailles, declaring that Romulus had taken counsel from 100 men, whom he called senators, and elected 1,000 horsemen to guard the country, calling them knights, or ‘milites’ in Latin, because of their number.125 Bovet also cited Roman law as an authority on the duties and obligations of knighthood. For example, he distinguished between knights and other jobs within society by citing the law that said that any knight who tilled the soil, tended vines, kept beasts or worked as a shepherd, a matchmaker or a lawyer would lose the status and privileges that he enjoyed as a knight.126 It was this Roman model that Bovet was invoking, presumably, when he argued that the warriors of his day did not live up to the ancient tradition of noble warriors who upheld justice, the widow, the orphan and the poor.127 Similarly, in her biography of Charles V, Christine de Pizan suggested that it would be valuable to reintroduce the original way, in which members of the order of chivalry were chosen at its foundation by Romulus, who had taken the best of each thousand men-at-arms and called them ‘milites’, meaning the best of a thousand.128 Christine de Pizan also employed two powerful metaphors to emphasize the heavy obligations upon knighthood. Firstly, she compared the kingdom of France to a body.129 According to this metaphor, the knights and nobles were the strong arms, defending the law of the prince and the polity, and, in particular, the hands, pushing aside all harmful and useless things. The image stressed their responsibility to defend both the prince 123 125 126 127 128 129

124 Lancelot do Lac, I, 142–3. Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 87–8. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 626–7 [chs. 13–14]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 626–7 [chs. 13–14]; see also 751–2 [ch. 75], referring to Digest, 49.16 (‘De re militari’). See footnote 106 above. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 116. Also see Les oeuvres poétiques de Christine de Pisan, I, 2–3. Pizan, Corps du policie, 1–2 [I, ch. 1]; also see Le chemin de long estude: traduction, présentation et notes: édition critique du ms. Harley 4431, ed. A. Tarnowski (Paris, 1998), 412–14, and The Book of Peace, 265–6. The image of the body politic was rooted in John of Salisbury’s Policraticus, though Pizan followed him in claiming that the real source was Plutarch’s letter to the emperor Trajan. C. Brucker, ‘La pensée morale et politique de Plutarque dans un Miroir des princes latin du XIIe siècle et sa réception en moyen français (1372)’, in M. C. Timelli and C. Galderisi (eds.), ‘Pour acquerir honneur et pris’: mélanges de moyen français offerts à Giuseppe Di Stefano (Montreal, 2004), 87–99.

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and the public good.130 Civil war was an illness that was physically harming France. Thus Christine called upon the queen to act as ‘la medecine et souverain remede’ for the injuries of the kingdom, especially the hatred and division between those of noble blood, who were therefore failing in their duty to defend the realm.131 A second powerful metaphor used by Christine de Pizan compared the French men-at-arms to watchdogs serving the king as the shepherd of the people. Their responsibility as watchdogs was to protect the people of France, and not to prey upon them.132 This image may have ultimately derived from the book of Isaiah, in which the Lord complained that his watchmen were asleep, like dogs neglecting their duty to guard his house, and perhaps also the book of John, which warned that a hired hand had less incentive to protect the sheep than their shepherd, who would be willing to lay down his life for them.133 In the final continuation to the chronicle of Guillaume de Nangis, commonly attributed to Jean de Venette, the Carmelite author had offered a sermon to illustrate the dangers afflicting France in 1369. He warned of the watchdog who abandoned his responsibility to protect the sheep and, instead, collaborated with the wolf to prey upon the flock.134 Pastourelle poems also invoked the same notion, for example when some old shepherds were informed that a wolf had been put to guard sheep, and compared this unprecedented news with the remarkable events that they had personally witnessed – all designed to serve as a warning to a prince to avoid the injustice of putting a wolf to guard the sheep.135 In his report on 1421, the Bourgeois of Paris described three abusive officials as wolves who had preyed upon the people of Paris during that year, taking both the sheep and its fleece.136 The countryside was rife with wolves at that time, and on 14 December 1421 wolf hunters were officially appointed in Normandy.137 The idea of dogs may have also brought to mind the Tuchins, a name that probably originated in the

130 131 132

133 135

136 137

Pizan, Corps du policie, 1–2, 48 [I, chs. 1, 29]. Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, 70, 72, 78–80. Pizan, Corps du policie, 13–15 [I, ch. 9]. The image of the king as a shepherd was a commonplace, and appeared, for example, in Pizan, Le chemin de long estude, 414, and Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 25 [I, ch. 3], as well as in Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1138, 1160. 134 Isaiah, 56: 10; John 10: 11–14. Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, II, 328. Kibler and Wimsatt, ‘The development of the Pastourelle‘, 50–4. Another pastourelle recounted a conversation between a shepherd and his son about the damage caused by routiers from Boulogne, complaining that their own countrymen would do worse than wolves: 54–8. Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 159–62; also see 232–3. Rowe, ‘John duke of Bedford and the Norman “brigands”’, 595.

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words ‘tue-chien’ (‘kill dog’), perhaps because they were so poor that they had to eat these animals. They had attacked clergymen, travellers and noblemen in the Languedoc in the 1380s, in part as revenge for years of fierce oppression.138 The metaphor of the watchdog emphasized the responsibility of princes and noblemen to control the soldiers under them. The obligations of command were also addressed more subtly, in the chivalric biographies of figures such as Boucicaut and Jean de Bueil, in which the heroes rose from carefree youth and knight errants to positions of lordship and command with wider concerns. It was upon such figures in particular that chivalric writers focused, stressing the social obligations and responsibilities of rulership. For example, the old captain of Crathor advised Bueil that to seek compensation for unpaid wages from the merchants and labourers of the surrounding region would be to destroy him and to impoverish the region that supported him.139

Conclusion The efforts of medieval theologians, priests and chivalric writers to advocate a vision of knighthood that was disciplined and socially responsible lies at the root of modern views of chivalry as a code of conduct that celebrated mercy and restraint. Indeed, the same notions of honour and chivalry are invoked today by commentators as solutions to abuses committed by soldiers. For example, Ignatieff has argued that the concept of honour offers ‘a slender hope [and] may be all that there is to separate war from savagery’.140 Similarly, French has warned that ‘[w]hen there is no battlefield, and warriors fight murderers, they may be tempted to become the mirror image of the evil they hoped to destroy. Their only protection is their code of honor.’141 Yet there were powerful tensions within the medieval ideals of knighthood, reflecting not just the competing demands of mercy and vengeance but also the emphasis upon class solidarity within medieval aristocratic culture, which helped to encourage brutality towards social inferiors. 138 139 140 141

V. Challet, ‘Mundere et auferre malas erbas: la révolte des Tuchins en Languedoc (1381–1384)’ (PhD dissertation, Université Paris I, 2002). Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 95–6. M. Ignatieff, The Warrior’s Honour: Ethnic War and the Modern Consciousness (London, 1998), 157. S. French, The Code of the Warrior: Exploring Warrior Values Past and Present (Lanham, MD, 2003), 241. Also see P. Olsthoorn, ‘Honor as a motive for making sacrifices’, Journal of Military Ethics, 4 (2005), 183–97, and ‘Honor and the military’, International Journal of Applied Philosophy, 20 (2006), 159–72.

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Chivalric honour was principally concerned with the way that knights and men-at-arms treated one another, and not their behaviour towards non-combatants who were outside their social class. Medieval knights and men-at-arms consistently treated their social inferiors with disdain, and non-combatants received little protection from the law of arms. As Strickland has observed, strategies and tactics that targeted the enemy’s countryside, and hence non-combatants, ‘were a commonplace in almost all wars’.142 It comes as no surprise, then, that the rhetoric of social responsibility found little favour in practice amongst French soldiers, who cared little for the suffering of non-combatants.143 Even if chivalric writings had offered a straightforward idealization of mercy and magnanimity, it would be unrealistic to expect knights and men-at-arms to have lived up to such lofty standards. How effective could chivalric tales be as a way to instil moral principles into soldiers going into war? Even today there is a complex debate about whether soldiers should be taught general moral principles, or just the purpose, methods and values of their own profession. Educational experts do not believe that even the most up-to-date training can produce men and women capable of autonomous ethical behaviour, and so argue that the goal should be to provide them with a sense of their own professional identity and functional guidelines for their conduct, rather than to attempt to change their character.144 Moreover, as Valois writers repeatedly emphasized, the rhetoric of knighthood alone was insufficient to prevent abuses when soldiers were not paid properly. The lack of systematic payment in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century France lay at the heart of so many military and social problem.145 On 24 December 1425 the routier Perrinet Gressart instructed François de Surienne, known as l’Aragonais, to tell the marshal of Burgundy that, if his town and garrison of La Charité-sur-Loire were included in a truce with the Valois party, then the marshal would need to find some means for them to earn a living, or else they would have to make war to make up for their lost wages.146 Commentators were only too aware that the problems could not be resolved so long as soldiers received irregular pay, and armies generally had to live off the land. Philippe de Mézières protested that French commanders were becoming rich on the money that they received from the king, while allowing the

142 144 145 146

143 Strickland, ‘Chivalry at Agincourt’, 120. Wright, Knights and Peasants, 79. Robinson, de Lee and Carrick, Ethics Education in the Military. Allmand, ‘War and the non-combatant’, 170. A. Bossuat, Perrinet Gressart et François de Surienne, agents de l’Angleterre (Paris, 1936), 64–6.

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men-at-arms to return from war with no money.147 He warned Charles VI that he could not expect obedience from soldiers who were not well paid, and called for specific pay scales to be instituted, just for men on active service.148 In a sermon in 1392, Jean Gerson argued that money raised by taxes should not be wasted on luxuries and gifts but used to pay the wages of men-at-arms, who would then not need to attack the poor.149 In 1405 Gerson complained that the nobles should not be living in luxury but, rather, should follow the frugal example of great rulers such as Caesar and Charlemagne. He also demanded that they pay their soldiers well in order to avoid pillaging; it was the king’s duty to control such violence.150 Around three years later Nicolas de Clamanges wrote to Gerson, claiming that any man could gather around him a group aiming to win fortune, but as a result they were not fighting against the enemies of France but, instead, its own citizens and inhabitants. The fact that soldiers were not paid was the root of all evils in France.151 Christine de Pizan repeatedly argued that, if soldiers were paid properly, they could be prevented from stealing, and emphasized the responsibility of the commander to pay his men so that they would not need to resort to pillaging in friendly territory.152 On the other hand, Alain Chartier gave voice to the peasantry in Le debat du herault, du vassault et de villain, who complained that the money wasted on soldiers’ wages could have bought England outright and put an end to the war.153 Ultimately, the best and most effective bulwark against misbehaviour by soldiers is military discipline. In the Middle Ages, military commanders had limited power to restrain their soldiers and force them to behave in controlled manner towards civilians. In the ‘belles ordonnances’ of Charles V (13 January 1374), captains were accorded disciplinary power over the men in their companies, and held responsible for their misdeeds.154 These controls were far from effective, though, and soon collapsed. Even the great military reforms that introduced the Compagnies d’Ordonnance under Charles VII in 1445 did not establish true military discipline.155 An anonymous popular ballad described the 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 155

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 520–1, II, 401. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 383, 385–92, 402–4. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 440. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1169, 1172. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, II, 121–2. Pizan, Corps du policie, 13–5 [I, ch. 9]; Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 54 [I, ch. 12]; The Book of Peace, 218–20. 154 The Poetical Works of Alain Chartier, 433. Construire l’armée française, I, 75–9. See Construire l’armée française, I, 102–5, and Contamine, Guerre, état et société, and ‘Structures militaires de la France et de l’Angleterre’, 319–34, together with Solon, ‘Valois military administration on the Norman frontier’, 91–111.

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men-at-arms who formed the Companies as ‘[m]eschans, coquins, larrons, pillars’.156 There was certainly nothing to match the control that would be introduced with modern, permanent standing armies, with their institutional structures and internal systems of discipline.157

156 157

Solon, ‘Popular responses to standing military forces’, 87. D. Potter, Renaissance France at War: Armies, Culture and Society, c.1480–1560 (Woodbridge, 2008), 197–9, 248–54.

7

Wisdom and prudence

The importance of the physical aspects of knighthood should not mask the fact that chivalric culture also praised wisdom. Knights may not have had much time for philosophy or more intellectual pursuits, but there was a place for prudence. This was a more practical kind of wisdom, combining the moral virtue to determine the right course of action with a much more practical notion of foreseeing and avoiding problems. It was based, first and foremost, upon experience, and therefore distinguished the brash and naïve youth from the more sage veteran. Moreover, it accorded with the practical reality of medieval martial culture, in which strategy and tactics were extremely important. The crucial question was whether writers and intellectuals had anything to offer real soldiers when it came to such practical knowledge, learned above all through experience and advice from older military veterans. Chivalric authors certainly claimed a role for themselves, particularly as the recorders and transmitters of military wisdom, if not as authorities in their own right. Drawing heavily upon works such as Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris, writers presented advice on warfare to their aristocratic audiences, designed to give practical guidance but also serving more didactic goals, such as emphasizing royal authority and championing limits to the kinds of behaviour allowed in warfare. Whether these texts played a direct and specific role in the strategy and tactics of the period is difficult to prove, but there is no question of the dramatic success of such books simply in terms of manuscript dissemination. Furthermore, the fact that so many veterans themselves took up their pens would suggest that the idea of a science of warfare did indeed take root in late medieval France, during a period of major military reform. Defining prudence In 1352 Geoffroi de Charny challenged the Company of the Star to debate various aspects of chivalric life. One of his questions simply asked whether the Company preferred intelligence or prowess (‘sen ou 231

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prouuesce’).1 Unfortunately, there is no record of how the knights and men-at-arms responded to this prompt, but there is no doubt that chivalric culture placed a great premium on physical prowess. The pantheon of heroes was full of aggressive warriors who had led from the front. Achilles and Hector were the stars of the Trojan Wars, rather than the wise and cunning Ulysses, whose name meant ‘plente de sen’ according to the early fourteenth-century verse commentary provided in the Ovide moralisé.2 Roland earned everlasting fame for his final stand at the battle of Roncesvalles on 15 August 778, when he bravely faced death after ignoring the sensible advice of his wise companion Oliver.3 The famous relationship between these two Frankish warriors was paralleled by that of Jean de Saintré and his best friend, Jean I Le Meingre, known as Boucicaut, in Antoine de La Sale’s Jehan de Saintré (1456). Le Meingre was described as a wise and courteous squire, more prudent than his friend Saintré, who was his superior in terms of physical prowess. As a result, the heralds supposedly had a saying that Boucicaut was the man for diplomatic negotiations, and Saintré was more useful in a military encounter. Of the two, though, it was Saintré who was the star of this romance.4 Nevertheless, it would be wrong to view chivalric culture as entirely skewed towards prowess and courage, at the expense of intelligence and wisdom. Although it is hard to imagine that many knights and squires would have had great respect for the abstract and theoretical wisdom of philosophy, theology and science, there was another important kind of wisdom: prudence, which guided an individual towards the appropriate choice in any situation. Shaped by the moral philosophy of Aristotle in particular, prudence was regarded as the mother of all virtues and the foundation stone of ethics.5 As Christine de Pizan stated, prudence prevented virtues such as generosity from sliding into vice, such as prodigality.6 Yet prudence could also be interpreted as ‘worldly wisdom’: the ability to foresee and to avoid traps and pitfalls, echoing an 1 2 3 4 5

6

Taylor, ‘A critical edition of Geoffroy de Charny’s Livre Charny and the Demandes’, 137. Ovide moralisé, poème du commencement du quatorzième siècle publié d’après tous les manuscrits connus, ed. C. de Boer (5 vols., Amsterdam, 1915–36), IV, 388–96. The Song of Roland, II, 68–70. La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, 142–3; also see D. Lalande, ‘Le couple Saintré-Boucicaut dans le roman de Jehan de Saintré’, Romania, 111 (1990), 481–94. Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, 144–66; also see Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 330–62. Aristotle’s arguments had been taken up, for example, by Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XXXVI, 4–52 [2a2ae. 47, articles 1–16]. Pizan, The Epistle of the Prison of Human Life, 34. Also see Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 22, and The Book of Peace, 67–70, 208–10.

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older Latin and vernacular tradition that had presented prudence as an eminently practical and useful kind of intelligence.7 Ramon Llull presented prudence as a cardinal virtue that enabled man to distinguish good from evil, but he also emphasized its utility in granting man the foresight to know what would happen in the future, and thereby avoid not only spiritual but also physical harm.8 Its practical utility was highlighted in 1439, when Charles VII ordered that his new Compagnies d’Ordonnance should be led by prudent and wise men (‘preudes et sages gens’).9 Prudence was associated above all with age and experience. Aristotle had accepted that young people might be able to master the principles of a science or the practical skills of an ‘art’, but he did not believe that they could have the prudence to apply this knowledge in a practical situation because it was only over time that this ability would develop.10 The importance of experience was also underlined by Cicero, who had argued that prudence involved three elements, memory (‘memoria’), understanding (‘intelligentia’) and foresight (‘providentia’); humans use their understanding to interpret their memory of the past in order to draw up a plan for the future.11 Without the crucial element of experience, it would be impossible to develop the foresight to anticipate and to avoid dangers. As a result, chivalric culture constantly contrasted youthful rashness and inexperience with the wisdom and prudence of older, more experienced knights. Indeed, Charny’s question to the Company of the Star was a trap for naïve and overeager youths, who would reveal their lack of prudence by arguing for prowess over intelligence. Gaston Phébus, count of Foix, admitted to such youthful rashness in the Livre des oraisons, a collection of thirty-seven prayers written after the death of his only legitimate son in August 1380. In the second Latin prayer, Gaston recounted his youthful faults, which he was able to correct with the aid of God. He admitted that, as a child, everyone had regarded him as worthless, and so he had prayed for the wisdom and judgement (‘sensum et discretionem’) to 7

8 10 11

A. Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1978), 132–7; also see J. A. Burrow, ‘The third eye of prudence’, in J. A. Burrow and I. P. Wei Medieval Futures: Attitudes to the Future in the Middle Ages (Woodbridge, 2000), 37–48, and M. Richarz, ‘Prudence and wisdom in Christine de Pizan’s Livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V’, in K. Green and C. J. Mews (eds.), Healing the Body Politic: The Political Thought of Christine de Pizan (Turnhout, 2005), 99–116. 9 Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 158–9. Construire l’armée française, I, 91. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 346–7. Marcus Tullius Cicero, De inventione, De Optimo Genere Oratorum, Topica, ed. H. M. Hubbell (Cambridge, MA, 1949), 326 [II, ch. 53]. This was cited, for example, by Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 21. Also see E. L. Wheeler, Stratagem and the Vocabulary of Military Trickery (Leiden, 1988), 72–3.

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govern his land. These gifts were granted to him, but he was still looked down upon because he was worthless in arms (‘nil valet in armis’). He therefore prayed a second time for honour on the battlefield, and thereafter he was so successful that his name became known among the Saracens, the Jews, and the Christians of Spain, France, England, Germany and Lombardy.12 Of course, the fact that prudence occupied such an ambiguous position between moral wisdom and practical, worldly wisdom opened up very difficult questions about the appropriate line between legitimate cleverness and outright deceit and dishonesty. In the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny refused to accept as truly wise those men who employed cunning schemes (‘subtilz engin’) and great subtleties (‘les grans subtillitez’) that did not serve a true and loyal end.13 For Charny, real wisdom was the ability to distinguish between good and evil, and reason demanded that one behave loyally and honestly, protecting the rights of others. In short, he argued, wisdom (‘sens’) was good only it if was always put to good use.14 The true man of worth would be wise (‘saiges’), whereas a man who used his intelligence (‘sens’) for evil was unworthy.15 Charny’s analysis was built upon firm Aristotelian foundations. Aristotle had stressed the distinction between prudence and the simple, pragmatic cleverness needed to achieve one’s aim without worrying about whether it was good or bad. After all, as Aquinas noted, even a thief could draw upon his experience and expertise to work out the most prudent means to carry out a crime.16 Nicole Oresme translated Aristotle’s notion of an amoral idea of mere cleverness as ‘demotique’, admitting that there was no equivalent to the original Greek word in French, though he did describe it, like Charny, as ‘engin et subtilité’.17 The Old French term ‘engin’ was frequently used in courtly literature to stand for intellectual rather than heroic abilities, such as wit, shrewdness, manipulation and deceit.18 It was an ambiguous term, which could refer to positive qualities such as intelligence, cleverness and ingenuity, but also to more negative and dishonourable ideas such as manipulation, 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

Gaston Phébus, Livre des oraisons: les prières d’un chasseur, ed. G. Tilander (Karlshamn, 1975), 36. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 148–50. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 150. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny,154. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XXXVI, 40–2 [2a2ae. 47, article 13]. Oresme, Le livre de ethiques d’Aristote, 357. The Latin ancestor of ‘engin’ was ‘ingenium’: see Hanning, The Individual in TwelfthCentury Romance, 106–7, and Fresco, ‘Christine de Pizan’s Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie’, 161–2.

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deceit, fraud and trickery. For example, in chivalric romances such as Cligès, knights employed the word ‘engin’ when they disguised themselves before a martial encounter in order to establish their identity through their physical abilities rather than their names.19 In the Roman d’Enéas, for example, the trickster Paris successfully judged the dispute over the golden apple, albeit with the ultimate result that his city of Troy fell to the Greeks. Similarly, Dido had founded the city of Carthage through another famous trick: making an agreement to buy as much land as could be enclosed by a bull’s hide, and then cutting that hide into strips in order to encircle a vast area.20 In short, ‘engin’ was a complex term, because of its moral ambiguity and because it offered an alternative means through which those who lacked the physical strength to secure their ends, including women, might achieve their objectives. Trickery and ruses were often used in fabliaux for comic effect, and in romances could also raise questions about the relationship between military and court cultures (and, indeed, between masculinity and femininity), as protagonists adopted disguises and preferred trickery and deceit to the normal ideal of armed combat.21 Inevitably, the problematic nature of practical prudence and ‘engin’ was most obvious and important in the context of warfare. There was a long-standing Roman tradition, channelled in particular through the writings of Vegetius, Frontinus and Valerius Maximus, that emphasized the value of trickery and deception in warfare. These classical authorities recognized the value of cunning stratagems and passed no real moral judgement on such tactics and strategies.22 Moreover, the practical reality of warfare during the Middle Ages meant that commanders needed to exploit every advantage to secure victory over their enemy. Honour did not automatically rule out the use of ruses, trickery or stratagems of warfare – that is to say, ‘cautelles d’armes’, a term derived from the Latin ‘cautus’, meaning prudent.23 Nevertheless, the use of 19

20

21

22 23

Hanning, The Individual in Twelfth-Century Romance, 115–16. This literary theme was often recreated in real life: see Vale, Edward III and Chivalry, 37, and Froissart (SHF), IV, 79–81. See Hanning, The Individual in Twelfth-Century Romance, 107–8; also see J.-J. Vincensini, ‘De la fondation de Carthage à celle de Lusignan: engin de femmes vs prouesse des hommes’, Senefiance, 42 (1998), 581–600. N. Regalado Freeman, ‘Renart and Tristan: two tricksters’, L’esprit créateur, 16 (1976), 30–8; A. Williams, Tricksters and Pranksters: Roguery in French and German Literature of the Middle Ages and Renaissance (Amsterdam, 2000); I. Machta, Poétique de la ruse dans les récits tristaniens français du XIIe siècle (Paris, 2010); G. Tanase, Jeux de masques, jeux de ruses dans la littérature française médiévale (XIIe–XVe siècles) (Paris, 2010). Wheeler, Stratagem, 21. Fresco, ‘Christine de Pizan’s Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie’, 162 note.

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such strategies and tactics of deception had to be managed so as not to appear to be motivated by cowardice. In addition, the blurring of moral and practical notions of prudence raised difficult questions about the boundary between acceptable and unacceptable trickery. It is therefore no surprise that so many medieval authors explored this question in an extremely practical manner, carefully dissecting case studies in order both to offer practical advice and to examine the real line between acceptable and unacceptable trickery, and hence to explore the complex ambiguities contained in the term ‘engin’. In short, chivalric culture did not celebrate prowess and courage to the exclusion of wisdom and intelligence. Young men might place too great an emphasis upon their physical abilities, but with age and experience would come the essential quality of prudence. Of course, this raised a second and larger question. What role could clerics and intellectuals play in the teaching of practical prudence, especially regarding warfare? Were aristocrats ready or willing to learn such practical skills, and to develop strategic and tactical wisdom through reading books, rather than the more obvious tutorship of practical experience and the advice and counsel of older warriors? In the late Middle Ages, writers were increasingly claiming a role as tutors to the knightly class, not just of the moral values and courtliness but also of much more practical military wisdom and prudence. Would men-at-arms be willing to heed such advice from clerics? After all, Matthew Paris had reported a manifesto against the clergy in 1247 that claimed that France had been won by the sweat of its warriors and not by either the learned written law (‘jus scriptum’) or the arrogance of clerks.24 Moreover, it is useful to recall the events of 14 July 1404, when pages of Charles de Savoisy famously tried to ride through a procession of scholars and teachers from the University of Paris, parading down the Rue Saint-Jacques to the church of Sainte-Catherine. The incident scandalized contemporary chroniclers, and was a clear symbol of the tense relationship between clerics and noblemen.25 The art of warfare Prudence was essential for all knights, but, above all, for those in leadership roles. Thomas Aquinas emphasized the importance of prudence for kings and political leaders, and for heads of households, but also for those with military commands, who protected the community from 24 25

Matthew Paris, Matthæi Parisiensis monachi Sancti Albani, Chronica Majora, ed. H. R. Luard (RS, 7 vols., London, 1872–84), IV, 593. L. Tournier, ‘L’université de Paris et Charles de Savoisy: une affaire d’honneur et d’état’, Bulletin de la Société de l’Histoire de Paris et de l’Ile-de-France, 122 (1995), 71–88.

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hostile attacks.26 Around 1453 Noël de Fribois provided a very careful exposition of prudence, largely translated from Aquinas, at the end of his Abregé des croniques de France.27 He declared that Aquinas’ military prudence (‘prudentia militaris’, translated as ‘prudence militaire’) was the right reason to act to repel the attacks of enemies and to organize the protection of all. Fribois also argued that courage might drive the actions of knights, but it was prudence that directed and controlled them, particularly through the person of the commander.28 There is no doubt that such comments reflected the genuine importance of strategical and tactical thinking in medieval martial culture, contrary to the myth that the Middle Ages were a time when notions of honour prevented proper reflection on the science of war.29 Medieval commanders are rarely ranked amongst the great generals of history, yet there were certainly many individuals deserving of consideration. In the late medieval period, for example, Edward III’s strategic approach to the wars in France was demonstrated by his famous campaign in Normandy in 1346 that culminated in the battle of Crécy, an attack that was carefully coordinated with independent raids in Brittany and Flanders that were designed to split the defending French forces.30 Nine years later the Black Prince led a raid into the Languedoc that was again coordinated with raids in Normandy led by Lancaster and into the north-east of France by Edward III. The prince’s target was the territory of Jean I, count of Armagnac, the Valois lieutenant in Languedoc, and the raid sent a clear message, not least to the Gascon lords whom Armagnac had been oppressing.31 From the French perspective, the greatest success of the Hundred Years War came with the recovery of Normandy between 1449 and 1450, using a coordinated, three-pronged assault. While King Charles VII and the count of Dunois drove north, capturing Verneuil, Mantes, Vernan and Argentan, the counts of Eu and St Pol led a second army from the east while François I, duke of Brittany, and his uncle, Arthur de Richemont, constable of France, invaded from the west.32 26 27 28 29

30

31 32

Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XXXVI, 14–16 [2a2ae. 47, article 4]. Noël de Fribois, Abregé des croniques de France, ed. K. Daly (SHF, Paris, 2006), 202–9. Fribois, Abregé des croniques, 209. See Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 208–37, and Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 276–349, together with the historiographical discussion of Whetham, Just Wars and Moral Victories, 7–12. See Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 52–3, (in general) 35–107, along with Y. N. Harari, ‘Inter-frontal cooperation in the fourteenth century and Edward III’s 1346 campaign’, War in History, 6 (1999), 379–5. Also see Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 14–77. E. Cosneau, Le connétable de Richemont (Arthur de Bretagne), 1393–1458 (Paris, 1886), 391–423.

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The large-scale chevauchées mounted by the English during the course of the Hundred Years War were not mindless rampages through the French countryside. These raids carefully targeted the economic resources of the French crown and served as a deliberate challenge to the authority of the ruling elite.33 Furthermore, Rogers has convincingly argued that the chevauchées were deliberate attempts to draw the enemy from their safeholds onto the battlefield.34 Amongst the direct insults that may have served to compel Philippe VI to join battle with Edward III in 1346 was the burning of the royal palaces at Montjoye and Poissy, described by the Grandes chroniques as the ‘plus grant deshonneur au royaume de France’, and also ‘traïson evident’ on the part of the nobility, who had failed to protect them.35 In 1355 the Black Prince’s expedition drove straight at Toulouse and then waited there on 26 and 27 October 1355, challenging Jean I, count of Armagnac, to battle. In this case, the count refused to fight, and as a result he was publicly humiliated.36 According to Froissart, Armagnac had urged citizens not to give battle because of the risk of a devastating defeat at the hands of the more experienced enemy, but the people of Toulouse were so angry at the count that they attacked his men within the city.37 A month later, on 26 November 1355, the Black Prince’s men captured a French prisoner, who revealed that Jean de Clermont, marshal of France, had reproached Armagnac for shamefully failing to bring the prince to battle earlier in the campaign.38 One important reason why medieval commanders have been so commonly underestimated is that surviving sources rarely allow us to reconstruct either the extent of their understanding of military strategy or the processes through which they developed plans for warfare. For example, Froissart described a French council of war in September 1373 at which Charles V, his brothers and the leading commanders, such as Bertrand du Guesclin and Olivier de Clisson, debated strategy against the English invaders, led by John of Gaunt. Yet his account was actually an imaginative summary of what actually happened in that important meeting, designed as much to explain the changing strategy to Froissart’s readers

33 34 35 36

37 38

See pages 207–10 above. See Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of strategy’, 83–102, and War Cruel and Sharp. Viard, Les grandes chroniques de France, IX, 276. See Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 55–7, 69–70, 75–7, and Rogers, War Cruel and Sharp, 308–10, together with Solon, ‘Tholosanna fides: Toulouse as a military actor’, 263–5. Froissart (SHF), IV, 161–3, 173–4. Chronicon Galfridi le Baker de Swynebroke, 137–8.

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as to report accurately on what was said.39 Indeed, although ample administrative and financial records survive to illuminate the logistics of warfare, far fewer records survive from councils of war that might reveal debates about strategy, tactics and the wider factors that were taken into consideration when determining any plan of action. Most surviving medieval accounts of war were written by outsiders, normally clerical chroniclers, who had no direct involvement in the planning of campaigns. Given the importance of secrecy when mounting a campaign, it was inevitable that these commentators would have little access to real information, and were therefore more likely to offer dramatic imaginations of the way in which strategy was determined.40 A very good example is Jean Froissart’s insistence that it was King Philippe VI who forced the battle at Crécy in 1346, whereas historians now argue that it was actually Edward III, who was trying to draw the French onto the battlefield.41 Ultimately, modern interpretation and reconstruction of medieval strategy depends largely upon the circumstantial evidence of what actually happened, because of the absence of contemporary sources that accurately recount the process through which military commanders made their decisions. There can be no question that commanders were alive to the complexities of the art of warfare, but the simple fact is that the fruits of their expertise and experience were rarely recorded or studied in written form by military practitioners.42 The medieval military life was one that was lived, rather than studied in books or taught in schools: ‘La guerre se faict a l’ueil.’43 Martial knowledge and understanding were acquired first and foremost through practical training and experience. Warriors grew up ‘in the male world of sweat, weapons, stables, horses and hounds’.44 From at least the Carolingian period, young men had been trained for the life of a cavalryman in the households and courts of princes and great warriors, developing their physical strength and the skills of riding and fighting.45 In Perceval, Chrétien de Troyes famously described the training of the eponymous hero of the romance, who learned how to control both his horse and the lance during the charge, as well as the defensive use of the 39 41 42 43

44

45

40 Froissart (SHF), VIII, 161–3. Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 42–3, 47. See Froissart (SHF), III, 137, 150, 156, 165, and footnote 34 above. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 215. P. Contamine, ‘The war literature of the late middle ages: the treatises of Robert de Balsac and Béraud de Stuart, lord of Aubigny’, in Allmand, War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages, 121. S. Shahar, Childhood in the Middle Ages (London, 1990), 210–11. Also see Bennett, ‘Military masculinity in England and northern France’, 73–6, and Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 92–6. Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 27–8.

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shield and the art of swordsmanship.46 In La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, the young hero declared that he could neither read nor write, and that he had been more inclined to beat his teachers than to sit still for lessons. When his aunt tried to stop him setting out to take part in a tournament, Du Guesclin announced that fighting was the way to learn to be a knight, just as school was the appropriate training for a young cleric.47 Skills in leadership, strategy and tactics were acquired principally through practical experience and the guidance of older and more experienced warriors. In the Livre de chevalerie, Geoffroi de Charny portrayed a military culture in which individuals developed and sharpened their skills through action and practice. He encouraged young warriors to engage in warfare in as many different contexts as possible, in order to build up their own experience, while carefully learning from those who had proved themselves in all forms of armed combat. In short, these matters were learned through practical experience, apprenticeship and conversation with experts.48 Charny juxtaposed the energetic and brave young men, keen to prove their worth, with older knights, who might have lost the physical capability to win honour on the battlefield but, instead, had an obligation to lead and to pass on their advice and experience – the role that Charny himself was adopting as an author.49 Indeed, chivalric culture constantly warned the young about the dangers posed by their lack of experience and prudence. Christine de Pizan declared that the old and wise were usually more virtuous and able to offer better advice, emphasizing that these qualities were more useful than the physical strength of the young.50 In her most successful work, the Epistre Othea (1399–1400), Christine presented a programme of education for a young squire, voiced by the goddess Othea and glossed by Christine herself to underline the moral and spiritual force of the advice. In the prologue and its gloss, Christine explained that Othea represented prudence and wisdom (‘sagece’), and that she was the mother and conductress of all virtues.51 The fact that the recipient of this advice was Hector, one of the Nine Worthies, only underlined how important prudence was for knights. Indeed, Hector’s city of Troy had been destroyed because of a lack of precisely this wisdom and foresight. Christine claimed that the disaster could have been 46 47 48 49 50

Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes, vol. V, Le conte du Graal (Perceval), ed. F. Lecoy (2 vols., Paris, 1975), I, 48–51. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, 41, 46. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 92, 100–6. The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny, 150–2, 170. 51 Pizan, Corps de policie, 34–5 [I, ch. 20] Pizan, L’épistre Othea, 197–200.

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prevented if only there had been the good judgement and prudence to listen to useful advice. Both the brothers of Hector, Helenus and Troilus, had offered counsel to Paris and Priam, but, whereas the sound judgement of Helenus was ignored, Troilus’ bad advice – which went against the prophecies – was accepted, leading to the destruction of Troy.52 Similarly, in Jean Froissart’s La prison amoureuse (c.1372–3), one of the correspondents, Rose, recounted a dream in which he was counselled by Honour, Prowess, Initiative, Youth, Loyalty, Desire and Audacity before entering battle. Yet he ignored the advice of Prudence, who counselled him to consult her mother, Moderation, and so Prudence shifted sides and supported his enemies, who won the victory. This was undoubtedly an allusion to the fate of Froissart’s patron, Wenceslas I, duke of Luxembourg (d. 1383), who had been taken prisoner at the battle of Baesweiler on 22 August 1371 and held for almost a year.53 Chivalric narratives underlined the importance and value of expert counsel and advice in warfare. Froissart’s account of the English campaign in 1346 that culminated in the battle of Crécy placed great emphasis upon the practical advice offered by Godfrey de Harcourt, firstly counselling Edward III to land in Normandy rather than Gascony, and then encouraging the English to exercise some restraint at Caen.54 Later, Froissart reported that the count of Armagnac allowed Mérigot Marchès to join his crusade in 1390 because the routier was an expert in siege warfare and an able advisor on all aspects of warfare.55 Froissart often presented mentors who advised and guided younger captains, such as Sir John Chandos, first with the Black Prince at Poitiers in 1356 and then with Jean de Montfort at Auray in 1364.56 This reflected military practice, as seen in 1396, when Philippe II le Hardi set up a council of five chief military advisors for his son Jean de Nevers as leader of the Burgundian contingent on the Nicopolis crusade, including the Admiral Jean de Vienne and the marshal of Burgundy, Guy de La Trémoïlle.57 The Burgundian chronicler Georges Chastellain praised Philippe III le Bon, duke of Burgundy, for accepting prudent counsel to give up the siege of Saint-Riquier in order to meet Armagnac troops in the successful 52 53 54 55 56 57

Pizan, L’épistre Othea, 308–9, 312–13, 324–6. Froissart, La prison amoureuse, 138–74. See Froissart (SHF), III, 131–2, 145–6, together with Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 45–7. Froissart (SHF), XIV, 162; also see Ainsworth, Jean Froissart and the Fabric of History, 125–49. Froissart (SHF), V, 46–7, VI, 155–7; also see Froissart (Amiens), III, 111, 338–9. See Lalande, Jean II Le Meingre, dit Boucicaut, 59, and B. Schnerb, ‘Le contingent franco-bourguignon à la croisade de Nicopolis’, Annales de Bourgogne, 68 (1996), 62–3.

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encounter at Mons-en-Vimeu on 30 August 1421.58 Jean Juvénal des Ursins noted that Alexander the Great was counselled by experienced military veterans, all aged over sixty, because commanders in battle should be guided by reason and good advice.59 The failure to accept counsel and advice from experts was frequently presented as an explanation for military defeat. Froissart’s account of the disaster at Crécy, drawing heavily upon Jean Le Bel, provides a good example. Froissart reported that Philippe VI had been so angry with the English that he would not delay the attack, despite careful advice from the knight Henri Le Moine de Bale, who had scouted the enemy position and said that the French should wait, rest and plan the battle formation, considering the enemy’s position. In addition, the French knights were rash, wanting to outdo one another and to win glory, and therefore abandoned all order and discipline, unlike the English.60 Froissart also reported that, at Poitiers, Eustache de Ribemont advised fighting on foot and using just 300 cavalry to break the English archers’ formation – a plan that was quickly forgotten, as the cardinal of Périgord became involved in negotiations to prevent the battle.61 According to his biography, Bertrand du Guesclin advised Enrique da Trastámara before the battle of Nájera in April 1367 to allow hunger to weaken the enemy army before attacking them. This advice was ignored, and so Du Guesclin found himself fighting in the front line, a first-hand witness to the Black Prince’s great victory.62 The Chronique de la Pucelle charged young French aristocrats and the Scottish troops led by the earl of Douglas with pushing for battle at Verneuil in 1424, describing them as hasty youths who rashly called for battle against the advice of the wise counsel of the elder figures on the council.63 Successful military leaders also learned from their mistakes and from their enemies, observing and reflecting on the lessons of past military campaigns. The modern biographers of military commanders such as Edward III and Jean sans Peur, duke of Burgundy, stress the ways in which these individuals reflected on their early experiences, adapting their strategy and tactics in light of such lessons and borrowing from their enemies.64

58 59 60

61 63 64

Œuvres de Georges Chastellain, I, 252. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 236. See Chronique de Jean le Bel, II, 101–2, and Froissart (SHF), III, 172–5. Also see J. Viard, ‘Henri le Moine de Bâle à la bataille de Crécy’, Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes, 67 (1906), 489–96. 62 Froissart (SHF), V, 21–3. La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 245–6. Cousinot, Chronique de la Pucelle ou Chronique de Cousinot, 223–4. Rogers, ‘Edward III and the dialectics of strategy’, 85–8, and War Cruel and Sharp; DeVries, ‘John the Fearless’ way of war’, 39–55.

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After the disaster at Crécy in 1346, the French changed their tactics in battle and largely fought on foot, with cavalry charges directed at the flanks or the rear of the enemy formations at Poitiers, Roosebeke and Agincourt.65 In 1436 Arthur de Richemont took members of his retinue to the battlefield of Agincourt in order to discuss the tactics and deployments in their original terrain. Richemont had been captured at the battle, and his personal reaction to the disaster undoubtedly shaped the account given by his biographer, Guillaume Gruel, who reported that the battlefield had been too narrow for the French, that the Lombard and Gascon cavalrymen had failed to attack the English flanks as had been agreed and that the English archers had broken up the French formations.66 In 1440 Jean Juvénal des Ursins presented the English as an example to the French, observing that the enemy were united and obedient towards their captains, made effective use of both their cavalry and their infantry and were skilful in all ways of waging war. The lesson that Juvénal des Ursins drew from this was the need for French soldiers to acquire similar skills and qualities through training and practice, conveniently justifying the significant military reforms that King Charles VII had begun to introduce the previous year.67 The value of books The very practical nature of medieval martial culture raises difficult questions about the role of intellectuals and of books in teaching princes or captains about military science. In Le livre du corps de policie, Christine argued that an experienced and worthy knight should tutor a prince in the honour and valour of knighthood (‘honneur et vaillance de chevalerie’), telling him stories about the great deeds of brave knights, but also instructing him in practical skills such as how to fight and what armour to use.68 Indeed, she declared that one ought to believe each expert in his own art, and so the prince should consult lawyers regarding legal matters but knights and soldiers regarding warfare.69 This was a commonplace notion. For example, in Le confort d’ami (1357), Guillaume de Machaut advised Charles II, king of Navarre, not to make a clerk his advisor in war (‘consaus d’armes’), because the job of such men was to pray for souls, to sing Masses or to study. Rather, a ruler 65

66 67 68

M. Bennett, ‘The development of battle tactics in the Hundred Years War’, in Curry and Hughes, Arms, Armies and Fortifications in the Hundred Years War (Woodbridge, 1994), 1–20. Gruel, Chronique d’Arthur de Richemont, 17–18, 126. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 401–3; also see II, 237–9. 69 Pizan, Corps du policie, 5–6 [I, ch. 3]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 37 [I, ch. 22].

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should take counsel from those who actually did the things about which they offered advice.70 Similarly, Eustache Deschamps argued that it would be folly to seek advice on military matters from clerks who had no experience of such matters. It would be far more sensible to heed the advice of men-at-arms, who actually knew about the ‘science’ of warfare.71 Nevertheless, medieval writers and intellectuals consistently asserted the value of their learning and books for warriors. John of Salisbury had famously emphasized the importance of learning for courtiers and knights in Policraticus.72 Roger Bacon in the 1260s upheld the value of learned culture for warriors in his proposal for the defence of Christendom against Islam.73 The parallel and mutual importance of clerical learning and knighthood quickly became a common topos for writers. In the prologue to Cligès, Chrétien de Troyes famously praised France as the heir to both the knighthood and the learning that had previously made the Greeks and the Romans pre-eminent.74 Guillaume de Nangis and Philippe de Vitry imagined the fleur-de-lys as representing the three values of ‘sapientia’, ‘militia’ and ‘fides’.75 Thus the biographer of Boucicaut declared that knighthood (‘chevalerie’) and learning (‘science’) were established by God as the twin pillars that supported the order of divine and human laws. Without both these pillars, men would fall back into chaos, and therefore people should praise learning and read books, without which no one could know anything that they had not seen with their own eyes, particularly regarding the great heroes who had lived in the past. This provided a natural introduction and justification for the biography of Boucicaut, who was presented as a role model because of his virtue, habits, gentility, prowess, courage and deeds of arms.76 Jean Gerson also declared that knighthood could not last long without true learning, and therefore celebrated the calibre of French writers capable of praising those brave warriors who, alongside France’s wise men, had contributed to its glory.77 In short, writers asserted the 70 72 73 74

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71 Machaut, Le confort d’ami, 161. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 310. John of Salisbury, Policratici; also see J. Flori, ‘La chevalerie selon Jean de Salisbury (nature, fonction, idéologie)’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 77 (1982), 35–77. Opus Majus of Roger Bacon, ed. J. H. Bridges (3 vols., Oxford, 1902), I, 1, II, 217. See Les romans de Chrétien de Troyes, II, Cligès, 1–2, together with L. C. Reis, ‘The paratext to Chrétien de Troyes’ Cligès: a reappraisal of the question of authorship and readership in the prologue’, French Studies, 65 (2011), 1–16. See Chronique latine de Guillaume de Nangis, I, 181–3, and A. Piaget, ‘Le chapel des fleurs de lis par Philippe de Vitri’, Romania, 27 (1898), 72. Also see Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 115–16, II, 179–80. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 6–10. See G. Ouy, ‘Le brouillon inachevé d’un traité de Gerson contre Jean de Monzon’, Romania, 83 (1962), 472, along with Taylor, ‘The ambivalent influence of Italian letters’, 215–17.

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value of books as sources for the stories of great heroes and their deeds of arms, as inspirational models for the future. Froissart famously declared in the prologue to the Chroniques that his work would encourage young knights to do well and to aspire to the perfection of honour, emphasizing that only writing offered a secure means to preserve this crucial knowledge.78 Yet books were presented as more than just inspiration for young men to perform great feats of arms, because they could also play an active role in the teaching of prudence if they recorded the experience accumulated by others. In Antoine de La Sale’s Jehan de Saintré, the Dame des Belles Cousines advised her young charge to read books for pleasure and to instruct his mind, but also to provide him with the knowledge and wisdom with which to counsel his lord.79 In terms of military matters, books, particularly chronicles, were presented as sources of advice on strategy and tactics – in other words, the science or art of warfare.80 In the preface to his translation of Livy’s history of Rome, completed around 1358, Pierre Bersuire declared that forward-thinking (‘clervoiant’) princes would wish to learn from the martial wisdom (‘senz d’armes’) by which ancient princes had conquered, built and defended empires and kingdoms, and especially from the Romans, who had been so successful because of their constancy, wisdom and deeds of arms. He therefore recommended his translation of Livy, a writer who had more wisdom and cleverness (‘engin’) than Bersuire, just as King Jean II possessed the most noble cleverness of any prince.81 Similarly, Jean Gerson emphasized the value of reading chronicles and histories in order to learn about war and strategy, just as the great heroes of the past had done. In his sermon Vivat rex, delivered on 7 November 1405, Gerson argued that a clever stratagem could be more useful than an armed host in defeating an enemy, and hence it was important to read in order to learn such tricks.82 Late in the fifteenth century, Philippe de Commynes argued that one of the best ways for a man to become wise (‘saiges’) was to read ancient histories in order to learn how to conduct his affairs, following the example of his predecessors. His central argument was that histories offered access to a range of human experiences that could not be acquired in twenty consecutive lifetimes.83 The crucial point made by these intellectuals was that experience could be absorbed second-hand through books, which recorded the 78 79 80 81 82

Froissart (SHF), I, ii, 3; also see Ainsworth, Jean Froissart and the Fabric of History, 7–8. La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, 76–7; also see Oeuvres complètes d’Antoine de La Sale, II, 5–6. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 214. Samaran and Monfrin, ‘Pierre Bersuire’, 359–60; also see Translations médiévales, II, 250–2. 83 Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, VII, ii, 1168. Commynes, Mémoires, I, 120–3.

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practical wisdom of others and thereby provided a platform for the learner to absorb and to build upon the knowledge of experts. Ramon Llull had called for the establishment of schools to teach the knowledge and science of knighthood to young knights. He had argued that knights could not rely on transmitting knowledge from father to son like an apprentice and taking part in tournaments and battles. Knights should also study the ‘science’ of chivalry through books in schools, paralleling the work of clerks, who studied ‘science et doctrine’ in order to know and to love God and his works, and to give doctrine to the laity.84 For Valois writers, Charles V was the archetype of a wise and prudent king.85 Noël de Fribois’ discussion of prudence was introduced by his declaration that King Charles V of France was known as ‘le Saige’ for his wisdom and prudence (‘sapience et prudence’).86 Instrumental in establishing Charles’ reputation was a biography written by Christine de Pizan, who praised the king for a number of qualities, including his prudence.87 This was seen in all aspects of his rule, including his achievement of significant military victories through acting wisely and prudently (‘sagement et prudement’), thereby demonstrating that ‘chevalerie’ did not involve the thoughtless use of arms but, rather, was about intelligent, reasoned leadership in defence of the realm.88 Christine argued that Charles’ prudence came from his natural wisdom, as well as his willingness to accept the advice of experienced counsellors, including scholars from the University of Paris.89 Moreover, he was himself very well read, having commissioned translations of a host of important works by Aristotle, Vegetius, Valerius Maximus, Titus Livy, John of Salisbury and many other great scholars, whose books offered lessons and knowledge (‘enseignemens et sciences’).90 Indeed, Christine upheld the value of books on military matters by wise and acknowledged authors for those who were not already expert in the field. Because it was impossible for anyone to learn any science or art without a knowledge of its basics, 84 85

86 87

88 89 90

Llull, Livre de l’ordre de chevalerie, 92–6. C. R. Sherman, The Portraits of Charles V of France, 1338–1380 (New York, 1969), and ‘Representations of Charles V as a wise ruler’, Medievalia et humanistica, new series, 2 (1971), 83–96; J. Quillet, Charles V le roi lettré: essai sur la pensée politique d’un règne (Paris, 1984). Fribois, Abregé des croniques, 200. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 11; also see Richarz, ‘Prudence and wisdom’, 99–116, and S. J. Dudash, ‘Prudence et chevalerie dans le Livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V’, Cahiers de recherches médiévales et humanistes, 16 (2008), 225–38. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 132–3. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 46–9, 50–2. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 42–6. Also see Le songe du vergier, I, 222.

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written science (‘la science escripre’) would provide a foundation for those wishing to develop a practical mastery of military matters. Indeed, it was impossible for any man to carry all that he needed to know in his head, so written records by ancient authors could be useful supplements even for those who were already experts. Thus she described herself as supplying bricks from which a sound mastery of military matters could be built.91 For Christine, of course, her authority to speak on matters of chivalry and warfare was potentially undermined not just by her lack of direct experience but also by her gender.92 To combat any possible prejudices, she frequently invoked the precedent and authority of another female who had provided teaching on military matters, the goddess Minerva, who had initiated the art of forging armour and also gave directions for tactics in battle.93 In the Epistre Othea, Christine emphasized Minerva’s role as an armourer and the mother of Hector, but also said that Minerva was synonymous with Pallas Athena, goddess of wisdom, underlining the need to combine knighthood with ‘sagece’.94 Nonetheless, Christine also justified her discussion of the laws and the science of warfare and chivalry in Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie by presenting herself as building upon the expertise of others, using her facility with language to communicate the ideas of these real authorities in a comprehensible manner.95 She described herself as cutting branches from the limbs of Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles, and argued that, in general, she was merely borrowing fruit from other trees in order to disseminate them.96 The most important of Christine’s authorities was the Epitoma rei militaris, also recommended by Monstrelet as a source of advice on the bravery and prudence of knighthood (‘vaillance et prudence de chevalerie’).97 The Epitoma rei militaris was written by Flavius Vegetius Renatus between 383 and 450 AD.98 Vegetius was not a military man but, rather, a well-read administrator serving in the Western Roman Empire. He drew heavily upon earlier Latin literature on warfare in order to present 91 92 93

94 96 97 98

Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 189–92. E. L. Wheeler, ‘Christine de Pizan’s Livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie: gender and the prefaces’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 46 (2002), 119–61. She also compared herself to an embroiderer, merely putting together materials prepared by others: Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 5–6, 191–2, and Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 22–3 [I, ch. 1]. In Le livre de l’advision Cristine, 110, she reported that Nature had told her to use the tools of learning to hammer out upon an anvil the material that she would be given. 95 Pizan, L’épistre Othea, 221–4. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 21–2 [I, ch. 1]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 184–5 [III, ch. 1]. La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 125. Also see page 252 below. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris.

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an idealized, nostalgic and reformist vision for the Roman army in the western provinces in the late fourth or early fifth century.99 Vegetius claimed to be recovering knowledge of the science of arms (doctrina armorum), which had been lost during long years of peace, by recording the experience of experts such as Cato the Censor, Cornelius Celsus, Frontinus and Tarruntenus Paternus, and the constitutions of Augustus, Trajan and Hadrian. Citing the maxim ‘Brave deeds belong to a single age, but what is written for the benefit of the state is eternal’, which he attributed to Cato the Censor, Vegetius offered a compilation of material drawn from the histories and books of these writers.100 The result was certainly more original than Vegetius implied when he acknowledged his debt to earlier writers and ideas, yet this notion of the writer as the keeper and transmitter of military science was a very powerful idea. Translating Vegetius around 1320, Jean de Vignay argued that the ancients had originally developed the practice of recording their knowledge and understanding (‘le science et le sens’) because the human memory is unreliable, and so they wished to aid future generations. Vignay therefore declared that the advice of the ancients was invaluable for those wishing to be wise and to learn arms.101 Indeed, one of the manuscripts of Vignay’s translation concluded by declaring that the teaching offered by Vegetius was useful because sense and skill with arms were more valuable in securing victory in battle than the courage and weight of numbers of uneducated men.102 There is no doubting the impact of the Epitoma rei militaris upon late medieval intellectual and chivalric culture. The treatise was used consistently by writers of didactic works. For example, John of Salisbury discussed the position and role of the army in society in his Policraticus, completed in 1159, drawing heavily upon Vegetius to emphasize the need for a ruler to be able to fight, underlining the importance of knighthood as the order whose task was to protect society and calling upon the prince to discipline the soldiers fighting under his command in defence of the patria.103 Giles of Rome used Vegetius heavily in his De regimine principum, written for the future King Philippe IV between 1275 and 1277. Giles discussed the military role and responsibilities of princes in the third and final section of book III, citing Vegetius directly nineteen times, though by and large he preferred to express the ideas in his own 99 100 101 102 103

Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 1–2. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 12–13 [I, ch. 8], 37–8 [II, ch. 3]. Li livres Flave Vegece de la chose de chevalerie par Jean de Vignay, ed. L. Löfstedt (AASF 214, Helsinki, 1982), 37. Li livres Flave Vegece de la chose de chevalerie par Jean de Vignay, 122. Allmand, The De Re Militari, 84–91.

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words.104 Philippe de Vitry, secretary to Philippe IV, argued in Le chapel des fleurs de lis that the study of Vegetius would lead to the invincibility of knights, and included a translation of the Regulae belli generales (from Epitoma rei militaris, book III, chapter 26) in his poem.105 In the middle of the fourteenth century the anonymous author of L’estat et le gouvernement comme les princes et seigneurs se doivent gouverner advised princes to read both Vegetius and Giles of Rome.106 At the beginning of the fifteenth century Jean Gerson listed twenty-two volumes that he believed were essential for the library of a young prince, including ‘Vegecius de re militari, translatus’.107 Christine de Pizan was the most prominent Valois author of treatises on chivalry and warfare to make extensive use of Vegetius, as, for example, in the first book of Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie, completed in 1410.108 At the same time, a programme of translation made Vegetius’ work accessible to a much wider audience.109 By 1271 the Epitoma rei militaris had been translated into Anglo-Norman at the English court for the future King Edward I.110 In 1284 Jean de Meun completed a more successful translation for Jean I de Brienne, count of Eu.111 By 1291 Jean Priorat of Besançon had produced a verse interpretation of Meun’s translation for Jean de Chalon-Arlay, uncle of the count of Burgundy: Li abrejance de l’ordre de chevalerie.112 Around thirty years later another famous translator, Jean de Vignay, prepared a new, more literal prose translation, arguing that this was necessary because Latin was not 104

105

106 107 108 109 110 111

112

Giles of Rome, Aegidii Columnae Romani, De regimine principum, libri III, ed. H. Samaritanius (Rome, 1607; repr. Aalen, 1967); also see C. F. Briggs, Giles of Rome’s De Regimine Principum: Reading and Writing Politics at Court and University, c. 1275–c. 1525 (Cambridge, 1999), and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 105–12. See Piaget, ‘Le chapel des fleurs de lis’, 83–5, and Le livre de l’art de chevalerie de Vegece: traduction anonyme de 1380, ed. L. Löfstedt, O. Merisalo, E. Suomela-Härmä, R. Salminen and L. Juhani Eerikäinen (AASF 236, Helsinki, 1989), 157–60. Also see Translations médiévales, II, 258–9. Four English Political Tracts, 209. Gerson, Oeuvres complètes, II, 212–13. See Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 121–7, and Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie. Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 148–96, 362–6; also see Translations médiévales, II, 256–60. See Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 152–3, 362, and Translations médiévales, II, 256–7. This survives in over twenty manuscripts. See Meun, ‘Li abregemenz noble honme Vegesce Flave René’, Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 153–9, 362, and Translations médiévales, II, 257. This survives in just one manuscript. See Jean Priorat, Li abrejance de l’ordre de chevalerie, mise en vers de la traduction de Végèce de Jean de Meun par Jean Priorat de Besançon, ed. U. Robert (SATF, Paris, 1897), Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 160–2, 362, and Translations médiévales, II, 257.

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commonly understood by knights; a further, anonymous, translation was completed in 1380.113 Meanwhile, Latin treatises that relied heavily upon Vegetius were also translated into the vernacular, providing another path through which his ideas reached lay readers. For example, Giles of Rome’s treatise was translated into French by Henri de Gauchi in 1282, a work that survives in thirty manuscripts.114 Nearly a century later, in 1372, John of Salisbury’s Policraticus was translated into French for King Charles V by Denis Foulechat.115 Meanwhile, a second classical treatise on warfare became increasingly influential during the fourteenth century: the Strategemata, written by Frontinus before AD 104.116 The author, Frontinus, had served in the Roman army in Germany and been governor of Britain from around AD 76 to 78. He wrote the Strategemata after AD 84 as a collection of examples to support and illustrate the arguments offered in another book that he had written, a treatise on military science (which does not survive).117 The Strategemata collected together nearly 600 historical case studies involving famous figures such as Alexander, Hannibal and Caesar, drawn from a range of Latin and Greek sources including the writings of Sallust, Titus Livy and Julius Caesar. Vegetius had used the Strategemata as a source for the Epitoma rei militaris, and its collection of stories provided a natural companion piece to Vegetius’ work, serving as exempla to illustrate the principles outlined in that great treatise. In effect, the Epitoma rei militaris was the replacement for Frontinus’ lost companion treatise to the Strategemata.118

113

114 115 116

117 118

See Li livres Flave Vegece de la chose de chevalerie par Jean de Vignay, 38, and Le livre de l’art de chevalerie de Vegece: traduction anonyme de 1380. There are ten manuscripts containing Vignay’s translation and two copies of the anonymous 1380 translation. Also see Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 162–8, 363, and Translations médiévales, II, 258. Gauchi, Li livres du governement des rois. The translation survives in three manuscripts. Translations médiévales, II, 619–20. Sextus Julius Frontinus, Iuli Frontini strategemata, ed. R. I. Ireland (Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana, Leipzig, 1990). There were, of course, other works that provided advice on military matters, such as the Rosier des guerres, an anonymous work commissioned by Louis XI around 1481 or 1482, and Xenophon’s biography of the Persian king Cyrus the Great, the Cyropaedia, translated in 1470 by Vasco da Lucena for Charles, duke of Burgundy. See Le rosier des guerres and Vasque de Lucène et la Cyropédie à la cour de Bourgogne (1470): le traité de Xénophon mis en français d’après la version latine du Pogge: étude, édition des livres 1 et 5, ed. D. GalletGuerne (Travaux d’humanisme et Renaissance 140, Geneva, 1974). Also see pages 253–5 below. Iuli Frontini strategemata, 1, discussed by Wheeler, Stratagem, 19–20. See Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 13, 37–8 [I, ch. 8, II, ch. 3], and C. T. Allmand, ‘A Roman text on war: the Strategemata of Frontinus in the middle ages’, in Coss and Tyerman, Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen, 154–5.

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Frontinus’ treatise was well known in the Middle Ages, used, for example, as a source of stories by John of Salisbury in his discussion of military matters in the Policraticus.119 Frontinus became even more influential in France towards the end of the fourteenth century, however, after Simon de Hesdin and Nicolas de Gonesse translated Valerius Maximus’ Facta et dicta memorabilia into French, extending a list of stratagems by adding forty-nine examples drawn from the four books of Frontinus.120 This material was then used by both Christine de Pizan and Antoine de La Sale, largely recopying the text of Simon de Hesdin’s translation.121 Then, between 1422 and 1425, Jean de Rouvroy (d. 1461) prepared a full translation of Frontinus for King Charles VII, with additional passages from the Bible, Justin, Orosius, Titus Livy and Caesar.122 Perhaps the most accessible materials were the distillations of both Vegetius’ and Frontinus’ advice into simple rules and aphorisms. In the twenty-sixth chapter of the third book of the Epitoma rei militaris, Vegetius had offered a list of Regulae belli generales.123 Philippe de Vitry translated these rules in his poem Le chapel des trois fleurs de lis, written to promote the crusade that King Philippe VI planned for 1335, and announced on 25 July 1332.124 Later, an anonymous author prepared an interlineal translation offering the rules both in the original Latin and in French, and, in five manuscripts, translated extracts from Vegetius’ Regulae belli generales were included alongside Jean de Rouvroy’s translation of Frontinus’ Strategemata.125 Finally, an anonymous translator and compiler prepared Les soubtilités de Frontin, a collection of examples from the Strategemata that most accorded with the Epitoma rei militaris of Vegetius.126

119

120 121

122

123 124 125

126

See J. Martin, ‘John of Salisbury’s manuscripts of Frontinus and of Gellius’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 40 (1977), 1–26, and Allmand, ‘A Roman text on war’, 162–3. Translations médiévales, II, 254–5. Christine de Pizan used Paris, BNF MS fr. 282, for her Livre du corps de policie and Livre des faits d’armes. Also see Oeuvres complètes d’Antoine de La Sale, I, 23–62, together with M. Lecourt, ‘Une source d’Antoine de La Sale: Simon de Hesdin’, Romania, 76 (1955), 39–83, 183–211. See R. Bossuat, ‘Jean de Rovroy, traducteur des Stratagèmes de Frontin’, Bibliothèque d’humanisme et renaissance, 22 (1960), 273–86, 469–89, and Translations médiévales, II, 195–6. S. Anglo, ‘Vegetius’ De re militari: the triumph of mediocrity’, Antiquaries Journal, 82 (2002), 248. See footnote 105 above. See L. Löfstedt, ‘Lez regles do governement dez baitelles’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 78 (1977), 292–9, and ‘Aucuns notables extraitz du livre de Vegece’, Neuphilologische Mitteilungen, 83 (1982), 297–312, together with Translations médiévales, II, 259–60. Translations médiévales, II, 196.

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It is important to stress that late medieval writers were more than willing to adapt and to expand upon their classical sources, blending the wisdom offered by such texts with more recent practical experience in the laws and science of warfare. In other words, the Epitoma rei militaris was not treated as a permanent, unchanging model of military wisdom but, rather, used as the starting point for an ongoing debate about warfare and chivalry. Monstrelet acknowledged the extraordinary success of the Romans, and acknowledged the book written by ‘un trèsrenommé philosophe nommé Végèce, qu’il feist de la vaillance et prudence de chevalerie’. He argued that war had changed a great deal since that time, though, with the development of new instruments and subtleties, which therefore justified his own chronicle both as a record of more recent achievements and as a source of information on the new practices. Monstrelet therefore asserted the value of modern additions to the books of ‘sciences composés par les saiges anciens’ by ‘clercs sages et éloquens, philosophes et poëtes’.127 Giles of Rome added a chapter on siege engines to the material that he drew from Vegetius, though this was ignored by the French translators of his De regimine principum.128 Jean de Meun’s translation of the Epitoma rei militaris was augmented by references to the history of Greece and Rome, more recent events such as the battle of Bouvines or the defeat of Conradin, and the happenings ‘de nostre tens et de nostre souvenance’.129 Christine de Pizan supplemented the advice provided by ancient authorities such as Vegetius with contemporary treatises such as that of Honorat Bovet, and also with information drawn directly from military experts. Thus she argued that things had changed from the time of Vegetius, when more troops fought on horseback than foot, and so she preferred to discuss contemporary battle order, citing recent practice at the battles of Roosebeke (1382) and Othée (September 1408).130 With regard to sieges, she famously relied on the guidance of unidentified, wise knights for advice on the equipment needed for a siege – advice that was subsequently taken up by Jean de Bueil in Le jouvencel.131 127 128

129 130 131

La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, IV, 125–9, and also see I, 306–7. The chapter did appear in the fifteenth-century translation for the count of Laval, in Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal MS 5062, fos. 219v–220r, as well as Pierre Des Gros’ Jardin des nobles, in Paris, BNF MS 193, fol. 276r. Meun, Li abregemenz noble honme Vegesce Flave René, 10–13. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 88–9 [I, ch. 23]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 148–62 [II, chs. 20–33]; also see B. S. Hall, ‘So notable ordynaunce: Christine de Pizan, firearms and siegecraft in a time of transition’, in C. De Backer (ed.), Culturhistorische caleidescoop: aangebodenaan aan Prof. Dr. Willy L. Braekman (Ghent, 1992), 219–40, together with M. Szkilnik, ‘The art of compiling in Jean de Bueil’s Jouvencel (1461–1468)’, Fifteenth-Century Studies, 36 (2011), 169–80.

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At the same time, experienced soldiers also began to commit their expertise in the art of warfare to writing. Eustache Deschamps drew on his own experience of war in Flanders in 1386 and 1387 to make modest comments about the importance of strategy and advance planning. In a ballad on the qualities of a good captain, Deschamps urged such a man to establish complete control and not allow any division that might undermine the company, ensuring that justice prevailed and controlling the pursuit of profits in war.132 In the Lay de plour, Deschamps advised anyone who wished to wage war to stop the enemy at the frontier rather than allow them to rampage through the countryside, destroying the morale and courage of the troops charged with defending the kingdom.133 Deschamps also warned men-at-arms against elementary mistakes or recklessness, such as breaking their formation or forgetting to establish a vanguard, assign scouts or even appoint a night watch.134 A more significant example was Philippe de Mézières, an experienced military commander, who advised anyone aspiring to military leadership to read Vegetius’ book ‘De la chose chevalereuse’.135 He also provided his own advice on military matters, though, namely the ‘XV reigles de la discipline de chevalerie’, together with a further five key pieces of advice for the war with the English, and thirty more points regarding crusading, melding Vegetius’ and his own experience.136 This practical approach was also echoed in Mézières’ pamphlets for the Order of the Knighthood of the Passion of Jesus Christ, which offered not just spiritual meditations on the necessity of crusade but also extremely detailed discussions of the organization, logistics and rules of the order. In the Sustance de la Chevalerie de la Passion de Jhesu Crist en françois (1389–94), he presented a detailed description of the structure, arms, schools and rules and regulations for the order, and then in the final draft, De la Chevalerie de la Passion de Jhesu Christ

132

133 134 135

136

Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, III, 81–3. Also see T. Lassabatère, ‘Théorie et éthique de la guerre dans l’oeuvre d’Eustace Deschamps’, in Contamine and Guyotjeannin, La guerre, la violence et les gens au moyen âge, vol. I, Guerre et violence, 35–48, and La cité des hommes: Eustache Deschamps, expression poetique et vision politique (Paris, 2011), 314–45. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 309. Oeuvres complètes de Eustache Deschamps, II, 213. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 520, and also see II, 380–1, where he recommends a number of books, including Valerius Maximus, Vegetius and the ‘livre du gouvernement des princes’, presumably a French translation of Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 508–20, II, 379–81, 431–40.

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(1396), Mézières added further discussion of the members of his militia and the vessels and other resources that they would need.137 Antoine de La Sale was an experienced man-at-arms, the son of a mercenary captain, Bernard de La Sale, known as Chicot (d. 1391). Antoine took part in Louis II d’Anjou’s second expedition into Italy and the crusade led by João I of Portugal against the Moors in 1415, before preparing a didactic treatise, La salade (1442–4), for Jean II, duke of Calabria and of Lorraine, son of René d’Anjou. This work included a long discussion of ‘fallasses ou tromperies’ used principally in warfare, drawn primarily from Valerius Maximus, together with a series of chapters discussing the appropriate choices for captains, commanders of war and other leaders within the army, how squires should become knights, and a series of pieces of advice for commanders entering battles and wars, partially inspired by Vegetius.138 After La Sale had left René’s service, in 1448, he entered the service of Louis de Luxembourg, and wrote a further didactic treatise, La sale (1451), and his most famous work, the romance Jehan de Saintré (1456). This narrative offered little practical advice on warfare, but the Dame des Belles Cousines did advise her young lover that a true gentleman and lover was not disposed to the study of the sciences of theology or law but only the noble and illustrious science and profession of arms (‘science et mestier des armes’).139 The best example, though, was Le jouvencel, in which Jean de Bueil presented a sophisticated analysis of the science of warfare, drawing upon his extensive practical experience and knowledge, packaged within the form of a romance or chivalric biography. Bueil warned that, just as monarchs must have professionals for law, so they must have professionals for war, because the conduct of war required guile and subtlety, and needed to be governed by art and by science (‘par art et par science’), which individuals gradually mastered step by step.140 Following a successful raid, the Jouvencel described himself and his men as clerks in the science of war, having acquired their knowledge and experience through great pain, effort and danger.141 Similarly, Étienne de Vignolles, also known as La Hire, had become ‘ung bon docteur en ceste science’ of war after years of experience.142 Indeed, Bueil’s secretary, Tringant, declared that, after the French defeat at Verneuil in 1424, the English had been 137

138 139 141 142

See Hamdy, ‘Philippe de Mézières and the New Order of the Passion’, 45–54, and ‘Philippe de Mézières and the New Order of the Passion (part II)’, 1–105; also see Molinier, ‘Description de deux manuscrits’, 335–64. Oeuvres complètes d’Antoine de La Sale, I, 23–62, 233–45. Also see footnote 121 above. 140 La Sale, Jehan de Saintré, 29–30. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 15. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 149–50, and also see 101. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 246.

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defeated by the good sense of King Charles VII and by the bravery of men such as La Hire, as they had waited for the next generation of young men, such as the Jouvencel, to become wise (‘saiges’) and strong enough to serve.143 Nevertheless, in Le jouvencel, personal experience was not enough for the hero, who still needed to hear the advice offered by the lord of Chamblay. This counsel was a fusion of advice from Vegetius and earlier sources such as Christine’s Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie, combined with Jean de Bueil’s own practical experience. He discussed military tactics and also argued that training, preparation, reconnaissance and even spying were necessary for success, arguing that it was necessary to renew military thinking (‘sciences’) in every age, in response to changes to warfare.144 Thus Bueil also offered his own extensive experience, advising that an army fighting on foot should form its battle lines early, and warning of the various dangers of walking foot troops into battle and of changing an army’s formation in front of the enemy.145 He also presented examples of military ruses, such as the raid on Escallon in which soldiers were hidden close to the city, while others lured the defenders out to be trapped between the two forces.146

Reading Vegetius Military historians continue to debate the practical impact in the Middle Ages of works such as Vegetius’ great treatise. There is certainly no doubt that the Epitoma rei militaris remained the foremost authority on the art of warfare.147 Goffart has famously pronounced Vegetius to be ‘the philosopher-schoolmaster of Western chivalry’ and described his treatise as ‘the bible of warfare throughout the middle ages – the soldier’s equivalent of the Rule of St Benedict’.148 More recently, Richardot has claimed that Vegetius’ fortune in the military art was comparable to that of St Augustine in philosophy and theology.149 The appeal of Vegetius for medieval clerics and intellectuals was clear. On the one hand, the Epitoma rei militaris offered a strong emphasis upon 143 144 145 146 147

148 149

Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 273. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 17, 33–4, II, 31–66; also see Szkilnik, ‘The art of compiling’, 169–71. See Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, II, 62–5, together with I, 15, 153, 189. Le jouvencel par Jean de Bueil, I, 114–17, 130–6. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 210; J. A. Wisman, ‘L’Epitoma rei militaris de Végèce et sa fortune au moyen âge’, Le moyen âge, 85 (1979), 13–31; P. Richardot, Végèce et la culture militaire au moyen âge (Ve–XVe siècles) (Paris, 1998); Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius. W. Goffart, ‘The date and purpose of Vegetius’ De re militari’, Traditio, 33 (1977), 65. Richardot, Végèce et la culture militaire, 5.

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discipline and self-control, which had always spoken to the monastic contexts in which the manuscripts were so often preserved.150 Allmand has noted that most copies of the Latin text were owned by clerks and mendicants interested in the ‘episodes emphasising such moral virtues as courage, honesty and perseverance, which could be turned to good purpose in their sermons’.151 At the same time, Vegetius offered medieval intellectuals the credibility to claim authority in the science of warfare – an area in which they had no practical expertise or knowledge.152 Moreover, Vegetius provided a framework within which to comment on and even to criticize contemporary practice. The Epitoma rei militaris was originally written at a time of Roman decline, for which Vegetius advocated improvements in recruitment and training, as well as a renewed attention to the wisdom of the past as recorded in books. As Anglo has observed, the Epitoma rei militari was significant precisely because it was an appeal for a renewal of old values (age usually unspecified); because it was a diatribe against the use of mercenaries; because it was a eulogy of conscripted, national armies; because it was an encomium of constant, rigorous, systematic military training; and, above all, because it offered the hope that, if only you did the right things, you could form an army just like that of the all-conquering Romans.153

In short, Vegetius appeared to offer a ‘remedy for alleged military failures in recruitment and training, army organization and strategy, and arms and equipment’.154 The problem is determining whether the clerical and intellectual fascination with Vegetius was actually shared by lay audiences. Murray has said, ‘To show that philosophers saw the mind as the key to successful warfare, then, is no problem. It was natural for them to think so. Where problems start is in showing that practical men of war thought the same.’155 While it is certainly true that clerics and intellectuals valued 150

151 152

153 154 155

N. Orme, From Childhood to Chivalry: The Education of the English Kings and Aristocracy, 1066–1530 (London, 1984), 182–91; also see Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 14, 64. Allmand, ‘A Roman text on war’, 161. Lusignan compares the example of Vegetius with that of Vitruvius, invoked by medieval intellectuals in order to claim expertise in building: S. Lusignan, Parler vulgairement: les intellectuels et la langue française aux XIIIe et XIVe siècles (Montreal, 1987), 89–90. See also G. H. Allard, ‘Les arts mécaniques aux yeux de l’idéologie médiévale’, in G. H. Allard and S. Lusignan (eds.), Les arts mécaniques au moyen âge (Montreal, 1982), 13–31. Anglo, ‘Vegetius’ De re militari’, 247–67, emphasis in original. Flavius Vegetius Renatus, Vegetius: Epitome of Military Science, trans. N. P. Milner (2nd edn, Liverpool, 1996), xvi. Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages, 125.

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Vegetius as the foremost authority on warfare, it is far less easy to prove that soldiers accepted the practical value of the Roman author’s advice, and hence that the medieval art of warfare was influenced by this, and by related written sources. It would certainly be attractive simply to accept the importance of treatises such as that of Vegetius, in order to demonstrate that medieval commanders were not the incompetent amateurs often imagined in modern romantic ideas of chivalry. The Epitoma rei militaris and the Strategemata offered careful reflection upon leadership and military strategy, and if these books were popular during the Middle Ages then, by extension, modern dismissal of medieval military leadership must be illinformed.156 Yet it is no easy task to assess the direct impact of these military treatises upon military commanders and practitioners. There were no military schools teaching Vegetius and related texts in the way that modern institutions engage with their textbooks. The Epitoma rei militaris would have made a poor field manual, given both the organization of the material in the book and the sheer cost of manuscripts.157 There are only fragments of information regarding the direct use by military men of Vegetius or other related texts, such as Giles of Rome’s De regimine principum. For example, King Alfonso X of Castile (d. 1284) famously incorporated translated sections of Vegetius’ work into his Siete partidas, although there is no evidence of his practical use of the Epitoma rei militaris in a military situation.158 Charles le Téméraire, duke of Burgundy, may have drawn upon Vegetius for his military ordinances issued in 1473.159 More importantly, Jean Molinet claimed that, during the siege of Neuss at the end of 1474, Charles was persuaded by a Castilian knight to follow Vegetius’ suggestion for a moveable tower with which to assault the walls – until it got stuck in the mud.160 Of course, no one could imagine that the Epitoma rei militaris was completely relevant for medieval soldiers. Large parts of Vegetius’ work were useless to the medieval knight, such as the extremely technical information in books II and IV on the structure of the Roman army, sieges and naval warfare, most of which was out of date and irrelevant by the Middle Ages. The treatise also discussed the use of infantry rather 156 157 158 159 160

See Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 210–12, and H. J. Nicholson, Medieval Warfare: Theory and Practice of War in Europe, 300–1500 (Basingstoke, 2004), 13. Of course, copies actively used in war would be less likely to have survived. Murray, Reason and Society in the Middle Ages, 129. Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 96–104. Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 132–7. Chroniques de Jean de Molinet, ed. G. Doutrepoint and G. Jodogne (Académie royale de Belgique, 3 vols., Brussels, 1937), I, 44–5, 83.

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than cavalry, which was so influential on the medieval battlefield, at least until the important changes that began in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.161 Awkwardly, Vegetius had advocated the selection and promotion of troops on the basis of their physical and moral qualities and their performance, which potentially challenged the natural leadership of the army by the aristocratic cavalry, and forced many translators and adaptors delicately to reshape Vegetius’ advice. For example, Jean de Meun translated Vegetius’ term ‘miles’ as ‘chevalier’, ignoring the complexities of the identity of the soldiers dealt with in the Roman text.162 Similarly, Jean Priorat presented the ‘miles’ of Vegetius as a ‘bon chevalier d’elite’ and described such men as bold, daring and courageous.163 Of course, for some reformers, Vegetius’ ideas on this subject chimed with the changing military circumstances, which encouraged reflection on the importance of practical skills and abilities in the selection of soldiers and leaders. For example, Philippe de Mézières suggested that high social status should not be the criterion for an appointment as a local commander, because experience was more important and because such officers should be more concerned with their men than their private estates and interests.164 Christine de Pizan praised Du Guesclin’s careful policy in the selection of soldiers, preferring those who were accustomed to hard labour, such as butchers, because they showed no qualms at the sight of blood.165 In Le quadrilogue invectif, Alain Chartier argued that military commanders should not be automatically chosen from those of noble descent but, rather, should be selected by the king for their understanding and courage, just as the Romans had chosen their leaders from men toiling in the fields.166 In 1452 Jean Juvénal des Ursins echoed Vegetius when he made the case 161 162

163 164 165 166

Lusignan, Parler vulgairement, 89–90; but also see DeVries, Infantry Warfare in the Early Fourteenth Century, and Morillo, ‘The “age of cavalry” revisited’, 45–58. Meun, Li abregemenz noble honme Vegesce, 8. Moreover, Meun consistently employed a chivalric vocabulary to translate Vegetian terms such as ‘active’ (‘strenuus’), so that soldiers were described as ‘brave’ (‘preux’), ‘courageous’ (‘vaillans’) and ‘good’ (‘bons’): 70, 75, 98. Also see R. G. B. Mongeau, ‘“Li chevaliers”: Jean de Meun’s translation of Epitoma rei militaris’, in Proceedings of the Sixth Patristic, Medieval and Renaissance Conference (Villanova, PA, 1981), 89–99, and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 157–9. See Priorat, Li abrejance de l’ordre de chevalerie, 24, and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 160–1. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, II, 394–5. Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 188–9. See Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 58, echoing the story of Cincinnatus, as recounted in the French translation of Valerius Maximus, Memorable Doings and Sayings, ed. and trans. D. R. Shackleton Bailey (2 vols., Cambridge, MA, 2000), I, 390.

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for care in selecting captains and officers for the Compagnies d’Ordonnance, rather than simply relying on those who were high-born.167 The discussions of training, military discipline, strategy and tactics in books I and III of the Epitoma rei militaris may have been more relevant for medieval audiences. In particular, Vegetius had argued that one should commit oneself to battle only as a last resort, and instead focus one’s efforts on targeting the enemy’s supplies. This advice resonated with the medieval reluctance to commit oneself to open battle, out of fear of the unpredictable outcomes of such encounters when armies were so small and difficult to replace.168 Writers such as Christine de Pizan and Jean Juvénal des Ursins echoed Vegetius’ concern that mistakes on the battlefield could not be corrected.169 The safest military strategy in the Middle Ages was to shelter defensively within the strong walls of castles and towns, leaving the enemy with no means to achieve a decisive military victory except by investing huge amounts of time and resources into besieging such strongholds. An invading army had few options other than to raid and to pillage if defending forces refused to accept their challenge and instead relied upon the protection offered by fortifications and strongholds. The limitations imposed by recruitment and financing meant that such invasions were usually short term. War therefore degenerated into a confusing mixture of raiding, sieges and ambushes, with very few battles that would allow a medieval general to demonstrate his expertise, or to impress the military historians of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.170 Bertrand du Guesclin was an exponent of just such a military strategy, transforming French military fortunes in the 1370s by harassing, raiding and besieging English strongholds. Recognizing the dangers of open battle against the English, Du Guesclin mounted an unglamorous but remarkable campaign during the 1370s of small-scale sieges against strongholds and fortresses in Brittany, those loyal to the Navarrese in Normandy, as well as English garrisons in regions such as Poitou, the Limousin, Saintonge, Périgord and Guyenne.171 In the 167 168 169 170

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Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 236–40. Gillingham, ‘Richard I and the science of war’, 82. See Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, II, 9 and Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 236. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages, 208–37; Verbruggen, The Art of Warfare in Western Europe, 276–350; Gillingham, ‘Richard I and the science of war’, 78–91; J. W. Honig, ‘Warfare in the Middle Ages’, in A. V. Hartmann and B. Heuser (eds.), War, Peace and World Orders in European History (London, 2001), 113–26; Rogers, ‘The Vegetian “science of warfare”’, 1–19. See Letters, Orders and Musters of Bertrand du Guesclin, xxvii–xxxii, and M. C. E. Jones, ‘Bertrand du Guesclin, the truce of Bruges and campaigns in Périgord (1376)’, in Coss and Tyerman, Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen, 183–97.

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aftermath of the great defeat at Agincourt, which marked a deliberate abandonment of Du Guesclin’s strategy and tactics, it was no surprise that Alain Chartier invoked the example of the Roman Fabius Maximus, who had harassed and ultimately defeated the invading army of Hannibal without challenging him to a direct battle.172 In recent years the term ‘Vegetian’ has even emerged as a marker for sensible, conservative military strategies in the Middle Ages.173 The problem is determining whether medieval military commanders who adopted such approaches were genuinely influenced by Vegetius, or were simply using common sense to arrive at the same logical conclusions as the Roman author. Many military historians have denied that medieval commanders were drawing directly upon the ‘platitudes’ of Vegetius.174 As Morillo has observed, It is precisely the common sense parts of Vegetius – [such as] the general strategies in Book III – that could most easily be worked out independently (indeed, the optimal course of action was virtually dictated by logistical considerations in many cases). The parts of Vegetius that clearly were not used in the middle ages (on mass conscription and training of infantry, above all – that is, almost all of Book I) were the parts that are not as immediately obvious or so closely confined by logistical considerations.175

Of more practical use, perhaps, would have been the advice on ruses and stratagems with which to deceive and to overcome an enemy.176 In the Greek and Roman traditions, there was generally a lack of selfconsciousness about outwitting an enemy.177 The respect given to stratagems was demonstrated by the effort made by Frontinus to collect together examples and case studies of the clever deeds of military commanders who had demonstrated planning (‘consilium’) and foresight (‘providentia’).178 Frontinus’ examples of the craftiness and deceit used to demoralize the enemy or to rally one’s own troops were subsequently taken up by both Vegetius and Valerius Maximus, and in turn used by late medieval French writers such as Philippe de Mézières, Christine de 172 173

174 175 176 177

Chartier, Le quadrilogue invectif, 35–6. See the articles in the Journal of Medieval History, volume 1 (2002). Allmand notes that ‘classical historians may justifiably ask medievalists what Vegetius would have understood by the term “Vegetian strategy” when used by military historians of today’: Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 252. See R. C. Smail, Crusading Warfare, 1097–1193 (2nd edn, Cambridge, 1995), 15 note, and Prestwich, Armies and Warfare in the Middle Ages, 186–7. S. Morillo, Warfare under the Anglo-Norman Kings, 1066–1135 (Woodbridge, 1994), 118 note. See Whetham, Just Wars and Moral Victories, together with my review of this book in English Historical Review, volume 126 (2011), 918–19. 178 Wheeler, Stratagem, 21. Wheeler, Stratagem, 1–3, 17–21.

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Pizan and Antoine de La Sale.179 At the same time, chroniclers provided countless examples of trickery used by contemporary soldiers, not only highlighting the historical reality that ruses were a central part of medieval warfare but also potentially providing additional guidance for soldiers. For example, Froissart revelled in stories of trickery in sieges, most notably provided by the testimony of the shameless Gascon mercenary Bascot de Mauléon.180 Similarly, works such as the biography of Bertrand du Guesclin presented a wealth of anecdotes about the French constable’s intelligent and fresh approach to warfare.181 Following the Agincourt campaign of 1415, English strategy also shifted towards warfare dominated by sieges and the seizure of land and territory, rather than dramatic raids and exciting battles. As a result, chroniclers such as Jean de Wavrin offered many stories of military trickery. Indeed, Wavrin lavishly praised his old commander, Thomas Montagu, as the most expert, subtle and fortunate of all the captains who had been talked about for 200 years.182 These sources were full of striking stories of surprise and deception. For example, Christine de Pizan drew upon Valerius Maximus to describe how Hannibal had won the battle of Cannae in 216 BC. Firstly, he had ensured that the sun and the wind were at his back; then he had some of his men flee from the battle, drawing Roman troops into an ambush; and, finally, he had commanded that some of his men surrender, and then take up weapons hidden behind Roman lines before the battle.183 Such tales were matched by examples of ruses used by more contemporary warriors. For example, Froissart recounted how, on 21 October 1345, Henry of Lancaster enjoyed the greatest achievement of his military career by defeating a larger French army camped outside Auberoche in Périgord. To ensure that surprise was on their side, Lancaster banned his men from foraging around Auberoche, and then launched the attack as the French were enjoying their evening meal.184 Monstrelet recounted how Henry V sent the earl of Huntingdon to attack Pontoise at the end of July 1419, on the day after the truce with the Burgundians had elapsed, assaulting the walls under cover of darkness.185 Most common were stories in which attackers used disguise in order to deceive their enemies. For example, in La chanson de Bertrand du 179 180 181 182 183 185

Wheeler, Stratagem, 14–17, 50–92. Froissart (SHF), XII, 95–116, and Voyage en Béarn, 87–111. Levine, ‘Myth and anti-myth’, 270. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 247–8. 184 Pizan, Corps du policie, 130–1 [II, ch. 13]. Froissart (SHF), III, 66–9. La chronique d’Enguerran de Monstrelet, III, 322–4. Also see Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 139–40.

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Guesclin, Du Guesclin captured the castle of Grand-Fougeray in Brittany in 1350 through trickery, sending in a small contingent of his men dressed as woodcutters, who blocked the gate open with the firewood that they were carrying.186 Froissart described the curious story of how Sir Galahaut de Ribemont and his men deceived the German knight Reginald de Boullant, in service to Henry of Lancaster, hiding their true identity until they had been able to surprise their enemy.187 To escape the clutches of the French after the defeat at Baugé on 22 March 1421, Thomas Montagu, earl of Salisbury, led the archers through woodland and gathered doors, which were loaded onto wagons to create a makeshift bridge across the Loire, and sent men disguised as French soldiers to trick the town of Le Mans into opening its gates to them.188 John Talbot captured Pontoise, on 13 February 1437, after a small group of his men had entered the gates disguised as peasants, and the main part of his force had crossed the frozen river Oise and scaled the walls from an unexpected direction.189 It may well be that such tales had useful practical lessons to impart to commanders, especially in France at a time when the English were enjoying consistent military success that, in turn, forced a careful reassessment of strategy and tactics. Writers such as Christine de Pizan and Jean Juvénal des Ursins certainly emphasized the advice of Vegetius regarding the value of surprise attacks and ambushes, and the need to damage the morale and unity of the enemy.190 Such tales of military trickery were also inherently exciting and interesting, however, echoing literary motifs.191 More importantly, they served to underline the central importance of prudence and caution in warfare, and the need to recognize traps and to take suitable precautions.192 Vegetius had warned commanders to be on the watch for all manner of surprises, in sieges and in other kinds of warfare.193 He famously declared that even those with experience and knowledge might still be defeated because of the vagaries of fortune, but that those who fall into a deceitful trap could blame only themselves – an axiom repeated by Christine de Pizan.194 She 186 188 189 190

191 193 194

187 La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 23–8. Froissart (SHF), V, 202–8. Warner, ‘Chivalry in action’, 154. See Chartier, Chronique de Charles VII, I, 233–5, and Journal d’un bourgeois de Paris, 329–30. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 62, 72, 74–7 [I, chs. 15, 18–19, 29], drawing upon Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 84–91, 93–4, 109–12 [III, chs. 9, 10, 12, 22]. Also see Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 255–6. 192 See pages 234–5 above. Wheeler, Stratagem, 72–3. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 142–4 [IV, chs. 27–8]. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 110–1 [III, ch. 22]; Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 63 [I, ch. 15].

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argued that examples of crafty deeds (‘cautilleux fais’), or ‘stratagemes’, as Valerius Maximus called them, served not just as models for future action but also as a warning and lesson about the dangers posed by the trickery of the enemy.195 She advised her audience to assess whether their adversaries were accustomed to employ trickery and subterfuge, and warned her audience to be wary of those who used trickery, flattery and deceit.196 Vegetius’ emphasis upon the importance of caution, solid information and intelligence, and the maintenance of morale amongst troops, was just as relevant in the Middle Ages as at any other period in military history.197 Gilles Le Bouvier reported that the French defenders of Le Mans failed to fortify the town after they had captured it on 25 May 1428, or to put anyone on watch, allowing the English under Talbot to surprise them while they were asleep in their beds just three days later.198 Henry V’s ordinances of war required captains to maintain a twentyfour-hour watch not only for the army but also within their own lodgings.199 Bedford’s ordinances were equally clear on the importance of maintaining a good watch, and Wavrin reports that the duke was well aware of the importance of this precaution against being caught by surprise.200 Moreover, medieval commanders were certainly alive to the importance of both protecting and gathering information. In 1346 Edward III took careful efforts to prevent information about his plans slipping out before the expedition to Normandy, and this enabled the English to surprise the French and to seize Caen so easily.201 Similarly, in 1415 Henry V took great efforts to prevent information slipping out regarding his plans for the Agincourt campaign.202 Vegetius, while warning commanders to keep their own plans secret and to change passwords regularly, had also emphasized the importance of gathering information using scouts and spies.203 All this advice was carefully repeated by Christine de Pizan,204 while Philippe de Mézières advised one commander to spend a third of his total expenditure on spies, and later emphasized their particular importance during wartime, 195 197 198 199 200 201 202

203 204

196 Pizan, Corps du policie, 83 [II, ch. 18]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 85 [II, ch. 19]. Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 128–9. Les chroniques du roi Charles VII par Gilles Le Bouvier, 127–8. Curry, ‘The military ordinances of Henry V’, 241, 245, 248–9. Waurin, Recueil des croniques et anchiennes istories, III, 66–8, 118–19. Ayton, ‘The Crécy campaign’, 35–60. See J. R. Alban and C. T. Allmand, ‘Spies and spying in the fourteenth century’, in Allmand, War, Literature and Politics in the Late Middle Ages, 78, and Curry, Agincourt: A New History, 52–75. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 72–9, 116–19 [III, chs. 5, 6, 26]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 62, 64, 66–7 [I, chs. 15–16].

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offering specific advice on where to find such individuals.205 Mézières was equally concerned, though, about the risk posed by enemy spies, and therefore advocated strategies to deceive the enemy and to spread disinformation.206 For example, although he advocated frequent musters to avoid fraud, he recommended that these be staggered in order to prevent the enemy learning the precise number of troops.207 Indeed, he even warned a commander to beware of agents of his own king within the army, reporting on his behaviour.208 Again, medieval commanders did not need to read these words of advice to be aware of the need to obtain information about the enemy, conditions in the field, and the geography and terrain.209 In the absence of proper maps, English planning for the campaign in France of 1356 depended heavily upon the letters and reports that the Black Prince had sent to England in December 1355, reporting on his raid into Languedoc earlier that year.210 Even more important was the advice of merchants or clerics who had already visited an area, or indeed from locals whose loyalty might be bought. Henry V probably selected the landing spot on the mouth of the Seine in August 1415 with the advice of fishermen and merchants, including the individual from nearby Harfleur spotted visiting the house of Richard Courtenay, bishop of Norwich, by the spy Jean Fusoris.211 On campaign, scouts or outriders were used to acquire information in the course of their primary activities of foraging and pillaging. Froissart called such men ‘coureurs’ or runners, even though they were mounted.212 They travelled in reasonably large groups, but were vulnerable to capture by the enemy, to whom they might reveal important information, as happened when a German scout in service to Edward III was captured by the French on 23 October 1339.213 In addition, commanders clearly made use of spies to gather intelligence, without any genuine concern whether such practices were 205 206 207 208 209 210 211

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Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 511–12, II, 383–4, 404–5. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 511–12, II, 383–4. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 513–14, II, 382. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 519. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 13. Machaut had emphasized the importance of spies in Le confort d’ami, 172–4. Hewitt, The Black Prince’s Expedition, 78–81. L. Mirot, ‘Le procès de Maître Jean Fusoris, chanoine de Notre-Dame de Paris (1415– 1416); episode des négotiations franco-anglaises durant la guerre de Cent Ans’, Mémoires de la Société de l’histoire de Paris et de l’Ile de France, 27 (1900), 251. See Rogers, Soldiers’ Lives through History, 84, and C. T. Allmand, ‘Intelligence in the Hundred Years War’, in K. Nelson and D. J. C. McKercher (eds.), Go Spy the Land: Military Intelligence in History (Westpoint, CT, 1992), 35. Avesbury, De gestis mirabilibus regis Edwardi tertii, 305–6.

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dishonourable or unchivalrous.214 Froissart claimed that, during the siege of Auberoche in 1345, the French captured a man carrying letters asking for relief by the English forces at Bordeaux and flung him back into the castle using a siege engine, with the letters tied around his neck.215 In 1356 Olivier de Royaument and four squires were sent to spy on the Black Prince’s army.216 Four years later a Hainaulter named Mary de Maubuge petitioned for the release of her husband after he had been arrested as a spy in England.217 On 6 October 1403 Boucicaut captured a Venetian captain carrying letters that might have revealed information about the Venetians’ fleet on the eve of a battle against Boucicaut’s Genoese, but the marshal refused to open them.218 During the siege of Rouen, in 1437, the English sent men into the enemy camp in disguise every night, in order to listen out for information – a common practice.219 Heralds were supposedly bound not to spy on the enemy, and in theory were liable to punishment by their own masters for dishonourably and treasonably breaking their trust if they gathered military intelligence about the enemy and used it to their disadvantage. Nevertheless, the frequency with which fifteenth-century heralds complained about their colleagues breaking these rules suggests that this principle was regularly ignored.220 Indeed, it is essential to recognize that military ruses and trickery were not just of interest to intellectuals, because they potentially offered practical advice to soldiers. Such stories also raised the fundamentally important question of where, precisely, the boundary lay between acceptable and unacceptable deceit in warfare. Canon lawyers and theologians certainly accepted that trickery and deceit were necessary tools in war, even between Christians. They cited the Old Testament story of Joshua, who had followed up the defeat of Jericho by launching an attack upon the city of Ai, which was easily defeated by the inhabitants. Therefore Joshua attacked again, feigned a retreat and thereby drew the defenders

214

215 217 218 219

Mirot, ‘Le procès de Maître Jean Fusoris’, 137–287; F. Quick, ‘Jean de Saint-Amand, chanoine de Cambrai, chapelain du pape: faussaire, traître et espion (13??–1368)’, in Études d’histoire dediées à la mémoire de Henri Pirenne (Brussels, 1937), 265–89; Alban and Allmand, ‘Spies and spying’, 73–101; J. O. Prestwich, ‘Military intelligence under the Norman and Angevin kings’, in Garnett and Hudson, Laws and Government, 1–30; I. Arthurson, ‘Espionage and intelligence from the Wars of the Roses to the Reformation’, Nottingham Medieval Studies, 35 (1991), 134–54; Allmand, ‘Intelligence in the Hundred Years War’, 31–47. 216 Froissart (SHF), III, 62–3. Delachenal, Histoire de Charles V, I, 200 note. TNA, SC 8/60/2994. My thanks to Mark Ormrod for this reference. Le livre des fais du bon messire Jehan Le Maingre, 258–9, 283. 220 Letters and Papers, II, 286–8. Alban and Allmand, ‘Spies and spying’, 76–7.

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into a devastating ambush.221 Thus Honorat Bovet declared that it was acceptable to set an ambush, to force the enemy onto disadvantageous territory or to ensure that they had the sun in their eyes. After all, a king had to do all that he could to beat the enemy, and then trust in God to do what was not in his own power.222 Christine de Pizan echoed Bovet, arguing that noble knights needed to be wise and crafty against their enemies in all deeds of arms, and that the wise captain (‘saige capitaine’) might use any good and just deceptions (‘cautelles’).223 Nonetheless, these Christian writers were also keen to establish the boundary between legitimate cleverness by a commander and dishonourable behaviour – an eternal and fundamental question in military ethics. The most common distinction made was that between actions designed to take advantage of plain recklessness by another army and its commander and genuinely perfidious actions, in which the enemy were caught off-guard by betraying their reasonable expectations and confidence, and in particular by breaking one’s word.224 Aquinas accepted the use of an ambush or taking measures to conceal information from the enemy in order to deceive them, but distinguished this from the much more severe form of deceit when an individual lied or broke a promise, which was always unlawful.225 As Strickland has noted, ‘Low cunning was not itself dishonourable; what brought shame was perjury of an oath promising to abstain from such acts.’226 Unacceptable behaviour might therefore include the breaking of an agreement setting out the terms of a battle or engagement, such as the stipulations of the journée, an agreement by both sides to give battle under very specific terms and conditions, principally to ensure a level playing field, as in a judicial duel.227 These kinds of actions were not only morally wrong but, from a purely rational perspective, were also self-harming, undermining the ability of enemies to trust one another and hence threatening war at its basest level. The Greeks and Romans had consistently prohibited perjury against any treaty or oath, especially when such oaths were sworn to the gods, and hence perjury represented an act of sacrilege. For example, in De officiis, Cicero argued that stratagems and deception were legitimate as 221

222 223 224 225 226

Joshua 8:2, cited, for example, in Decretum Gratiani, C. 23 q. 2, c. 2, Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XXXV, 90 [2a2ae. 40, article 3]; Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 125–6 [ch. 62]; Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 787 [ch. 116]; Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 201–2 [III, ch. 13]. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 787 [ch. 116]; Legnano, Tractatus de bello, 125–6. Pizan, Corps du policie, 62, 71 [II, chs. 5, 9]. This is the line drawn in the Geneva Convention, as described by J. M. Mattox, ‘The moral limits of military deception’, Journal of Military Ethics, 1 (2002), 8. Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, XXXV, 88–90 [2a2ae. 40, article 3]. 227 Strickland, War and Chivalry, 128. Keen, The Laws of War, 129–30.

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long as no agreements sealed by an oath were broken. Thus he praised Marcus Atilius Regulus (consul in 267 and 256 BC) for keeping his promise to return to his Carthaginian captors after they had allowed him to go to Rome to negotiate for an exchange of captives. In contrast, ten Romans who were released by the Carthaginian general Hannibal (d. c.182 BC) for the same purpose failed to keep their oaths and were disgraced. Finally, Gaius Fabricius Luscinus (consul in 282 and 278 BC) and the senate returned to Pyrrhus of Epirus and Macedon (d. 272 BC) a deserter who had offered to poison his old king.228 Cicero’s argument – and, indeed, his examples – were repeated regularly by French authors. For instance, Philippe de Mézières declared that a commander must never break a promise either to his troops or to the enemy, citing the example of Marcus Atilius Regulus.229 Honorat Bovet upheld this fundamental distinction between acceptable and unacceptable trickery in warfare. He argued that it was dishonourable, and indeed treasonous, to break one’s word by attacking an enemy protected by an invitation to parley, a knight who was travelling under a safe conduct, or an enemy town included in a truce.230 Christine de Pizan argued that one of the most important conditions of ‘nobles chevalereux’ was to be truthful and to uphold fealty and oaths.231 She argued that, if the pagan ancients had preferred to die rather than break their law or lie, how much more shame (‘honte’) there was when a Christian would lie and perjure himself for an unimportant thing.232 The commander of the army had to be truthful even towards his enemies if he wished to win honour and praise, and she cited the example of King Pyrrhus, who was praised for treating his Roman enemies with respect and honour, for example burying his fallen foes.233 Similarly, citing Valerius Maximus, she reported that Fabricius had refused to reward the treachery (‘traïson’) of the physician of King Pyrrhus, who had offered to poison his master.234 Again drawing upon Valerius Maximus, Christine reported the story of Marcus Atilius Regulus and the fate of the Carthaginians who sued for peace with Rome after Hannibal’s defeat, but found that the Romans would not trust them.235 228

229 230 231 233 234 235

Marcus Tullius Cicero, De officiis, ed. W. Miller (Cambridge, MA, 1913), 44–6, 370–96. Although this text was highly influential throughout the Middle Ages, it was not translated into French until around 1461–8: Translations médiévales, II, 168–9. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 510–11. He also warned that commanders should ensure that they do nothing against loyalty and honourable war: II, 406. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 786–7, 795–6 [chs. 116, 124]. 232 Pizan, Corps du policie, 62 [II, ch. 5]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 75 [II, ch. 13]. Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 38 [I, ch. 7]; also see Christine de Pizan, Le livre de la mutacion de fortune, ed. S. Solente (SATF, 4 vols., Paris, 1959–66), III, 201–8. See Pizan, Corps du policie, 21 [I, ch. 12], and Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 81–2 [I, ch. 20]. Pizan, Corps du policie, 76–7 [II, ch. 13].

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Such stories carried a clear warning for contemporary soldiers, who, according to Honorat Bovet, were willing to break their word without any shame (‘vergoigne ne honte’) because they regarded treason (‘traïson’) as mere trickery and subtlety (‘cauthele et soubtilesse’).236 At the same time, the distinction between legitimate ruses and dishonourable deceit was also invaluable for chroniclers recounting contemporary events, who could highlight examples of unacceptable trickery and deceit to sway the emotions of their audience, or to make didactic points. For example, Froissart told the story of how Guillaume de Graville took Evreux in 1357 through ‘sa soutilleté et sa hardie emprise’. Having struck up a friendly conversation with the chastellain, Graville persuaded the man to open the gate in order to play a game of chess. Despite promising that no harm would come to the chastellain, Graville killed him as soon as the gate was open, and when the inhabitants realized what had happened they cried out against the treachery.237 Froissart also reported on the efforts of Geoffroi de Charny to seize Calais at the end of December 1349 by bribing the Lombard captain, Aimery de Pavia, to let a French force inside the walls. The plan was discovered by King Edward III, who ambushed and captured Charny with the assistance of Aimery. After taking Charny prisoner, the English king rebuked him for his attempt to take Calais so cheaply, though the Frenchman was at least treated as an honourable prisoner. In contrast, Charny later took his revenge on Aimery de Pavia, hunting him down, capturing him and executing him for his treason in breaking his word.238 Froissart also reported that, in April 1364, the marshal of France, Jean I Le Meingre, known as Boucicaut, captured Mantes, the administrative base for the Navarrese party in Normandy. Arriving at the gates of the town, Boucicaut asked for protection, claiming that he and his men had been defeated at the neighbouring town of Rolleboise. The defenders of Mantes were scared that Boucicaut would want to punish them for their loyalty to Navarre, but he promised that his only mission was to deal with Rolleboise and that he would take no action against Mantes. As soon as he entered, though, he seized the gates in order to allow Bertrand du Guesclin and his men to emerge from hiding and take the town, robbing, pillaging, taking prisoners and killing as they liked.239 Finally, Froissart recounted how, on 25 May 1384, Arnould de Gavre, the Flemish lord of

236 238 239

237 Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 837 [ch. 172]. Froissart (SHF), V, 87–93. See Froissart (SHF), IV, 70–81, 98–9, together with the discussion in The Book of Chivalry of Geoffroi de Charny,10–14. Froissart (SHF), VI, 102–4; also see the different account in La chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, I, 82–7, II, 41.

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Escornay, captured the strategic town of Oudenarde in Flanders from the Ghentish commander Francis Ackerman by sending in armed men, hidden inside wagons. When these soldiers began to attack, Froissart reported, the guards cried out ‘Trahi! Trahi!’, just as the people of Evreux had done in 1357. Afterwards the city of Ghent appealed to their lord, Philippe II le Hardi, duke of Burgundy, demanding that Arnould return the town because the enterprise had been an infringement of a truce. In response, Arnould claimed that Ghent had not respected the truce in capturing Oudenarde in the first place, so he was under no obligation to do so either.240 In summary, late medieval French writers clearly did not merely regard works such as the Epitoma rei militaris as practical guides to warfare, but also carefully shaped and adapted the material in order to underline and reinforce their own agendas. In the case of ruses and trickery, for example, classical authors such as Vegetius and Frontinus offered advice that could have been useful for the French as their strategy and tactics changed in response to English military successes. Late medieval writers were also interested in stratagems, however, because they raised questions about the boundaries between legitimate and unacceptable behaviour in war, and, at a deeper level, illustrated the potential tensions that existed between the moral and practical dimensions of prudence. The science of war Of course, even if these late medieval French texts were not used directly as military manuals in specific engagements and wars, they did highlight an important shift in martial culture and thinking about warfare. Discussions of strategy, tactics, military ruses and trickery emphasized the importance of strong, prudent leadership, providing a counterbalance to medieval theology, which held that military success or failure depended solely upon the judgement of God.241 The book of Maccabees declared, for example, that victory in war did not depend upon the size of an army, because strength came from Heaven.242 Thus French defeats at the hands of the English were regularly explained as divine punishments for the sins of the aristocracy and the French people at large. For 240 241

242

See Froissart (SHF), XI, 179–82, and R. Vaughan, Philip the Bold: The Formation of the Burgundian State (London, 1962), 34. H. A. Oberman and J. A. Weisheipl, ‘The Sermo epinicius ascribed to Thomas Bradwardine (1346)’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge, 25 (1958), 295–329. Maccabees 3:18–19, cited, for example, by Pizan, The Book of Peace, 288.

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instance, Philippe de Mézières declared in Le songe du vieil pelerin that God was using the English to punish the sins of both the French and the Scots, but would not allow them to capture either the kingdom of France or Scotland, as seen by the fact that they held almost nothing in France at the time that he was writing, in 1389.243 Mézières advised Charles VI that he should avoid joining battle at the will of his enemy, remembering that the doctors of the Church and Judas Maccabeus had said that victories come from on high, and no one could know if they were worthy of the love of God.244 Indeed, God’s judgement was manifested through fortune, a capricious force whose motivations were largely hidden from man. Froissart had highlighted the role of fortune in the French defeats at Crécy and Poitiers, when a massive numerical superiority had had no impact on the result of the battle.245 Philippe de Villette, abbot of SaintDenis, preached in front of King Charles VI in 1414, upholding the justice of the war against the rebellious duke of Aquitaine, Henry V, but also warning that God sometimes gave victory to the good, sometimes to the wicked.246 Yet neither medieval commentators nor practical military men ignored the practical forces that might shape victory or defeat. On the one hand, clerics argued that men should not force God to make decisions, and instead should do everything in their power to secure victory. As Bovet declared, a king had to do all that he could to beat the enemy, and then trust in God to do what was not in his own power.247 Thus, in the anonymous poem Débats et appointements, France herself expressed deep anxiety about fortune, which had had such a devastating impact on peoples and kingdoms in the past. In response, Verité advised France to maintain faith in God, but also to take practical action, for example by introducing military reforms.248 At the same time, despite his very Roman fear of fortune as a fickle and immoral goddess, Vegetius offered a powerful emphasis upon the skill and experience of commanders, and thereby defended the importance of leadership and human agency in warfare.249 The most important quality stressed by Vegetius was prudence, gathering information and looking ahead to avoid the 243 244 245 246 247 248 249

Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 397–8. Mézières, Le songe du vieil pelerin, I, 382. See, for example, Froissart (SHF), V, 40–1. C. J. Liebman, ‘Une sermon de Philippe de Vilette, abbé de Saint-Denis, pour la levée de l’Oriflamme (1414)’, Romania, 68 (1944), 444–70. Bovet, L’arbre des batailles, 786–7 [ch. 116]. L’honneur de la couronne de France, 68–79. His argument that battle should be only a last resort was based upon his concern that success or defeat were more likely to be caused by fortune than by the bravery of one’s own soldiers: Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 110–11, 117 [III, chs. 22, 26].

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danger posed by the plans and traps offered by the enemy, while also anticipating the needs of one’s own soldiers.250 Much of the third book of the Epitoma rei militaris concerned the qualities of a good commander, arguing that victory could best be achieved by a thoughtful and rational leader. In France, military disasters such as Poitiers had underlined the danger of a king leading the army, and so it was important that Vegetius also provided advice on the selection of a commander to whom authority might be delegated. In Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V, Christine de Pizan praised the king’s choice of Bertrand du Guesclin as constable, framing this decision within Giles of Rome’s discussion of the choice of military commanders, ultimately drawn from Vegetius.251 In 1452 Jean Juvénal des Ursins also praised Charles V as a king who had a reputation for his understanding, prudence and courage, and for his use of reliable captains such as Bertrand du Guesclin, Olivier de Clisson and Louis de Sancerre.252 Most importantly of all, Vegetius and his fellow Roman writers spoke of a body of knowledge and experience of warfare, a doctrina armorum or ‘science des armes’ in French, recorded in writing and preserved for future generations.253 Frontinus claimed to be the first author to attempt to codify the rules of the science of warfare in the lost treatise that preceded his Strategemata.254 Vegetius in turn described a body of knowledge, summarized in careful principles and rules that, together, formed a military science. 255 Translators of these treatises regularly declared that they were offering studies of the ‘science des armes et de chevalerie’.256 For example, in the early 1420s Jean de Rouvroy announced in his prologue to a translation of Frontinus’ Strategemata that his aim was to reveal the ‘science de 250

251 252 253

254 255 256

See, for example, the emphasis that Vegetius placed upon ensuring that the army would be well supplied with food: Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 68–70 [III, ch. 3]; also see [III, ch. 6] Pisan, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage roy Charles V, I, 184–7; also see Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 36–9 [I, ch. 7]. Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, II, 226–8. Jean de Meun said that the Romans were invincible because of ‘la hantance des armes et par la science de bien ordener leur herbeges et par l’usage de chevalerie’: Meun, Li abregemenz noble honme Vegesce, 70. Frontinus, Iuli Frontini strategemata, 1. See Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 6, 46, 59, 74, 109, 116–20 (II, 1, II, 12, 24, III, 6, 22, 26), together with Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 255–6. The incipits to the extracts from Vegetius presented in manuscripts of Jean de Rouvroy’s translation of Frontinus’ Strategemata explained that they served to teach princes and gentlemen ‘la science des armes et de chevalerie’: Löfstedt, ‘Aucuns notables extraitz du livre de Vegece’, 299.

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chevalerie’.257 In the process, these translators presented themselves as commentators on more than the moral framework of knighthood, justifying the role of texts alongside practical experience in the teaching of the laws and science of warfare – that is to say, the art or the science of knighthood.258 Finally, it is important to recognize that the manuscript evidence would suggest that military treatises did indeed make a significant impact upon lay culture in late medieval France. Around 350 manuscripts of Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris survive from the Middle Ages in both the original Latin and the various vernacular translations, of which nearly 80 per cent date from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.259 More than 120 manuscripts of the Strategemata of Frontinus survive, and of these more than two-thirds were copied in the fifteenth century alone.260 Moreover, whereas earlier Latin manuscripts were most likely to have been held in clerical hands, the majority of these late medieval manuscripts were owned by leading princes, aristocrats and military men. Few leading French princes and military commanders did not own a copy of a work influenced by Vegetius or Frontinus. King Charles V owned at least ten copies of French translations of Vegetius. The dukes of Berry, Bourbon, Burgundy, Orléans and Savoy all possessed manuscripts, and the work was clearly owned or read by a range of active military men including Arthur de Richemont, Philippe de Mézières, Antoine de La Sale and Robert de Balsac, as well as English commanders such as Bedford, Gloucester, Talbot and Roos.261 Copies of Frontinus in the original Latin and in translation were owned in the fifteenth century by Louis de Bourbon, admiral of France, Philippe de Commynes, Anthoine Grand bâtard of Burgundy and Jacques d’Armagnac, duke of Nemours.262 Before his death at Agincourt in 1415, Guichard Dauphin, master of the crossbowmen of France and grandson of Louis de Sancerre, owned a remarkable library that included the Enseignemens of Theodore Paleologus, Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles, Geoffroi de Charny’s Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre and books on tournaments and armorial bearings, as well as copies of Titus Livy and

257 258 259 260 261 262

Paris, BNF MS français 1233 fol. 2a. Also see Paris, BNF MS français 24257 fol 4b: ‘Comme je me soye donné a monstrer la science de chevalerie.’ Contamine, ‘Les traités de guerre’, 346–67. Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 354–66. Allmand, ‘A Roman text on war’, 156, 161. See Contamine, ‘Les traités de guerre’, 346–67, and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 63–80. Bossuat, ‘Jean de Rovroy’, 273–86, 469–86; Allmand, ‘A Roman text on war’, 153–86; Translations médiévales, II, 195–6.

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the lives of Alexander and Caesar.263 The Burgundian Philippe de Croy, count of Chimay, owned a French translation of Vegetius, Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles, Christine de Pizan’s Le livre des fais d’armes et de chevalerie and a book on duelling.264 In the late fifteenth century a bookseller in Tours offered a collection of books in French that included translations of Vegetius and Ramon Llull, Honorat Bovet’s Arbre des batailles, Jean de Bueil’s Le jouvencel, Le rosier des guerres and a printed copy of Vegetius’ L’art de chevalerie.265 Conclusion Modern commentators often characterize the chivalric ethos as a celebration of individual, reckless deeds of arms and a gentlemanly approach to warfare, contrasting this with a more practical, rational approach to warfare, in particular to military strategy and tactics. For example, Kilgour claimed that ‘Charles [V] did more to discredit chivalry than any French king before Louis XI. His clever planning combined with Du Guesclin’s frequently unchivalric stratagems brought French arms a short period of victory.’266 Similarly, Tucoo-Chala contrasted idealistic individuals such as Jean II, who respected the code of honour and repudiated all strategic manoeuvres, with more realistic individuals such as Edward III, who would use any tactics, and even lie, in order to secure victory.267 Contrary to such stereotypes of medieval chivalric culture, however, military strategy and tactics were consistently regarded as important, and there were few commanders who treated war as if it were a game sprung to life from the pages of an Arthurian romance. Moreover, chivalric culture placed great stress upon age, experience and prudence, in contrast to the youth, inexperience and rashness that would have led to precisely the kind of behaviour that is characterized by modern commentators as chivalric. More controversial was the role that books and writers might play in the acquisition of the practical wisdom or prudence to achieve success in warfare. Intellectuals laid claim to a fundamental role in martial culture 263 264

265 266 267

A. Leroux de Lincy, ‘Inventaire des livres composant la bibliothèque des seigneurs de Jaligny, 6 juin 1413’, Bulletin du bibliophile (1843), 518–27. J. Devaux, ‘Un seigneur lettré à la cour de Bourgogne: Philippe de Croy, comte de Chimay’, in A. Tourneux (ed.), Liber amicorum Raphael de Smedt, vol. IV, Litterarum Historia (Louvain, 2001), 20; also see M. Debae, La bibliothèque de Marguerite d’Autriche: essai de reconstitution d’après l’inventaire de 1523–1524 (Louvain, 1995), 285. Paris, BNF MS français 2912, fos. 78r-82r, cited by Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 73 note. Kilgour, The Decline of Chivalry, 139–40, and also see 51. Tucoo-Chala, Gaston Fébus: un grand prince d’Occident, 35.

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on the grounds that their books captured and preserved the experience of practical military men, and therefore offered easy access to the kind of advice and counsel that would otherwise have to be acquired in person, and would almost certainly be lost over time. The value of such written records may have been magnified in late medieval France by the fact that so many knights and men-at-arms were dying in warfare, thereby depriving the next generation of their experience. Either way, written accounts of military science increasingly found a place in the libraries of French princes and men-at-arms during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, foreshadowing the enormous changes that came with the advent of printing and that are traditionally seen as the starting point for modern military science. The openness to such materials in late medieval France must be understood against the backdrop of significant military defeats and hence the need for practical reforms. On the one hand, the expanding interest in military treatises during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries reflected a wider emphasis upon intellectual guidance and the importance of counsel and advice. Didactic treatises claimed to equip the king and princes with the necessary skills to defend the people and the community. At the same time, Vegetius and related texts helped to authorize and justify fundamental changes that were taking place in martial culture. The late Middle Ages witnessed a dramatic reorganization of the royal army, with a new emphasis on training, discipline and loyalty to the crown – all themes that had been powerfully championed by Vegetius and that had enabled the Romans to dominate the world.268 More importantly, Vegetius stressed the role of the army as an instrument of the ruler, thereby emphasizing not just the king’s claim to a monopoly over the right to make war and upon martial force but also the central importance of loyalty and obedience by the soldiers in service to their ruler and to the ‘re publica’ or ‘patria’.269 A central theme in Vegetius was that military deeds should not be performed for personal honour and glory but, rather, in service to the community and the common good. He had laid particular emphasis upon the importance of loyalty by the soldiers towards their ruler, embodied in the oath of obedience taken by Roman troops – a notion that was highlighted by many medieval translators and adaptors.270 John of Salisbury had described the ‘milites’ 268 269 270

Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 5–6 [I, ch. 1]. These themes had been highlighted as far back as the twelfth century by John of Salisbury: Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 84–91. Vegetius, Epitoma rei militaris, 38–9 [II, ch. 5]; also see John of Salisbury, Policratici, II, 20–1 [VI, ch. 7], Pizan, Fais d’armes et de chevalerie, 54 [I, ch. 12], and Les écrits politiques de Jean Juvénal des Ursins, I, 410–11.

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as the ‘armed hand’ that defended the body politic or ‘patria’.271 Thus the Epitoma rei militaris was a powerful authority to support efforts by the Valois monarchy to stake a claim to a monopoly on military force. The demand in late medieval France not only for translations of Vegetius but also for a wider corpus of didactic treatises on ‘l’art de chevalerie’ was an indication of the fundamental reorientation of military and chivalric culture under the Valois monarchy, driven both by the intellectual milieu and by the extraordinary challenges that France faced. The military classes were open not just to significant practical reforms but also to new forms of advice, as part of the gradual development of a ‘caste consciousness distinguishing between military professionals and civilians’.272 Ironically, the fashion for this science of warfare quickly spread across the Channel in the 1440s, as English military defeat encouraged professional soldiers such as Sir John Fastolf and John Talbot, earl of Shrewsbury, to emulate the martial culture that they had witnessed in France.273

271 272 273

John of Salisbury, Policratici, II, 2 [VI, ch. 1]. Solon, ‘Popular responses to standing military forces’, 91. C. D. Taylor, ‘The treatise cycle of the Shrewsbury book’, 134–50, and ‘English writings on chivalry and warfare during the Hundred Years War’, in Coss and Tyerman, Soldiers, Nobles and Gentlemen, 64–84.

Conclusion

Knighthood and warfare were perhaps the most prominent themes in late medieval French writing, reflecting the difficult times in which writers were living. Reacting to the very real threats facing the crown and the people of France, intellectuals and military veterans alike took up their pens to debate, in one genre or another, the very values that framed and shaped the behaviour of knights and men-at-arms. They championed very traditional chivalric values such as prowess, courage and loyalty, but carefully debated the meaning of each of these ideals, situating them alongside other qualities that were presented as being equally important, such as discipline and prudence. In the only major modern survey in the English language of these texts, Kilgour has characterized the medieval authors as critics of a ruling elite that had become decadent and weak, abandoning the chivalric ideals of military glory and service to the Church in favour of greed for money, power and women.1 It is certainly true that few French writers offered unquestioning praise for the aristocratic world around them, and that the majority were keen to find solutions to the profound problems represented by repeated military defeats, the collapse of public order and, for some, failing moral standards. To that end, many advocated values and ideals of knightly behaviour that had been voiced by commentators on aristocracy since at least the twelfth century. Most supported the Valois monarchy as the only effective solution to the crises afflicting the kingdom, and, as the crown instituted important military and legal reforms to reassert control, writers echoed and supported these efforts by calling for increased chivalric discipline and control, emphasizing discipline and, in particular, Roman ideals of loyalty and service to the common weal and the sovereign. Valois France was not the only place where such debates were happening in the late Middle Ages. For example, in Italy during the Trecento and Quattrocento, very similar problems of endemic warfare

1

Kilgour, The Decline of Chivalry, 4.

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and disorder also encouraged writers and intellectuals to examine the ideals of knighthood. For example, in De militia (1420), Leonardo Bruni championed ‘civic knighthood’, which placed emphasis first and foremost upon the importance of defending the city state in time of war. Paradoxically, Hankins has contrasted Bruni’s notion of civic knighthood with ‘the French chivalric model of knighthood – knights errant saving damsels in distress, smiting the paynim, and attempting to seduce their lord’s wife’, and suggested that this new vision of knighthood was founded upon the ideas of Cicero, Seneca, Livy, Sallust and Aristotle, which provided an ‘alternative to the culture of chivalry and courtly love coming from high medieval France’.2 It is therefore profoundly ironic that contemporary French writers were espousing extremely similar themes, also drawing upon classical writers from Aristotle to Valerius Maximus and Vegetius, not to mention Italian authors such as Giovanni da Legnano and Francesco Petrarch. The continued importance of humanist learning during the late fifteenth century only increased the influence of such ideas, as seen at the court of Burgundy under the Valois dukes.3 In contrast, debates about knighthood in England during the course of the Hundred Years War were slightly different, at least until the middle of the fifteenth century.4 For example, there was virtually no English tradition of manuals and treatises on warfare and knighthood until Nicholas Upton completed his De studio militaris around 1447, and William Worcester composed the Boke of Noblesse around 1451.5 Similarly, English translations of important works such as Vegetius’ Epitoma rei militaris were not as widely disseminated as in France, and there was very little attempt to develop the original text, nor any serious effort to incorporate more contemporary experience and wisdom.6 There were also relatively few chivalric chronicles written in England during the course of the Hundred Years War, beyond the work of the two 2

3 4 5 6

See J. Hankins, ‘Humanism in the vernacular: the case of Leonardo Bruni’, in C. S. Celenza and K. Gouwens (eds.), Humanism and Creativity in the Renaissance: Essays in Honor of Ronald G. Witt (Leiden, 2006), 18–19, 21; also see C. C. Bayley, Warfare and Society in Renaissance Florence: The ‘De militia’ of Leonardo Bruni (Toronto, 1961), and The Humanism of Leonardo Bruni: Selected Texts, trans. G. Griffiths, J. Hankins and D. Thompson (Binghamton, NY, 1987), 127–45. Willard, ‘The concept of true nobility at the Burgundian court’, 33–48; Vale, War and Chivalry; Qui sa vertu anoblist. I have offered some preliminary thoughts about this contrast in Taylor, ‘English writings on chivalry and warfare during the Hundred Years War’, 64–84. See Walker, ‘An edition, with introduction and commentary, of John Blount’s English translation of Nicholas Upton’s De Studio Militari’, and Worcester, The Boke of Noblesse. See Wakelin, Humanism, Reading and English Literature, 62–92, and Allmand, The De Re Militari of Vegetius, 185–93.

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Hainaulters, Jean Froissart and the Chandos Herald.7 There are, obviously, complex explanations for these differences, but it must be important to consider the highly contrasting experiences of war between one country, France, that was ravaged by marauding soldiers and endured repeated military disasters and another that exported a great deal of the organized, military violence to France, Scotland and other locations. It certainly may not be a coincidence that, at the time that English military fortunes in France collapsed under Henry VI, French treatises on knighthood and warfare were increasingly being imported into England, and English authors began to write more self-consciously about these themes.8 This in turn suggests a number of important conclusions regarding the study of chivalry and chivalric culture. The traditional notion of a monolithic, unchanging medieval vision of the chivalric ethos is a serious obstacle to a proper analysis of the relationship between textual discussions of knighthood and warfare, and the historical context. While it is true that chivalric culture did, to some degree, represent an international brotherhood, particularly by the late Middle Ages, there were also important differences between the situations in France, Germany, England, Scotland, Castile and their like. At the very least, simplistic ideas of the contrast between ‘chivalry’ and either Germanic warrior codes at the beginning or humanism at the end of the imagined age of chivalry posit too radical and seismic a shift in cultural visions of martial culture. It is therefore essential that writings on knighthood and warfare be considered carefully within their chronological and regional context, not just as a response to the traditional concept of a monolithic, unchanging vision of the chivalric ethos, but also to understand more carefully the specific relationship between text and context, and between literature and wider culture. This in turn might offer a solution to the obvious problem that historians of political and military history have with chivalry, a term that is increasingly disappearing from recent studies of kings, princes and the wars of the high and late Middle Ages.

7 8

D. Hay, ‘History and historians in France and England during the fifteenth century’, Bulletin of the Institute of Historical Research, 35 (1962), 116. Consider, for example, the manuscript compilation that John Talbot gave to Margaret of Anjou as a wedding gift in 1445, as discussed by Taylor, ‘The treatise cycle of the Shrewsbury book’, 134–50

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Index

Abbeville, 183 Abel, 69, 108 Achilles, 155, 183, 232 Ackerman, Francis, 269 Acre, 113 admiral of France. See Bourbon, Louis de; Vienne, Jean de; Bueil, Jean de Agen, 77 Agincourt, campaign and battle of, 20, 22, 28–9, 37–8, 100, 104, 141, 144, 146, 151, 154, 158, 160, 165, 170, 177, 179, 192, 196, 198, 204, 206, 243, 260–1, 263, 272 Agoulant, 156 Aisne, Monsard d’, 83 Albret, Arnaud-Amanieu, lord of, 124, 189 Alençon, 198 Alençon, count of Charles II, 164 Jean I, 44 Pierre II, 126 Alençon, duke of Jean II, 23, 27, 34, 129, 150, See Cagny, Perceval de Alessandria, battle of, 143 Alexander the Great, 3, 10–11, 47, 60, 153–4, 242, 250, 273 Alexandria, 20, 122, See Machaut, Guillaume de, La prise d’Alexandrie Alfonso V, king of Aragon, 214 Alfonso X, king of Castile, 257 Alfonso XI, king of Castile, 140 Aljubarrota, battle of, 149, 204 Amiens, 157 Andrew, St, 120 Andronicus II Palaeologus, emperor of Constantinople, 49 Angoulême, count of Jean d’Orléans, 38, 177 Anjou, dukes of Louis I, 31, 33, 84, 197 Louis II, 29, 31, 33, 254

334

René I, 15, 33, 39, 58–9, 70, 79, 94, 96, 101, 124, 169, 189, 213, 254 Anjou, Margaret of, queen of England, 101 Annales Gandenses, 187 Anthon, battle of, 157 Antiochus, king of Egypt, 184 Aquinas, Thomas, St, 9, 66, 136, 234, 236, 266 Aquitaine, duchy of, 187, 209, 270, See Gascony Arc, Joan of, 23, 46, 116, 145, 150, 155, 190, 192, 194 Archiac, Foulques d’, 127 Argentan, 237 Aristotle, 3, 9, 30, 49, 66–7, 69, 117–18, 131–2, 136–8, 149, 166, 169, 172, 180, 232–4, 246, 277 Armagnac party, 22, 29, 44, 46, 77, 110, 180, 192 Armagnac, count of, 22, 120, 122 Bernard VII, 45, 220 Jean I, 22, 124, 143, 188, 190, 209, 211, 219, 237–8 Jean III, 143, 224, 241 Arthur, King, 3, 10–11, 60, 65, 76, 98, 153, 179 Artois, 192 Artois, count of Robert II, 111 Artois, Robert III d’. See Beaumont-leRoger, count of, Robert III d’Artois Asneton, John, 98 Atilius, 154 Auberoche, 261, 265 Aubert, David, 221 Aubrichecourt, Eustache d’, 102 Audley, James, 78, 96–7 Audley, Peter, 217 Audrehem, Arnoul d’, 25, 82, 128, 201 Augustine of Hippo, St, 107, 255 Augustus, Emperor, 42, 248 Aulon, Jean d’, 154

Index Auray, battle of, 22, 119, 158, 188–9, 241 Aurispa, Giovanni, 70 Auvergne, 121, 145 Auxerre, count of Jean de Chalon, 189 Avignon, 30, 44, 129 Avranches, 135 Bacon, Roger, 244 Badefol, Chopin de, 25 Badefol, Seguin de, 24 Baesweiler, battle of, 241 Balliol, Edward, 191 Balliol, William, 135 Balsac, Robert de, 14, 272 Bamborough, William, 97 Bar, Pierre de, lord of Pierrefont, 220 Bar, Yolande de, 190 Barbazan, lord of Arnaud Guilhelm, 84, 192 Guillaume, 197 Barfleur, 212 Basin, Thomas, bishop of Lisieux, 42, 110 Baugé, battle of, 144, 165 Bayezid I, Sultan, 114 Béarn, viscount of. See Foix, count of Beaufort, Raymond Roger de. See Turenne, viscount of, Raymond Roger de Beaufort Beaugency, 145 Beaumanoir, Philippe de, 123, 220 Beaumont, 191 Beaumont-le-Roger, count of Robert III d’Artois, 31, 155 Beauvais, 216, 218, 224 Beauvais, bishop of. See Ursins, Jean Juvénal des; Cauchon, Pierre Beauvais, Vincent de, 29 Bedford, duke of John of Lancaster, 48, 68, 77, 81, 128, 145, 182, 187, 190, 219, 263, 272 Bedford, earl of Enguerrand de Coucy, 89, 128 Belfort, 120 Benedict XII, Pope, 113 Bergerac, 218 Bernardino de Siena, St, 214 Berry, duke of Charles, 23 Jean, 14, 28, 44, 48, 114, 272 Berry, Marie de, duchess of Bourbon, 28, 179 Bersuire, Pierre, 43, 49, 68, 245 Besançon, 249 Bible, 10, 69, 107 Deuteronomy, 186, 193 Exodus, 184 Isaiah, 226

335 John, 226 Joshua, 265 Judges, 11, 153 Kings, 11, 153 Maccabees, 11, 153, 269 Matthew, 179 Romans, 184 Bicher, Robert de, 219 Black Death, 20 Black Prince. See Woodstock, Edward of, Prince of Wales Blankmouster, John, 196 Blanquetaque, 190 Blois, Charles de. See Brittany, dukes of Blois, Pierre de, 9, 155 Blondel, Robert, 45, 128 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 28, 44, 68 Boethius, 28 Bohemia, kings of. See Charles, count of Luxembourg; Jean l’Aveugle, count of Luxembourg Bois-de-Nieppe, 189 Bordeaux, 209, 265 Borgo San Sepolcro, Dionigi di, 44 Born, Bertran de, 92, 108, 161, 212 Boucicaut, Geoffroy le Meingre dit, 141 Boucicaut, Jean I le Meingre dit, 232, 268 Boucicaut, Jean II le Meingre dit, 27, 38, 51, 57, 62, 94–6, 114, 141, 161, 186, 227, 244, 265 Boucinel, Jean, 94 Bouillon, Godfrey de, 3, 10–11, 112–13, 153 Bourbon, dukes of Charles I, 23, 26, 189, 204 Jean I, 14, 45, 180, 272 Jean II, 14 Louis II, 14, 27, 57, 96, 114, 141, 161, 183, 193, See Cabaret d’Orville, Jean Bourbon, Louis de, 272 Bourbon, Louis II, bishop of Liège, 135 Bourbon, Marie de, duchess of Lorraine, 189 Bourchier, John, 204 Boussu, lord of. See Hénin, Pierre de Bouvines, 164 Bouvines, battle of, 252 Bovet, Honorat, 3, 9, 18, 29, 31, 172, 206, 216, 252 Apparicion Maistre Jehan de Meun, 32, 37, 222 Arbre des batailles, 13–14, 20, 32, 36, 41, 67, 80, 83, 94, 107, 117–18, 122, 124, 127, 134–5, 137–8, 140–1, 149–50, 156, 169, 190, 202–4, 206, 214–15, 222, 225, 247, 266–8, 270, 272

336

Index

Bozzuto, Giacomo, 35 Brabant, duke of Antoine, 142, 206 Brailet, 216 Brée, 24, 219 Brest, 84 Brétigny, Treaty of, 24, 120–1 Brézé, Pierre de, 51 Brie, 102 Brittany and the Bretons, 22, 40, 71–2, 97, 102, 119–21, 197, 217–18, 237, 259, 262 Brittany, dukes of Arthur de Richemont, 14, 27, 51, 135, 191, 237, 243, 272 Charles I de Blois, 22, 57, 72, 102, 119, 126, 158, 188 François I, 120, 237 Jean III de Montfort, 22 Jean IV de Montfort, 22, 119, 124, 126, 158, 241 Jean V, 23 Bruges, Louis de, lord of La Gruthuyse, 14 Bruni, Leonardo, 43, 68, 277 Brunswick, duke of Otto, 125 Buckingham, earl of. See Gloucester, duke of, Thomas of Woodstock Bueil, Jean de, 3, 15, 18, 34, 38, 42, 57, 96, 108, 115, 117, 125, 147, 157, 160, 168, 191, 201, 227, 252, 254–5, 273 Buironfosse, 145 Bulgnéville, battle of, 124, 189 Bulmer, William, 121 Burghersh, Bartholomew, 97 Burgundian party, 22–3, 29, 44–6, 77–8, 86, 120, 157, 180, 190, 192, 261 Burgundy, Anne of, duchess of Bedford, 182 Burgundy, Anthoine, Grand bâtard of, 272 Burgundy, dukes of, 14, 31, 48, 221, 277 Charles le Téméraire, 23, 109, 135, 147, 257 Jean sans Peur, 22, 45, 50, 80, 114, 128, 192, 241–2 Philippe II le Hardi, 145, 241, 269 Philippe III le Bon, 22, 32, 59, 70, 77–8, 96, 110, 114, 116, 128, 141, 169, 189, 194, 242 Buxy, battle of, 146 Cabaret d’Orville, Jean, 3, 14, 27, 141, 183 Cadet, Jean, 109 Caen, 31, 109, 193, 197, 201, 208, 212, 241, 263

Caesar, Julius, 10, 42–3, 60, 63, 154, 171, 229, 250–1, 273 Cagny, Perceval de, 3, 27 Cain, 69, 108 Calabria, duke of Jean II d’Anjou, 33, 189, 254 Calais, 23, 31, 39, 98, 125, 143, 182–3, 194, 198, 211, 268 Caluset, 121 Calveley, Hugh, 119, 223 Cambrésis, 155, 209 Cambridge, earl of Edmund of Langley, duke of York, 200 Cannae, battle of, 261 Canterbury Cathedral, 62 Canterbury, archbishop of John Stratford, 209 Captal de Buch. See Grailly, Jean de Carcassonne, 194 Carlat, 121 Carrouges, Jean de, 126 Carthage, 84, 235 Cassel, 189 Castile, 25, 119, 129, 192, 204, 278 Castillon, battle of, 34, 96 Cato (Marcus Porcius, Cato the Censor), 42, 248 Cauchon, Pierre, bishop of Beauvais, 192 Caumont, Bourt de, 72 Caupène, Guillaume de, 25 Cervole, Arnaud de, 129 Cesius, Marcus, 154 Chabannes, Antoine de, 223 Chalon, Jean de. See Auxerre, count of Chalon-Arlay, Jean de, 249 Chamberlain, William, 85 Champagne, 102, 212 Chandos Herald, 62, 99, 140, 213, 278 Chandos, Sir John, 62, 97, 119, 149, 188, 200, 205, 241 Chanson d’Aspremont, 220 Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin, 27, 79, 99, 118, 125, 133–4, 158, 205, 240, 242, 261–2 Chanson de Roland. See Roland Chantecocq, 216 Charlemagne, Emperor, 3, 10–11, 47, 60, 101, 112, 153, 221, 229 Charles IV, Holy Roman emperor, 112, 133 Charles V, king of France, 30–2, 47–50, 52, 67, 85, 112, 119, 121–2, 136, 144, 191, 193, 225, 229, 238, 246, 250, 271–3, See Pizan, Christine de, Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V

Index Charles VI, king of France, 11, 14–15, 25, 27, 29, 31–2, 38, 40, 44, 46–7, 53, 58, 62, 77, 88–9, 107, 114, 116, 118, 120, 124–6, 153, 180, 202, 229, 270 as dauphin, 31, 194 Charles VII, king of France, 15, 19, 23, 25, 27, 31, 33–4, 40–1, 46, 48–9, 51, 53, 77, 96, 99, 116, 120, 164, 169, 190–1, 229, 233, 237, 243, 251, 255 as dauphin, 22, 45, 77, 80, 128 Charny, Geoffroi de, 3, 15, 29, 57, 71, 93, 168, 183, 268 Demandes pour la joute, les tournois et la guerre, 15, 31, 59, 83, 139, 181, 193, 200, 202, 206, 232–3, 272 Livre Charny, 31, 175 Livre de chevalerie, 4, 15, 17, 31, 35, 57–9, 61, 64–5, 73–5, 95, 108, 112, 115, 140, 146, 148, 157, 159, 176, 183, 195, 234, 240 Charolais, count of. See Burgundy, duke of, Charles le Téméraire Chartier, Alain, 3, 9, 13, 15, 28–9, 31, 33, 45 Breviaire des nobles, 117 Le curial, 74 Le debat du herault, du vassault et de villain, 51, 229 Le livre des quatre dames, 28, 37, 158, 160, 165 Le quadrilogue invectif, 45, 68, 117, 144, 219, 223, 258, 260 Chartier, Jean, 99 Chastellain, Georges, 26, 96, 135, 146, 161, 241 Château Gaillard, 84 Châteauvillain, Guillaume de, 189, 205 Châtillon, Hugues de, lord of Dampierre, 183 Cherbourg, 85, 98, 128, 201, 212 Chesnel, Robert, 204 Chevalier au cygne, 101 chevauchée, 96, 143, 187, 209–11, 213, 217, 220, 238. See Agincourt, campaign and battle of chevauchées. See Crécy, campaign and battle of; Poitiers, campaign and battle of Chimay, count of Philippe de Croy, 14, 273 Chivalry, Court of, 201 chivalry, definition of, 3–6 chivalry, origins of, 41, 67, 224–5 Choquart, Anseau, 30 Chronique de la Pucelle, 197, 242 Chronique des quatre premiers Valois, 191

337 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 9, 67, 233, 266–7, 277 Clairvaux, Bernard de, 9, 11, 34, 112, 223 Clamanges, Nicolas de, 229 Claremont, Jean de, 209 Clarence, duke of Thomas of Lancaster, 77, 144, 165 Clary, lord of, 125 Clermont, count of. See Jean I, duke of Bourbon Clermont, François de, lord of Dammartin, 169 Clermont, Jacques de, 191 Clermont, Jean de, 190, 238 Clifford, Nicholas, 94 Clisson, Olivier de, 50, 94, 124, 144, 238, 271 Clovis I, king of France, 47 Cocherel, battle of, 118, 129, 188 Cochon, Pierre, 26, 37 Col, Gontier, 29 Colville, Thomas, 97 Combat des trente Bretons, 97, 217 Comblisy, 216 Commercy, Robert de, 83 Comminges, count of Pierre-Raimond II, 124 Commynes, Philippe de, 109, 146, 245, 272 Compagnies d’Ordonnance. See military reforms Companies. See freebooting soldiers Compiègne, 24, 124, 182, 190 Complainte sur la bataille de Poitiers, 181 Conches, 120 Conradin, king of Jerusalem and Sicily, 252 constable of France. See Armagnac, count of, Bernard VII; Brittany, duke of, Arthur de Richemont; Eu, count of, Raoul I de Brienne; Clisson, Olivier de; du Guesclin, Bertrand; La Cerda, Charles de; Sancerre, Louis de Constantinople, 78, 186 Copeland, John, 98 Coquel, Mahuot, 110 Cornelius Celsus, 248 Coucy, Enguerrand de. See Bedford, earl of, Enguerrand de Coucy Council of Constance, 116 Cour amoureuse, 38, 58 Courtenay, Peter, 124 Courtrai, 212 Courtrai, battle of, 20, 111, 151, 187 Craon, Pierre de, 124 Crassus, Paulus, 154

338

Index

Crathor. See Bueil, Jean de Crathor (Orléans), 108, 160, 201, 219, 227 Cravant, battle of, 170, 195 Crécy, campaign and battle of, 20, 31, 35, 47, 51, 61, 66, 90, 97–8, 133, 135, 141–3, 150, 152, 154, 163, 168, 170, 190, 195–6, 207, 209, 213, 237, 239, 241–3, 270 Creil, 24, 109 Croissant, Order of the, 59 Croy, Philippe de. See Chimay, count of crusades, 11, 20, 32, 49, 111–16, 141–2, 148, 152, 184–6, 223, 251, 253–4, See Machaut, Guillaume, La prise d’Alexandrie; Mézières, Philippe de; Nicopolis, crusade and battle of Cuvelier. See Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin Dammartin, count of Charles de Trie, 196 Dauphin of France. See Charles VI, king of France; Charles VII, king of France; Louis XI, king of France Louis, duke of Guyenne, 15, 44–5, 50 Dauphin, Guichard, 14, 272 David II, king of Scotland, 189 David, King, 10–11, 69 Débat des hérauts de France et d’Angleterre, 63 Débats et appointements, 33, 270 Denia, count of Alfonso de Villena, 134 Derval, 197 Deschamps, Eustache, 9, 15, 32, 36, 40, 50, 62, 64, 76, 93, 118, 148, 157, 221, 244, 253 Dido, Queen, 235 Dole, Jean, 226 Domrémy, 23 Dorenge, Jean, 218 Douglas, earl of Archibald, 187, 242 Douglas, James, 140 Dragon, Order of the, 95 Dreux, 197 du Chastel, Tanguy, 197 du Guesclin, Bertrand, 24, 33, 42, 47, 50–2, 62, 71, 79, 82–3, 85, 97, 99, 104, 118, 125, 128–9, 133–4, 144, 181, 191–2, 205, 218–19, 223, 238, 240, 242, 258–9, 261, 268, 271, 273, See Chanson de Bertrand du Guesclin Duarte I, king of Portugal, 176 Dunois, count of Jean, 237

écorcheurs. See freebooting soldiers Edward I, king of England, 249 Edward III, king of England, 23, 31, 47, 58, 61, 78, 89, 93, 96, 98, 102, 113, 121, 142–3, 152, 155–6, 163, 170, 182, 187, 189–91, 198, 209–10, 220, 237–8, 241–2, 263–4, 268, 273 Embrun, 29 Enrique II de Trastámara, king of Castile and Léon, 82, 119, 128–9, 134, 192, 242 Escornay, 269 Escu vert a la dame blanche, Order of the, 38 Espagne, Charles d’. See La Cerda, Charles de Estampes, 24 Estouteville, Jean d’, 27 Eu, count of Charles d’Artois, 179, 237 Jean I de Brienne, 249 Philippe d’Artois, 114 Raoul I de Brienne, 57, 209 Raoul II de Brienne, 85, 197 Evreux, 269 Exeter, duke of John Holland, 261 Fabius Maximus Verrucosus Cunctator, Quintus, 145, 260 Fabricius (Gaius Fabricius Luscinus), 42, 68, 267 Fastolf, John, 126, 147, 157, 190, 275 Felton, Thomas, 140 Felton, William, 83, 125, 140 Flanders and the Flemings, 20, 32, 36, 111, 148, 153, 189, 209, 212, 237, 253, 269 Flanders, count of Louis de Mâle, 111 Flavy, Guillaume de, 124 Foix, count of, 22 Gaston III Phébus, 14, 22, 113, 120, 122, 124, 188, 211, 233 Gaston IV, 195 Fotheringay, John, 24 Fougères, 120 Fougères, Etienne de, 9 Foulechat, Denis, 48, 250 freebooting soldiers, 12, 19, 24–6, 118–21, 129, 220–4, 228–9 Fresne, Jacques de, 84 Fribois, Noël de, 237, 246 Frinard, Martin, 189

Index Froissart, Jean, 3, 26, 28, 206 Chroniques, 14, 39, 47, 62–3, 78, 89, 92, 96, 98, 102, 108–9, 111, 113, 121, 124, 134–5, 139–41, 143–5, 149, 151–2, 154, 159, 181–3, 188, 195, 197–8, 200, 204–5, 208, 210–12, 217, 224, 238–9, 241–2, 245, 261–2, 264–5, 268, 270, 278 La prison amoureuse, 134, 241 Melyador, 14 Fronsac, 212 Frontinus (Sextus Julius Frontinus), 44, 49, 235, 248, 250–1, 257, 260, 269, 271–2 Fusoris, Jean, 264 Gabriel, St, 133 Gaillon, 182 Ganelon, 128 Garter, Order of the, 58, 78, 80, 126, 128, 147, 157, 162–3 Gascony and the Gascons, 23, 34, 72, 96, 121, 127, 129, 154, 164, 189, 195, 211, 237, 241, 243, 259, 261 Gauchi, Henri de, 48, 136, 250 Gaucourt, Raoul de, 182 Gavre, Arnould de, lord of Escornay, 268 Gavre, battle of, 141 Gawain, 153, 179 Gélu, Jacques, archbishop of Embrun, 116 Gennes, Nicolas de, 85, 128, 201 Gentian, Henriet, 204 George, St, 120 Gerberoy, 120 Geronium, battle of, 145 Gerson, Jean, 9, 15, 18, 29, 40, 42, 44–5, 222, 229, 244–5, 249 Gesta Henrici Quinti, 100, 146, 196 Ghent, 269 Girart de Roussillon, 221 Gisors, 190–1 Gloucester, duke of Humphrey of Lancaster, 201, 272 Thomas of Woodstock, 96, 108, 159 Golden Fleece, Order of the, 59, 78, 129, 147, 157, 162 Gonesse, Nicolas de, 44, 49, 251 Grailly, Jean de, 111, 114, 118, 129, 188 Grandes chroniques de France, 35, 238 Grand-Fougeray, 125, 262 Grandson, Oton de, 15 Gratian, 214 Graville, Guillaume de, 268 Greeks, 3, 10–11, 41, 139, 244, 260, 266, See Troy, siege of Gressart, Perrinet, 228

339 Gruel, Guillaume, 3, 27, 135, 243 Guccio, Giannino di, 120 Guelders, duchy of, 89 Guelders, duke of William I, 84 Guerre de la bien publique, 23, 146 Guiche, 195 Guillem, Regnault, 198 Guînes, 35, 85 Guinevere, Queen, 59, 65, 79 Guy of Warwick, 101 Hadrian, Emperor, 248 Hainault, 127 Hainault, Jean de, lord of Beaumont, 133, 155–6 Hainault, Philippa of, queen of England, 102, 198 Hannibal, 145, 199, 250, 260–1, 267 Harcourt, Godfrey de, 31, 241 Harfleur, 144, 182, 193, 264 Harleston, John, 216 Hart, Eustace, 187 Hastings, battle of, 133 Hauteville, Pierre de, 38 Hawkwood, John, 143 Hector, 10, 66, 153, 232, 240, 247. See Pizan, Christine de, Epistre Othea Helenus of Troy, 241 Hénin, Pierre de, lord of Boussu, 135 Hennebont, 102 Henry II, king of England, 166 Henry IV, king of England, 114 Henry V, king of England, 22, 38, 46–7, 77, 85, 113, 128, 143, 154, 170, 182, 187, 192–4, 196–8, 201, 204, 211, 213, 219, 261, 263–4, 270 Henry VI, king of England, 77, 187, 192, 278 Hesdin, Simon de, 44, 49, 251 Histoire ancienne jusqu’à César, 43 Histoire de Charles VI, 197. See Ursins, Jean Juvénal des Holland, Thomas. See Kent, earl of Homer, 101 Horatius Cocles, Publius, 154 Howden, Roger of, 166 Humbert II, dauphin of Viennois, 57 Huntingdon, earl of. See Exeter, duke of, John Holland Hussites, 116 Huy, 135 Innocent VI, Pope, 129 Isabeau of Bavaria, queen of France, 37, 44, 88, 226

340

Index

Iscariot, Judas, 180 Isolde, 79 Italy, 30, 53, 114, 254, 276 Ivry, 145 Jacquerie, 36, 46, 111, 213, 224 Japan, 56 Jargeau, siege of, 150, 183, 197 Jean II, king of France, 28–9, 31, 35, 46–7, 49, 52, 57, 84–5, 93, 113, 125, 127, 152, 165, 170, 177, 179–81, 183, 187, 189, 196, 203, 205, 219, 245, 273 Jerusalem, 112, 142, 184–5 Church of the Holy Sepulchre, 112, 140 João I, king of Portugal, 204, 254 Joinville, Jean de, 3, 15, 27, 71, 78, 186 Joshua, 10–11, 265 Juan I, king of Castile and Léon, 210 Jugurtha, king of Numidia, 42 Jülich, Isabel of, 102 Justin (Marcus Junianius Justinus), 157, 251 Kent, earl of Thomas Holland, 97, 109, 197 Knighthood of the Passion, Order of the. See Mézières, Philippe de Knights Templar, 11, 34, 112, 222 Knolles, Robert, 98, 145, 197, 208, 223 L’Allemant, Baudet, 204 L’Aloue, Guillaume, 109, 165 L’Aragonais, François de Surienne, 228 La Cerda, Charles de, dit Charles d’Espagne, 35 La Charité-sur-Loire, 24, 228 La Crois, Wauflar de, 135 La Hire, Étienne de Vignolles, dit, 34, 51, 57, 83, 86, 96, 198, 223, 254 La Hougue, 163, 210 La Marche, count of Hugues X de Lusignan, 78 La Marche, Olivier de, 141 La Palu, François de, 204 La Sale, Antoine de, 3, 14–15, 28, 33, 39, 44, 85, 94, 179, 232, 245, 251, 254, 261, 272 Jehan de Saintré, 28, 179, 232, 245, 254 La salade, 33, 254 La sale, 34, 254 Le réconfort de Madame de Fresne, 84–5 Traité des anciens tournois et faictz d’armes, 34 La Sale, Bernard de, 33, 254 La Tour Landry, Geoffroi IV de, 88 La Trémoïlle, Georges de, 23

La Trémoïlle, Guy de, 26, 124, 241 La Villaines, 204 Lalaing, Jacques de, 96, 150, 161 Lancaster, duke of Henry of Grosmont, 79, 125, 237, 261–2 John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster and Aquitaine, 121, 144–5, 200, 210, 238 Lancelot, 64–5, 68, 79, 153, 179, 225 Lancelot do Lac, 64–5, 67–8, 76, 128, 162, 224 Prose Lancelot, 101, 159 Languedoc, 22, 25, 189, 209, 226, 237, 264 Lannoy, Hugues de, 42, 64, 157, 188 Lannoy, Jean de, 74 Laon, bishop of. See Ursins, Jean Juvénal des Latini, Brunetto, 136 Launac, battle of, 22, 124, 188 Le Baker, Geoffrey, 195 Le Bel, Jean, 3–4, 26, 35, 47, 65, 96–8, 102, 109, 111, 122, 133, 141–3, 148–9, 152, 162, 170, 197–8, 242, 284, 300 Le Bouteiller, Guy, 128 Le Bouvier, Gilles, 3, 26, 99, 263 Le Fèvre, Jean, abbot of Saint Vaast. See Songe du vergier Le Fèvre, Jean, lord of Saint-Rémy, 3, 27, 99, 142, 161, 192 Le Gastelier, Jean, 204 Le Gris, Jacques, 126 Le Mans, 204, 263 Le Meingre, Jean I. See Boucicaut Le Meingre, Jean II. See Boucicaut Le Moine de Bale, Henri, 242 Le Mort le Roi Artu. See Vulgate Cycle Lebègue, Jean, 68 Legnano, Giovanni da, 32, 43, 118, 136, 169, 202, 277 Legrand, Jacques, 37 lèse-majesté. See treason Leulinghen, 114 Li fait des Romains, 43 Liège, 127, 135 Ligny, count of Jean de Luxembourg, lord of Beaurevoir, 190 Limoges, 39, 198, 200 Limoges, bishop of Jean de Murat de Cros, 183, 198 Limousin, 121, 145, 259 Livy (Titus Livius), 3, 11, 43, 49–50, 68, 157, 245–6, 250–1, 272, 277 Llull, Ramon, 67, 79, 134, 140, 183, 225, 233, 246, 273

Index London, 84, 113 Longinus, 179 Longueil, 109, 165 Loré, Ambroise de, 223 Lorraine, 124 Lorraine, duke of. See Calabria, duke of, Jean II d’Anjou Lorris, Lancelot de, 98 Louis IX, king of France, 47, 71, 123, 153, 186 Louis X, king of France, 120 Louis XI, king of France, 34, 53, 146, 273 as Dauphin, 23 Louis, Saint. See Louis IX, king of France Louvain, Nicolas de, 183 Louvain, Pierre de, 124 Louviers, 160, 194 Lucan, 43, 45 Lucan (Marcus Annaeus Lucanus), 157 Lussac, 149 Luxembourg, 96, 169 Luxembourg, count of Charles. See Charles IV, Holy Roman Emperor Jean l’Aveugle, king of Bohemia, 14, 61, 133, 140 Luxembourg, duke of Wenceslas I, 241 Luxembourg, Jean de. See Ligny, count of Luxembourg, Louis de. See St. Pol, count of, Louis de Luxembourg Lyons, 155 Ma’arra, 185 Maccabeus, Judas, 10–11, 61, 112, 117, 153, 184, 270 Machaut, Guillaume de, 3, 14, 28 La fonteinne amoureuse, 134 La prise d’Alexandrie, 27, 63, 122, 152 Le confort d’ami, 28, 243 Machiavelli, Niccolò, 43 Mâcon, 219 Mahdia, 114, 141 Maintenay, 61 Mantes, 237, 268 Marcel, Étienne, 46 Marcellus, Marcus Claudius, 213 Marchès, Mérigot, 25, 121, 223, 241 Marcigny-les-Nonnains, 219 Marguerite de Provence, queen of France, 186 Marigny, battle of, 189 Marius (Gaius Marius), 42 Mark, King, 79 marshal of Burgundy. See La Trémoïlle, Guy de; Toulongeon, Jean de

341 marshal of France. See Audrehem, Arnoul d’; Boucicaut, Jean I le Meingre dit; Boucicaut, Jean II le Meingre dit; Clermont, Jean de Marshal, William. See Pembroke, earl of Maubuge, Mary de, 265 Mauléon, Bascot de, 111, 154, 188, 224, 261 Mauny, Walter, 102, 182, 198 Mauron, battle of, 35, 162 Maxey, 23 Meaux, 85, 213 Melun, 80, 192 Merbury, Richard, 190 mercenary companies. See freebooting soldiers Merlin, 65 Merquel, 121 Metellus Numidicus, 42 Metz, 169 Meun, Jean de, 48, 69–70, 249, 252, 258, See Bovet, Honorat, Apparicion Maistre Jehan de Meun Mézières, Philippe de, 3, 9, 14–15, 18, 31, 70, 112, 260, 272 De la Chevallerie de la Passion, 253–4 Epistre au Roi Richart, 32, 66, 107, 113 Le songe du vieil pelerin, 11, 32, 40–1, 47, 107, 112, 118, 123, 127, 153, 213, 219, 221, 223–4, 229, 253, 258, 263, 267, 270 Order of the Knighthood of the Passion, 32, 113–14, 253 Sustance de la Chevalerie de la Passion, 253 Une epistre lamentable, 32 Mezin, 217 Micaille, Gauvain, 159 Michelet, Jules, 177 Miélot, Jean, 70 military reforms, 19, 229–30, 258–9 Compagnies d’Ordonnance, 19, 53, 105, 229, 233, 259 Minerva, 247 Minucius Rufus, Marcus, 145 Molinet, Jean, 257 Monmouth, Geoffrey of, 108 Mons-en-Vimeu, battle of, 96, 242 Monstrelet, Enguerrand de, 3, 26, 48, 117, 247, 252, 261 Montaguillon, 182 Montaigu, Jean de, 14, 32 Montcountour, 83 Monte-Belluna, François de, 36, 44 Montemagno, Buonaccorso da, 70 Montépilloy, 145

342

Index

Montereau, 81, 128, 192–3 Montferrand, Regnault de, 183, 194 Montferrat, marquis of Theodore Paleologus, 49, 272 Montfort, Jean de. See Brittany, duke of Montgeron, Hugh de, 216 Montiel, battle of, 119, 192 Montjoye, 238 Montlhéry, 110 Montlhéry, battle of, 109, 146 Montlieu, 193 Montpellier, 159 Montreuil, Jean de, 22, 29–30, 33, 48, 152 Morvilliers, Philippe de, 226 Moses, 116 Nájera, battle of, 82, 119, 134, 140, 191, 201, 242 Nancy, 59, 96 Nangis, Guillaume de, 226, 244 Narbonne, 194 Narbonne, viscount of Guillaume de Lara, 96, 128, 192 Navailles, Archambaud Foix-Grailly, lord of, 81 Navarre, College of. See Paris, University of Navarre, king of, 218 Charles II, 24, 28, 31, 35, 46, 96, 243 Nemours, duke of Jacques d’Armagnac, 272 Neuchâtel, Jean de, lord of Montagu, 146, 157 Neufville, Katherine de, 84 Neuss, 257 Neville, John, 85 Neville’s Cross, battle of, 191 Nicopolis, crusade and battle of, 20, 28, 32, 37–8, 114, 141, 151, 186, 203, 241, See Mézières, Philippe de, Une epistre lamentable Nine Worthies, 10, 58, 62, 118, 152, 240, See Alexander the Great; Arthur, King; Bouillon, Godfrey de; Caesar, Julius; Charlemagne; David; Hector; Joshua; Maccabeus, Judas Nitobe, Inazo, 56 Noah, 69 Norfolk, duke of John Mowbray, 201 Normandy and the Normans, 22, 26, 38, 96, 110, 119–20, 126, 133, 182, 191, 201, 211, 213, 219, 226, 237, 241, 259, 263, 268

Norwich, bishop of Richard Courtenay, 264 notaries and secretaries, 30, 33 Novare, Philippe de, 92 Noyon, 98, 216 Ogier le Danois, 3 Oldhall, William, 162, 198 Oliver, 3, 133, 153, 156, 232 Orange, prince of Louis de Chalon-Arlay, 157 Oresme, Nicole, 30, 49, 67, 69–70, 93, 136–8, 149, 166, 169, 234 Orgremont, Pierre d’, 226 oriflamme, 29, 187, 192 Orléans, 145, 150, 155, 194, 197, 206, 216 Orléans, duke of, 14, 48, 272 Charles I, 15, 29, 38, 44, 78, 177, 191, 206 Louis I, 22, 32, 45, 47, 88, 114, 124, 192 Orléans, University of, 32 Orosius, Paulus, 157, 251 Orsay, 182 Orsini, Giordano, Cardinal, 194 Othée, battle of, 252 Otterburn, battle of, 79, 205 Oudenarde, 269 Overbreuc, Blanche d’, 124 Overton, Thomas, 126, 147 Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso), 154 Ovide moralisé, 232 Paleologus, Theodore. See Montferrat, marquis of Pallas Athena. See Minerva papacy, 214, 223 Avignon papacy, 30 Great Schism, 20, 29 Pardiac, Gerard de, 220 Paris, 24, 29–30, 43, 45–6, 68, 77, 109–10, 112, 121, 124–5, 182, 194, 202, 204, 216, 226 Châtelet, 121, 204 Paris of Troy, 241 Paris, Bourgeois de, 26, 68, 110, 135, 226 Paris, Matthew, 236 Paris, Parlement of, 77, 82, 126, 147, 201, 220 Paris, prince of Troy, 235 Paris, University of, 77, 215, 236, 246 Navarre, College of, 30 Partada, Arphonse de, 155 Passavant, 24 Patay, battle of, 126, 145, 147, 157, 192 Paulus Macedonicus, Lucius Emilius, 199 Pavia, Aimery de, 183, 268

Index Pays de Caux, 110, 145, 168 Pedro I, king of Castile and Léon, 119, 129, 192 Pedro IV, king of Aragon, 119 Pembroke, earl of William Marshal, 213 Penthièvre, Jeanne de, duchess of Brittany, 158 Percy, Henry, called Henry Hotspur, 79 Périgord, 259, 261 Périgord, cardinal of Hélie de Talleyrand-Périgord, bishop of Auxerre, 194, 242 Périgord, count of Roger-Bernard, 194 Périgueux, 194 Perses, king of Macedon, 199 Peter I, king of Cyprus, 27, 62–3, 113, 122, 152 Petrarch (Petrarca), Francesco, 30, 43–4, 277 Pheasant, Feast of the, 59, 78 Philippe II, king of France, 47, 153 Philippe IV, king of France, 203, 216, 248 Philippe VI, king of France, 47, 49, 66, 90, 113, 122, 133, 142–3, 150, 155, 187, 195, 238–9, 242, 251 Pintouin, Michel, 26, 37–8, 92, 141, 160 Pizan, Christine de, 3, 9, 13, 15, 18, 28–31, 33, 44, 47, 50, 68–70, 93, 172, 203, 206, 215, 222, 226, 229, 232, 247, 249, 251, 259, 261–2, 267 Cent ballades, 10 Epistre a la reine, 44 Epistre de la prison de vie humaine, 28, 179 Epistre Othea, 13, 32, 66, 179, 240, 247 Lamentacion sur les maulx de la France, 45 Le ditié de Jehanne d’Arc, 46, 116 Le livre de la paix, 15, 33 Le livre de l’advision Cristine, 202 Le livre des fais d’armes, 13, 15, 33, 84, 122, 146, 153–4, 167–8, 170–1, 190, 199, 202, 215, 223, 247, 249, 252, 255, 262–3, 273 Le livre des fais et bonnes meurs du sage Roy Charles V, 32, 50, 67, 225, 246, 258 Le livre du corps de policie, 15, 33, 42, 67–8, 79, 84, 117, 135, 138, 140, 180, 199, 213, 240, 243, 261, 266 Le livre du debat de deux amans, 159–60 Le livre du dit de Poissy, 28 Plouvier, Jacotin, 110

343 Poeke, 96, 150 Poissy, 28, 238 Poitiers, campaign and battle of, 20, 23, 28, 35, 46–7, 79, 82, 96, 128, 152, 154, 168, 177, 181, 183, 188, 191, 196, 201, 205, 219, 221, 241–3, 264, 270–1 Poitou, 259 Pommiers, Amanieu de, 127 Pompey (Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus), 171 Pont de l’Arche, 120 Pontoise, 261–2 Pontorson, 127 Porus, king of India, 154 Pouilly-le-Fort, 80 Praguerie, 23, 129 Premierfait, Laurent de, 68 Priam, king of Troy, 241 Priorat, Jean, 249, 258 Provence, 29 Prussia, 84, 114, 197 Punic wars, 68 Pyrrhus, king of Epirus and Macedon, 267 Rahowa, 141 Rançon, Geoffrey de, 78 Raoul de Cambrai, 179, 183 Regnault, Guillaume, 183 Régnier, Jean, 207 Regulus, Marcus Atilius, 84, 267 Reims, 123 Reims, archbishop of. See Ursins, Jean Juvénal des Religieux de Saint-Denis. See Pintouin, Michel Remon, Guillaume, 190 Rennes, 79, 97, 125 Ribemont, Eustache de, 98, 182, 242 Ribemont, Galahaut de, 262 Richard I, king of England, 142 Richard II, king of England, 32, 47, 66, 107–8, 113, 116, 120, See Mézières, Philippe de, Epistre au roi Richart Richemont, Arthur de. See Gruel, Guillaume; Brittany, duke of Robert I the Bruce, king of Scotland, 140 Robert II, king of Scotland, 120 Robessart, Louis, 157 Robinet, 128 Roland, 3, 132, 140, 153, 156, 232 Rolleboise, 268 Roman d’Alexandre, 101 Roman d’Enéas, 235 Roman de la Rose, 69 Roman law, 41, 169, 184, 225

344

Index

Romans, 10–11, 17–19, 41–5, 52, 60, 67–8, 70, 117, 122, 131, 139, 145, 157, 168–9, 173, 177, 179, 199, 213, 225, 235, 244–5, 248, 250, 252, 256–8, 266–8, 275. See Vegetius; chivalry, origins of Rome, 30, 68, 223, 267 Rome, Giles of, 3, 29, 44, 48, 50, 69, 136, 149, 248, 250, 257, 271 Romenay, 204 Romulus, 67, 225 Ronay, 217 Roncesvalles, battle of. See Roland Roos, Richard, 272 Roosebeke, battle of, 111, 212, 243, 252 Roquetaillarde, Jean de, 36 Rosier des guerres, 118, 273 Rouen, 23, 38, 97, 128, 192, 194, 211, 265 Rouergue, 224 Rougemont, 197 routiers. See freebooting soldiers Rouvroy, Jean de, 49, 251, 271 Royaument, Olivier de, 265 Roye, Reginald de, 94, 98 Saâne, Jean, lord of, 168 Sablé, 124 Saint-Denis, 120 Saint-Denis, abbey of, 61, 270 Sainte-Chapelle, 62 Saint-Eloi, abbey of, 43 Saint-Inglevert, 94–5, 159 Saint-Leu-d’Essérent, 224 Saint-Lô, 212 Saint-Lucein, abbey of, 216 Saint-Mard, 23 Saint-Martin, Jacques de, 205 Saintonge, 259 Saint-Ouen, 35 Saint-Riquier, 241 Salisbury, countess of, 58 Salisbury, earl of Thomas Montagu, 150, 182, 261–2 William Montagu, 196 Salisbury, John of, 3, 9, 11, 29, 34, 43, 48, 50, 155, 244, 246, 248, 250–1, 275 Sallust (Gaius Sallustius Crispus), 157, 250, 277 Salmacis, 34 Sancerre, Louis de, 50, 61, 96, 271–2 Saracens, 37, 40, 63, 78, 116, 118, 132, 141, 186, 192, 222–3, 234 Sassoferrato, Bartolo da, 69 Saumur, 59 Saux, Milles de, 191

Savoisy, Charles de, 236 Savoy, duke of, 14, 272 Scaevola, Mucius, 154 Scales, Thomas, 7th baron Scales, 147, 157 Scipio Africanus, 68, 171 Scotland and the Scots, 36, 53, 98, 107, 144, 148, 152–3, 157, 169, 187, 191, 202, 205, 242, 270, 278 Seissan, 211 Selonnet, 29, 216 Sempy, Jean de, 94 Seneca (Lucius Annaeus Seneca), 166, 277 Sens, 216 Sézanne, 212 Shakespeare, William, 100 Shrewsbury, earl of John Talbot, 34, 101, 126, 147, 157, 192, 262–3, 272, 275 Sigismund, king of Hungary and Holy Roman Emperor, 114 Somerset, duke of Henry Beaufort, 201 Somnium viridarii, 49, 127 Songe du vergier, 39, 49, 69, 127, 223–4 Songe véritable, 88 Sor, Ramonnet de, 25 Sprenghose, Edward, 197 St Louis. See Louis IX, king of France St Pol, count of, 220 Louis de Luxembourg, 34, 237, 254 Star, Company of the, 15, 31, 35, 52, 57, 59, 65, 98, 145, 162–3, 181, 193, 200, 231, 233 Suetonius (Gaius Suetonius Tranquillus), 43 Suffolk, earl and duke of William de La Pole, 183, 197 Syracuse, 213 Taillefer, 133 Talbot, John. See Shrewsbury, earl of Tancarville, count of Jean de Melun, 197 Tarrascon, 59 Tarruntenus Paternus, Publius, 248 Temple, Order of the. See Knights Templar Terride, Bernard de, 188 Tête-Noire, Geoffroy, 40 Teutonic knights, 57, 84, 114 Thomas Montagu. See Salisbury, earl of Toulongeon, Jean de, 228 Toulouse, 97, 142, 209, 238 Touraine, duke of Louis (subsequently Louis I, duke of Orléans), 114

Index Tournhem, 145 Tours, 273 Trailly, John, 196 Trajan, Emperor, 248 treason, 37, 78, 80–2, 85–6, 111, 119, 128–9, 158, 183, 192, 194, 201, 265, 267–8 Trémaugon, Évrart de. See Somnium viridarii Tringant, Guillaume, 34, 254 Tristan, 79 Troilus of Troy, 241 Troy, siege of, 3, 11, 14, 155, 232, 235, 240–1 Troyes, Chrétien de, 59, 75, 77, 158, 178, 235, 239, 244 Troyes, Treaty of, 22, 45, 77, 128, 187 Truce of God, 214 Tuchinerie, 213, 226 Turenne, viscount of Raymond Roger de Beaufort, 29, 216 Turon, battle of, 140 Ulysses, 232 Upton, Nicholas, 277 Urban II, Pope, 148, 222 Urban V, Pope, 127, 203 Ursins, Jean Juvénal des, 9, 22, 33, 40–1, 50, 197, 218, 220, 242–3, 258, 262, 271 Valenciennes, 97, 110 Valerius Maximus, 3, 11, 42, 44, 49–50, 68, 117, 154, 157, 180, 199, 235, 246, 251, 254, 260–1, 263, 267, 277 Valognes, 212 Vaudémont, count of Antoine, 124 Frederick II, 190 Vegetius (Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus), 3, 9, 13–14, 43, 48, 50, 117, 131, 139, 142, 144, 146, 156, 166, 168, 170–2, 175, 198–9, 209, 224, 231, 235, 246–60, 262–3, 269–72, 274–5, 277 Venette, Jean de, 26, 36, 39, 109, 165, 207, 216, 224, 226

345 Vengeance de Nostre-Seigneur, 184 Verlette, Gilles de, 220 Vernan, 237 Verneuil, 237 Verneuil, battle of, 20, 48, 68, 100, 128, 145, 152, 168, 175, 187, 192, 242, 254 Verney, John, 120 Verteuil, 183, 193 Vespasian, Emperor, 184 Vienne, Jean de, 114, 241 Viennois. See Dauphin of France Viennois, Dauphin of Humbert II, 115 Vignay, Jean de, 49, 248–9 Vignolles, Étienne de. See La Hire Villandrando, Rodrigo de, 26, 223 Villeneuve-les-Avignon, 203 Villette, Philippe de, abbot of Saint-Denis, 270 Visconti, Valentine, duchess of Orléans, 32 Vitry, Philippe de, 244, 249, 251 Vitry-en-Perthois, 86 Vivaldi, Giovanni Ludovico de, 70 Voeux du héron, 78, 133, 155–6, 161 Vottem, battle of, 133 Vulgate Cycle, 65, 79, 101, 179 Walsingham, Thomas, 197 Waltham, John, 79 Wauquelin, Jean, 221 Wavrin, Jean de, 3, 26, 100, 147, 175, 197–8, 261, 263 William I, king of England, 133, 153 Woodstock, Edward of, prince of Wales, 62, 82, 85, 119, 128–9, 134, 142, 152, 164, 181, 183, 190–1, 194, 196, 198, 201, 205, 209–11, 213, 217, 220, 237–8, 241–2, 264–5, See Chandos Herald Worcester, bishop of Reginald Brian, 152 Worcester, William, 147, 277 Xaintrailles, Jean Poton de, 192, 223 Yaumont, 156