The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 40 The End of an Era

The British troops trudged northward with difficulty along the dusty road. Talbot urged them on from horseback, glancing back frequently to the south, his brow furrowed.

Several more scouts returned, their horses drenched in sweat from galloping in the blazing sun. Talbot reined in their horses and, before they could dismount, asked, "How is it? Are the French following us?"

The lead scout nodded, his voice hoarse: "Sir, there are indeed French troops to the south, only ten miles away. But we can't see their flags clearly through the bushes and hills. We tried to get closer, but they sent out so many scouts that they almost intercepted us."

Talbot gritted his teeth and waved for them to go and rest. His adjutant handed him a water pouch, which he took, gulped down a couple of mouthfuls, and then handed it back: "I confirmed yesterday that Atil has also broken camp. He's most likely following us?"

The adjutant nodded and said, "The spies we left behind have all confirmed that they moved their camp to a place twenty miles south of us last night."

Talbot nodded: "Make the troops go faster."

The troops quickened their pace, and by midday, the sun was almost directly overhead, making even their leather armor scorching hot, and the soldiers' steps grew increasingly heavy. Some began to fall behind, and the officers rode back and forth, shouting and using the shafts of their spears to urge those who were about to collapse forward. Although Talbot still hadn't removed his helmet, his mount had already snorted several times from the reins.

Just then, a fast horse galloped up from behind. The rider's armor was askew, his helmet was off and tucked under his arm, and his face was covered in dust. He rushed up to Talbot, abruptly reined in his horse, and shouted, panting, "My lord! A large army is approaching from the south! I saw it with my own eyes, at least a thousand riders! They are less than three miles away!"

Talbot narrowed his eyes and turned to his adjutant, saying, "Have Fastov stop and wait for me. Call everyone here."

Having said that, he took out his water pouch and tossed it to the brave scout. Seeing him collapsed on the ground, too exhausted to even hold the pouch steady, Talbot pulled out a gold coin and threw it beside him. Without waiting for his thanks, he turned his horse and galloped north.

When Talbot arrived, Fastov stood on a low, gentle hill, surrounded by a number of generals. Two attendants held up a map, and the crowd was pointing and discussing it. Talbot glanced at it; the road they were on was nestled between the Bos region and the Orleans Forest, with gentle terrain dotted with low bushes and rolling hills.

Fastov dismounted and, without any pleasantries, asked directly, "Are you sure you have a thousand riders?"

Talbot didn't look up, his finger tracing patterns on the map to confirm that two main roads met in the village ahead, one leading northeast to Paris and the other northwest to Beaunevale: "My men saw it with their own eyes, there's no mistake."

"Is he one of Atil's men?" Fastov asked.

"It can only be him." Talbot looked up at him. "We can't keep rushing ahead. We can't outrun them with our supplies. We need to stop and prepare for battle."

Fastov thought for a moment and asked, "How do you plan to fight?"

Talbot, hands on his hips, addressed the crowd: "That coward Atil dares to bring all his possessions to try and devour us, so of course we can't let him have his way! I'll lead a thousand longbowmen to ambush on both sides of the road to buy time, while you take the main force to the high ground to build a defensive position. This time, it's his turn to fight a 'siege'."

Fastov was silent for a moment: "Just hold them off for a bit, then retreat along the jungle behind me."

Seeing Talbot, the other generals had no objections. Talbot returned to the rear guard, and Fastov began assigning tasks. The supply convoy and non-combat personnel were ordered to immediately retreat into the nearby forest for cover, while he led the main force up a small hill to the northwest.

Talbot looked around and pointed to the hedges on both sides of the road, saying, "This place offers excellent visibility, providing both cover and the opportunity to shoot down French cavalry coming from the south."

On both sides of the road, officers shouted hoarsely, trying to get the longbowmen into position, but the orders changed as they were passed down—this force was a mix of ragtag and elite troops, the veterans were lazy and undisciplined, the new recruits were flustered and disorganized, and no one listened to anyone else. The cavalry, who should have been the backbone of the force, had been taken away by Fastov.

The longbowmen were supposed to drive sharpened stakes into the ground, spearheads pointing outwards to stop the cavalry, but time was too tight. The supply wagons had already been sent away, and half the men hadn't even received their stakes. Those who did mostly just hurriedly planted them in the ground; some were crooked, others were spaced far apart like gates, utterly ineffective at stopping the charge. The officers were exhausted and sweating profusely, but many more wore expressions of confusion—they still didn't understand what they were supposed to do.

Talbot had intended to check how far the French army was to the south, but turning back to see the chaotic scene, he was instantly enraged. He roared and cursed at several longbowmen, kicking away a crooked log and demanding to know if they were waiting to be crushed into mincemeat by the French cavalry. But no matter how angry he was, it was too late; time was of the essence, and the hillside was filled with frantic, resigned faces.

Just then, a stag suddenly sprang out of the forest beside the road. Startled by something, it burst from the bushes and charged straight into the ranks of the British soldiers.

The soldiers were taken aback at first, then one of them shouted, "A deer! A male deer!"

The deer had many forked antlers and glossy fur that shimmered reddish in the sunlight. The soldiers, having retreated for days and lacking provisions, were craving meat so badly their eyes were practically glowing. Several young longbowmen dropped their stakes and leaped after it. The deer darted and weaved through the ranks, panicked and disoriented, until it crashed headfirst under a large cart, where it was quickly subdued by several arriving soldiers. The crowd erupted in cheers, some already discussing how to divide the meat that evening.

Talbot was about to reprimand them, but before he could even speak, his expression changed—it was the sound of bugles, the French army's charge? They were actually nearby?

He hurriedly shouted, "Prepare to engage the enemy!"

With his roar, a cavalry unit leaped out of the bushes and galloped towards them.