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field?’ The count was not certain he had heard correctly.
    ‘He is the heir. He has fought enough. He has proved his courage, and now he must be kept safe. Tell him he is to ride to Poitiers with his entourage. I shall join him there this evening.’
    ‘Yes, sire,’ the count said, and called for his horse. He knew he was being sent with the message because the dauphin would distrust such a command unless it was brought by a man close to the king. And the count decided the king was right. The heir to the throne must be kept safe.
    ‘And tell the Duke of Orléans to take up the fight,’ the king commanded.
    ‘He is to advance, sire?’
    ‘He is to advance, he is to fight and he is to win!’ the king said. He looked at his youngest son, just fourteen. ‘You will not leave with Charles,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t want to leave, Father!’
    ‘You will witness victory, Philippe.’
    ‘Shall we fight, Father?’ the boy asked eagerly.
    ‘Your uncle will fight next. We shall join him if we’re needed.’
    ‘I hope he needs us!’ Philippe said.
    King Jean smiled. He did not want to deprive his youngest son of any of the day’s excitement, though he desperately wanted him kept safe. Perhaps, he thought, he would advance his three thousand men at the battle’s end to join in the destruction of the English. His men were among the finest knights and men-at-arms that France possessed, which was why they served in the king’s battle. ‘You will see some fighting,’ he promised his son, ‘but you must swear not to leave my side!’
    ‘I swear it, Father.’
    The Count of Ventadour had ridden his horse through the mass of men commanded by the king’s brother. That was the shortest way to the dauphin. The king saw him deliver the message to the duke, then ride on to find the dauphin who was now halfway down the far slope. The English had not pursued him. They just waited behind the hedge, a sign, the king hoped, that they truly were weakened.
    ‘When the duke attacks,’ the king called to Marshal Clermont, ‘we will advance our battle to his present position.’
    ‘Yes, sire.’
    The first hammer blow had weakened the English. Two more waited.
    And then only one waited.
    Because, as the king watched in disbelief, his brother decided to leave the field with the dauphin. The Duke of Orléans had not fought, his sword was unstained by enemy blood, yet he called for his horses and led his troops northwards. ‘What the devil?’ the king asked the morning air.
    ‘What in Christ’s name is he doing?’ Marshal Clermont asked.
    ‘Sweet Jesus,’ a man said.
    ‘He’s leaving!’
    ‘You fool!’ the king screamed at his brother, who was much too far away to hear. ‘You spavined fool, you coward! You cretinous bastard! You gutless turd!’ His face was red, spittle flying from his mouth. ‘Advance the banners!’ the king shouted. He dismounted and gave the reins of his horse to a groom. If his brother would not fight, then the king’s battle, the finest in the army, would have to decide the day. ‘Trumpets!’ the king shouted, still angrily. ‘Give me that damned axe! Sound the trumpets! Sound the advance! Forward!’
    The trumpets sounded, the drums beat, and the oriflamme was carried towards the enemy.
     
    ‘What are they doing?’ The Prince of Wales had mounted his horse so that he could see the enemy better, and what he saw was worrying. The French second battle was going northwards. ‘They plan to attack our right flank?’ he suggested.
    ‘And our centre at the same time, sire,’ Sir Reginald Cobham, old in war, was watching the last French battle advance. This was the battle that flew the oriflamme and the royal standard. Sir Reginald leaned forward and slapped at a horsefly that had settled on his destrier’s neck. ‘Maybe someone over there has some sense at last?’
    ‘The Earl of Salisbury has archers?’ the prince asked.
    ‘Plenty, but does he have enough arrows?’
    The prince grunted. A servant brought him a pitcher of wine diluted with water, but the prince shook his head. ‘Make sure every other man drinks before I do,’ he ordered in a voice loud enough to be heard thirty or forty paces away.
    ‘A carter brought ten barrels of water up the hill, sire,’ the Earl of Warwick said.
    ‘He did? Good man!’ The prince looked at a servant. ‘Find him! Give him a mark!’ The silver mark was a valuable coin. ‘No, give him two! They’re not very eager, are they?’ He was