The Crown of the Hundred Years' War

Chapter 21 The Herring War

Paris winters are already cold, with ice floes floating on the Seine, but today a mass was held together in twenty chapels at the Palace of Tournell, and all the clocks in Paris rang at noon—a ceremony organized by the Duke of Bedford in anticipation of Salisbury's return to his homeland.

The senior British military officers who participated in the entire ceremony gathered around a long table on either side of the largest council chamber in Tournell Palace. They were all dressed in armor with black cloaks as a sign of mourning. Bedford

Bedford undoubtedly occupied the head seat, with the seat to his left empty, a folded English flag draped over the back of his chair, while Talbot sat to his right.

"Gentlemen," Bedford began, "the death of the Earl of Salisbury is an irreparable loss to the Kingdom of England. May God accept his soul."

Everyone made the sign of the cross. Bedford prayed silently for a moment, then looked up and glanced across the long table.

"But the war continues, and we must carry on Salisbury's legacy and take Orleans." He turned to Talbot, "I have decided to let Talbot take over Salisbury's command of the war along the Royal River, and he will now chair the meetings."

Talbot rose and bowed to Bedford, then placed his hands on the edge of the table, facing the crowd: "Sir Suffolk, you were ordered by the Duke to take on the siege of Orléans, and three months have passed. I have only one question—can you quickly break through the city's defenses and end this siege?"

Suffolk was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

"cannot."

Suffolk looked extremely haggard, with dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept well for days. "Lord Talbot, it's not that I'm unwilling, it's that I can't do it. I spent months building dozens of earthen ramparts and trenches around Orléans, but the city's defenders are much tougher than we imagined. Dinois must have moved all the cannons from the nearby fortresses into Orléans long ago; the city has more cannons than we did during the siege, and all the artillery battles we launched have ended in disastrous defeat."

He paused, picked up his glass and took a sip: "As for starving them? Absolutely not. Although I don't know how many soldiers are in the city, they are clearly well-fed and in high spirits. On Christmas Day, Dinois even sent a military band to play for us. I sent someone to test them, and they said the soldiers are now eating three meals a day."

Fastov, standing nearby, asked in a low voice, "Sir, the besieging troops must be running low on food, right?"

Suffolk gave a wry smile: "That's right, if this continues, our rations will be halved. The Burgundians withdrew for winter, and now I have less than four thousand men left outside the city. A huge gap has appeared in the northeast corner, and I can't even maintain a complete encirclement. In the past few months, I've tried digging tunnels and even launching midnight rope raids, but Dinois seems to know what I'm up to, and it's all just a waste of soldiers' lives."

He set down his wine glass and looked directly into Talbot's eyes: "My lord, my abilities are limited, and Lord Salisbury did not have the chance to tell me his full plan before his death. I beg you to find someone more capable to lead the siege, and I will have no complaints."

There was a moment of silence around the long table.

Talbot looked at Suffolk and forced an awkward smile.

"Sir Suffolk, you've done enough." His lips twitched more like a spasm. "It was Lord Salisbury's unexpected death that gave the French a much-needed respite, not your fault. I will stay at Mohenburg to guard the west for you, and we'll work together to conquer Orleans."

He withdrew his awkward smile and turned to Bedford: "Your Grace, the front lines in Orleans need reinforcements and supplies. Do you have any arrangements?"

Bedford leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest twice.

“I’ve been preparing supplies for a while now,” he said. “Lent is approaching, and months ago I had large quantities of pickled herring and lentils stockpiled in Paris, enough to feed the front lines for a while. But reinforcements—” he shook his head. “The country refuses to send more troops, at least not before spring. The Burgundians are flirting with the false king again, so we can’t count on them. In terms of manpower, I’m powerless.”

He glanced at Fastov: "Fastov will be in charge of transporting supplies and getting them to the front lines as soon as possible."

Talbot was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Fastov, your logistics force has more than a thousand men. Isn't it a waste to only be responsible for transporting grain? Just leave your own personal company to escort the wagons, and assign the rest to Suffolk to block the gap in the northeast corner."

Fastov's expression changed.

"Lord Talbot, this won't do." He replied with unusual firmness, "The French might not dare to attack our lines, but they will definitely attack our supply convoys. Think about it, how can those heavy supply wagons escape from French cavalry in this snowy weather? If they are discovered, my supply convoys could be wiped out. At that point, the front lines won't even have enough to eat, let alone any gaps in supplies."

Talbot's face darkened. "How did the French know we were transporting supplies? Fastov, aren't you being overly cautious? Previous supplies always started from Normandy, passed through my defenses in Meun, and then reached Orléans. We've never had troops sent from Paris before. What danger could there be? Do you think the French are prophetic?"

His voice rose slightly: "The most important thing now is to block Orléans, otherwise, if French reinforcements enter Orléans through the breach, the months-long siege will be in vain! Even if the supply lines are lost, we can send another team. Is that more important than the battle at the front?"

Fastov wanted to argue, but Bedford raised his hand to stop him.

"Fastoff," Bedford raised his voice, "Talbot is your boss now. You must respect him as you would me."

Fastov swallowed his words.

Bedford continued, "Talbot is right. Send a thousand elite soldiers from your supply train to the front lines; blocking Orléans is the top priority. As for the safety of the transport—" He paused, "I will send you a thousand reliable city militia from Paris. These are all local Parisians; they know the roads well, are loyal, and if used properly, they will be no worse than soldiers from the mainland."

Fastov didn't say anything more, but simply lowered his head, which was considered an acceptance of the order.

Talbot nodded in satisfaction and turned to Bedford: "Sir, if there are no other instructions—"

Bedford waved his hand.

Talbot stood up and nodded to everyone: "The meeting is adjourned. Everyone, return to your positions and prepare for battle."

The sound of chairs being moved rang out. People stood up and headed for the door. Fastov also stood up, pulled his cloak tighter around himself, and prepared to leave.

"Fastov," Talbot called out to him.

Fastov turned around.

Talbot walked over and stood in front of him. He reached out and patted Fastov's shoulder armor, lowering his voice, "You need to be like a true knight, brave and fearless. Not like those petty country bumpkins."

Fastov's face twitched, but he ultimately said nothing. He bowed, turned, and strode out of the council chamber.

Bedford watched all this without saying a word, simply leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.

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Talbot thus berated Falstaff*: "When this system was established, the knights who wore the sash were all of noble birth, brave and upright men, seasoned warriors, accomplished in battle, and possessing a heroic spirit. They were fearless in the face of danger and unyielding in the face of adversity, forging ahead even in extreme hardship. If someone lacks these qualities and infiltrates the ranks of knights, such a person is stealing the title and desecrating the noble name of knighthood."

—Henry VI, by William Shakespeare

*It is generally believed that although Falstaff is a fictional character, Shakespeare's original inspirations were Sir Aldercaste and Sir Fastoff. This was mainly because Aldercaste's descendants (Lord Cobham at the time) strongly objected to using the former as a model. Under pressure, Shakespeare had to change the character's name, renaming him and making his character more similar to the commoner Fastoff in later parts of the story.