The Psychology of Knights on the Battlefield ( 7 parts )

[Longmane]

This is taken from the same book and follows on directly from the earlier piece on collective training.

The Psychology of Knights on the Battlefield

The turbulent chivalry of the eleventh and twelfth centuries had gained the reputation of having a gigantic and insatiable lust for fighting, which led to the innumerable wars of the times. This rather too simple explanation is suggested by the lyrical outpourings of some poets, whose evidence should now be re-examined. No one voiced this warlike attitude more clearly than Bertrand de Born in his well-known poem:

"I love the gay season of Eastertide, which brings forth flowers and leaves, and I love to hear the brave sound of the birds, making their song ring through the thickets, and I love to see tents and pavilions set up in the meadows. And I am overjoyed when I see knights and horses, all in armor, drawn up on the field. I love it when the chargers throw everything and everybody into confusion, and I enjoy seeing strong castles besieged, and bastions broken down and shattered, and seeing the army all surrounded by ditches, protected by palisades of stout tree-trunks jammed together.

And I love just as much to see a lord when he is the first to advance on horseback, armed and fearless, thus encouraging his men to valiant service: then, when the fray has begun, each must be ready to follow him willingly, because no one is held in esteem until he has given and received blows.

We shall see clubs and swords, gaily-colored helmets and shields shattered and spoiled, at the beginning of the battle, and many vassals all together receiving great blows, by reason of which many horses will wander riderless, belonging to the killed and wounded. Once he has started fighting, no noble knight thinks of anything but breaking heads and arms—better a dead man than a live one who is useless.

I tell you, neither in eating, drinking, nor sleeping, do I find what I feel when I hear the shout 'At them!' from both sides, and the neighing of riderless horses in the confusion, or the call 'Help! Help!', or when I see great and small together fall on the grass of the ditches, or when I espy dead men who still have pennoned lances in their ribs.

Barons, you should rather forfeit castles, towns, and cities, than give up—any of you—going to war.


Bertrand's warlike verses are not unique in their testimony. In the chanson de geste called Girart de Vienne the aged Garin de Montglane expresses himself in very similar fashion in a family council of war. Peace would make him ill, and he likes nothing better than the neighing of horses, and battle in the open field. In the Moniage Renoart a knight would even return from Paradise to fight the Moslems.

Such lyrical effusions have made scholars think that the knight felt contempt for life and human suffering. Léon Gautier, a great glorifier of chivalry, wrote:

There were two main elements in chivalrous courage, Germanic and Christian, which were not always properly blended. Too often the knights loved battle for its own sake and not for the cause they were defending. Under their mail shirts the primitive barbarian of the German forests still quivered. In their eyes the sight of red blood flowing on iron armour was a charming spectacle. A fine lance thrust transported them to the heavens. 'I prefer such a blow to eating or drinking!' cries out quite naturally one of the savage heroes of Raoul de Cambrai. This naive admiration is most apparent in the oldest epics and, in particular, in the Chanson de Roland. In the midst of a horrible battle our Frenchman, more than half dead, still finds time to criticize or admire skilful blows of lance or sword.

We read in Huizinga: 'The psychology of courage in battle has probably never been so simply and strikingly expressed as in these words from Le Jouvencel':

It is a joyous thing, a war ... You love your comrade so much in war. When you see that your quarrel is just, and your blood is fighting well, tears rise to your eyes. 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 are prepared 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 experienced it is not fit to say what delight it is. Do you think that a man who does that fears death? Not at all, for he feels so strengthened, so elated, that he does not know where he is. Truly he is afraid of nothing.

By way of commentary, Huizinga adds that this passage 'shows the emotional ground of pure courage in combat: shuddering withdrawal from narrow egotism to the emotion of life-danger, the deep tenderness about the courage of the comrade, the voluptuousness of fidelity and self-sacrifice'. In discussing the proverbial gallantry of a knight, one scholar was so carried away that he wrote that it was easier for the Knights Templar to stand fast till the end of a battle than to subordinate their will to that of their commander and to fight in units.

Without wishing to detract from the courage, daring and self-sacrifice which the knights so freely displayed both in battles and on many other occasions, especially in the East, it is nevertheless necessary to contradict this often-repeated, usually biassed, praise of their warlike spirit and their contempt for death. Despite their great and sometimes wholly admirable gallantry, the knights were still human beings who feared for their lives in the presence of danger, and who behaved as men have always done in battle—in fear of death, mutilation, wounds and captivity. It is better to look for courage in the manner in which they braved danger, for it is important to know how they overcame their fear and what made them fight bravely.

[Longmane]

Pt 2

We shall therefore turn first to the people who were critical of western chivalry or who fought against it as enemies. If we look at the testimony of a competent but critical observer such as Anna Comnena, daughter of the Byzantine emperor Alexius I Comnenus, certain traits in the character of the western knight are represented by the Norman adventurer, a great warrior, tough and brave, rough and sometimes reckless. Count Robert of Flanders would yield to no one when he joined battle with the Saracens with some of his knights in the van of the crusaders' army.  However, speaking of the time when she had to make an excuse on her father's behalf for not having hurried to the aid of the western knights after the capture of Antioch in 1098 during the First Crusade, Anna Comnena made this generalization about the tactics and strategy of the crusaders, whom she calls Celts:

The Celtic race ... is independent and does not like asking for advice; they have no military discipline nor strategic skill, but as soon as they have to fight and do battle, a raging fury seizes their hearts and they become irresistible, common soldiers and leaders alike. They hurl themselves with invincible impetus into the midst of the enemy ranks as soon as the latter give a little ground. If, however, the enemy goes on laying ambushes with the necessary experience in the art of war, and attacks them according to its rules, then their courage collapses into despair. To put it shortly, the Celts are invincible in the first onslaught, but after that they are easy to overcome because their arms and equipment are very heavy, and they behave recklessly because of their impulsive nature.

Elsewhere she says: 'The Celtic race ... is indeed very fiery and impetuous; once it has taken the initiative it can no longer be restrained.' This judgement agrees with the contemptuous comment of the emir Ousama ibn Munquidh on the striking force of the crusaders. In his autobiography he wrote: 'Anyone who knows anything about the Franks has looked on them as beasts, outdoing all others in courage and warlike spirit, just as animals are our superiors when it comes to strength and aggression'.  But, as is clear from the words of Ousama, such a judgement is purely relative. It is made in comparison with what he saw among his own people, and this is true of the comment of Anna Comnena, who was going by what she knew of the Byzantine warriors of her day, who were not outstanding.

These judgements are too general, and do not go to the root of the matter. The essence of this can be seen in the opinion the Bedouin held of the crusaders: li Frans qui s'arme pour poour de mort! 'The Franks wear armor because they fear death!'

The formidable men in iron were held to be courageous and undaunted thanks to the armor that protected them. In its turn, this does not alter the fact that this contemptuous judgement by the Saracens was largely prompted by jealousy, because they had no such excellent protective armor themselves. The Moslems fled whenever the heavily armored knights attacked them, in order to save their lives from the long lances. At Arsuf, three successive charges by the crusaders were enough to dissuade the Saracens from making any effort at resistance in the open field for the rest of the campaign.

Fear of death, of mutilation, of wounds—there we have the chief tactical problem, for the art of war is to achieve victory with the smallest possible losses. To defeat the enemy, soldiers have to overcome their inborn fear, and despite all inner anxiety carry out the orders of their superiors. The tactical aim must therefore be to allay fear in one's own army while striving to instil panic into the enemy, if this can be done.

This vital aspect of the behaviour of men in knightly combat has not been studied by many scholars. Neglect of such an interesting field of investigation, throwing a new clear light on the psychology of knights, is doubtless due to the excellent repute noble horsemen have for this. The great individual fighter, as the classic representation of him will have it, knew no fear. Undaunted, he continued to fight until his strength was exhausted, even until the last man was driven from the bloody field of battle.

This over-simplified picture of undaunted gallantry is not really a true one. Fear in the fighting man in time of war and on the battlefield is easy to see: if it is not quickly mastered men take to their heels, fleeing in whole units, or becoming panic-stricken. To begin with a well-known example, the defection of some crusaders in the First Crusade, especially at Antioch, may be cited.

After a good start, everything went wrong, and matters became so serious that Peter the Hermit and Guillaume le Charpentier, burgrave of Melun, fled. They were overtaken by Tancred, who brought them back to the field. Bohemond publicly denounced Guillaume, whose companions begged mercy for their guilty brother-in-arms: they all understood human weakness, and knew that some men were not strong enough to overcome it. Things became still worse when the crusaders, after taking the city, found themselves encircled by a new enemy army and chose to remain in their houses instead of storming the Turkish citadel, which was still holding out and constituted a terrible danger. The knights were shaking with hunger, and fear. Just before the city fell, Stephen of Blois forsook the crusaders, despite the fact that he had formerly held an important position, possibly that of supreme commander. When he met Alexius Comnenus some time later the army he'd abandoned had, naturally, been wiped out to the last man, or so the fugitives asserted!

Fulcher of Chartres frankly recognised what difficulties the crusaders had faced in the first great battle, at Doryleum in 1097, and how afraid the knights were: 'We were all herded together like sheep in a sheepfold, trembling and frightened, and were gradually totally surrounded by the enemy'. Later, when he accompanied Baldwin of Boulogne on the latter's journey to Jerusalem, where Baldwin was to succeed his deceased brother Godfrey, he admits: 'We feigned bravery but feared death.'

On the same journey Baldwin addressed his knights thus: 'Let those who are afraid turn back.' He knew very well that no one would dare acknowledge his fear publicly and lag behind; but during the night a number of men disappeared, both knights and footsoldiers. Similarly the Norman jongleur Ambroise, whose Estoire de la guerre sainte is one of the best sources for the Third Crusade, relates how the majority of the fighting men and pilgrims were so terrified at the beginning of the battle of Arsuf that they all wished the expedition were over.

[Longmane]

Pt 3

In a campaign so far from home, escape can be much more dangerous than battle when it comes to saving one's life. Fulcher reports Baldwin as having given this advice at Ramla in 1101: 'Escape is no good since France is too far away.'  Robert de Clari says much the same sort of thing of the Fourth Crusade. The new emperor of Byzantium, the usurper Murzuphlus or Alexius V, had ambushed the troops of Henry, brother of Baldwin IX of Flanders. As soon as the crusaders saw this, 'they were terrified', but then they reflected: 'By God! If we flee we'll all be killed! We might just as well die trying to defend ourselves, rather than while trying to escape.' Before Constantinople was captured, many in the army hoped that the ships would be swept away by the current, so that they might be delivered from danger and be able to return home.

Henry of Valenciennes also mentions the special circumstances of fighting in a remote theatre of war, in the reign of Henry I of Constantinople: 'You are gathered here in a foreign land, and have neither castle nor any place of refuge where you can seek safety, except your shields, your swords, your horses and the help of God.' The soldiers were then to make their confessions in order to have complete faith in the outcome of the battle; they were to know 'neither fear nor doubt'.

Joinville too confessed quite sincerely what fear he felt, together with other knights, in the army of St Louis in Egypt. This fear was intensified by the enemy's use of Greek fire, which was a great surprise to the French. The king of France was trying to build a dam across one of the tributaries of the Nile. In order to protect the workmen and to guard the dam he had wooden towers built, which the enemy set on fire. The guards in the towers were faced with a dilemma: they could either stay in the towers and be burned to death, or disgrace themselves utterly by evacuating them. They decided that each time the enemy sent over Greek fire they would fall on their knees and beseech God to save them from the terrible holocaust. Another day Joinville was lucky as he honestly admits: the ''cats" or towers were destroyed by enemy fire just before he had to go on night watch with his knights. 'God did a good turn to my knights', he wrote.

In the battle of Mansurah he saw important nobles flee, but did not record their names for the whole family of the fugitive would suffer too much from the great shame. Later on he was still trembling with fright, but also from sickness and fever.  Even a nobleman's piety was of no avail when it comes to such a pinch. When Joinville and his servants were on the point of being taken prisoner, one of his cellarers proposed that they should all let themselves be killed so that they might go to heaven as martyrs, 'but we did not believe it' wrote Joinville, who chose to live.

During his imprisonment he had some other unpleasant moments. He found himself in a galley with St Louis, when the sultan who was holding them prisoner was put to death by his own rebellious soldiers under their very eyes. Thirty enemy soldiers came for them with drawn swords, their Danish axes round their necks. 'I asked the lord Baldwin of Ibelin, who knew the Saracen tongue well, what the men were saying,' says Joinville.

He answered that they were talking about cutting off our heads. Many men then made confession to a brother of the Holy Trinity, named John, belonging to the retinue of count William of Flanders. I could not think of a single sin. At the same time I was thinking that the more I defended myself the worse it would be. Then I crossed myself and knelt at the foot of a Saracen who had a Danish axe in his hand, and said 'Thus was St Agnes killed.' Guy d'Ibelin, constable of Cyprus, knelt beside me and made his confession to me. I answered him: 'I grant you absolution by the power which God has given me.' But when I got up, I could not remember what he had said or told me.

The strict rule of the Templars also anticipated that knights might flee por paor des Sarrasins, for fear of the Saracens. They were mercilessly expelled from the Order.

These examples from the literature of the crusades and the wars in the East are equally valid for western Europe. There too men fled from the field of battle, and there are many references to panic. There is no need to quote all these. The most beautiful of them all is the ironical mockery which the author of Le voeu du héron puts into the mouth of Jean de Beaumont, expressing this wish in the royal palace of Edward III in London in 1337:

When we are in the tavern drinking strong wines, and the ladies pass and look at us with those white throats, and tight bodices, those sparkling eyes resplendent with smiling beauty; then Nature urges us to have a desiring heart. Then we could overcome Yaumont and Agoulant and the others could conquer Oliver and Roland. But when we are in camp on our trotting chargers, our bucklers round our necks and our lances lowered, and the great cold is freezing us altogether and our limbs are crushed before and behind, and our enemies are approaching us, then we should wish to be in a cellar so large that we might never be seen by any means.

This realistic confession shows how great the difference was between harsh reality and the embellished accounts of knightly gallantry or battle vows taken in the taverns and ladies' chambers of which Joinville wrote. On the battlefield there is no wine to go to the head, and no fair ladies to spur on the knights, but fear strikes to the very marrow of the warriors. Then everyone wishes he were far away from the dreaded battlefield, instead of defeating Eaumons and Agoulant, two Saracen heroes of the Chanson d'Aspremont.

In this chanson de geste the same idea is expressed, not as a Christian knight's confession, but as a sharp reproof to the soldiers of the Saracen camp. Surely the poet was also thinking of the less brave western knights. Eaumons complains bitterly about the lack of courage and bravery among his men, who had taken all sorts of vows about the battle in the presence of beautiful ladies, with the best wine to provide a cheerful atmosphere:

In my great palaces, back in Africa, they were conquering the Christians' land while wooing my fresh-cheeked damsels, giving them loving kisses, drinking my best wines. There, they were splendid conquerors, dividing up the cities and castles of France as spoils. But the French are no cowards-they know how to use the sword and lance.

Lastly, let us look at the account of Jean le Bel, a canon of Liège who went with Jean de Beaumont in the army of the young king Edward III on an expedition to Scotland in 1327. At York, a dispute arose between men of Hainault and English archers over a game. The dispute led to a fight. Knights from Hainault, Flanders, Brabant, and Hesbaye hastened to the help of their men, charged the archers and drove them off. But the English archers in the royal army were very numerous, and they threatened the knights.

'Each day someone came on behalf of the king and of the English knights who bore us no hatred, to warn our leaders that we must be on our guard. They knew that 6,000 Englishmen were gathered in the city, and that they were out to kill or injure us by day or night.'

The knights of the Low Countries realized that their fate was in their own hands, and that they must look out for themselves. Their feeling of solidarity increased. They slept at night with their armor on and their arms ready to hand so that they could turn out at the first alarm. During the day they stayed in their lodgings and kept their armor and weapons close at hand. They posted a guard, commanded by the constables, day and night in the fields and on the roads. Half a mile outside the city they set up listening posts to warn the constables, who in turn were to sound the alarm to call the nobles to arms. This would give the heavy armoured cavalrymen time to mount their horses and line up at the appointed place under their banners.

For three weeks rumours spread daily of an approaching attack by the English archers, but each time they proved false. The noblemen of the Low Countries did not dare go into the city, but stayed together all the time with their armour on, well protected by their foresight and precautions.

This example suggests the great influence fear had on the art of war, for it made the knights act cautiously and wisely.

[Longmane]

pt 4

Mass Flight and Panic

Besides considering the ordinary feeling of fear in the individual, we must also look at the question of mass panic in order to see what influence fear had upon the knights' tactics when they fought together against other knights or against foot-soldiers. One of the finest descriptions of panic in an army of knights and foot-soldiers comes from Ralph of Caen.

In early May 1104 a battle was fought at Harran, not far from the River Balîkh, by the troops of Baldwin of Bourg, Bohemond, and Tancred, against the Moslems. Baldwin's unit was quickly defeated and he was taken prisoner, but Bohemond and Tancred were victorious, and spent the night on the battlefield, on the enemy side of the river. The banks were very steep, and there was only one fordable place, on which the Norman leaders set a guard during the night, in order to prevent escape and to keep the enemy from gaining control of it.

As the night wore on, the men became increasingly uneasy, and the fear of death crept over them. The first little groups of fugitives were easily driven back by the sentinels but steadily their numbers grew until finally they overpowered the defenders of the ford, causing a panic flight to begin. Bohemond and Tancred were forced to organize a retreat as best they could, and Tancred stayed in the rear guard to cover the retreat and flight.

While the Turks lay sunk in sleep, the Christian knights fled, casting aside as they went all their costly possessions, their clothes, tents, silver and gold vessels, everything that was heavy and might delay them in their flight, even their weapons, which protect the lives of those who bear them. Rain had made the roads bad and turned the dust into mud; the horses slid about and their tails seemed to drag them down.

Archbishop Bernard was fleeing with the others, his mule trotting along covered in mud. No one was chasing them, but it was as if the enemy were at their heels with swords drawn and bowstrings taut. The archbishop's countenance was troubled, and his heart heavy with fear. He called out to his fleeing companions, and begged them: 'Listen to your father, my children, cut off the tail that hangs down behind my mount, which is not just slowing me down, but is bringing me to a standstill. Cut it off, I tell you, for the animal will be lighter, and I shall not blush for riding a mule with no tail. Cut it off, and God forgive you your sins. I grant full absolution to the man who cuts off this tail.'

Many crusaders turned a deaf ear and galloped on, so hard of hearing did their terror make them, nor did anyone have sympathy to spare for his friends, so much was he taken up with his own fear. The archbishop had grown hoarse when a knight who was fleeing with him at last did what he asked, on condition that he received the promised absolution. Both felt the relief at once, the knight freed from his sins and the animal from his tail.

So the knight reaped the double harvest of a mule's tail and absolution by sowing a benediction. The archbishop gave him benediction with heart, mouth and hand, and as soon as the knight had got the benediction as well as the mule's tail he trotted off to Edessa with the archbishop, fleeing with him for whom he had made flight possible.

In a battle under the walls of Acre in 1189, panic broke out in part of the victorious Christian army when some German knights were trying to catch an Arab horse and their pursuit was taken by the others to be flight. This local panic gave Saladin the chance to turn a defeat into victory, though not a decisive one. During the campaigns following the Fourth Crusade and the conquest of the Byzantine Empire, Baldwin I, formerly count of Flanders and Hainault, was taken prisoner close to the walls of Adrianople when he went to the help of the imprudent Louis of Blois. Some of the defeated troops were able to flee, thanks to the intervention of Villehardouin, who provided cover for them with a fresh corps which had been drawn up outside the city walls. But some of the fugitives turned in panic and galloped back into the camp, instead of strengthening the ranks of their friends.

The story of the flight of the French rearguard at the battle of the Golden Spurs near Courtrai on the afternoon and evening of 11 July 1302 is also well-known.

From the towers of the church of Notre Dame of Tournai, of the abbey of St Martin and of the city, they could be seen fleeing along the roads, through hedges and fields, in such numbers that no one who had not seen it would believe it ... In the outskirts of the city and in the villages there were so many starving knights and foot-soldiers that it was a frightful sight. Those who managed to find food outside the town bartered their equipment for it. All that night and the next day those who came into the city were so terrified that many of them could not even eat.

When the Flemish forces made a surprise attack on the evening of 18 August 1304 near the village of Mons-en-Pévèle, the French knights fled by whole conrois and batailles beyond their camp. Many of them never came back to the battlefield. 'Then one could see troops defeated without any reason, for no warlike feat was responsible for their defeat.'

Besides these examples in which panic was caused by fear of the enemy, or by a surprise attack, or a growing feeling of unrest and anxiety during the night after a disastrous battle, there were also occasions when mass flight from the camp was in no way due to enemy action.

In 1102, the young Louis the Fat was besieging the stronghold of Chambly, which belonged to Mathieu de Beaumont. During the night there was a violent thunderstorm: torrents of rain and thunderclaps so shook the morale of the troops and their horses that many thought they were going to die. Utterly demoralized by physical suffering, wet clothes and the cold, perhaps also influenced by the fear of the unleashed powers of nature, some of the men got ready to depart early in the morning. When the dawn came, they set several tents on fire, which was usually a signal for retreat, and set off. The whole army did the same. Louis the Fat had difficulty in assembling a small unit to cover the flight even partially, and many fugitives were taken prisoner.

In April 1194, Baldwin VIII of Hainault had a similar experience at Arquennes, when he was preparing to storm Nivelles. During the night there was such a violent thunderstorm that horses and men were terrified. At daybreak not only the allies sent by the king of France, but also the knights, horsemen and foot-soldiers of the count all went off without permission, so that scarcely a seventh of the army was left with Baldwin. 'The count was astonished at this, and those who were with him, and the fugitives themselves were also surprised.' The prince was obliged to go home having achieved nothing.

It is a mistake to explain these two examples of panic in terms of lack of discipline. It is clear that the strictest discipline is no use when a whole unit or a great part of an army takes to flight in panic. Even the best troops may be subject to panic as many wars in history have shown. One of the best means of avoiding panic in battle is the use of two or three fighting lines in depth. If the first line wavers, it can be intercepted by the second or third, who are out of danger and whose morale is not affected. The soldiers who are tempted to break ranks in a panic are usually then halted and rounded up not far from the front.

[Longmane]

pt 5

Fear in Knights Facing Foot-soldiers

Another sort of fear is that of knights who find themselves faced by well-disciplined foot-soldiers, who stand waiting for the charge in dense ranks, armed with long weapons. The first example of this comes from the battle of Hastings, in which tightly-packed English foot-soldiers awaited the charge of William the Conqueror's knights on a hilltop.

After preliminary action by the archers, the cavalry went into action. But the English put up such a stout resistance that the left flank of William's army, made up of knights and soldiers from Brittany, fled, and the whole attacking army gave way. Knights who managed to penetrate the close formation, including the famous bard Taillefer, who stirred the troops with his martial songs, were killed. The English were armed with fearful battleaxes which 'easily hewed a way through shields and other weapons of defence'. William had to urge on his men, pointing out that general flight could not save them from death.

At the battle of Bouvines the Brabanciones of Renaud de Dammartin were drawn up in double ranks in the form of a crown, and kept the French knights out of their formation with their long lances. These mercenaries were the last of any troops on the battlefield to hold their ground, because the knights, after an initial mishap, did not dare to charge the close formation.

'Our knights were much afraid of these foot-soldiers armed with lances, whom they had to fight with their swords and short weapons. The lances were longer than the swords and daggers and their impenetrable ranks in the form of a crown were as strong as a wall.'

In the survey of the tactics of the foot-soldiers it will be seen how the French knights modified their tactics after the battle of Courtrai. This was also the case with the Anglo-Norman knights after their defeat by the Scots at Bannockburn in 1314. In this battle there was a notable conversation between Henri de Beaumont and Thomas Gray, who had raised an objection to a manoeuvre proposed by de Beaumont. Henri said 'If you're frightened, then flee!' 'Sire,' answered Gray, 'I shall not flee today because I am frightened,' and to show that he was not afraid of the Scottish foot-soldiers he joined the charge, in which his neighbour, Sir William Dayncourt, was killed, while Thomas's horse was killed by the Scottish pikes and he himself was captured.

At Cassel in 1328 the French thought that they were riding to their deaths, or at least that they would lose their horses in a charge against the crown-formation of Zannekin's closely packed troops. They opened up their own encircling formation to let the Flemings get away, and so to kill them more easily.

Not only fear for their own lives, but for their horses too and all that their loss would entail might sometimes also make the knights refrain from pressing home a charge against determined and closely packed foot-soldiers. Jean le Bel gives a remarkable example of this. At Vottem on 18 July 1346, the men of Liège and Huy had taken up their position beyond ditches, where they were attacked by a number of the prince-bishop's dismounted knights. Other knights stayed on horse-back, but did not dare make an attack for fear their horses would be killed. A splendid army of the prince-bishop, reinforced by German allies, fled in panic.

Besides these fears for their horses and themselves, there was another reason why the knights did not like fighting against confident foot-soldiers. The Flemings, Scots, and Swiss did not usually take prisoners, but killed their enemies. It was said that the French lords advised their king, Philip the Fair, to put an end to the war in 1304 against the Flemings because those cruel people would not take the knights prisoner.

The Austrian knights feared the Swiss for the same reason. In time past the Welsh and Irish used similar methods with their enemies. Giraldus Cambrensis describes the difference in the usages of war thus: 'Whereas in France knights are taken prisoner, here they are beheaded: over there they are ransomed, here they are killed.'  But in the invasion of Ireland (1166–72) the knights were infinitely better armed than the Irish foot-soldiers, and they had not much to fear from their enemies.

It has been shown that knights as individuals knew fear of death, wounds, and capture, and that individual fear could develop into panic affecting a whole unit, or putting a great part of the army to flight. Fear exerts great influence on warfare: discipline on the march, tactics and behavior in battle, all are affected by it. In order to intercept fugitives and get them re-grouped, a second and possibly a third line were formed in drawing the troops up before battle. The second and third line also made it possible to attack the enemy in the flank or the rear, for such attacks had far greater effect than frontal ones on enemy morale. Lastly, the use of standards on the battlefield reflects the human urge to feel attached to a visible unit.

The conviction of many scholars that the knights completely lacked discipline is well-known. They ascribe this to the individualistic behavior of the nobles and their seeking after personal honour and fame. In reality, knightly armies took insufficient precautions on various occasions, but it is doubtful whether this is to be ascribed to the behavior of individual knights: it stemmed rather from their optimism and the over-confidence they felt in their numbers.

But this over-confidence in military might was not the general rule, for in the cold light of reality it was tempered by the fear of death and the instinct for self-preservation. Jean Le Bel's description of the expedition to Scotland in 1327 supports this. As likewise the dispute discussed earlier between the nobles from Hainault and the English archers at York when, 'never did men live in such fear, and in so great danger of their lives,. Fear made those knights act cautiously and wisely.

Fear and its influence are not the sole causes of all the problems which arise concerning the behavior of knights in battle. Some attention must also be paid to the ways in which the nobles managed to suppress their fear. Chivalry gave countless examples of magnificent courage, gallantry and such heroic deeds as belong to the greatest feats of arms. Despite fear of death and wounds, the princes found enough volunteers for their expeditions. What made the knights go on such campaigns?

What enabled them to overcome their own fear? What lay behind their martial spirit? Let us first consider a few fundamental factors in this spirit, which may explain why they fought so bravely. First of all the knights were professionals who were fighting for a living. It was possible to become an emperor, a king, a duke, a count, a baron by conquest and a successful military career.

[Longmane]

pt 6

Self-interest and Profits of War

Earlier in this chapter the poem of Bertrand de Born was quoted. It gives a remarkable insight into the true motives which prompted participation in wars. Bertrand wished that rich lords would hate each other, because a rich man is nobler, more generous, and benevolent in time of war than in peace. As soon as hostilities were announced, he said cynically : 'We can laugh, because the barons will love us, ... but if they want us to stick to them, they will have to pay us well.' 

But it was not just high pay that made Bertrand anxious to fight. War offered other prospects as well that were far more alluring and entailed less danger. It was a good time for 'taking goods away from usurers', for robbing burghers and merchants on the highways. The riches were there for the taking.

The poet belonged to the class of humble vavassors, whose possessions and fiefs were very small. War, and the plundering raids it involved, helped these impoverished knights make ends meet.

When Bertrand offered his services to the count of Poitiers he was already wearing his helmet, and had his shield slung round his neck. But then the problem of equipping himself for a campaign, seeing that he had no money, arose. In another expedition, the campaign of Jean de Beaumont in Scotland in 1327 with the army of Edward III —for which more volunteers turned out than had been expected, since all of them were hoping for very high pay—Jean Le Bel, who was a member of the expedition, summed up what was necessary for a military campaign: 'Everybody started to buy according to his rank and status: tents, cars, little horses used in the country, and they found enough of them at reasonable price, pots, kettles, and so on, necessary in a campaign.'

It cost a great deal of money for a knight to be able to go out completely equipped, especially considering his expensive horses. The financial problems of petty vassals are understandable too, but of course this does not excuse their actions as robber-knights.

In the campaign against the Scots just referred to, there is another remarkable example of the knights' attitude to war, namely the case of Hector Vilain. In 1325 this Flemish nobleman fought under John of Namur on the side of the men of Ghent against the men of Bruges and the rebels from the coastal region and the Franc or Liberty of Bruges, and then crushed a rebel unit. In 1327 he went off against the Scots to gain money, and the following year he was in action against men of Bruges. While the king of France was advancing against Cassel, he threatened Bruges, and did his part in weakening the insurgents by compelling them to spread out their forces.

In the romance of Bauduin de Sebourc, Bauduin, a very strong but also very poor knight, observed from a hilltop the tents of a camp set up round a beleaguered castle in a plain: like Bertrand de Born he shouted: 'There is going to be fighting here, now I shall get rich!' He went straight off and joined the army. Clearly 'Ie nerf de la guerre' (the sinews of war) had a great attraction!

Poor knights also managed to carve out a career by taking parts as knights errant in the innumerable wars. William the Marshal is a splendid example: he was the fourth son of a minor baron, and possessed neither land nor fief. He was a knight errant for fifteen years. With a Flemish knight called Roger of Gaugi he managed to capture one hundred and three knights in tournaments in only ten months, not to mention horses and equipment, and the pair of them made huge sums.

After that he was put in charge of the military training of prince Henry, son of Henry II of England, Later, when he came into conflict with the king, he left his service, and Philip of Alsace and the duke of Burgundy each offered him an annual rent of £500. Through his physical strength and military qualities he rose to be earl of Pembroke and regent of England, and Roger of Gaugi held an important position under King John.

There were great material advantages to be gained both from booty collected on the battlefield and from captured enemy property. This was especially true of the First Crusade. Before men went into battle, they often thought of the riches that might be theirs as booty: in the battle of Dorylaeum in 1097 the knights encouraged each other in these words: 'Be of one mind in your belief in Christ and in the victory of the Holy Cross, because you will all become rich today, if God wills.' 

In the Chanson d'Antioche we read: 'Out there on the grass, we shall either lose our heads or else become so rich in fine silver and gold, that we shall no longer have to beg from our comrades.'  Soldiers of lower rank hoped to improve their social status:

See how the gold and silver glitter in the meadows!
The man who gets that will never be poor again.
So each one of you can improve his status.
They answered him: 'Lord, as you command!
He who flees on the battlefield shall be counted a heathen.'

Fulcher has described in a famous passage how rich the soldiers became who stayed in the new kingdom of Jerusalem: 'Anyone who was poor there (in Europe) became rich here through God's favour. Anyone who had only a few shillings there has countless bezants here. Anyone who had not even a village there, has a city here thanks to God. Why go back to the west, when we can find all this in the east?'

In the late thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries many princes recruited mercenaries from the Rhineland and Meuse district. In 1297, 1300, and 1302 hundreds appeared in the army of the counts of Flanders. These knights had a bad reputation among the chroniclers. They fought bravely in battle, but otherwise they made a very bad impression with their greed. Louis of Velthem says that they loved wine, good food, and money.  Jean Le Bel criticized the Germans of his time in the same way: he cited the English nobles as examples and then went on: 'This has not been the custom of the Germans until today; I don't know how they will do from now on, for they show no pity nor mercy for Christian men of war, when they capture them, no more than for dogs.'

Self-interest is an important stimulus to brave conduct in battle. But the search for booty and plunder has more than once hindered the ruthless pursuit of a beaten enemy. Wise leaders therefore forbade the collection of booty, and took effective measures to see that the pursuit was properly carried out.

Once the enemy was driven from the battlefield without possibility of return, the booty naturally fell into the hands of the victor, but as long as soldiers were personally responsible for providing their own equipment and horses the inclination persisted to equip themselves as quickly as possible at the enemy's expense, even if this attitude did not coincide with the common interest. The transgressor judged that he was acting for the common good in providing for himself as well as possible with horses and arms.

[Longmane]

Pt 7 (last part)

Rough Manners and Knightly Customs

The more primitive the soldiers, the rougher their manners, and less civilized they were, the more bellicose as a general rule. Rough manners were much in evidence in the many private wars of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and in the first Crusade. Enemies were beheaded and their heads thrown into the beleaguered cities, bodies were dug up in the search for booty, Crusaders impaled the heads of fallen enemies on lances to terrorize the enemy, and so on. The knights met with this later themselves, when they had become more civilized but had to fight against rough and primitive foot-soldiers in Ireland.  At the beginning of the fourteenth century they were complaining bitterly about the brutish customs of the Flemish, Swiss and Scottish foot-soldiers.

Obviously in a time of violence such as the tenth and eleventh centuries fighting was particularly reckless, because human life was not then as highly esteemed as later. It is a great pity that we do not know more about the usages of the period, particularly as regards battles and the taking of prisoners. But a passage from Orderic Vitalis is instructive about the behaviour of the knights. In his account of the battle of Brémule in 1119, he says that only three French knights were killed, but 140 were taken prisoner. This was attributable to the fact that their protective equipment was so good, and to the fact that the knights 'spared each other, and tried not so much to kill as to capture the fleeing enemy. Christian warriors had no desire to shed the blood of their brothers.' 

Orderic's statement reflects the general notion that was part of the knightly code of honour, that the beaten enemy should be spared, since he was a knight and therefore a brother-in-arms. But there was money in it for the victor too; the captured knight could ransom himself for an enormous sum. The text can also be interpreted in another way: the enemy would be less likely to resist when he knows that he would probably be taken prisoner and not killed during pursuit by the victor.

Ferdinand Lot rightly points out that the Anglo-Norman and French knights did not always fight in a humane fashion, so that we must not generalise from Orderic's statement, nor apply it to all fighting. In the battle of Worringen Jan van Heelu laments bitterly that the brave Schavedries family had to leave so many of its members dead on the battlefield. It would have been better to take them prisoner. However, if the knights knew that no quarter would be given, they would fight even more stubbornly:

Anyone who knows that there will be no prisoners Fights stubbornly in such a battle.

Everything here depends upon fortuitous circumstances, and the general attitude of the army. It is possible that the knights fought more bravely to sell their lives more dearly; it is also possible that they fled before it was too late, or to avoid battle against brutal and merciless adversaries.

Rough customs produced the type of knight who endured physical suffering and who probably did not worry much about death. As the knights became more civilized and refined, their manner of waging war was modified. It became more ruthless again as soon as the foot-soldiers were strong enough to stand up to knightly armies. As for being captured, the knights had to solve this dilemma: to save their honour by offering resistance and not fleeing, which increased the danger of being killed, or to leave the battlefield, with the concomitant shame, but without having to ransom themselves for enormous sums and without further danger. So knights had to choose between honour and self-interest.



Faith and Religious Conviction

The art of war in the Middle Ages shows a deep religious strain running through all the customs and usages of the period. Mass was celebrated before practically every battle, with confession and communion beforehand. This happened at Thielt, Courtrai, Mons-en-Pévèle, and most other battlefields. As soon as the English and their mercenaries from Hainault, Liège, Brabant and Flanders found out where the Scottish army was, on the expedition which Jean le Bel accompanied, the knights went to confession, attended mass and took communion, and also made their wills, for the coming battle, uppermost in their minds, was a matter of life or death.

The influence of this deep faith is best expressed in accounts of the Crusade, and in chansons de geste. While Christian mercy and chivalrous customs, together with a well-understood self-interest, led to the more merciful conduct of war in the west, battles were still conducted in the east with the utmost cruelty. This was partly necessary to protect an army in a far-off land, where a heavy defeat would have meant annihilation and where spreading fear among the enemy troops weakened the Moslem capacity to resist, but this resistance might also be stiffened if they were convinced that no quarter would be given. The Holy War was fought with unheard of-ferocity and brutality on both sides, which must have spurred on the knights to make extra efforts in battle, lest they should fall into enemy hands.

As for the battle itself, it was of great importance for a knight to know that his sins were forgiven, and that death in battle promised eternal bliss in Paradise. Instead of losing his soul in unholy wars against other Christians, he saved it on a Crusade.

But, as always, human weakness must be taken into account. In a letter to his wife Stephen of Blois wrote: 'Many Christian brothers-in-arms were killed in action: their souls have come to know the joys of Paradise.' Stephen was too weak himself to endure privation and mortal danger during the siege of Antioch, and the deeply devout Joinville preferred life to the death of a martyr.

The service of God was however one of the major reasons for fighting against the Moslems, whose value as fighting men was soon correctly assessed by western knights. This is quite a normal phenomenon in war: the common soldier sees no reason why he should not fraternize with his enemies.

In the first Crusade this respect for the enemy was very clearly expressed by an anonymous knight who left us a remarkable account: 'Who can be so wise or learned that he is bold enough to describe the expertise, the martial virtues and the bravery of the Turks?... They say that they are descended from the Frankish race, and that no one, except the Franks and they themselves, has the right to call himself a knight. I shall tell the truth and no one can dispute it: if the Turks had held to belief in Christ and in holy Christendom... then it would be impossible to find a people surpassing them in might, bravery, and military genius... And yet by God's grace they were beaten by our men.'

In the chanson de geste it is always the knights' task to spread Christianity.  Vivien speaks to his nobles in these words: 'As long as we live, we must not fail to kill Saracens and wipe them out, spreading God's law and putting our souls in the hands of God.'  But there is also respect for the good warrior: 'If he would believe in Jesus and worship Him, no better knight could be found.' And again: 'If he were to be held over the font and be baptised, no such warrior could be found in the Christian world.' So there are paradoxes here as in other aspects of the knight's life, great cruelty on the one hand, and on the other generosity and respect for the enemy.

The influence of religion on warfare is shown again clearly in the customary war cries: Diex aie, the French translation of the earlier Byzantine cry: Adiuta Deus; Saint sépulchre; Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat. German knights used to march into battle singing 'Christus qui natus'. The Holy Lance and the Cross were carried as emblems before the troops. On the Italian carroccio a splendid monstrance was borne aloft with the consecrated Host, and priests always went with the lagoon. The outcome of the battle was often regarded as a judgment of God, and the belief of many people of that time in the intervention of the Virgin is shown by the number of times it is mentioned.

Religious feeling helped knights to overcome their fear. As soon as they found themselves in trouble they invoked the help of God, of the Virgin, or of the patron saint of warriors. In all the Crusades, particularly the First, faith played a great part in overcoming fear, and the Crusaders thereby brought their expedition to a successful end: once they had started, their greatest hope of salvation lay in their ceaseless striving to accomplish their chosen task. When a monk spoke encouragingly before a battle to Simon de Montfort, leader of the crusaders against the Albigensians, he answered: 'Do you think I am afraid? The cause of Christ is at stake. The whole Church is praying for me, and I know that we cannot be beaten.'

This concludes the brief survey of the fundamentals of the knightly urge for battle. We have discussed the influence of his personal interests, a knight's sense of honour, the rude manners and knightly customs and the role of religious conviction. Actually these motives underlying the attitude of the knights cannot be separated; two or three of them will operate simultaneously.

But not all factors are constant: self-interest may yield to the common good, or may function in a broader framework to the common advantage. Leaders may be brave or cowardly, the personal sense of honour may be subordinated to the advantage of the honour of family or country, religion does not always play a great part in every case. These motives thus seem less important than the two essential factors which will be discussed below, namely the arming of the knights and the confidence which their armor gave them to overcome fear, the inner cohesiveness of the knightly families and the close ties binding the vassals to their lord.

NB I'll start a thread dealing with those other factors sometime in the future.