ATPnovel Chapter 38 Coward
Chapter 38 Coward
Outside the city of Moun, the newly arrived British troops were setting up camp. Because there were too many men, the city of Moun couldn't contain them all, so they erected tents outside the city, creating a makeshift camp. Smoke rose from various parts of the camp, but the entire camp was completely enclosed, with hardly any wooden fences visible.
Talbot stood at the gates of Moun, looking at the scattered tents and the soldiers relieving themselves behind them because no toilets had been dug. His face grew increasingly grim.
He summoned all the officers in charge and led them into the large tent that Fastov had brought. Inside stood a dozen or so men, their armor of varying ages and expressions. Talbot glanced around and asked, "Are you elite reinforcements from the homeland? You don't look like it to me."
A militia captain stepped forward, saluted, and said in Parisian-accented French, "Sir, I don't know who you mean by the elite troops of the country... We are militia from Paris, sent by Lord Bedford. But please rest assured, sir, we have all received basic training, and many of us have participated in winter transport operations."
Talbot's brow furrowed. He turned to the group of knights in finer armor beside him: "And what about you? I see you're all knights wearing family crests; you can't be militiamen too, can you?"
The knight removed his helmet, revealing a sun-darkened face. "Lord Talbot," he said, "we have come voluntarily to support the Duke. The three hundred cavalrymen from York and Wells swore an oath in Rouen to join this sacred war and will surely help you wipe out the villains." He paused. "But the others who came with us are garrison troops drawn from Rouen and Caen, not from the mainland."
Talbot's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. He took a deep breath, suppressing his anger: "Alright. Since you're here, follow my orders. Tomorrow morning, you'll cross the river with me and launch a surprise attack on Borjansi from the south bank to relieve the siege and teach that brat Atil a lesson."
As soon as he finished speaking, the officers exchanged bewildered glances. The militia captain spoke first: "Sir, before we set out, the Duke of Bedford gave a clear order—everyone must obey Lord Fastoff's orders. Without his command, we cannot act on our own."
Talbot stared at him for a few seconds, then abruptly turned and shouted towards the outside of the tent, "Go find Fastov! Tell him to come see me immediately!"
The messenger ran out.
After a while, the messenger returned, his expression somewhat strange: "Sir, Lord Fastov said he's very busy... I think he's directing the dismantling of the cannons on the walls of Moen, preparing to transport them away."
Talbot's face immediately darkened.
He strode out of the tent, across the camp, and looked toward the gun turret of Moen. Sure enough, a group of men were unloading defensive cannons from the turret, and oxcarts were already prepared below. Fastov stood beside the turret, holding a list, explaining something to an officer.
"Bring Fastov here! That's an order!" Talbot roared at the messenger.
After a while, Fastov arrived at the camp with several riders and bowed expressionlessly to the enraged Talbot.
Talbot stood before him, his chest heaving, and said in a low voice, "What are you doing dismantling the cannons? Tell them to stop immediately! And send your men with me to rescue Borjansi!"
Fastov paused for a moment, then gestured to his adjutant to halt the hoisting of the turret before turning around: "Lord Talbot, don't give the order here. We need to go inside and inform the officers together. I've only been given temporary command by the Duke; you are the commander-in-chief of the Loire River campaign."
Talbot felt somewhat relieved upon hearing this, and he and the other officers entered the camp one after the other. The other officers also gathered around, crowding on both sides of the long table. According to British military tradition, the presence of the company commander was considered a formal military council.
Talbot didn't sit down. Instead, he rested his hands on the edge of the table and gave the first order: "Fastov, I need you to open a route to Borjansi from the south bank. First, use heavy cavalry to carve out a gap, then coordinate with the defenders to attack Atil from both sides. I will lead the infantry to block the riverbank, and we can use those cannons to suppress their crossing. But we have to be quick; Atil could launch a general offensive at any time."
Fastov and his adjutant exchanged a glance, then Fastov shook his head and said, "Sir, we cannot comply. You may not know, but Yarro has been lost, and the Earl of Suffolk has been captured. The country has refused to provide any assistance. The men we have are the Duke's last remaining forces on the continent. Even now, the Duke is personally funding their supplies and pay. He has ordered that the supply lines be shortened as much as possible, rather than lengthened further."
Talbot slammed his fist on the table, making the candlesticks jump. "Shorten the supply lines? That's Borjansie, our fortress! Did the Duke order you to abandon the entire Loire Valley? If we lose Borjansie, we won't be able to hold onto Morne either! We won't be able to set foot on the Loire River again for years!"
Fastov remained unperturbed: "Lord Talbot, these are the Duke's exact words; he hopes we'll retreat directly to the vicinity of Paris."
Talbot gritted his teeth and said, enunciating each word clearly, "We must at least hold one or two strongholds on the Loire River, otherwise all our fighting these past few years will have been for nothing!"
The two men faced off, and no one in the tent dared to interrupt.
After a moment of silence, Fastov sighed: "I can try to attack Atil's camp from the north bank, but I need to report to the Duke. This is the biggest concession I can make."
Just as Talbot was about to say something, the tent flap was suddenly thrown open, and a messenger stumbled in, kneeling on one knee, his face pale: "My lord, Boransi... Boransi has fallen!"
Everyone was stunned. Talbot shouted, "Nonsense! Atil has never attacked a city before, and you think five hundred men can't even hold it for a day? Who gave you that information?"
The messenger bowed his head, his voice trembling: "Lord Goff has opened the gates! He signed the treaty, abandoned Beaujolais, and returned with all his soldiers... Actually, I met them on my way to deliver the message. The French didn't stop a single person, and now they are heading towards Meun."
Talbot's face flushed crimson. He turned to Fastov and practically roared, "Listen to this! A few hundred men could hold off Atil for days! And they just handed the fortress over like that! This is dereliction of duty! This is desertion! You must report to the Duke to punish them severely and send them to the vanguard to retake Borjansi!"
Fastov finally couldn't hold back any longer, and his voice suddenly rose: "Enough!"
Everyone inside the tent was stunned by the roar.
Fastov stood up, his hands gripping the table, leaning forward, his gaze fixed on Talbot, and said, word by word, "The French aren't like they used to be! That witch could drive thousands mad with a wave of her banner! Didn't you hear about the fall of Jarrod? Suffolk, with eight hundred defenders, only held out for a few days! The experience of the past few years is useless!"
He paused, took a deep breath, and said, "Our only advantage is in open field battles. We can suppress them with longbowmen while they are still establishing themselves, and then proceed steadily. But fighting Beaujolais is a siege! Look at how many cannons the French have brought in these past six months! Do you expect our warriors to win in artillery battles against enemies many times their size? Talbot, wake up!"
Talbot opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but couldn't say a word for a moment.
The other generals in the tent nodded in agreement. One whispered, "Lord Fastov's analysis is correct; I don't think Mönn can hold out either." Another chimed in, "Instead of holding out here, we should retreat to Paris. Maybe we can come back next year."
Fastov glanced around, confirming that he had more supporters, before turning to Talbot and softening his tone: "Lord Talbot, we should retreat. There's still a chance. Arthur doesn't know our situation, he won't pursue us. We can retreat to Jeanville—Dnoir is besieging there; at least we can hold that city to protect Paris."
Most of the generals looked at Talbot in agreement.
Talbot stood by the table, looking at these people, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"To associate with a bunch of cowards!" he howled. "You're wasting your last chance to crush the morale of the French!"
He turned around, took off his helmet, threw it far out of the tent, and strode out. The generals who had followed him in exchanged glances and hurriedly followed him out.
The tent flap fell, and everyone listened in silence to the painful roars mixed with the sound of horses' hooves outside.
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At that time, the French courtesan emerged, the false king's arrogance grew daily, and cities along the Loire fell one after another. Yet our mighty English army, relying solely on the Duke of Bedford, was stretched thin, lacking both external reinforcements and internal provisions. One might ask: "Your Excellency, so loyal and accomplished, why is there not a single soldier to aid you from within?"
Alas! It is not that heroes of the world are sparing their strength, but that treacherous officials are in power, leaving loyal and virtuous people heartbroken!
Humphrey Gloucester, who called himself "Guardian of the Kingdom," seized power while the Duke of Bedford was fighting a bloody war in France, usurping the throne and abusing his authority. Relying on the ambiguity of his brother Henry V's will, he falsely claimed regency and excluded dissidents. Since the beginning of spring, he had even used the excuse of "the King's imminent coronation and the need to guard against foreign enemies" to strictly prohibit soldiers from England, Wales, and the counties from "going overseas." Many members of Parliament were misled and echoed his opinion, refusing to allocate a single penny to the Duke of Bedford's cause.
Alas! Is this not aiding the enemy? Is this not destroying our own Great Wall?
When His Majesty Henry VI was to be formally crowned, Gloucester repeatedly postponed the ceremony, citing the Duke of Bedford's absence. Little did he know that the Duke's absence was precisely due to Gloucester's machinations! He feigned loyalty while secretly plotting to seize power, leaving the true Protector trapped on the scorched earth of France, caught in a dilemma. Meanwhile, Gloucester sat high in the Tower of London, indulging in his power and treating the fate of the kingdom as a child's game.
Alas! If the Duke of the Protectorate had received full support from the country, then even though the witch was cunning and the false king was deceitful, how could things have come to this? Gloucester's crimes reach to the heavens!
—The Wars of Britain and France by Sir John Price