RPAGF Chapter 18 The Siege of Orleans
Chapter 18 The Siege of Orleans
The British army was busy preparing to capture the southern part of Orléans, a city they had taken in half a month—though it was called the southern part, it didn't actually have walls, and the most important bridgehead was still in French hands. But the British army was already impatiently ordering laborers to begin building a fortified wall around the southern part of the city.
When Fastov entered the tent, Salisbury was squatting on the ground, drawing something on parchment with a charcoal pencil. The candlesticks in the tent were overflowing, the floor was covered with wax dripping, and the air was stuffy, hot, and smelled of sweat.
"My lord," Fastov bowed.
Salisbury didn't look up, only grunting in response. He was looking at a rough sketch of Orleans' defenses—a sketch, but one drawn in great detail, even marking the orientation of each tower. After marking the northern towers, he straightened up, placed the charcoal pencil on the map, and looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and his beard looked like it hadn't been shaved for days.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Fastov composed himself. "My lord," he said, "this war has been going on since June, and the supply convoys have never stopped. The autumn harvest in Normandy is not going well, and they can hardly continue to support the army. The villages near Orléans were evacuated by Dinois ahead of schedule, and the raiding parties you sent out have been searching for two days but haven't even managed to gather enough food for their own rations."
"How long can the current troop size sustain us?"
Fastov did a quick mental calculation: "This month is fine. Beyond that, we can only guarantee rations for a maximum of six thousand people."
"That's enough." Salisbury stood up and walked out of the tent. "Continue to send me provisions from Normandy for the next month."
He lifted the tent flap and pointed to the dark city walls on the south bank: "Look, Orléans straddles the Loire River. We've locked the main city on the north bank, leaving only this bridgehead on the south bank. Apart from Arthur with his royal cavalry nearby, the rest of the French reinforcements won't make it in time."
Fastov didn't speak, he just nodded.
"How should I report back to the Duke?"
Salisbury glanced at him and then smiled.
"Just tell him that I'm going to take Orleans within a month."
The next morning, before sunrise, the artillery positions at Salisbury were already in place. A dozen or so trebuchets were lined up, their dark muzzles aimed at the bridgehead on the south bank. The artillerymen and armored soldiers were all in position, awaiting only the order to begin the assault.
Salisbury, unusually, did not order the guns to fire.
He stood on a small earthen slope, gazing at the fortress called Tulerburg, and remained silent for a moment.
"Send another envoy over there," he said.
Suffolk paused for a moment: "Sir, it was already sent yesterday—"
"Send more. Tell them—this time, surrender, no ransom. Release all the garrison. Do not kill or capture them, just let them leave the city empty-handed."
The envoy left, but soon returned shaking his head. After all, the crossbow bolt shot from the city wall had grazed his ear, and everyone on the hillside had seen it clearly.
Salisbury was not angry.
"Battle ram. Siege ladder."
Armored soldiers pushed heavy battering rams and siege ladders, slowly advancing towards the fortress. Longbowmen, as always, hid behind mobile bunkers, raining arrows down on the city walls. The moat, thirty paces deep, was filled with the blood of hundreds of men, creating several passages.
As the battering ram slammed into the city gate, the gate tower's gate flaps suddenly opened. A large amount of dark liquid poured down through the hole directly above the battering ram.
That's asphalt.
Scalding asphalt was poured onto the battering ram's top, splattering onto the surrounding armored soldiers. Their armor smoked from the heat, and the soldiers screamed and fled, writhing on the ground. Some were even stuck to the battering ram and burned alive. The armored soldiers who had been lined up to provide backup watched this scene, their faces turning pale.
The ladder truck was also knocked over by the massive battering ram. Suffolk, watching this from behind, turned around and asked for instructions:
"My lord, let's use cannons. I've already had the craftsmen inspect it; there's not much space behind the fortress walls. We can easily blast open several breaches and take this fortress."
Salisbury stared at the fortress without saying a word.
Suffolk whispered again, "Sir, these garrison troops can retreat back to the north city; they will not surrender."
Salisbury finally spoke: "We can't bomb the south side too much. I want this bridgehead to remain as intact as possible, so it can serve as cover for our confrontation with the north side in the future."
"But--"
“I know what you’re going to say,” Salisbury interrupted him. “This bridgehead is located at the narrowest point of the Loire River, and with the stone bridge it guards, it’s the best place to cross the river. In the future, without the protection of this bridgehead, we will only be able to attack from the north bank when we attack the city. Moreover, the French reinforcements will arrive sooner or later, and we also need a fortress as a foothold.”
Suffolk fell silent.
"continue."
The second wave of siege ladders was pushed up. This time, there was even a proper siege tower that no long pole could budge.
But then the cannons roared from the north of the city.
Several shells crossed the Loire River and landed on the British positions. The siege tower was riddled with splinters and finally, it wobbled and dropped its anchor, unable to be pushed any further.
Salisbury sighed and, before Suffolk could speak, gave the order:
"Let the 'groundhog' do it."
Suffolk breathed a sigh of relief and turned to begin coordinating.
All attacks ceased until a section of the wall suddenly collapsed. The diggers had already completed a siege tunnel; after removing the supports, the wall crumbled in sections. The British cheered, while the defenders panicked. Before the British could flood into the fortress, almost all the defenders fled across the stone bridge to the north of the city. Just as Suffolk was about to order a complete clearing of the fortress, a series of loud explosions came from within the fortress and from the stone bridge, and a large plume of black smoke billowed onto the Loire River.
The French army itself blew up the two towers and the arch of the stone bridge.
Salisbury stood amidst the ruins of the fortress, looking down at the broken bricks and rubble, his nostrils filled with the smell of sulfur and scorched earth. He walked around, gazing through the completely collapsed walls at the main city across the river.
"Summon all the craftsmen."
Suffolk jogged off to relay the order.
"First, repair the city walls, starting with the north wall and then the south wall. The cannons on the opposite bank must not stop firing. Second, move those stone-throwing cannons to the vicinity of the riverbank and dig out some firing positions. If any tower on the north bank dares to fire, fire back." Salisbury turned to Suffolk. "Third, go tell Fastov to send the remaining supplies to the camp on the north bank, and not to the south bank."
Suffolk wrote everything down and turned to leave.
"And another thing," Salisbury called after him, "let the soldiers tear down the houses in the south of the city. Gather bricks and timber to build new walls and dig trenches outside. If the French dare to send cavalry to relieve the siege, let them get trapped inside."
Suffolk nodded.
Salisbury gave no further orders; he stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the city of Orleans on the north bank. He remained there until the sun was about to set, when Suffolk returned to report after arranging various matters.
He led Suffolk to inspect the positions along the Loire River. Suffolk had indeed made excellent arrangements. They returned to the fortress, stood on the second floor of the gatehouse, and looked out the window at the city of Orléans on the north bank.
"Suffolk, erect a fence along the riverbank."
"A fence?"
"Yes, planks will do, but they need to be taller than a person." Salisbury pointed to the turrets on the north bank. "There are quite a few lookouts on those towers on the north bank. They can see everything we're doing here. Put up a fence to block their view, so that Denoir can't see so clearly."
Suffolk was about to arrange for someone to take care of it when Salisbury added, "Go and rest when you're done. We'll go back to the North Shore tomorrow. The South Shore can attract Dinoire's attention—"
Before the words were finished, a cannon shot rang out from the tower in the north of the city.
There were frequent cannon shots throughout the afternoon, mostly the French army trying to scare the busy British troops. After all, the river between the north and south was only a few hundred paces wide, and no cannon could hit the target so accurately from that distance.
However, it seemed that the cannonball was fired from the turret on the other side, so everyone ducked to avoid it. As a result, the cannonball actually hit them nearby, passing right through the window and killing one of the knights behind Salisbury.
Suffolk was still in shock when he heard a scream that sounded inhuman.
He turned his head and saw Salisbury lying on the ground. The cannonball had just struck him, carrying a metal bar that had pierced his face shield. Blood gushed from his wound, staining the floor and Suffolk's sleeves red. Several knights nearby, disregarding their dead comrade, rushed to support him, and one of them cried out in pain.
"My lord! My lord!"
Salisbury's mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something. But his face was unreadable—shrapnel had ripped into his cheekbone, taking away half his face, his teeth protruding, a bloody mess. His eyes were still open, staring straight at Suffolk, the sky reflected in his pupils.
Suffolk lunged forward, knelt on the ground, and pressed his hand against the man's face. Blood gushed from between his fingers and wouldn't stop.
"Quickly, call a doctor! The master is still alive!"
The people around were in chaos. But Suffolk simply looked down into Salisbury's eyes, as if searching for something.
Suffolk took a deep breath, stood up, and crossed his blood-stained hands over his chest.
"Everyone, listen up!" he roared. "The lord said this injury is nothing serious, all arrangements remain the same! No one is to divulge this information, or face military law!"
He pointed to Salisbury's lieutenant: "You, take some men and escort the lord back to the rear camp." Then he pointed to another knight: "You, go and tell Fastov to deliver the grain to the north bank as planned."
The doctor arrived. Salisbury's face was half-covered in a white sheet, blood seeping out and staining the sheet dark red. His eyes were closed; it was unclear whether he was unconscious or—Suffolk didn't dare think any further.
He turned around, about to catch his breath, when he paused, then bent down and picked up the charcoal pencil that Salisbury never parted with. The pencil was now covered in blood and mud, but Suffolk didn't bother wiping it before putting it in his pocket.
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Dinoire stood on the north city wall, gazing at the south city across the river. It was already dark, but the British camp was still brightly lit, and he could see people bustling about on the riverbank. He had just witnessed a commotion at the south city gate, with people running around, and sent someone to ask what was happening.
"My lord," Bouye ran over from the other side of the city wall, "I've found out that one of our servants was practicing how to operate the cannons and accidentally fired it. It seems the bullet hit the gate tower, which startled the British."
Dinoir frowned. "Practice? Which cannons were used?"
"That small cannon on the east tower. It's newly installed, and he's still test-firing it."
Dinois remained silent for a moment.
"Pass down the order—no live ammunition allowed in future training. Save ammunition and prevent the British from figuring out our gun positions. Salisbury will most likely still be attacked from the south."
Buye nodded and turned to leave.
Dinois glanced at the opposite bank again. He adjusted his cloak and walked down the city wall.
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In Moone's castle, even the best doctors in England could not stop Salisbury's suffering. In the end, they could only call upon Suffolk to come.
Suffolk lifted the curtain and went in, and saw the person lying on the bed with his face covered by a white cloth, his hands stiffly spread out on the side of the bed. He was completely unrecognizable as Salisbury, the British commander-in-chief whom the British called "the madman".
"Not a single word left?" Suffolk asked.
The doctor shook his head.
Suffolk stood there, silent for a long time. Then he reached out and put that hand back under the covers, took a charcoal pencil from his pocket, and placed it into the large, now cold hand.
"Give the order to the entire army," he stepped out of the tent, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against iron, "tell them that Lord Salisbury left a will instructing us to continue the siege."
He paused for a moment.
"Send someone to Paris to inform the Duke of Bedford that Lord Salisbury has been killed in battle."
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Talbot: Bring old Salisbury's body here and display it in this marketplace. Now I have avenged him; for every drop of his blood, I have killed five Frenchmen. I will erect a tomb for him in the greatest temple over there, and bury his body there, so that when people read the epitaph, they will know what calamity befell Orléans in retaliation for his tragic death, and what terror he harbored towards France during his lifetime.
—Henry VI, by William Shakespeare