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Time Travels with Truffle: Dateline October 25th
, 1415 – Agincourt, France
Today’s Time Travel with Truffle, about one of the greatest
victories in English History, the Battle of Agincourt, is best told by the Bard
himself, William Shakespeare, from his classic play Henry V.
PROLOGUE
Enter CHORUS.
CHORUS:
Attend, good friends, unto a field of mud,
A narrow strip of French and sodden earth,
Where England's fate hangs trembling on a thread.
The year is fourteen hundred fifteen.
King Harry, fifth of that renowned name,
Hath crossed the sea to press his ancient claim
Unto the crown of France.
His men are few.
Their boots are torn. Their bodies weakened sore
By sickness, hunger, rain, and constant march.
Against them stands the flower of French chivalry,
Lords, dukes, and knights in glittering armor clad.
The odds are dreadful. Every reckoning
Foretells an English ruin.
Yet beside
The royal standard sits a curious sight:
A little hound of reddish-golden coat,
Called Truffle by the soldiers of the camp.
Observe her well.
For ere this day is done,
She too shall walk among the steps of fate.
Exit CHORUS.
SCENE: The English Camp, dawn, October 25, 1415.
A cold mist covers the field of Agincourt. Thousands
of French troops crowd the distant horizon. The English army stands weary and
silent.
Enter KING HENRY V, carrying Truffle.
WESTMORELAND:
O that we now had here
But ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today!
KING HENRY:
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
For I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have.
And look ye here—
Henry lifts Truffle for the army to see.
This little creature asketh not for odds.
She counteth not the banners of the French.
She numbereth not horse nor armored knight.
She knoweth only loyalty and heart.
Would that all kings and captains learned as much.
The soldiers laugh and cheer.
KING HENRY (continuing):
Then shall our names, familiar in their mouths
As household words, be remembered still.
This day is called the feast of Crispian!
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named.
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here
And hold their manhoods cheap whilst any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day!
And when they ask what host stood here this morn,
Outnumbered five to one by France's pride,
Tell them a dog stood with us too.
And she feared not.
The army erupts in cheers.
SCENE: The Battle
Trumpets sound.
The French advance.
Thousands of heavily armored knights move toward the English
line. The recent rains have transformed the field into a sea of mud.
Henry's longbowmen unleash a storm of arrows.
The sky darkens.
French horses fall.
Knights stumble.
Armor sinks deep into the earth.
The mighty charge slows.
Then stops.
Then collapses.
As chaos spreads across the battlefield, Truffle races along
the English lines, barking wildly. Archers cheer at the sight of her weaving
between stakes and bowmen.
The proud French advance has become a nightmare.
Men cannot rise once they fall.
Others suffocate beneath the weight of armor and bodies
piling upon one another.
The mud itself becomes England's ally.
Hour by hour the impossible unfolds.
The French army breaks.
The English army triumphs.
SCENE: After the Battle
The field grows quiet.
The dead lie scattered across the autumn ground.
Among them are some of the greatest nobles of France. The
English, hopelessly outnumbered that morning, have achieved one of the most
astonishing victories in military history.
Historians will later estimate that perhaps 6,000 French
soldiers perished, while English losses numbered only a few hundred.
The victory will shock Europe.
England's claim to France will be strengthened.
Henry's reputation will become legendary.
Generations later, poets and playwrights will still tell the
tale.
King Henry stands upon the field as the sun breaks through
the clouds.
At his feet sits Truffle.
Mud stains her paws.
The king kneels and scratches behind her ears.
KING HENRY:
Well fought, small companion.
This day shall live beyond our years.
And should men sing of Agincourt
When we are dust and memory,
Mayhap some soul shall speak thy name as well.
EPILOGUE
Enter CHORUS.
CHORUS:
Thus ended Agincourt, where few beat many,
And courage overcame all calculation.
The longbow shattered chivalry's old pride.
A king became immortal.
A nation found a legend.
And somewhere in the telling of that tale
Walks still a little hound of reddish gold,
Who heard Saint Crispin's speech,
Who watched the arrows fall,
And who stood beside a king
Upon the most famous field in England's history.
Exit CHORUS.
FINIS.
And once again, History is gently guided by a tiny paw.
