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tents around Crecy were unusually wakeful, owing to the imminence of Philip’s arrival. Morning came for most before the sun had risen. Bradwardine, the king’s chaplain, recited a special mass for the king and his nobles and offered them communion. The army also heard mass. Following this there was a round of murmured confession such as I have never heard before. The men dredged up all the sins of past and present from the dark recesses of their hearts to receive absolution before the time of peril. They confessed sins from long ago committed against fathers and mothers at home in England; they confessed sins from a month past of theft and rapine perpetrated in France.
    My own list of sins, so it seemed, was far less black than the sins of those around me. I could think of few sins to make confession for—a guinea pilfered from Sir Chandos when my own purse had run low, a deliberate lie to cover up my laziness the night I neglected his horse—but my own lack of sins to confess worried me more than a packload of evil. The men around me had lists an ell long of sins both mortal and venial. Perhaps I was forgetting crimes that ought to be confessed. I poked and prodded my memory fearing to die unshriven. A nagging thought arose in me that perhaps I ought to make confession for each guinea or bauble I had extorted, for each terrified fugitive I had cut down in retreat, for each woman’s scream that I had heard and ignored. But every time the thought of guilt assailed me, I swallowed it back down my throat like a lump of bread. These were the necessary evils of war, and there was no need for me to make confession of such things.
    Whether or not he had finished confession, each man repaired to his place when the alarum sounded. “We are assigned to the prince’s body,” said Chandos as I fitted him for battle. He extended his arms to the side so that I could fasten the points of his breastplate. With this secured, I placed the pauldron on his shoulder and secured his mail all the way down to his gauntlets.
    I was pleased that we were to be bodyguards for his highness. “What division will the prince be in?” I asked as I unfolded the surcoat which would cover Chandos’s armor. It was blue, bright blue, the color of a cloudless summer sky. And on the breast of the coat was embroidered an image of the Blessed Virgin surrounded by rays of silver.
    “ His Highness is the commander of the first division,” said Chandos. “He holds the right flank beside the forest and the brook.”
    “ Commander?” asked I in some surprise, for though he was of royal blood, he was still a youth of my own age. He had never taken part in a battle of this magnitude. I wondered that the king should charge his heir with such responsibility—and such risk.
    “ Commander
in nomine
,” said Chandos with a smile. “He has Warwick and others to assist him. The king has charged Audley and me to guard his body as if it were our own.”
    “ And the right flank is best protected,” I reasoned, “by virtue of Crecy forest.”
    “ Aye, best protected,” agreed Chandos, “but also closest to the Somme. When Philip crossed the river, he’ll come our way first; we’ll bear the brunt of the attack I’ll wager.”
    “ Who leads the other divisions?” I asked.
    “ The second belongs to the Earls of Northampton and Arundel,” replied Chandos. “They’re to our left with their withers pressed against the village. And the third belongs to His Majesty. It’s to be held in reserve behind the other two companies.”
    “ If we do our duty, we’ll not need the king’s men,” I said spiritedly, trying to boost my own confidence.
    When we reached our place on the line, we found that the men had already assumed their positions. The archers, who made up the majority of our company, arranged themselves two or three deep in front of the men-at-arms. There was no shortage of English archers in our expedition to France; King Edward had made sure of