Bernard Cornwell’s Agincourt (2009, HarperCollins Publishers) does not tell the story of a battle, but rather of a terrible red butchery. Englishmen poleaxing French men-at-arms like cattle. Nobles, men of dignity and fine lineage and status, lying kicking in the mud, screaming, as low-born archers pried open their visors and thrust daggers through their eyes and into their brain. Gruesome stuff.

True, Agincourt was a great victory for the English in the Hundred Years’ War, one that has resounded through the ages. The events of October 25, 1415 are an incredible tale of a few (6,000 English soldiers) prevailing against many (an estimated 30,000 French knights and men-at-arms). The battle has gained additional resonance by Shakespeare’s magnificent play Henry V. But its actual events were not glorious.

In other words, it’s a tale that historical fiction writer extraordinaire Bernard Cornwell was born to tell. And tell the story he does, quite faithfully and well, although it does come off as a bit formulaic.

Read enough Cornwell and his formula starts to show, and in the case of Agincourt it actually began to chafe me a bit. All the Cornwell stories I’ve read (The Saxon Stories, The Warlord Chronicles, The Grail Quest novels, and Stonehenge 2000 B.C.) are told through a similar POV character—a strong warrior who encounters and eventually impresses the larger historical figures of the age with his strength, skill at arms, and honesty. Cornwell’s leading men are often cruelly beset by bitter enemies and suffer early setbacks, but always manage to get revenge in the end. In Agincourt we’re introduced to Nicholas Hook, a muscled, tough, laconic archer who I found almost indistinguishable from Thomas of Hookton of The Grail Quest novels.

But you know what? Even though it’s familiar and in some respects predictable to readers of Cornwell, the formula works. Agincourt is, like everything else I’ve read from Cornwell, a compulsive page turner.

Agincourt is dominated by two main battle pieces, the siege of the French city of Harfleur and Agincourt itself. Both are well-told, of course, but I equally enjoyed some of Agincourt’s smaller details. For example, French knights following the beleaguered English army through the French countryside, sometimes stopping for one-on-one jousts, at other times trading insults or amicably talking. Or King Henry, disguised, walking the sodden English lines the night before the battle, weighing the morale of his men and inspiring them to fight for God and England.

Although there are some despicable priests in the book (what Cornwell book would be complete without them?), generally there’s a better depiction of Christianity and the institution of the church in Agincourt than in Cornwell’s other books, particularly The Saxon Stories, in which Cornwell displays an obvious favoritism for the pagans over the “bloody Christians.” There’s also the hand of God at work in Agincourt: Cornwell leaves little doubt that Hook hears the martyred Saint Crispan’s voice in his ear in his times of greatest duress and despair, the same Saint that Henry evokes in his rousing battle speech from Henry V.

Agincourt is certainly not for the squeamish. As with most Cornwell books, rapes, torture, disembowelings, crushed skulls, dagger thrusts through eyes and mouths, and worse are all here on display. The siege of Harfleur features the horror of mining and counter-mining beneath castle walls and the effects of dysentery on the English army. But let’s face it—war is hell and it’s faithfully depicted in Agincourt.

I remain a bit skeptical about some of the feats of archery described in Agincourt, but in the final battle Cornwell shows some restraint. In addition to the might of the English longbow, Agincourt was a stunning victory due to a combination of disastrous French leadership and horrible tactics, a mucky, sodden field across which the heavily armored French had to advance, and the inspiration of Henry, who fought bravely in the English lines. The English longbow was a deadly weapon. It could kill at long range and even punch through plate at short range. But its primary role at Agincourt appears to have been sewing early confusion, driving the French ranks inward, and felling horses and men in the front ranks that slowed the French advance to a crawl. Even if the bows could not/did not penetrate plate armor, the clouds of arrows from 5,000 English archers, striking like hammers on the French men-at-arms, must have been horrible to endure.

For more reading, Cornwell recommends two books which I have not read (Agincourt: A New History by Anne Curry, and Agincourt by Juliet Barker), but also John Keegan’s The Face of Battle, whose greatness I’ve already attested to here at The Cimmerian.