That there were difficulties in attacking a veteran force in such a position, the Constable D'Albret clearly saw, but he was naturally of a bold and rash disposition; his enemies of the Burgundian party had more than once accused him of his irresolution and incapacity; and he resolved that no obstacle should daunt, or induce him to avoid a battle, with such an overpowering force at his command. He gave the order then to move forward at a slow pace, and probably did not perceive the full perils of his undertaking, till his troops had advanced too far, between the two woods, to retreat with either honour or safety. When he discovered this, it would seem an order was given to halt, and for some minutes the two armies paused, observing each other, the English determined not to quit their ground, the French hesitating to attack.
A solemn silence pervaded the whole field; but then Henry himself appeared, armed from head to foot in gilded armour, a royal crown encircling his helmet, covered with precious stones, and his beaver up, displaying his countenance to his own troops. Mounted on a magnificent white horse, he rode along the line of archers in the van, within half a bow shot of the enemy, exhorting the brave yeomen, in loud tones, and with a cheerful face, to do their duty to their country and their King. Every motive was held out that could induce his soldiery to do gallant deeds; and he ended by exclaiming, "For my part, I swear that England shall never pay ransom for my person, nor France triumph over me in life; for this day shall either be famous for my death, or in it I will win honour and obtain renown."
Along the second and third line he likewise rode, followed close by Sir Thomas of Erpingham, with his bald head bare, and the white hair upon his temples streaming in the wind; and to each division the King addressed nearly the same words. The only answer that was made by the soldiers was, "On, on! let us forward!" and the only communication which took place between the King and his marshal of the host occurred when at length Henry resumed his position in the centre of the main battle.
"They are near enough, my Liege," said the old knight. "Is your Grace ready?"
"Quite," replied Henry. "Have you left a guard over the baggage?"
"As many as could be spared, Sire," replied the Marshal. "Shall we begin?"
Henry bowed his head; and the old knight, setting spurs to his horse, galloped along the face of the three lines, waving his truncheon in his hand, and exclaiming, "Ready, ready! Now, men of England, now!"
Then, in the very centre of the van, he stopped by the side of the Duke of York, dismounted from his horse, put on his casque, which a page held ready; and then, hurling his leading staff high into the air, as he glanced over the archers with a look of fire untamed by age, he cried aloud, "Now strike!"
Each English yeoman suddenly bent down upon his knee and kissed the ground. Then starting up, they gave one loud, universal cheer, at which, to use the terms of the French historian, "the Frenchmen were greatly astounded." Each archer took a step forward, drew his bow-string to his ear; and, as the van of the enemy began to move on, a cloud of arrows fell amongst them, not only from the front, but from the meadow on their flank, piercing through armour, driving the horses mad with pain, and spreading confusion and disarray amidst the immense multitude which, crowded into that narrow field, could only advance in lines thirty deep.
"Forward, forward!" shouted the French knights.