1385 and all that: The failed French conquest of England

This article is from Military History Matters issue 138

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Three times towards the end of the 14th century, between 1385 and 1387, French armies launched large and well-planned invasion bids against England. But even though France was the leading superpower of the time, on each occasion they failed. What is perhaps most surprising is that this episode, during the second phase of the Hundred Years War, has not become part of the English national story – of an island nation doggedly maintaining its independence against such dastardly Continental foes as the Spanish Armada or Nazi Germany. In this case, the French aim was to replace the English Plantagenet dynasty with a Franco-friendly regime. If they had succeeded, later English history would have gone in a different direction. 

For more than 40 years, English armies had fought in France in support of King Edward III’s claim to the French throne. They not only took part in pitched battles on French soil, but also used the chevauchée, a raiding method that involved the massacre of civilians, the burning of buildings, the destruction of crops, and the slaughter of farm animals. 

It is not surprising, then, that the English were hated. The famous 14th-century chronicles written by Jean Froissart include many statements such as: ‘Smash these English swine… now is the time to avenge our fathers and mothers and our dead friends.’ 

After the death of Edward III in 1377, however, England lacked a great war leader. The teenage King Richard II was inclined to peace, and his early years as king were anyway disrupted by conflicts within the Royal Family.

The French strategy was to overwhelm the English with greater resources, so these three campaigns were large and very well planned. But it is hard to carry out a successful seaborne invasion into enemy territory. No matter how diligently the invader plans, the unexpected happens. The weather changes. A key ally drops out. Politics at home interferes. The diplomatic preparations are flawed. 

France also had a minor as a king: Charles VI, who had inherited the throne in 1380 at the age of just 11. Under Admiral Jean de Vienne and Olivier V de Clisson, however, the country’s military leadership was competent: the plans for the three campaigns were carefully constructed, and the large French war machine worked efficiently. But each time unforeseen events thwarted France’s ambitions. 

The first campaign: 1385

In 1384, Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy – regent to Charles and the power behind the French throne – inherited the province of Flanders, including the port of Sluys. Four decades earlier, the town had been the site of a bloody naval battle between England and France (see MHM 128) – but now it was to be a starting point for the English invasion, despite the population being largely pro-English. 

During 1384, Philip’s army was active in brutally stamping out resistance to Franco-Burgundian rule; and by 1385 English-supported opposition was confined to the nearby Flemish city of Ghent, which was now under siege.

In April, Scotland’s top cleric, William Wardlaw, the Bishop of Glasgow, was more than 200 miles further south, in the city of Orleans, on a top-secret diplomatic mission with French officials to relaunch the traditional Franco-Scottish anti-English relationship known as the ‘Auld Alliance’.  

Scotland was to host a French army of 1,000 mounted knights plus men-at-arms, bringing with them armour and arms to equip Scots in the same style – the subsidy of 40,000 gold French florins was an immense sum for a poor country. While this Franco-Scottish force, led by Admiral Jean de Vienne, moved into England from the north, the plan was that the main force, led by Olivier de Clisson, would land somewhere further south. They would then meet somewhere in England, and move on into battle.

By early 1385, the French war preparations were causing panic in England. Richard II wrote a letter warning that the French would ‘invade not only the king’s territory overseas, but also his realm of England, do away with his place and people, destroy all the English tongue, without regard to state, age, sex, or person, and imbue the realm with a new tongue’. 

Supplies were being shipped by land and river to depots near Sluys. Barges were heading towards the port – food, equipment, armaments, swords, crossbows, gunpowder. The harbour was crammed with masts – ‘like a forest’, Froissart says. ‘They made pennons and flags of silk that were a marvel to behold. The masts were painted from top to bottom and some, in a display of magnificence, were covered in gold leaf, the arms of the owner being fixed at the head.’

The English reacted. ‘Commissioners of Array’ had powers to impress any male between 16 and 60 years of age into militias, and, in Portsmouth, Harwich, and Dover, they impressed merchant ships to harass French shipping along the English Channel. In early May, while the final French preparations were being made, some English vessels slipped into Sluys harbour, capturing and burning ships, and killing crews, before escaping back to sea. 

When Jean de Vienne’s fleet emerged into the North Sea to begin its voyage to Scotland, the English launched a burning ship packed with gunpowder towards the enemy craft. If the wind had favoured the English, the resulting explosion might have destroyed enough French ships for the plan to be aborted. 

When, after a few days’ peaceful sailing, the French instead arrived in the port of Leith, the Admiral was not met by the Scottish king, as he was engaged on ‘other business’ in the Highlands. Froissart explains from his chivalric point of view why the Scots did not welcome the French army: ‘Anon tidings sprang about in Scotland, that a great number of men-at-arms of France were come into their country; some thereat did murmur and grudge and said “Who the devil hath sent for them? What do they here? …They understand not us nor we them.”’ 

For their part, it seems that the French had no respect for the poor but proud Scots. Again, according to Froissart: ‘In Scotland you shall find no man of honour or gentleness: they are like wild and savage people… and are greatly envious of the honour or profit of any other man.’

It was not until late July that the Franco-Scots force arrived at the English border fortress of Wark Castle, on a rocky outcrop above the River Tweed. The Scottish way of warfare was to avoid attacking fixed locations – so they left the French to take the fort, while watching from the sidelines. Then the army continued south, towards Newcastle upon Tyne. If he took Newcastle, victory should have been in Jean de Vienne’s grasp, despite the weakness of the Scottish allies – once the Clisson-led main force arrived.

But then a messenger from Richard II appeared with a missive. It was an angry reproach to Jean de Vienne for daring to invade his kingdom. Richard had already raised an army in response to the invasion, and was in action.

The English Crown had via their Commissioners of Array revived old feudal obligations, calling up every fighting-age male. Those not prepared to fight paid a fee, which funded a part-volunteer, part-conscript army. This was assembled quickly, and the army marched north. 

By the time it had reached Newcastle, Richard’s army had swollen enormously, as volunteers patriotically joined up. Jean de Vienne initially wanted to fight – but the Scots did not, and took the Admiral to a lookout to watch the Englishmen. The English were in chevauchée mode — moving through a wide area of the countryside, burning, pillaging and destroying. 

With poor allies such as the Scots, and while still awaiting the arrival of the second army, this was not the time for Jean de Vienne to risk his army on an engagement. From his point of view, this was not necessarily bad news. The English had left southern England unprotected – so when the second French force did appear, the Franco-Scots could join it unopposed. 

For the time being, Jean de Vienne supported the Scots in what they liked best – raiding, looting, and pillaging their way across Cumbria. Such activity yielded a satisfactory return. But this was not why the French were in England.

Meanwhile, the English force continued their chevauchée north to Edinburgh, killing the entire remaining population, and burning the city. As a result of lack of planning, however, they ran out of supplies, and a starving English army retreated back south to England.

The Franco-Scottish siege of Carlisle was abandoned, and Jean de Vienne led his army back across the Borders to Edinburgh, still hoping for news about the second French force. He returned to find a terrible situation. As a result of the Auld Alliance, much of southern Scotland had now been devastated by the English, and disaster had come to the people of Scotland. But he still thought that his campaign was viable. He only had to wait for the arrival of the southern force, and he would be able to move his army to meet up with them – with or without the Scots.

While the Scots, French and English were busy in the north, there were developments in Flanders, where English-supported forces were still active. On 15 July, a group of anti-French irregulars moved into Damme, close to Sluys. When the guard was carelessly off-duty, the posse had scaled the walls and taken the fortress. Once in, they were well fortified. Troops ready in Sluys for the Olivier de Clisson invasion had to be diverted to Damme. The invasion was abandoned. 

The final act was played in Scotland. Unsuspected by the French, the canny Scots had been keeping a tally of the mayhem that their allies had been creating. Peasants, for example, whose crops had been damaged by French horsemen riding through fields, or whose food supplies had been seized by hungry French soldiers, now made their claims for compensation. Angry Scots started to attack the French knights in retaliation, and when the Scots submitted their demand for over 40,000 nobles (English gold coins) Jean de Vienne was held hostage in Edinburgh until the money arrived from France.

The second campaign: 1386

Once Jean de Vienne was back in France, he and Olivier de Clisson carried out a review of the past campaign. The weaknesses were clear. Allies such as the Scots were unreliable – so the next season’s campaign would be purely French. It would be led, as before, by Jean de Vienne and Olivier de Clisson. 

It was impossible to plan an invasion without the English knowing, and as they had proved able to mobilise very fast, the French would always be vulnerable to attack after landing. Even after a successful landing, an English chevauchée could lead to defeat by starvation, even without a major battle. 

The 1386 invasion would take all of these factors into account. It would be a purely French force, and it would be huge – perhaps the largest campaign ever put together in the 14th century. It would travel accompanied by a vast flotilla of supply ships carrying everything they might need after embarkation. Once ashore, the entire French force would be protected inside an immense wooden palisade – a portable fortress used sometimes in sieges. Again, this would be the largest that had ever been built. 

There were to be 100,000 foot soldiers, including archers and men-at-arms, led by 10,000 mounted knights. They were to sail fully provisioned – no more French armies threatened with starvation while campaigning. Arms, equipment, food supplies, horses – everything had to be transported to Sluys harbour and loaded on to the invasion fleet. This huge logistical operation lasted until autumn, and just to find enough ships French agents had to impress vessels as far away as Scotland, Castile, and Germany. The Channel was full of supply craft sailing to Sluys. Roads were jammed, and had to be resurfaced in order to handle the traffic. 

Froissart is not usually concerned with everyday logistics. But, in this case, he expresses his surprise by listing a huge range of equipment, including: ‘shoes, boots, spurs, knives, axes, pikes, mattocks, racks, iron and nails to shoe horses’. Then there was the weaponry: ‘harnoys, darts, traits, cannons, bombs, iron and steel bars, lead mallets, lances, aches, insarmes, daggers, spears, pikes, and many other things needful for fighting at sea’.

The palisade would be erected possibly on the flat sandy coastline near the River Orwell in Suffolk – only 70 marching miles from London. The fortress would be 20ft high, and about 9,000 paces in length, with either a tower or a gatehouse every 25 metres – larger than the City of London inside its Roman walls, and a technological wonder of the age. The ancient forests of the Île-de-France were stripped of mature oaks to be used in its construction, and just to transport it across the Channel would have required 69 ships. Designing and building it in the course of one summer was a huge achievement. 

The expenses involved proved too much for the French Exchequer, and they were forced to devalue the coinage to raise funds. Silver coinage was recalled, melted down, and mixed with tin, and reissued with the same face value. The surplus silver financed the war. 

The English responded quickly. In East Anglia, river mouths were fortified. The Commissioners of Array went into action in order to supply archers for use in the defence of London. By October, chartered foreign ships were in the Thames and in the waters around Dover and Kent at the ready. 

The fatal French flaw was attempting to arrange so much before the end of the sailing season, in a cold century with short summers, uncertain winds, and periods of incessant rain and hail. The fleet could not be ready before September, by which time invasion-friendly summer breezes might be replaced by pro-English storms from the north-east, pinning whole fleets in port for weeks. By trying to eliminate all uncertainties, Jean de Vienne had ironically himself opened up a huge new area of doubt. 

In the middle of October, Charles VI’s court started to march from Paris to Sluys, ready to join the expedition. Richard II’s intelligence said the logistics meant that the great invasion was not yet ready. In 1385, the English were eager to fight when faced with an actual invasion. But they were not prepared to hang about idly until the authorities told them what to do. The coastal militias rebelled and slipped away. England was undefended. 

In the end, the weather came to the rescue of the English. The stormy season started with a bang, as a tempest of historic size hit France and Flanders. Trees were uprooted, and houses blown down, with huge loss of life. In just one day, 60 French ships on their way to Sluys along the English Channel were wrecked. The entire fleet was trapped in port, along with King Charles and much of his court. One day, the winds abated slightly, and against advice the king started finally to sail for England. As if on cue, however, the winds returned – and just a few miles out to sea, his ship was forced to turn round and take refuge in port. 

Meanwhile, another ship had started out, taking advantage of a lull in the weather, transporting parts of the palisade to its landing place on the East Anglian coast. By an almost unbelievable stroke of luck for the English, the winds changed just as the ship was sailing past the Thames Estuary, and blew it west towards London. The ship was boarded and taken to London with its crew – which included the chief carpenter. He was forced to erect the sections of wall he was carrying in London in a gesture of English defiance. The rest of the structure stayed in harbour in France. 

The preparations continued relentlessly – with men and matériel taking a week to load – until in late October, Charles VI reviewed the invasion force, accompanied by Olivier de Clisson and Jean de Vienne, in readiness for its departure. The winds continued.

At the end of October, another attempt was made to leave port – but, yet again, a violent storm blew them back on to the coast. The fleet was running short of food before it had even set sail, and the owners of individual ships started slipping away for the winter. Finally, the expedition was called off, and King Charles and his court went back to Paris.

The final attempt: 1387

Olivier de Clisson and Jean de Vienne made a final attempt during the following year – and, as before, lessons were learnt from previous mistakes. 

The invasion of 1386 had failed because it was too big and took too long to organise. The huge costs involved had strained the resources of the state, while the use of Sluys – well away from Paris – as the base added to the logistical problems. The 1386 invasion was also slowed by the involvement of the king and his court. This time the invasion was to be led by Jean de Vienne and Olivier de Clisson alone. 

This army would travel light, with as few as 3,000 fighting men. They would sail in June, from Harfleur at the mouth of the River Seine, and Tréguier in Brittany, with a landing in Dover, just a few days’ march from London. They would reuse many of the supplies stored up in Sluys from the previous year, greatly streamlining the organisation.

While the fleet was mustering in Harfleur and Tréguier ready for the signal to sail, an English force of marauders appeared in the Channel fresh from raiding and looting in Flanders, and consequently loaded with booty. The French fleet poured out to meet them, and the two sides came together near Dieppe. After an exchange of cannon-fire, the French boarded and fought the English in a hand-to-hand battle on deck. The English surrendered, and the French captured a fleet of English ships full of stolen treasure.

This was a good start to the expedition. The signal was sent out and armed men from all over France converged on the two ports of embarkation. The arrival of the leaders, Jean de Vienne and Olivier de Clisson, was awaited. 

Eventually, however, ‘events’ in the politics of the French court caused the country’s invasion plans to fall apart once again. Olivier de Clisson was a member of the king’s inner circle, but it turned out that many of the royal dukes did not support him. At a banquet in Vannes, on Brittany’s southern coast, Clisson was arrested on the orders of the local duke, and thrown into a dungeon in chains. 

In the ensuing political turmoil, France’s invasion plans were forgotten.

Duncan Cameron is a historian with a particular passion for the events of the 14th century. His most recent book, Invasion: The Forgotten French Bid to Conquer England, is published by Amberley (£10.99, paperback).

All images: Wikimedia Commons, unless otherwise stated