However, Henry’s sudden death in 1422—at just 35—left an infant son, Henry VI, to inherit both crowns. This fragile arrangement unraveled amid renewed French resistance led by figures like Joan of Arc. By the end of the Hundred Years’ War, England had been expelled from all major French territories except Calais.
Still, Agincourt retained enormous symbolic power. It became a cornerstone of English historical memory—a testament to grit, discipline, and the longbow’s lethal power. Even centuries later, Elizabethans facing Spanish threats invoked Agincourt as an inspiration. During the world wars, British propaganda again drew on its imagery to rally national resolve.
Michael Wood has often remarked on how such moments are recycled to serve later agendas. In his discussions of the Wars of the Roses and Tudor consolidation, he notes that the memory of France—of victories like Agincourt—shaped English identity long after the actual territorial ambitions had faded.
The human dimension: Beyond knights and kings
One of the hallmarks of Michael Wood’s historical storytelling is his attention to ordinary lives. In the case of Agincourt, this means thinking about the thousands of English archers and foot soldiers whose names rarely appear in chronicles.
Many were yeomen from the English shires, conscripted under the medieval system of indenture. They would have been hardened by years of local feuds, poaching, and archery practice mandated by law. Unlike the aristocratic French cavalry, these men were lightly armored but highly mobile and skilled with their longbows—a weapon that required immense strength and years of training.
Wood would encourage us to imagine not just the gleaming armor or heroic speeches, but the fear, exhaustion, and filth of these men, trudging through France, eating rough bread, suffering dysentery, yet still able to unleash devastating volleys at the crucial moment. Their collective discipline and lethal efficiency did more to win the day than any individual act of knightly valor. shutdown123