Tags
1346, abusive soldiers, book review, contemporary chroniclers, Dan Jones, Edward the Black Prince, England, France, historical detail, historical fiction, Hundred Years War, inglorious war, King Edward III, medieval combat, Normandy, plot-driven narrative, social class, thin characters
Review: Essex Dogs, by Dan Jones
Viking, 2022. 450 pp. $30
In July 1346, King Edward III of England invades France, claiming that the throne of that country belongs to him, igniting what would later be called the Hundred Years’ War. Among the invading host landing on the Norman coast is a band of men self-styled the Essex Dogs, led by Loveday FitzTalbot, a former thief turned soldier-of-fortune.
But hardened veteran though he is, Loveday feels the strain of this campaign. Signed on for forty days at a penny per and all the booty they can carry, the Dogs have no particular loyalty to their monarch’s pretensions.
Oh, they shout the war cry praising his name and dutifully call the French king, Philippe, a usurper. And when the blast of war trumpets in their ears, the excitement of battle carries them along. But their chief goal, aside from filling their purses, is to make it home alive, as a group.
Good luck. Jones, a historian, portrays medieval warfare in its most gruesome face, sparing nothing. Crossbow bolts and arrows fly with appalling results, and in the scrum of knights and men-at-arms, armor is no guarantee of safety. The crush of men and horses struggling for footing on blood-soaked ground brings terror and confusion.
But these relatively brief, intensely violent moments are only part of a soldier’s lot. There are long marches in summer heat; inedible food and brackish water (when available); disease and voracious insects; boring days spent in stinking encampments; and hostile civilians who find ways to make the invaders even more miserable.
Most of all, the Dogs have their leaders to contend with, starting with Sir Robert Le Straunge, the knight who’s promised to pay them at campaign’s end. From his first days in France, Loveday, starting to grow sick of war, anticipates what lies ahead:
Robbing towns. Hurting civilians. Stealing food. Taking orders from idiots like Sir Robert, the latest of a long line of Essex knights of that name, whose whole purpose was paying lesser men to work their estates and risk their lives in wars, in the hope that the Le Straunges might earn the favour of greater lords and kings.
The divide between noble and commoner pervades Essex Dogs, as it should. Some of the leaders, such as the earl of Warwick and Lord Northampton, the army constable, are capable tacticians. But whether they deserve their commands on merit or not, their mistakes, fits of temper, or foibles must be tolerated, even applauded, because of their high birth. By contrast, any commoner who steps out line will hang before sunset.
Also, where Warwick and Northampton sometimes seem on familiar terms with their underlings, the latter have to take care never to presume. Their lordships seem like employers too impatient to consider anyone’s needs except their own—I’ve worked for such people—except that these guys have the power of life or death. The only trait they share with their men is the foulest language I’ve read in many years. I’ve known sailors with cleaner mouths.
Essex Dogs shows clearly and repeatedly that there’s no nobility in war or warriors. The way the English abuse the French peasantry and townsfolk is absolutely hideous. I sympathize more with the civilians, faceless though they are, than with the Dogs, one or two characters excepted.
Maybe that’s because invading another country on a flimsy pretext appalls my modern ears; I can read that in a history book more easily than a novel, where motives and characters are supposed to compel me. But this plot-driven story pays too little attention to character.
Only two members of the Dogs show anything beneath their surfaces: Loveday and Romford, a sixteen-year-old boy on his first campaign. But even they feel rudimentary, a point to note, because this book is the first of a planned trilogy. I think Jones will have to develop his crew to much greater depth if he is to sustain his saga.
Still, the novel offers plenty of action; there’s always another (mis)adventure to propel the story, and I had no trouble turning the pages. Each chapter opens with a quotation from a contemporary chronicler describing a particular incident, which Jones then portrays as it might have looked on the ground, a startling contrast to the heroic description. I like that twist.
I also find amusing how Jones renders Edward, the sixteen-year-old Prince of Wales, who figures prominently. The heir to the throne is a whiny teenager with more bravado than common sense, no martial gifts whatsoever, and a thirst for liquor, which he can’t hold. That’s Edward, the Black Prince we’re talking about, who’ll grow up to rank among the most celebrated soldiers of his time. As Jones’s end note says, this story is fiction.
Essex Dogs has a plot that moves rapidly, driven by vivid historical detail. I was glad to read the novel for its antiheroic depiction of medieval warfare. But after this first volume of three, I think I’ve had my fill.
Disclaimer: I obtained my reading copy of this book from the public library.