2226 The morthereer to bringe undir the cheyne. D&A posit a Lancastrian partisanship to the line (p. 165n2226), and there is no doubt that the poet elsewhere makes clear his opinion that Yorkists are unlawful murderers. Nevertheless, there is no grammatical sense in which this line need only apply to the enemy. To the contrary, the theologically trained poet would recognize that killing for the state, even when sanctioned by the Church, is nevertheless murder. A manual of warfare, such as Of Knyghthode and Bataile, is at its heart an attempt to bring order (the cheyne) to what would otherwise be the chaos of murderers on the rampage. Indeed, the Yorkist text, in C and R (leaf missing in A), make no changes to this line at all.↩back to note source

2231 Brutis Albion. Here the writer alludes to the legendary foundation of Britain by Brutus of Troy, descendant of Aeneas, the Trojan hero of Vergil’s Aeneid. The island of Britain was originally named Albion, but after Brutus arrived he renamed it Britain. Brutus’s kingdom, after his death, was split into England, Scotland, and Wales between his three sons. England was given to his oldest son, Locrin, who the English kings claimed to descend from, in one way or another, and thus claim overlordship of all of Britain in the later Middle Ages. The English origin story was recounted in a number of texts, but most famously in the Prose Brut chronicle, which initially ended at 1272 and explicitly connected the legendary stories with contemporary rulers. The Brut was originally written in Anglo-Norman French and received several continuations and translations into Middle English (with further continuations) and Latin. This English origin story served to trace England’s authority to rule back to the Trojans, a strategy similarly employed by other medieval kingdoms. See Matheson, Development of a Middle English Chronicle, and, more recently, Marvin, Construction of Vernacular History.↩back to note source

2233 To Normandie and Fraunce it is t’assende. Though one might be tempted to read into the verb here some Continental bias in the idea of “ascending” to European shores, it is more likely that the poet means one must ascend a ship (i.e., board it) in order to reach the Continent.↩back to note source

2273 the inner wal . . . then withoute. Rather than two separate walls, the poet is referring here to the inner and outer faces of a single construction that is more technically termed a terraplein.↩back to note source

2315–16 Glew, tar . . . brenne engyne. Despite the use of gunpowder weapons, wooden siege engines were still common in this period, so the preparation of incendiaries is sound advice. These wooden engines were sometimes made off-site and kept in storage, such as at the Tower of London, and brought to sieges, or, in the case of simpler engines like rams, were made on-site from local materials.↩back to note source

2319 shelde and spere, hundirdys VIII or IX. The specificity of the numbers involved — which are not in Vegetius — are only meant to indicate the high quantities at hand (and to meet rhyme).↩back to note source

2333 pulle over their topsail. The use of nautical imagery here, which is original to the translator, is one more indicator of his possible personal experiences with the sea. See also note to lines 1995–96, above.↩back to note source

2337 crosbowyng . . . bowe of brake. The poet appears to differentiate here between crossbows whose strings are pulled back physically by a lever and those whose strings are pulled back mechanically by the use of a winch or brake.↩back to note source

2341–42 See note to lines 2959–65, below.↩back to note source

2357–59 A see citee . . . litil season. This method of harvesting salt is still practiced today.↩back to note source

2371 tortoys or the snayl. If the poet has any real-world differentiation between these terms, it is not clear. They appear instead to be redundant terms for a Latin testudo, meaning “tortoise”: a protective shell beneath which a ram or siege-hook could be utilized. These weapons would poke in and out from beneath the shell, as the head of the animal pokes in and out from its shell.↩back to note source

2372 sekel or the sithe. Siege-hooks were used to chip out the stones at the base of a wall.↩back to note source

vyneyerde. Protective sheds could be used across the field in order to protect siege operations. As described in lines 2427–40, a number of these sheds could be lined up to cover a long trench, as needed to support mining operations, and would thus appear as vines across the ground.↩back to note source

2381–84 It . . . moost avavile. The “horns” described here by the poet are of unknown purpose; certainly they do not appear in the text of Vegetius.↩back to note source

2385 tortoys, snail, or testude. See note to line 2371, above.↩back to note source

2392 Tweyne hornys if it have, it is a snaile. What the poet imagines as the “snail” is unclear; this construction has no corollary in Vegetius.↩back to note source

2410 wulf. As the text describes it, this “wolf” is a device intended to be lowered down from the wall in order to pinch a ram in its teeth and prevent it from striking the wall itself.↩back to note source

2399–2426 And when . . . perile and peyne. Having just defined the construction of ramming weapons, the poet has chosen to turn immediately to Vegetius’s discussion of defense against them. This requires a break in his general practice of adapting his source text in sequential order.↩back to note source

2427 vyneyerde. See note to line 2372, above.↩back to note source

2436–40 And tre pilers . . . be myscheved. Mining was an effective, if time-consuming, method of bringing down the enemy’s wall. Unfortunately, clear evidence of mining has only survived in a few cases. One of the most famous examples is the incomplete mine, as well as its counter mine, made under St. Andrews Castle in Scotland in 1546.↩back to note source

2488 molliols, also fallayrys. As Vegetius describes them, these fire-darts (Latin: malleoli) and fire-spears (Latin: falarica) appear to be just what they are described as: bolt-like darts or spears that are covered in flammable material, set ablaze, and cast against the enemy by either hand or engine.↩back to note source

2558–59 And sodenly . . . therate. The poet here omits further details of besieging forces pouring through the mines and killing people in their own homes, which D&A claim is because “this was more than the chivalrous temper of the Englishman could stand” (pp. 173–74n2555). Although the poet makes some clear alterations to his source material to support his own perspective, it is clear that all combatants in English armies, including knights, killed civilians in war, especially in sieges. There seems to have been an unspoken custom of the “right of storm,” in which if a city or castle had not surrendered but was taken by force, then all property and people therein were forfeit to the conquerors and could be treated however they desired (Keen, Laws of War, pp. 119–33, and Strickland, War and Chivalry, pp. 222–24). However, details of such actions after the fact clearly have an immoral tone to them that requires further qualification to make them appear just, and writers frequently express anxieties over portraying such actions by their own people (T. Smith, “National Identity,” pp. 79–110, 141–48, 183–87). It should be noted that the English were not as chivalrous or careful in their conduct of war as D&A suggest in their romanticized claim.↩back to note source

2565–66 they wil . . . debate is. The poet portraying the conquest of cities and castles as less violent by offering the enemy a chance to leave is not unique to English writers, despite D&A’s suggestion that “it is characteristic of the chivalrous bravery of the Englishman” (p. 174n2565 f.). Instead, it more expresses the common anxieties over the ethics of the “right of storm,” but also echoes the argument of Veg. 3.21, in which cutting off all hope of escape in the enemy is ill-advised, as surrounded men fight harder.↩back to note source

2595–2601 Now se . . . to calle is. The placement of guard dogs (and other noisy, excitable animals) on or near walls is mentioned in many Roman sources, which Vegetius clearly drew upon. Medieval chroniclers also describe such defensive measures, although it is unclear whether these were merely classical allusions or reflected contemporary practice.↩back to note source

2612–15 Now go . . . gret nede. Naval battles were understood to be considerably different from land battles, with often bleak consequences for the defeated (see, for example, lines 2896–2902).↩back to note source

2687–99 Tethis . . . be stille. Vegetius does not personify the sea as Tethys, the Titan sister-wife of Oceanus in Greek mythology, nor does he pursue anything like the poet’s metaphor of the (masculine) winds assaulting the sea against her will. Likewise, the further description of a disturbed Oceanus leaping against the town of Calais (line 2697) is original to the poet, who claims himself to be from Calais and would surely know well the vagaries of weather in the English Channel. The poet may also be allegorizing the contemporary struggles between Yorkist and Lancastrian forces within the disputed waters at the time of his writing. Wakelin suggests that these descriptions might be an allusion to Book I of Vergil’s Aeneid (Humanism, Reading, and English Literature, pp. 87–88).↩back to note source

2718 the berth of Arcture al is even. Arcture could refer either to the star Arcturus, in the constellation Boötes, or to Arthur’s Plow, another name for the constellation Ursa Major (i.e., the Big Dipper) (see MED Artur, [n.]), though the former is surely meant here: in September, Arcturus — the fourth brightest star in the night sky — rises close to even with the horizon, its place of berth.↩back to note source

2768–69 In wynde . . . begile. The poet (following Vegetius) refers here to Virgil’s Georgics, trans. Fairclough, 1.351–463, in which appears a wide-ranging list of terrestrial signs regarding the weather.↩back to note source

2791 the maister marynere, the governour. Allmand argues that because sea storms were typically used to symbolize political turbulence, the use of maister marynere here paired with governour was meant to comment upon the leader’s ability to govern: “he was a man worthy to be entrusted with the ship (of state) and its crew (the people), a man in whom to have confidence to reach land — and safe harbour” (The “De Re Militari” of Vegetius, p. 192), while Wakelin reads this as indicating the leader’s obligation to his land and people (Humanism, Reading, and English Literature, pp. 89–90). The poet’s proximity to the sea, in Calais, suggests he surely found this imagery especially powerful.↩back to note source

2854–67 The canonys . . . and the manubaliste. D&A (p. lxx) believe that the poet’s listing of these different terms was meant to demonstrate his familiarity with gunpowder weapons, regardless of how familiar he actually might have been with their actual uses in warfare. It should be noted, however, that he correctly describes their use. Likewise, he initially presents both the ancient and medieval weapons in apparent order of weight earlier in the poem. See note to lines 1846–52, above, which also identifies the pieces.↩back to note source

2857 goth the serpentyne aftir his mete. The poet cleverly doubles the meaning of the line by playing with the bestial nature of the name of the artillery piece: the serpentine gun goes after its target, just as the serpentine creature goes after its meal. Similar metaphors continue from line 2861.↩back to note source

2866 onagir. The onager was a small, Roman-era catapult.↩back to note source

2868 catafract. This appears, as noted by D&A (p. 183n2868), to be “a mistake of the poet” deriving from his misunderstanding of Latin catafracti (which appears in Veg. 4.44), meaning “armored.”↩back to note source

2875–81 Yet on . . . on hem ride. This description of the superior English archery and the fear it instills in the enemy is not uncommon. The English chronicler, Geoffrey le Baker (d. ca. 1360), provides strikingly similar imagery in his narrative of the 1350 naval Battle of Winchelsea (trans. T. Smith, “Battle of Winchelsea”).↩back to note source

2896 fisshes for to fede. This grizzly image of fish eating those who have been recently killed or drowned in naval battle is sometimes mentioned in medieval sources, such as the description of the naval battle of Winchelsea (1350) by the English poet Laurence Minot (fl. 1333–52): “Fele fissches thai fede for all thaire grete fare; / it was in the waniand [waning of the moon, i.e., an unhappy hour] that thai come thare” (ed. Osberg, 10.5–6). Wakelin reads our poet’s use of this imagery as reflecting a Lancastrian “glee” over their defeated enemies (Humanism, Reading, and English Literature, p. 88).↩back to note source

2899 summe seke hemself they wote ner where. In glossing this line we have followed D&A (p. 184) in assuming that this is a continuation of the thought about fearful men in line 2897: the poet is now describing those panicked individuals who are desperate to find safe places to hide but do not know where to find them. However, the syntax seems to allow for at least two alternative readings that delve even more deeply into the horrifying realities of war. The first would be that we have a reference to mental breakdowns among the crew. In the trauma of the combat, the men have lost their situational awareness of reality: they seek themselves as they no longer know where they are. The second alternative would be that the poet is describing a grim but horrible reality of gunpowder combat: dying men are seeking those parts of their bodies that have been physically lost.↩back to note source

2908–09 O Silver Bere . . . your renown. The poet returns again to his heraldic allegory to refer to the rebel enemy of the War of the Roses (see notes to lines 992–1026, above): the Bear is Richard, earl of Warwick; the Lion is Mowbray, duke of Norfolk; and the Eagle is Richard, duke of York.↩back to note source

2916 the knotte. Knots have long symbolized the mystery of the Church, whether in artistic representations like the trefoil knot or in literary references such as this ca. 1465 attack on Lollardy: “Lo, he þat can be cristes clerc, / And knowe þe knottes of his crede, / Now may se a wonder werke” (Ed. Robbins, “Defend Us from All Lollardry,” lines 1–3).↩back to note source

2941 polissed to bace and make it herre. The ability to raise and lower this ramming beam is not mentioned in the source text, Vegetius.↩back to note source

2947 is hard to wite. The mariners are clearly using axes to take down the ship’s rigging. What is less clear is whether the poet is remarking on it being difficult to understand what the mariners are doing or he is commenting on how hard it is to accept it. The latter possibility could point to a personal nautical background.↩back to note source

2959–65 Theim lever . . . bodily beautee. The poet’s immediate source for this anecdote is Vegetius, but there are multiple similar stories across classical sources. As Nall points out, the poet adds “worldy good or bodily beautee” to his source to emphasize the sort of sacrifice that was expected of everybody in England, not just its men, to succeed in war (“Perceptions of Financial Mismanagement,” p. 133; Reading and War, pp. 65–66).↩back to note source

2968 Oon more of hem then X manubalistis. D&A make multiple mistakes in suggesting that this is “a clumsy way of saying ‘eleven’” and that manubalistis is used “to denote the men manipulating the carroballista” (p. 185n2968). The poet is consistent in using manubalistis to refer to a weapon of similar design but smaller scale to the carroballista. This same concept of relative size is here described: the larger weapon takes more than ten times as much sinew to fire.↩back to note source

2833–2909 But on . . . your renoun. The poet deftly maneuvers from his translation of Vegetius into a dramatized description of the naval battle of Massilia (49 BCE). The poet’s visceral description of the course of this engagement has many echoes in the naval warfare described in the first-century Roman poet Marcus Annaeus Lucanus’s widely read De bello civili. Though what the poet provides thus appears to be an imaginary engagement, there is no question that it is intended to reflect a contemporary struggle at sea between his Lancastrian allies and the Yorkist rebels. Indeed, D&A rightly suggest this is meant to function as a kind of prophetic vision of what is to come in the war (p. xxi).↩back to note source

2609–2972 The craft . . . other keste. Vegetius’s discussion of ships and naval warfare found increasing interest in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, especially in how they advocated for standing navies of specially constructed warships. In several manuscripts this section of the text is separated into a fifth book (Allmand, The “De Re Militari” of Vegetius, pp. 44–46). Here, the poet greatly and imaginatively expands on his source, emphasizing the importance of naval warfare despite Vegetius’s suggestion that the less said of it the better since there were few sea-battles in his time, as by then all of Rome’s major Mediterranean enemies had been subdued. Things are far different for the fifteenth-century poet: his world saw far more naval engagements, and his personal history in Calais would have made him particularly aware of the importance of naval power even if he had no personal service at sea in his background.↩back to note source

2982 That may not Joon! Whi so? While it could be that the word Joon (if that reading is correct; see the Introduction, pp. 16–18) is a reference to the name John and thus an indicator of the author’s identity, in the Middle Ages the name John was commonly used as a generic, familiar name for a priest (which the author is known to have been). See, for instance, the Host calling to the Nun’s Priest in Chaucer’s Nun’s Priest’s Prologue: “Com neer, thou preest, com hyder, thou sir John!” (CT VII[B2]2810).↩back to note source

2986 world withouten ende. The Gloria Patri, often termed the Minor Doxology, is one of the oldest and most universal doxologies in Christianity. It concludes in Latin with the phrase “in saecula saeculorum,” which since the release of The Book of Common Prayer in 1541 has been popularly translated as “world without end.”↩back to note source

2988 until that ayer amende. For the poet, there were two problematic heirs in Calais. One would be York’s son, Edward, earl of March, who had fled there alongside another rebel heir: the earl of Warwick, who was in nominal control of the city.↩back to note source

2995 laborers. Here the poet seems to refer back to lines 180–200, in which he argues that country folk tend to make the best fighters.↩back to note source

3013–14 VII / Weyis. These are the directions given for the setting of pitched battles in lines 2046–2132.↩back to note source

3022 Go, litil book. In humbly sending his “little” book into the world (see also line 2987), the poet is taking part in a fairly standard trope that appears to mimic the “Go little book” envoi of Chaucer’s TC (5.1786).↩back to note source