Saint Crispin day

You must place yourselves in the battlefield of French countryside, near of Agincourt. It's 1415, and the tired armies of King Henry, are desperate for arriving into Calais, a safe port with food, water, and fast sails that can transport them back to England.

They are in France because of their King's demands. He wants to be crowned King of France. He is eager to be blessed whit the Sacred Oil of Clovis, in the Great Church of Reims. King Henry felt deeply insulted by King Charles VI (The Mad King) when he, in response to King Henry's demands, sent a set of tennis balls to the English Court on Whitehall.

The first great encounter between French and English armies was the siege of Hapfleur, a strong and well defended city. As a result, the English army lost lots of men, part of their food, and had to abandon their siege weapons.

Today, the field in France is wet, muddy, and its very difficult to make any movement. Even worse: His Majesty the King has disappeared, and no one knows where he is. They talk about something like a ghost, who make call himself Harry Leroi, and ask the soldiers for information.

Finally, when the Sun weakly rises in the morning of 25th October, the most terrible of sounds, the trumpets and the banners of King Charles' Armies, with the most powerful force of cavalry the world has ever seen.

Lord Bedford, Lord Exeter and others see the French armie, knowing this is their end. Lord Westmoreland cries:

"Oh if we have here now, just but one ten thousand of men who are in England and don't work today..."

Suddenly, a well-known voice answers lord Westmoreland's laments: the King of England appears, his armor shines, his blade is sharped, his voice is calmed. His will is made of iron.

"And who is that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland?

No! Good cousin. If we are marked to die, then we are enough for our country's lost. And if we live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.

Please cousin I beg you! Not ask for one single men!

Rather, proclaim it Westmoreland, through my Armie: those who have no stomach, no guts for this battle... Let them depart... Their passport will be put in order and they will have a silver crown in their purses. We will not die among the company of men scared about their brotherhood will die with us...

...

This day is called the feast of Crispin. He who fight today and live, every year at the eve will join their kith and kin and will say "Tomorrow is Saint Crispin". Then he will discover his arm and showing his scars will say "this wounds I received in the feast of Crispin".

Old men forget. It will all be forgotten but he will remember with advantages what deeds he made that day, and our names will be as famous as his forefathers: Harry the King. Betford and Exeter, Salisbury and Gloucester, Warwick and Talbot be in his cups for ever remembered.

This day will tell the good men to his son, and will be eternal, from today  to the ending of the world, and we in it will be remembered!

We few... We happy few... We band of Brothers, because the man who fight and bleed today it'll be my Brother. Because this day make his condition bigger...

And gentlemen in England, who are now in bed, will consider themselves coursed, and little men for not to be here, when they will hear someone talking that faught with us... UPON SAINT CRISPIN'S DAY!"

Then the joy, the preparations, the deploy of armies. The English have not heavy cavalry, that is true, and they cannot beat the French armie in open field, but they have the longbow, and their men  are the best in their use.

So the King gives the order and the last remanents of light cavalry join to the infantry and make a powerful shield barrier. Behind there are the Welsh Archers whit the longbow.

And like the sea against the cliffs, the French send wave after wave, and they are expelled time after time. Then it starts to rain, and mud makes impossible for  cavalry to charge, so King Henry gives the order, and the infantry starts to advance, quietly, the blades in their hands, their hearts beating at the same time, six thousand men made one powerful gigant, and defeat their enemy, breaking the French ranks, and winning the Battle of Agincourt.