In September 1356, Edward of Woodstock, Prince of Wales, was moving through western France with an army that had spent weeks burning towns, seizing supplies, destroying crops, and trying to force the French crown into a problem it could not comfortably solve.
Edward was only twenty-six years old, although he was already one of the most experienced royal commanders in Europe, because a decade earlier he had fought beside his father at Crécy, where a much larger French army had broken itself against an English defensive position.
Later generations would call him the Black Prince, although that nickname was not the ordinary name by which his contemporaries knew him, and the origins of the title remain uncertain.
In 1356, he was simply the Prince of Wales, eldest son of Edward III of England, commander of an Anglo-Gascon army operating far from the safety of Bordeaux.
His campaign had begun with confidence.
By the middle of September, confidence had become calculation.
A large French army under King John II was closing in.
The English and Gascon troops had been marching hard.
Supplies were becoming uncertain.
Many horses were tired.
The countryside behind them had been stripped by their own movement.
The Loire River had blocked Edward from going where he originally hoped, while French forces maneuvered quickly enough to threaten the route south.
For several days, Edward tried to avoid a major battle.
That fact matters because the later legend of Poitiers can make it seem as though the prince deliberately invited overwhelming odds because he trusted his archers and wanted a glorious fight.
The reality was less romantic.
Edward understood that his army was outnumbered, operating deep in enemy territory, and carrying prisoners and plunder accumulated during a long raid.
A battle against the full French royal army was not the obvious objective.
Getting home was.
Then King John got between Edward and home.
By September 18, the situation near Poitiers had become dangerous enough that both armies knew a major decision was coming.
French troops outnumbered Edward's force substantially, although exact medieval numbers remain disputed, and modern historians have proposed different estimates based on incomplete records.
What is much more secure than the precise figures is the imbalance.
Edward had a smaller army.
John had the larger one.
The French king also had reinforcements, powerful nobles, royal princes, and the advantage of fighting inside France.
Edward had something else.
He had ground.
South of Poitiers, the countryside was broken by hedges, vineyards, tracks, uneven fields, and narrow approaches that could interfere with the movement of large formations.
A smaller army cannot magically become larger.
It can force a larger army to become smaller where the fighting actually occurs.
Edward began arranging his troops around that principle.
English and Gascon men-at-arms dismounted.
Archers moved into positions where they could shoot toward likely French approaches.
Hedges and natural obstacles protected parts of the line.
A road or lane leading toward the position restricted the width through which attackers could move efficiently.
Behind the first defensive arrangement, Edward retained troops who had not yet been fully committed.
The choice was deliberate.
If every man entered the first clash, Edward would have nothing left when circumstances changed.
And circumstances always changed.
Across the field, King John was making decisions of his own.
The French had learned from Crécy.
They were not blindly repeating the same plan.
Many French men-at-arms would fight on foot, because mounted charges against massed longbow fire had proven dangerous, while wounded horses could create chaos even when armored riders themselves were well protected.
Dismounting was not foolish.
It reduced one vulnerability.
It created another.
Armored men now had to advance on foot through constricted, broken terrain while arrows fell around them, and after crossing that ground they would still need enough energy to fight experienced men-at-arms at close range.
For hours, the two sides tested each other.
French formations moved forward.
English and Gascon archers fired.
Men pushed through hedges and narrow spaces.
The first attacks did not destroy Edward.
The English line did not immediately destroy the French either.
The battle became a contest of organization.
Then something subtle began happening to the larger army.
French divisions that had started the day as parts of one overwhelming royal force began fighting as separate bodies.
Some troops became exhausted.
Others withdrew.
Men behind them could not always tell whether those movements were ordered, temporary, or signs of defeat.
Communication became difficult.
The French still had more soldiers.
But they were beginning to lose something numbers alone could not replace.
Cohesion.
Edward watched.
His defensive position was still working.
He could have stayed behind the hedges and waited.
That was the obvious cautious choice.
Instead, the prince eventually made the decision that transformed Poitiers.
He ordered his men forward.
The army that had spent days retreating would stop retreating.
The smaller force would counterattack the larger one.
And before sunset, the King of France would be a prisoner.
A War That Had Already Lasted a Generation
The Battle of Poitiers cannot be understood without the larger war surrounding it, because Edward's 1356 campaign was not an isolated raid launched by an adventurous prince who simply wanted to test himself.
England and France had already been fighting through the conflict later called the Hundred Years' War.
The name can be misleading if taken too literally.
The war did not continue without interruption for exactly one hundred years, while truces, shifting alliances, internal crises, and renewed campaigns repeatedly changed its character.
Its roots included dynastic claims, territorial disputes, feudal relationships, commercial interests, regional politics, and the complicated status of English-held lands inside France.
Edward III of England claimed the French crown through his mother, Isabella of France, although French political elites had supported Philip VI of Valois.
That dispute became part of a broader conflict over sovereignty and territory.
England possessed major interests in southwestern France.
Gascony was especially important.
The English king was simultaneously a sovereign monarch in England and a territorial lord holding French lands in relationships that could require homage to the French king.
The arrangement generated endless friction.
War followed.
By 1356, both kingdoms had accumulated years of experience.
The French had experienced the disaster at Crécy in 1346, where Edward III's army defeated a larger force after French troops launched repeated attacks against a prepared position.
The English had also captured Calais after a long siege.
Those victories had created a formidable reputation.
They had not ended the war.
France still possessed enormous resources.
Its population exceeded England's.
Its aristocracy remained powerful.
Its monarchy could raise substantial forces.
The French crown had every reason to resist English raids that devastated the countryside and weakened royal authority.
That is where the chevauchée entered the story.
The Chevauchée Was Warfare Designed to Hurt More Than Armies
Edward's 1356 expedition was part of a style of campaigning the English used repeatedly during the Hundred Years' War.
A chevauchée was essentially a fast-moving raid conducted by mounted troops and supporting forces across enemy territory.