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On the churned up smoky countryside outside the French town of Harfleur, a team of Englishmen stand around a fat bellied cannon and drop a huge stone into the gun's mouth. They make their final adjustments to the weapon's aim, then scramble back to a safe distance. One of them takes a smouldering taper on the end of a long pole and holds it to the hole on the top of the cannon's barrel. His mates put their hands loosely over their ears and open their mouths. It looks silly, but it's the only way to be sure you don't burst an eardrum. Because any second now, with a blinding flash, the cannon fires that hunk of stone through the air towards Harfleur's battered walls, clears the walls and destroys the roof of a house. Inside, the gunners celebrate, following up their shot with a few choice insults in what little French they know. Though, in truth, their ears are ringing so loudly they can barely hear themselves curse. Then they get back to work. It's summer, 1450, and all around Harfleur, teams of gunners like them are blasting away, tearing chunks out of the city's walls and buildings faster than the defenders inside can patch them up. This town, a crucial port at the mouth of the River Seine, which runs from Paris through Normandy to the sea, is getting the first taste of what an assault by Henry V, the Lancastrian king of England, feels like. And in fact, here comes Henry now, striding purposefully among his men, clapping them on the backs and telling them to keep their heads and keep firing, so that with the love of God, we shall have good tidings. Henry's an incredibly dangerous military leader. He's experienced, brave, resourceful, lucky and ruthless. What's more, this siege is personal. The French have gravely insulted Henry and now he's here to pay them back. So far, that's going well. He's raised an army, crossed the Channel, got it in the field, and is hammering away at his target almost unopposed. Before his explosive introduction, the French were taunting him and questioning whether he was man enough to fight them. Henry's out to prove they've got him all wrong. But is he proving it to them or to himself? I'm Dan Jones and from Sony Music Entertainment. This Is History, Season eight of A Dynasty To Die For. Episode six the Gun show have you ever been given a really, really, maliciously bad present? I'm not talking here about a pair of socks you suspected showed a lack of thought or an air fryer, when literally the only things on your Pinterest were Chanel handbags. I mean a present deliberately intended to wind you up. Well, I have. It was about 20 years ago when I lived in a shared house with a group of total morons I still call my friends. Our humour was based on what you might kindly call banter, or unkindly call relentless, sadistically inventive mutual bullying. I remember one Christmas when we played Secret Santa, one of our friends who habitually called things he disliked or disagreed with horseshit, unwrapped a sack of ripe, stinking manure. We hoped he would see it and exclaim, that is horseshit. In the end, he just looked sad. Although, to be fair, that was almost as satisfying. Then it was my turn. It was known in the group that I hated mushrooms, would not eat them, was repulsed by even the thought of them, phobia level aversion. So, of course, what did Santy Claus pop in my stocking? Yes, obviously. Two to three kilos of supermarket fungi which cascaded over my lap as I sat there in my Christmas sweater, trying not to have a panic attack. Anyway, I don't want to turn this Is History into this is Therapy. Though if you do want to carry on the discussion of the worst presents in history, you can do it over on our Patreon with the rest of the royal favourites. For now, let me explain in historical terms why I am oversharing. As we heard last time, Henry V finally becomes king in 1413, and once he's dealt with a Lollard threat from his mate John Oldcastle, which overshadows his first year as king, he turns his attention to the French. It's always been Henry's intention to give his Gallic neighbours a good thrashing at the first opportunity. After all, he's a Plantagenet king and the Hundred Years War is still Hundred Years War in. But according to several accounts of his reign, Henry also has personal cause for starting trouble across the Channel. And it starts with a terrible gift. His equivalent of a sack full of horse pucky or a king sized punnett of shiitake shrooms. Henry's terrible gift is sent when he's at his castle of Kenilworth just before Easter 1414. It comes courtesy of Louis, the 17 year old eldest son of the mad French king Charles vi. It's a box of tennis balls. Now, you may wonder why the heir to the French throne known as the Dauphin is sending Henry a bag of balls. Does Henry really hate tennis? Does he really hate the color yellow? Well, no. According to one Chronicle, this choice of gift is a pointed message which is explained in a scornful note. The note says that the balls are for Henry to play with his young men, as is his wont. Sounds kind of sexy. But actually it means the French think Henry is a callow, inexperienced king who's not up to the job and would be much better off staying home having fun than contemplating fighting them. The same message is certainly being spread by diplomats in Paris. They're telling anyone who listens to that Henry is never going to be a military threat and that as well as tennis balls, they ought to send him pillows to rest his dear little head on until he's grown up. But if Louis the Dauphin thinks tennis balls are going to do anything other than rile Henry up, he's dead wrong. In fact, the Chronicle account which tells the story claims that upon receiving his terrible gift, Henry stands up and bellows. That is horseshit. No joking. The Chronicle actually says Henry claims he's going to send a gift of his own to the French. Not tennis balls, but London balls. He means cannonballs which are going to smash down French houses. Although I don't think it would be wise to pin the entire new phase of the Hundred Years War that's about to open solely on the juvenile prison prank of a teenage French medieval meme. Lord, I do think this anecdote is trying to tell us something. In 1414, the French don't take Henry seriously enough. That is a major unforced error. So what does Henry do? Well, it's clear that from the moment he comes to the throne, he has his heart set on a much more aggressive approach to French relations. It's an echo of the heyday of his great grandfather Edward iii, more than half a century ago. If you want to get back up to speed on how Edward declared himself King of France and went on a 20 year rampage to try and prove it, go back and check out season six in our subscriber archive, especially episodes three, four, five, 10, 11 and their matching bonus episodes. In another echo of old Edward's heyday, Henry also realises that if he wants to convince English parliaments to loosen the purse strings for war, he needs to show taxpayers that he's committed to good government as well as foreign adventures. So in 1414, he gets to work. He launches a massive crackdown on crime, he puts the squeeze on excessive spending by the royal household, and he manages to negotiate a big grant of taxation along with some fat loans from his richest subjects, which he vows to spend on securing a significant win in France. Finally, he sends word to the French court, which, for all the Dauphin's bravado, is still hopelessly torn in the civil war between the Burgundians and the Armagnacs. Telling the royal ministers what he intends to do, he doesn't just want to secure Gascony and Calais or nibble away at other bits of traditional Plantagenet territory. Here and there he tells Charles VI that He's reviving Edward III's claim to the French crown. He wants to be king of England and of France, and unless Charles hands over his crown in peaceful fashion, Henry is coming to get it. The French, slow to realize who they're dealing with, assume this must be some sort of quirky English joke, and for months they don't react. They just send tennis balls and smirk. By the time they do get the message, it's 1415 and Henry has a full invasion army mustered around Southampton, scores of ships ready to transport tens of thousands of troops, horses and cannon over the Channel. To start taking the crown he insists is his. Which is how we get to where we started this episode in the summer of 1415, with Henry personally overseeing the cannon barrage that's smashing the walls of Harfleur rapidly into masonry dust. His invasion of France, or in his mind, the start of the full conquest of France, has begun, and a French army that might stop him is so far nowhere to be seen. The only thing that can possibly get in Henry's way at the moment is his own self belief. This episode is brought to you by State Farm. Listening to this podcast Smart move being financially savvy. Smart move. Another smart move. Having State Farm help you create a competitive price when you choose to bundle home and auto bundling just another way to save with a personal price plan like a good neighbor, State Farm is there. Prices are based on rating plans that vary by state. Coverage options are selected by the customer. Availability, amount of discounts and savings and eligibility vary by state. Upgrade your laundry routine with a durable and reliable Maytag Laundry pair at Lowe's like the new Maytag washer and dryer with performance enhanced stain fighting power designed to cut through serious dirt and grime. And what's great is this laundry pair is in stock and ready for delivery when you need it the most. Don't miss out. Shop Maytag in store or online today at Lowe's. From his command center at Harfleur In September, in September 1415, Henry can see his army stretched out below him, where they've been for several weeks, carrying on their assault day and night. His lodgings are in a hilltop priory called Graville, which he is staffed with a full royal household. His servants bustle around laying the table for meals while his court musicians are on hand to entertain and to provide religious music in his chapel. But outside, this is unmistakably a war camp, which is subjecting lafleur to a round the clock pounding. Every day Henry goes out to see and be seen micromanaging his troops and drawing on all the frontline experience he built up when he was a teenager besieging castles in Wales held by Oain Glyndor. He checks on the gunners who are firing cannon with names like messenger and King's Daughter. He reminds his men of their mission, which is to take this strategically vital town and make it a base for English troops so they can push on deeper into French territory. He also reminds them of the warning he gave at the start of the siege to the citizens of Harfleur that if they didn't give in straight away and surrender on terms, then the English would wreak biblical vengeance, killing every man and taking all the women, children and property for themselves. He uses a great phrase to g his men up, which his chaplain on the campaign records him saying, it goes a blow you and bekile you well and cometh up with all your ears. This translates as take a few deep breaths, stay cool and relax. Or as a million tea towels and coffee mugs say today, keep calm and carry on. Which is good advice. But we might forgive Henry if, when he's giving that advice, he's really talking to himself, because from time to time, as he makes his rounds, he has to be thinking about just how much wild stuff has happened in the two years since he was crowned. It's fair to say there have been some ups and downs. And we're not just Talking about the FedEx guy dropping off those tennis balls. Even this campaign has been a roller coaster. On the positive side, Henry has patched up relations with his eldest brother, Thomas, Duke of Clarence, who looked for a hot second at the end of their dad's reign like he was going to be made king. Instead of Henry, Thomas is now fully on side, commanding a big division of the army. He's working on diverting an entire river to drain flooded fields, protecting one approach to Harfleur. Henry's youngest brother, Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, is also on hand, fighting on his first campaign. Meanwhile, back home, their other brother, the shrewd and capable John, Duke of Bedford, is in charge of government. Henry has plenty more capable lieutenants in the field with him too. His uncle, Thomas Beaufort, Earl of Dorset, is a very useful assistant. His cousin Edward, Duke of York, is pretty handy too. Plus there are close friends who've been with him since his early days. The Earls of Arundel and Warwick and Bishop Richard Courtenay. So that's all good. On the other hand, just two years into his reign, Henry has had some real scares. Of course, there was John Oldcastle's Lollard Rebellion, which was meant to depose him and put Oldcastle on the throne. Oldcastle is still at large somewhere. Then, just before this trip to Harfleur began, Henry was forced to deal with another nasty little conspiracy. This one was pretty ham fisted, but still a dangerous plot against his life, strung together by a useless cousin of his called Richard, Earl of Cambridge. Richard was not the sharpest crayon in the toy box and for one reason and another tried to pull together a scheme in which he recruited Owen Glyndur, the Welsh rebel whom everyone believes is dead. The renegade Lollard John Oldcastle, whom no one can find. Richard ii, who is so dead he's been buried twice. And a nobleman called the Earl of March, who has a claim to the throne but absolutely no interest in doing anything about it. Henry found out about the plot just before he sailed for France and dealt with it swiftly and decisively, executing his idiot cousin. But he was also forced to execute one of his own closest advisors, a guy called Henry, Lord Scroop, who admitted to knowing about the plot and not doing anything about it. That was a rough one. What made it even rougher and why it might be going Round and round in Henry's mind, even as he watches his gunners pound our fleur into submission, is the evidence that emerged from the plot when it all came to light. Apparently, Lord Scroope had been badmouthing the whole French campaign, saying that it was a terrible idea, it would come to nothing, and Henry was totally screwed as king now that he'd decided on this dumb French war. Coming from a friend, that was a pretty shocking thing to hear. And though Henry whacked Scroope and has got on with the siege, which now looks likely to open up Harfleur's walls within days, he may still be harbouring just the tiniest fraction of doubt about it. If he is, that would explain the huge twist his expedition to besiege Halfleurth is about to. The detective said missing kids usually come home. What happens when they don't? Based on a true story. Police looking for John Gacy. We discovered bodies. By the looks of it, they're younger men. The things he did to those kids. He's sick. The system failed.

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These families.

A (22:43)

Devil in disguise. John Wayne Gacy. Streaming now only on Peacock. Do you know how many there are? Up to you to find out. On September 15, 1415, Henry sits in a silk tent pitched outside Gravi Priory, flanked by all his most senior nobles and watched by a crowd of his troops. They're in their best clothes and there's a buzz in the air. Or rather, there isn't. For the first time in weeks, the English cannon have fallen quiet and it's like a normal patch of coastal countryside again. In a separate tent, another group of men are waiting. This lot don't look look so splendid. They're a group of citizens from Harfleur, led by a professional soldier, Raul de Gocourt, who's been leading the defense. They put up a valiant effort, but it has been traumatic, thankless work. They've had to deal with the constant shelling which has smashed down walls and buildings. In the end, their only effective defense has been spreading a thorough thick layer of mud and dung over the streets to try and deaden the impact of cannonballs so at least they don't shatter and send deadly shrapnel flying. So they've had an incredibly bad time. And now, to cap it all off, there's bad news from Paris. The Dauphin, for all his big talk before the campaign, has sent a grand total of zero men to try and relieve the siege. The mad King Charles VI has been taken to the Abbey of Saint Denis near Paris and made to raise the Sacred French battle flag known as the Oriflamme. But he may as well have been waving a cucumber. Absolutely nothing has happened. The French are on tax strike, so there's no money to pay for an army. And the Burgundians and other Armagnacs are still so mutually hostile and suspicious that neither side wants to leave Paris in case the other one carries out a coup while they're gone. So the good people of Arfleur have had no choice but to give in and beg Henry not to carry out his threat of slaughtering everyone in a brutal sack. When Henry finally calls Raul de Gaucourt and the citizens in to see him, he's in an imperious mood. He gives them a big lecture about their impertinence before saying that he'll let them off death, but only on the condition that our fleur is handed over into English hands. All the troops surrender as prisoners of war and everyone else evacuates the city, taking nothing but a few pence, which he will give them. These are very harsh conditions, but the people of Harfleur are in no position to argue. They agree to his terms and a few days later, Henry is walking into the shelled out city, giving thanks to God at its main church and arranging for its repair and subsequent military defense. Under his trusted uncle, Thomas Beaufort, Earl of Dorset, a column of miserable refugees are trudging away from their hometown, desolate and hopeless. Sad as that may be for them, for the English, this is a splendid victory. Henry has taken a port potentially as valuable as Calais to the north. He's shown up the Dauphin as all talk and no pantalon, and he should have silenced any questions at home about his competence as a commander. Mission accomplished. Or at least that's what it looks like to everyone else. In a few days, it'll be October, so the campaigning season is drawing to a close. Henry's own army is depleted by malnutrition and dysentery, which has been whipping round the camp. His brother Thomas has had to be medevaced back to England. Seriously unwell. His friends Richard Courtenay and the Earl of Arundel have died. Henry was at Courtenay's bedside when he breathed his last. He's going to have to detach more than a thousand of the surviving troops to stay at Harfleur and make sure no one comes to try and take it back. So really, this is a no brainer. Go home, rest up, tell everyone about your victory, negotiate another tax and come again next year. Yet inside, Henry's head. A little voice is telling him something else. It's a voice that may have been planted there by the tennis balls. Or maybe by the plot that came just as his army was leaving England. The French think he's weak. His friend Lord Scroope had said that this whole thing was a mistake and that he was making a terrible error by coming to France. Dauphin is nowhere and Scroop is dead. But Henry can't get that voice out of his mind. So although every rational person is telling him that it's time to go, Henry thinks, well, maybe not quite yet. Maybe there's something else he could still do. Something that would shut all the haters and doubters up. As his men are packing to go back to England, Henry summons a meeting of his leading counselors and asks them straight, what should he do? Almost to a man they say, england. Now ski. So Henry nods, thinks a moment and gives his orders. Gather eight days food, he says. Send the ships home empty and make sure every man who's able is ready to march. Boys, we're going on an adventure. Has Henry lost the plot completely? Find out next time on this is History. Well, there you go. That's how you return an unwanted present medieval style. You don't just take it back to the store, you blow the store to pieces with your cannon and make everyone working there homeless. Which reminds me, royal favourites here is this week's discussion starter. What do you think are some of the worst presents in history? Extra points to those of you who can one up my Christmas shiitake sandwich. As always, look out for producer Al's question on patreon@patreon.com thisishistory but for now, here's a little taster of this week's bonus episode. Shakespeare has some good fun with this. There are some pretty reasonable accounts from his reign, Chronicle accounts that say this happened. One that actually describes there being tennis balls. One that says diplomats in Paris are saying, ah, we should send him tennis balls and pillows to rest his head on because he is so childish. And there's certainly diplomats spies who are putting around the word that this Henry is not really up to anything much, that he's more like a monk than a king, that he's not really of warrior material. So his tub thumping about wanting to go and attack France, which is just sort of picking up at this point, is to be disregarded. If we step back and look, let's assume that maybe this tennis ball story is literally true. It is a strange thing for a 17 year old Dauphin Louis the Dauphin is 17 years old. Henry by this point is in his late 20s, to be telling a much older king that he's not up to the job. But I think what we take away from this story is that there is some sort of calculated insult from the French to the English that really gets under Henry's skin and it plays into this sense that's there with him anyway, that England has been denied justice, that there's been a sort of wrong done to the Plantagenets, to his family, and indeed to himself, because the French are sitting on land that is rightfully England's. In theory, all of this should have been put to bed in 1360. The great Treaty of Brittany, after Edward III's campaigns, sort of assumed that the English weren't going to claim the French crown anymore. There was a whole new spate of peacemaking under Richard II. Richard II's second marriage created, in theory, a 30 year truce between England and France. But clearly these issues haven't gone away, or at least they haven't gone away in Henry's mind, and he's fixed on going to France in some capacity and starting the war up again, using the claim to the French crown, which he still believes is live with the Plantagenet family. But it's all wrapped up in this sort of moment of supposedly an insulting gift comes from the French. And he's like, right, that's it, I'm doing it. I've been talking about it, I'm going. And within, you know, within a year, there he is outside our fleur. It was the tennis balls that did it. Can we just stick on to tennis just for a little bit longer? Because at this point I just want to know what tennis was like back then. Right. So it is, I guess, would you call it a newish sport? I mean, what do we know about tennis at this time? Well, so last time we were talking about wrestling and that's a really ancient sport, which, as I think we talked about, is, is attested in ancient chronicles. Tennis is not that ancient a sport. It evolves in France. And if you think about modern tennis, it's still so full of sort of French phrases, juice and love and so on. It's a sort of a 13th century sport. It evolves without rackets. It's a bit, I suppose it's a bit more like Eton fives or handball. There's a ball, there are gloves. It's played in, probably in monastic cloisters, maybe in streets and courtyards. I mean, a good example in England is at Hampton Court palace where there's a real tennis court, you have these courts which mostly, not all, but mostly have roofs. And they have four walls asymmetrically arranged so no one wall is like the other. On three of the walls there are. Hard for me to describe this and it make any sense, but they're what they call penthouses. So there's a sloping galleries that run around three sides of the court. There's a net in the middle. You serve the ball onto one of the penthouses and it has to drop in a certain place on the other side of the court. Court. And you can bounce it off the walls and the roof and the. What have you. I suppose there's elements of it have come back in the hipster sport of paddle. You play paddle? No, I've been asked to play paddle and I've politely refused. You strike me as a man who. Who moves in the circles where you might be asked to play paddle or maybe pickleball. That's a compliment. I've been asked for both and I've both politely declined. Is it because tennis is very triggering to you? I just prefer real tennis. For a real tennis, I just prefer a real court. Oh, you mean tennis tennis. Like we play tennis now Tennis. Tennis. Yeah, like now tennis. And Doug, here we have the Limu emu in its natural habitat, helping people customize their car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual. Fascinating. It's accompanied by his natural ally, Doug. Limu is that guy with the binoculars watching us. Cut the camera. They see us. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty. Liberty. Liberty. Liberty Savings. Very underwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company Affiliates. Excludes Massachusetts.