How French Overconfidence (and Mud) Can Ruin Everything
The Battle of Agincourt is often hailed as a triumph of English grit over French glitz. If Shakespeare is to be believed, it’s the ultimate underdog story, a tale of plucky English archers smiting a smug French army led by a king who couldn’t find his helmet without a valet. But the truth? Agincourt wasn’t so much a battle as it was an epic lesson in how arrogance, bad decisions, and Mother Nature can combine to produce the kind of disaster that leaves historians giggling centuries later.
For writers, Agincourt is a case study in turning overconfidence into plot gold. Here’s how to channel French hubris into a spectacular narrative trainwreck that will leave your readers cheering—or cringing.
The French: Masters of Arrogance, Overthinkers of Everything
Let’s set the scene: the French outnumber the English five to one. Their knights gleam in expensive armor polished by generations of underpaid squires. Their horses are decked out like prom queens. They’ve got wine, cheese, and probably a lute player or two on standby for the victory party. The English? Mud-covered, starving, and riddled with dysentery.
Naturally, the French assumed they had this one in the bag. They didn’t even bother coordinating their forces. Why plan when you can gloat? In fiction, this kind of blind arrogance is delicious. Give your characters every advantage and let them smugly waltz into a disaster of their own making. The key is hubris so thick you could spread it on a baguette.
Think of the evil overlord who ignores the scrappy rebels, the cocky CEO who assumes their underdog competitor is irrelevant, or the reality TV contestant who calls themselves a “sure thing.” Confidence is great—until it’s weaponized by incompetence.
Mud Happens: How Nature Loves a Good Plot Twist
The French knights lined up for their cavalry charge like they were auditioning for a medieval shampoo commercial. What they didn’t account for? The field of Agincourt was essentially a mud pit. Days of rain had turned the terrain into a medieval Slip ’N Slide. But did the French pause to reconsider? Of course not. They charged headlong into the muck, their heavy armor transforming them into floundering tin cans.
For writers, this is a masterclass in letting the environment become an antagonist. It’s not just the French knights versus the English archers; it’s the French versus mud, gravity, and their own inability to think ahead.
Let your characters face their own Agincourt moment. Maybe it’s a tech billionaire launching a product that malfunctions spectacularly, or a detective chasing a suspect through quicksand because they didn’t bother to check the terrain. The beauty is in the whoops.
Arrows of Humiliation: Death by 99-Cent Store Weaponry
The English longbowmen were the equivalent of a dollar store army—cheap, unglamorous, and shockingly effective. The French knights didn’t think much of these peasants with their wooden bows and mismatched tunics. After all, what’s a stick compared to a steel-clad warhorse?
Turns out, a stick with a sharp point can ruin your whole day when fired by someone who’s angry, desperate, and very, very good at aiming. As the knights flailed in the mud, the English archers picked them off like a bored kid popping bubble wrap.
In fiction, this is the moment your arrogant characters realize they’ve been undone by something they deemed beneath them. It’s the billionaire outmaneuvered by a broke hacker, the elite secret agent outsmarted by a rookie, or the French knight skewered by a farmer. The humiliation is as important as the defeat—it’s what makes the audience cheer (or snicker).
After the Fall: The French Get a Lifetime Membership to the Shame Club
When the dust (and mud) settled, the French lost thousands of knights, nobles, and their dignity. The English, meanwhile, walked away with a victory and a boatload of ransom money. And the French? They were left with excuses, finger-pointing, and the vague hope that history would forget the whole thing. Spoiler: it didn’t.
In fiction, this is where your characters face the music. Maybe they’re publicly humiliated, or maybe they just sit in the ruins of their bad decisions, wondering where it all went wrong. The aftermath doesn’t just wrap up the plot; it adds a layer of schadenfreude that readers secretly (or not-so-secretly) enjoy.
Picture the French knights back at their castles, explaining to their wives why they’re missing a horse, a fortune, and most of their pride. That’s the energy you want for your defeated characters.
The Agincourt Lesson: Confidence Is Great—Until It Isn’t
Agincourt is the perfect reminder that overconfidence doesn’t just kill—it kills hilariously. The French weren’t evil; they were just too arrogant to see the mud for the battlefield. That’s what makes their defeat so compelling. It’s not a tragedy—it’s a comedy of errors with a body count.
For writers, the takeaway is simple: let your characters believe they’re invincible, give them every advantage, and then take it all away. Whether they’re undone by their own ego, a clever opponent, or just bad luck, the result is the kind of plot twist that keeps readers hooked.
So, the next time you’re stuck on a plot, think of Agincourt. Channel your inner French knight. Overload your characters with confidence, march them into the metaphorical mud, and let gravity—and hubris—do the rest. Just don’t forget the longbows.
The Snark
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