In King John, just as in most other Shakespearean histories, the French are incompetent soldiers and fools, worthy of ridicule.
How to explain, then, the Bastard’s loss of half his army? The weather, of course:
I'll tell tree, Hubert, half my power this night,
Passing these flats, are taken by the tide.
These Lincoln Washes have devoured them.
Myself, well mounted, hardly have escaped.
Only weather, Nature, and God above can defeat the English.
Uh, yeah… right.