The King Without a Kingdom (14 page)

As the
chevauchée
progresses, by three to five leagues per day, all of them drinking until they can drink no more, the fear of them precedes them considerably.

And the Black Knight’s aim in all this? I have already told you: to weaken the King of France. One has to admit that his objective has been achieved.

The chief beneficiaries of all this are the Bordelais and those from the vineyards, and one can understand why they readily accepted their English duke’s leadership. These last years they have lived through a string of misfortunes: the devastation of war, the vines trampled in the fighting, trade routes increasingly risky, a slump in sales; add to this the coming of the Great Plague, which had forced Bordeaux to raze to the ground an entire neighbourhood so as to decontaminate the town. And now it was the turn of others to suffer the disasters of war, they said, and they would laugh. So each one should suffer in turn, shouldn’t he?!

No sooner had he landed, than the Prince of Wales minted coinage and put into circulation fine gold coins bearing the lily and the lion … the leopard as the English would have it … much thicker and heavier coins than those of France, which furthermore bore the image of a lamb. ‘The lion has eaten the lamb.’ So say the people by way of a joke. The vines yield good fruit. The province is guarded. Activity in the port is brisk and profitable; in just a few months, twenty thousand casks of wine were shipped, almost exclusively to England. So much so that the bourgeois of Bordeaux display only joyful faces and bellies as round as their barrels. Their wives fight to get into the draper’s, the silversmith’s and the jeweller’s. Life in the town is a succession of feasts, and each time the prince returns in the black armour he so favours, and which indeed gave him his name, he is welcomed with merrymaking. All the bourgeois women are dizzy with prosperity. The soldiers, who have made themselves rich through pillaging, spend like there was no tomorrow. The loose morals of the Captains of Wales and Cornwall hold sway; many husbands and wives have been deceived in Bordeaux during this period, as fortune does not favour virtue.

It could be said that for a year now France has had two capital cities, which is the worst thing that can happen to a kingdom. In Bordeaux, opulence and power; in Paris, shortages and weakness. What do you expect? Parisian currency has been devalued eighty times since the beginning of the reign. Yes, Archambaud, eighty times! The Tournois pound
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has retained but a tenth of its value from the time the king came to the throne. How can one possibly govern a state with such finances? When one allows prices of all commodities to rise out of all proportion while at the same time weakening the currency, great unrest and reversals of fortune are inevitable. Setbacks, France has already witnessed, and it is now heading for ruin.

So what did our brilliant king do, this last winter, to ward off the perils that everyone could see coming? No longer able to obtain support from the Langue d’Oc after the English raid, he convened the Estates-General of the Langue d’Oil. The meeting did not turn out at all to his satisfaction.

The deputies insisted on stringent conditions and made extraordinary demands of the king before they could be persuaded to accept the ruling that an exceptional levy of eight deniers in the pound be imposed on every sale, which constitutes a weighty tax on all trades and businesses, in addition to a special gabelle on salt. Tax revenues were to be collected by agents chosen specifically by themselves; this money would not end up either in the king’s pockets or his soldiers’; no further raising of new taxes should be made without their consideration, even should there be another war … What else? The people of the third estate
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were the most vehement. They put forward examples of bourgeois successes in the counties of Flanders, where they have established a system of self-government, and in the English Parliament, which has a much stronger hold over its king than the States of France has over ours. ‘Let’s do as the English, it has brought them success.’ It is a failing of the French, whenever they are in political difficulties, to look to foreign models rather than applying scrupulously, and in a timely manner, the laws that are their own … We shouldn’t be surprised that the latest meeting of the States, that the dauphin brought forward, turned out badly, as I told you the other day. The Prevost Marcel had already tested the power of his voice last year … It wasn’t you I told? Ah no, it was indeed Dom Calvo … I haven’t invited him back with me since; he gets sick in a palanquin …

And the Navarrese king, you may ask, the one called the Bad, what of him during all this time? Charles the Bad endeavoured to convince King Edward that his feelings for him were still the same, that he hadn’t been duped, the treaty negotiated with John II in Valognes was not what it seemed, Charles had only feigned agreement with the King of France, to better serve their shared plans, and that it would not be long before Edward would see it. In other words, he was waiting for the first occasion to betray him.

Meanwhile, he was working to consolidate his friendship with the dauphin through all manner of cajoling and flattery, and using the lure of pleasure, even women, as I have learned from the demoiselles themselves … of the Gracious one I must already have made mention, and also a certain Biette Cassinel, both totally devoted to the King of Navarre … and I have heard it said they liven up no end the little parties Charles gives for his brother-in-law. Thanks to this, and having made himself his master in sin, the Navarrese proceeded to secretly turn the dauphin against his father.

He pointed to evidence proving that King John did not love him at all, though he was his eldest son. And this much was true. He declared that he was a paltry king. And this was also the case. He professed to believe that, after all, it would be a pious deed if, without going so far as to put an end to his life, he helped God to at least drive him from the throne. ‘My brother, you would make a better king than he. Don’t wait until the kingdom he will leave you is in a state of collapse.’ A young man is easily beguiled by such a refrain. ‘Together we will prevail, I assure you. But first we will have to gain support in Europe.’ Imagine, it was suggested they seek out the Emperor Charles IV, the dauphin’s uncle, to call on his support and ask him for troops. Nothing less. Who do you think could have had this fine idea to look abroad for help in resolving the kingdom’s problems, thus offering the emperor, who was already making life difficult enough for the papacy, the chance to decide the fate of France? Perhaps Bishop Le Coq, that bad prelate, brought by Navarre into the dauphin’s entourage. The fact remains that the matter was well thought out and most sophisticated …

What? Why are we stopping when I have given no such order? Ah! Fardiers
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are obstructing the road. It must be we are entering the outskirts of town. Clear the way. I dislike these unplanned stops. One never knows … Should they occur, may my escort close ranks around my palanquin. There are most daring rovers who are not at all afraid of sacrilege, and for whom a cardinal would be a fine catch …

So, the journey of the two Charleses, he of France and he of Navarre, was decided upon in secret; and we have since even found out who was to be part of the venture that would take them to Metz: the Count of Namur, the Count John of Harcourt, the fat one, whom misfortune was soon to strike, as I will tell you in due course, and a Boulogne too, Godfrey, and Gaucher of Lor, and of course the Sires of Graville, Clères and Aunay, Maubué of Mainemares, Colin Doublel and the inevitable Friquet of Fricamps, that is to say the conspirators of the Spinning Sow. And another fact is of interest, as I think they were the backers who funded the expedition, with them were to be Jean and William Marcel, nephews of the prevost, who counted themselves amongst the King of Navarre’s friends and were always invited to his festivities. Plotting with a king unfailingly dazzles young and rich bourgeois!

They were due to set off on the feast of Saint Ambrose. Thirty Navarrese were to await the dauphin at the Saint-Cloud tollgate at nightfall, to take him to his cousin’s estate in Mantes; and from there this fine crowd would head off for the seat of Empire.

And then, and then … even the most foolish of kings fails to make a mess of all he undertakes, and not everything always goes wrong for a man plagued by bad luck … The day before, on the feast of Saint Nicholas, our John II got wind of the affair. He summoned his son, cross-examined him effectively enough to obtain a confession, and the dauphin realized for himself that he had been led astray, and not only his own interests but also the kingdom’s were at risk.

There, I have to admit that King John acted more skilfully than usual. The only charge he held against his son was that of planning to leave the kingdom without his permission; in return for his frankness, John showed him benevolence, granting him his forgiveness and remission of any punishment for this lapse, and, having thus discovered that his son and heir had the ability to make his own decisions, he declared a desire to engage him more closely with the duties of the throne by making him Duke of Normandy. This was of course setting a trap for his son, by giving him a duchy so densely populated with partisans of the Évreux-Navarre clan! But it was well played indeed.

Monseigneur the dauphin had just to warn the Bad that he was releasing all those who were party to their secret designs.

You can imagine that this affair didn’t strengthen the father’s love for his son, even if his bitterness was concealed beneath the noble gift of the duchy. But most of all, the king’s hatred for his son-in-law was becoming as hard as bread baked six times in the oven. Killing his constable, stirring up trouble, disembarking troops, engaging in talks with the English enemy … and he was yet to find out just how far he had gone! Finally, turning his own son against him; it was just the last straw; King John would wait for the right moment to make the Navarrese pay for this flood of sins.

For those of us watching all this from Avignon, worry was growing, and we could see extreme circumstances approaching. Some provinces devastated, others breaking away from France, the currency dwindling, State coffers empty, growing debt, deputies rebellious and vehement, important vassals persisting in their factions, a king served only by his closest advisors, and lastly, to top it all, an heir to the throne willing to call upon foreign help to overthrow his own dynasty … I said to the pope: ‘Most Holy Father, France is cracking.’ I wasn’t at all wrong. I only misjudged the timing.

I gave it two years until the collapse would take place. Not even one was necessary. And we have yet to see the worst. What do you expect? When the head is not resolute, how could we hope that the limbs would be? Now is the time for us to attempt to patch things up somehow, and that is why we need to resort to the good offices of Germany and thus accord the emperor even more authority, he whose arrogance we would have preferred to muzzle. Admit that there is good reason to curse!

Go on, Archambaud, take up your mount once more and resume your position at the head of the retinue. For our entry into Bourges, however late it may be, I would like your pennon of Périgord to fly next to that of the Holy See. And have my curtains pulled back for the benedictions.

O
H!
M
ONSEIGNEUR OF
Bourges really got on my nerves over the three days we spent at his palace. Now there is a prelate whose hospitality is overbearing and beggarly! Constantly pulling on your robe to get something or other. And he has so many protégés and clients, to whom he has promised so much, he blithely passes them on to you. ‘May I introduce you to His Most Holy Eminence, a cleric of great merit … Would His Most Holy Eminence deign to cast his benevolent eye upon the canon of wherever … May I be so bold as to recommend to Your Most Holy Eminence’s good graces …’ I really had to bite my lip, yesterday evening, to avoid letting out a cry: ‘Be gone, rid us of yourself, bishop, and … yes, at last peace descends upon My Holy Eminence!’