In a Dark Wood Wandering (43 page)

“I say, fight!” Bernard d'Armagnac placed both palms flat on the table and looked at his confederates. His yellow-brown eyes glinted in his weather-beaten face, which was full of lines and scars, a face that looked as though it were carved from wood, with high cheekbones and a heavy lower jaw. Among his companions he looked like a giant, taller than they, with a broader, coarser frame. He did not care about his appearance or his behavior: his thick grey hair hung to his shoulders; he wore a stained leather jacket, worn-out boots, a coat of mail on which the lions rampant of Armagnac were already faded. Around him hovered an acrid odor of hay, dogs and horses, of smoke and sweat. He reminded Berry of a beast of prey: the blazing yellow eyes, the hairy wrists and sharp eyeteeth could scarcely be termed human.

The lords sat in one of the empty chambers of the castle of Gien. The castle was seldom occupied and was neglected: the furniture and tapestries which Charles had sent from Blois could not make the cheerless shabby rooms more comfortable—moreover, it was very cold and draughty. The allies had been meeting together since the midday meal. The misty day had passed unperceived into night; for a long time candles had been burning on the table. Leaning forward, Bernard d'Armagnac inspected the other members of the company, one by one: the almost toothless, white-haired Berry, despite his old age keen and ready for fierce repartee, dressed up like a strutting peacock; the young Orléans who spoke little but listened all the more attentively; the Constable d'Albret; Bourbon's son Clermont; the Dukes of Alencon and Brittany. Methods of bringing about Burgundy's downfall had been discussed in great detail; Bourbon, his son and Brittany advocated indirect action: a letter signed by all of them and directed to the King demanding compensation and rehabilitation of Orléans' honor as well as Burgundy's punishment and exile. Berry and the Constable d'Albret held that dispatching such a petition was a waste of time; it would never reach the King's eyes. The Queen and her Council would dismiss it or, in the most favorable circumstances, table the matter indefinitely with vague promises and evasive answers. Bernard d'Ar-magnac loudly supported Berry.

“I say, fight!” he repeated. “That is our only chance. We must batter Burgundy to a pulp. I am not afraid to risk a fight, my lords. I have stood with my Gascons before hotter fires. Besides, we are in good shape; for more than three years we've been fighting against
the English in Bordeaux, and the English-loving Bretons in our midst. Give my men the chance to march against the Flemish peasants—they want nothing better, Messeigneurs. And as for me …”

He raised his hands and then dropped them back on the table with a thud. “I have offered my services here; I do nothing halfway.” He looked at Charles d'Orléans; his brown chapped lips split into a crooked smile. “I have an interest in the matter too. Burgundy's ally, Navarre, is my hereditary enemy as well as yours, my lord.”

“Yes, yes, I know it.” The old Duke of Bourbon sighed impa-tiendy. “Fight—that is easily said—but Burgundy's strong; he has powerful allies. He has bought our cousin of Anjou. Ludwig of Bavaria supports him and the Queen protects him.”

Berry burst into laughter, the malicious chuckle he often emitted when Isabeau's name was mentioned. “Ah, the Queen,” he said with apparent casualness, “she will find that she has been deceived. She imagines she has done something clever by entrusting the Dauphin to Burgundy's care. Like all mothers, she is vain and she is blinded by that vanity; she thinks she controls the Dauphin and through him, Burgundy. Sooner or later she will regret this stupidity. I am completely in accord with my worthy son-in-law Armagnac. We must attack Burgundy, Messeigneurs.”

“Orléans hasn't spoken yet,” remarked the young Duke of Brittany; he shot a glance from under his heavy black eyebrows at Charles, who sat at the head of the table. “His vote must turn the scale—we are now three against three …”

Berry, who had been keeping a sharp eye on his grandnephew—why didn't the boy speak, what did he have in mind?—began to talk quickly, cutting Brittany off.

“The miserable state of the Kingdom, Messeigneurs, calls for acts, not intermediate negotiations. We are all bound to the King by ties of blood; we all owe him fealty and respect. Therefore we are chosen first for the great work I propose to you: we must fight to defeat the King's enemies—fight for the welfare of the Kingdom—that is the task set out for us, my lords! That is why it is our duty, our obligation as honorable men to defend the good name of our late nephew and kinsman, Monseigneur d'Orléans …”

“In my opinion that is the principal purpose of this enterprise,” said Armagnac, interrupting Berry's flow of words. “So far as I am concerned, Orléans, I will readily admit that I would rather fight for the restoration of the honor of Monseigneur your father than
for the King or the people of Paris. I knew your father well. At first I thought of him as only a courtier, an elegant lord without much backbone—but I finally had to admit that he knew what he was doing—he could ply a sword with the best of us, if it came to that, and he had a clever tongue. I never had to wait for pay and compensation for expenses when I fought for Orléans in Italy!”

He flung his whip on the table and moved closer to Charles. “We often agreed about a lot of things,” he went on, staring at the young man from the corner of his eye, “Together with your father, I also turned against the English and with good results, believe me. I drove them out of more than sixty villages and they never returned. You buy no pig in a poke when you buy my services, worthy friend; let me manage this business of Burgundy for you. Fight, young man, fight! I don't see any other way for you to achieve your purpose.”

He slapped Charles on the shoulder. Then he folded his arms and looked with glinting eyes at the row of faces before him. He prided himself secretly that he was the only real man in this elevated company. Berry and Bourbon were old; Alençon and Clermont both insignificant; d'Albret and Brittany two hotheads, and finally young Orléans—a quiet youth, still almost a child. It seemed a foregone conclusion to Armagnac that he himself would be the leader here—followed and obeyed by men who bore the most impressive names in France, he could ascend a steeper path than ever he would have dared to choose.

All eyes were now fixed upon Charles d'Orléans; he sat erect, in the seat of honor, thinking about all this. He had heard and seen enough by now to know that none of his allies was motivated by overwhelming neighborly love; he had had to buy the support of the Constable d'Albret, just as his father had once had to buy the support of Alencon. Brittany wanted to spite Navarre and Burgundy. Bourbon and Clermont who, under the rule of Burgundy, had had little opportunity to play an important role, hoped that after a victory of Orléans' party they could move again to the forefront. Finally Berry, furious because he had been driven from office, nursed even more rancor against the hated House of Burgundy; the old Duke wanted to settle accounts once and for all with the son for the abuse he had taken for so many years from the father. And as for Armagnac, Charles had watched him during the discussions; he considered him a crafty, callous man, one who would not hesitate to take advantage
of the circumstances if there should be war between Orléans and Burgundy.

Charles was afraid that he would lose the friendship of many of his supporters if he chose the troops of savage Gascons to defend his cause. De Braquemont and de Villars had already warned him against it, and what he had seen with his own eyes on the way to Gien did not make him any the less uneasy. However, he knew that it was impossible to get rid of Armagnac now that they had accepted him as an ally and informed him of their plans. It was a matter of controlling him; it had not escaped Charles that Bernard d'Armagnac wished to be lord and master here. The young man realized that he must be very clever if he were not to be deprived of power. He was not yet entirely certain of what to do, but he knew he must speak. He stood up, with his hands resting on the edge of the table before him. In order not to let his attention be diverted, he did not look at the row of faces illuminated by candlelight. He fixed his eyes instead on the escutcheons hanging on the opposite wall.

“I believe,” he said, slowly and softly—Bourbon leaned forward with one hand cupped to his ear—”I believe that we must do neither one nor the other; I agree with Monseigneur de Berry that a petition will not help us. I have already had the opportunity of seeing how that works. On the other hand, I do not yet believe that this is the right moment to take up arms; I will not fight before I have made a final effort to persuade the King to administer justice. I propose that we advance upon Paris with our men, that we dispatch a manifesto to the government there, demanding that Burgundy be punished and exiled and offering the King our services, wherever and whenever he desires, to fight against Burgundy, if he should resist the King's measures. We should come with our troops to show that we are able-bodied and prepared for anything. I am ready to hear what you think of this, my lords.”

A short silence followed these words. Armagnac screwed up his eyes and thoughtfully gnawed the handle of his whip. He tried to calculate what opportunities Charles' suggestions offered to him. Finally he snorted, made an assenting gesture and threw his whip upon the table. Berry, who had been watching him closely, could not restrain a smile of satisfaction; he nodded slowly and approvingly. Bourbon whispered to his son—both of them, inclined as always to take the middle road, deemed it a most excellent proposal.
Alençon was secretly relieved; like Charles, he felt that the Gascon's behavior would make an unfavorable impression. The Constable d'Albret, who saw his hope of reaping military fame going up in smoke, was vexed, but he did not dare offer any objections now that he saw the attitude of the others. Brittany, with downcast eyes, toyed with the hilt of his dagger.

Charles was slightly stunned at the readiness of his allies to accept his proposal; he had not expected it. He tried to ascertain what motives were playing a role here; during the last months he had become mistrustful enough to attempt to find out what lay behind an all-too-willing agreement. However, he had no time for reflection. Berry had already risen from his seat and said that he and all the others were completely in accord with the solution which Monseigneur d'Orléans, like a second Solomon, had put forward. Armagnac laughed loudly and shouted Berry down.

“Worthy father-in-law, let me get a word in now. I am your man, Orléans, even though I venture to predict to you that it will turn into war sooner or later. Get to work on that manifesto—that is a task for the two bishops which Monseigneur de Berry has brought with him. And tell them at the same time to keep their pens and ink ready to draw up still another document. Look here, why don't I speak frankly, we are all together now.”

Shifting his chair so that he faced Charles, he leaned his elbows on his spread knees and tapped the arm of Charles' seat softly with the butt of his whip. “We have a saying in Armagnac: a really true agreement should be sealed with a wedding. Now I am one of those who hold that a bride or a bridegroom form a stronger link between two parties than a couple of signatures or a seal. You are a widower, Orléans, but surely it cannot be your intention to remain one permanently.”

Annoyed, Berry gave a warning cough. But the Gascon refused to be driven from the field.

“We can still talk in a business-like way about these things,” he continued. “We are among men. Look, Orléans, I have a daughter. I will give her to you with a handsome dowry besides. Monseigneur de Berry, her grandfather, will see to the dispensation. He has already promised me that. I don't doubt that everything will turn out all right.”

Berry nearly choked from coughing; he held his sleeve before his mouth. He was crimson with rage and shame. Never had he
seen so tactless a braggart as his son-in-law. No one would doubt that he had suggested the marriage proposal to Armagnac. Charles looked up; his eyes betrayed astonishment and antipathy. He was at the point of retorting that he had no intention of contracting a new marriage at this time, but Armagnac, who sensed young Orléans' reaction, resumed hastily and still more loudly.

“My daughter Bonne is only eleven years old. You do not need to see her for the time being if you don't wish it. They tell me that she's a comely lass, healthy and cheerful. What more do you want? And I repeat: the dowry is royal with favorable terms—only a few instalments and a great sum all at once!”

“Forgive me, Monseigneur,” said Charles, arising. “I cannot go into your proposal now. I should like to adjourn the session for today, at any rate. With my chancellor and the bishops of Bourges and Nantes I shall draw up the text of the statement tomorrow and send it to the King with all our signatures.”

He bowed and left the chamber.

“You are an idiot,” said Berry in an undertone to Bernard d'Armagnac.