Under the Flag of France: A Tale of Bertrand du Guesclin

by David Ker

  CHAPTER X

  The Wages of Judas

  Too truly said the prophet-lady of Raguenel, that France stood then insore need of a deliverer. For now burst on the ill-fated land the fullfury of that tremendous storm of calamities that was to rage over itfor well-nigh a century to come, till its utter desolation and miseryantedated the worst horrors poured out upon Germany during the longagony of the Thirty Years' War; and the terrified monks who watchedfrom their quiet cloisters the flood of ruin and death that seemed tobe overwhelming the whole world outside, whispered to each other thatthe Last Day must be at hand, and quoted tremulously the only wordsstrong enough to describe adequately a period so fearfully disastrous--

  "For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not from thebeginning of the world unto this time, no, nor ever shall be."

  While the French nobles were quarrelling with each other, and all withthe king, and the trampled French peasants were hating and cursing bothparties alike, an English army was fighting its way into the heart ofFrance, burning, slaying, and plundering wherever it came; and,profiting by this universal disorder, pirates ravaged every coast, androbber bands wasted every province.

  Then came the fatal field of Crecy, where the proudest nobles of Francefell like autumn leaves before the shafts of English archers, and thedead left by the conquered outnumbered thrice over the whole army ofthe conquerors. And then King Edward's iron grasp closed on Calais, andall the valour of John de Vienne and his brother heroes failed to savefrom the invader that fairest jewel in the crown of France.

  But the brightest crown of that great historical martyrdom was wonneither by knight nor by noble, but by a peaceful burgher, Eustache deSt. Pierre, who, with five others as brave and devoted as he, wentforth to the terrible conqueror with the halters of doom about theirnecks, and bade him work his will on them, if he would but spare theircity and its people. But though the great king's chivalrous spirit, andthe prayers of his gentle and beautiful queen, saved these self-doomedmartyrs from death, their town was French no longer; and for more thantwo centuries the gate of France was in English hands, ever ready tofling it open for the passage of their destroying armies, till, inGod's good time, the ill-gotten spoil was torn from the spoiler, andthe sternest and cruellest of English queens died broken-hearted at thenews that Calais was a French city once more.

  And after this came woe on woe--war, pestilence, famine, robbery, andmurder--till the misery of France rose to a height best described inthe terrible words of one who had himself seen it--

  "In goode sooth, the estate of the whole realme of Fraunce was thenne most miserable; and, looke wheresoever one myghte, there appeared nought save an horrible face of disorder, povertie, desolacioun, solitarinesse, and feare. The lean and bare labourers in the countrie did terrifie even theeves themselves, who founde nought lefte for them to spoyle save the carkasses of these poore starvynge creatures, wandering miserably uppe and downe like unto ghostes drawn foorth of theyr graves. The leaste farmes and hamlets were foortifyde by robbers of alle naciouns, eche one stryvinge to doe his worste; and alle menne of warre were well agreed in this, to despoyle to the utmoste everie husbandman and everie merchaunte; insomuche that the verie cattell in the fieldes, growing used to the sownde of the 'larum-bell (whiche was the signe of an enemie's comynge) wolde of themselves runne home withouten any guide, by reason of this accustomed miserie."

  On a gloomy evening toward the close of November, 1348, sat at a tablelittered with parchments, in an upper room of Westminster Palace, ahandsome, stately man in the prime of life, with so striking a look ofpower and command in his large, deep, thoughtful eyes and broad, nobleforehead (over which the long dark hair was waxing thin from theconstant pressure of his helmet) that few men would have needed to betold that this was King Edward himself.

  There he sat, the man for whose sake great kingdoms were being blastedwith fire and sword, and thousands dying daily in the fierce shock ofbattle, or by the slow agony of famine and disease. Strong, wise,brave, comely, famed alike as king, statesman, general, courtier, andman-at-arms, he had power to do more good, and, alas! used that powerto do more evil, than any other man of his time. Little could he thenforesee, in the heyday of his might and the splendour of victories atwhich the whole world stood amazed, that, less than thirty years later,the curses of all Western Europe and the cold indifference of his ownneglected people would follow to his grave an old, worn-out, childless,broken-hearted man, stripped of nearly all his hard-won conquests, androbbed on his very death-bed by a worthless favourite.

  There was a knock at the door, and a richly clad chamberlain said witha low bow--

  "My lord king, Sir Aymery de Pavia of Lombardy, governor of Calais,whom your grace was pleased to command hither, awaits your pleasure."

  The great king started slightly, and over his noble face flickered fora moment a smile more stern, and menacing, and terrible, than hisblackest frown, but he only said--

  "Bid Sir Aymery enter."

  In came a tall, portly man in a rich suit of gilded armour, whose darkSouthern face would have been strikingly handsome, but for the cunning,ever-shifting restlessness of the keen black eyes, and a sinistercompression of the thin lips, suggestive of that ingrained Italiantreachery which was then, and for many a generation after, the bywordof all Europe in a bitter verse as true as it was severe--

  "When Italy from poison is, And France from treason, free, And war's not found on English ground, The world shall cease to be."

  "Welcome to our trusty governor!" cried Edward heartily, as he held outhis hand to the new-comer, who kissed it reverently. "Thou comest, Idoubt not, worthy Sir Aymery, to report all well with our good town ofCalais; for how should it be otherwise than safe and thriving, in thecare of so faithful and loyal a warder as thou art?"

  It was strange to see the Lombard look so pale and troubled at thisflattering welcome from the king's own mouth; but Edward went onwithout seeming to notice his confusion, though still watching himkeenly.

  "We have called thee hither, Sir Governor, to ask thy counsel touchinga certain matter of weight, knowing thee to be wise and trusty."

  The knight, whose dry lips seemed to have lost all power of speech,replied only with a low bow.

  "A certain lord of my court," resumed the king, "gave into the keepingof one who was his friend a jewel of great price, which he prized aboveall else that he had; and it came to his ears that this friend whom hetrusted had pawned that gem to a cozening knave of France for twentythousand crowns. What, think'st thou, should be done unto such atraitor?"

  The Lombard's dark face grew white as ashes, and his limbs trembledunder him.

  "Ha! thou understandest!" cried the king, in a voice like the roll ofdistant thunder. "Aymery of Pavia, I have rewarded and honoured thee,and given to thy charge what I prized beyond aught save my wife andchildren; and how hast thou repaid me? By trafficking with my foes, andcovenanting to betray to them my city of Calais! Can a Lombardgentleman sell his honour, and a Christian man his soul, for twentythousand beggarly crowns, the Judas-wage that Geoffrey de Chargny wasto pay thee? What canst thou say for thyself, ere I deal with thee as aconvicted felon and traitor?"

  "Mercy, gentle king, mercy!" shrieked the unmasked villain, throwinghimself at Edward's feet, and clinging to them in an agony of entreaty."All your grace saith is true, but there is still time to break thebargain, for I have not yet, so help me Heaven, received one penny ofthe money!"

  The king smiled in bitter scorn, for though he too often used suchwretches without scruple for his own ends, an utter loathing of allthat was mean and treacherous was ever strong in his bold English heart.

  "Stand up, and hearken to me," said he, sternly. "Thou shalt return toCalais, and bear thyself to De Chargny as if nought had chanced. Tellhim thou wilt be ready to deliver up the town on New Year's Eve, and onthese terms I give
thee thy life."

  "And the--the money?" faltered Aymery, with a greedy glitter in hiseyes that all his terror could not wholly repress.

  "Keep it," said Edward, with a look and tone of such blasting scornthat even this heartless villain felt its sting, and cowered out of theking's presence so abjectly that he seemed actually to grow smaller ashe went.