The King Without a Kingdom

by Maurice Druon

  We have already been talking about it for a very long time, but nothing has been resolved. It is up to the Holy Father to decide for the whole of Christendom. And I assure you that in Avignon, as the hub of world events, we have the biggest muddle of all; in Spain, as in Germany, the year begins on Christmas Day; in Venice, on the first of March; in England, on the twenty-fifth. Such that if a treaty involving several countries is concluded in the spring, we can never know which year we are talking about. Imagine that a truce between France and England were signed in the days leading up to Easter; for King John, it would be dated in the year of 1355 and for the English 1356. Oh! It is the most stupid thing, I’ll give you that; but nobody wants to change their habits, however bungling, and one might even think that the notaries, lawyers, prevosts and other members of the administration took pleasure in entrenching themselves in difficulties to waylay the common people.

  We were approaching the end of March, as I was telling you, when King John flew into a fit of rage … About his son-in-law, of course. Oh! We must admit that he had good cause for annoyance. At the Estates of Normandy, gathered in Vaudreuil before his son, the recently appointed Duke, strong words like none ever heard before were said about him, and it was the deputies of the nobility, stirred up by the Évreux-Navarre clan, who voiced them. The two Harcourts, the uncle and the nephew, were the most violent in their language, or so I was told; and the nephew, fat Count John, got so carried away he shouted: ‘By God, this king is a bad man; he is not a good king, and I shall be wary of him.’ That got back to John II, as you can imagine. Shortly afterwards the new Estates of Langue d’Oil were held: the deputies of Normandy didn’t show up at all. Quite simply refused to appear. They no longer wished to have a share in the grants and aides, nor did they wish to pay for them. Moreover, the assembly was forced to note that the gabelle and the sales tax had failed to produce the revenues anticipated. So it was decided to replace them with an income tax at the end of the year we were in.

  I will let you imagine how warmly the measure was welcomed, to be compelled to pay the king a part of all the income they had received, collected or earned during the year, and often already spent … No, it was not applied in Périgord, nor anywhere else in Langue d’Oc. But I know of people from our parts who went over to the Englishman, for fear that the measure be extended to themselves. This income tax, added to the increase in the cost of provisions, sparked riots in various places, in particular at Arras, where the humble folk revolted; and King John had to send in his constable with several companies of men-at-arms to charge the agitators … No, of course none of this provided him with any reason to rejoice; but however great his troubles, a king must always maintain his self-control. Something he failed to do on this occasion.

  He was at the Abbey of Beaupré-en-Beauvais to celebrate the baptism of the firstborn of Monseigneur John of Artois, Count of Eu since he had been presented with the possessions and titles of Raoul of Brienne, the beheaded constable … Yes, the very same, the son of Count Robert of Artois, whom he very much takes after in his bearing. Upon seeing him, one is struck by the resemblance; one would think one beheld the father at his age. A giant, a walking tower. Red hair, short nose, cheeks prickling with bristles, and a thick, muscular neck linking his jaw and shoulder in a straight line. He can have only dray horses for his mount, and when he charges, decked out for battle, he makes holes in any army. But that is where the resemblance ends. As for his mind, he is quite the opposite. The father was ingenious, astute, quick-witted, shrewd, too shrewd by half. This one has a brain like mortar that has begun to set. Count Robert was litigious, a plotter, forger, traitor, a murderer. Count John, as if wishing to atone for the sins of his father, likes to think of himself as a model of honour, loyalty and fidelity. Having seen his father deposed and banished and spent time in prison himself during his childhood, with his mother and brothers, he is, I believe, quite overwhelmed by the pardon he received, and his return to grace. He looks on King John as the Redeemer himself. Besides, he is dazzled to bear the same Christian name. ‘My cousin John … my cousin John …’

  These three words would be bandied about by cousin John all the time. Those of us who remember Robert of Artois, men of my age, even those who suffered under his infamy, cannot fail to feel a certain regret upon seeing the feebleminded copy of himself that he left us. Ah! Count Robert was indeed a strapping fellow, and a great noise! He filled his epoch with his unruliness. When he died, one might say the century fell silent. Even the war seemed to lose its rumble. How old would he be now? Let’s see … um … about seventy. Oh! He had the strength to live that long, had a stray arrow not killed him, in the English camp, during the siege of Vannes … We can but say that all the perpetual proof of the younger Artois’ loyalty didn’t make the crown feel any happier than the father’s treachery had.

  Because it was John of Artois, who, just before the baptism, and as if to thank the king for his patronage, revealed the conspiracy of Conches, or rather what he thought to be a conspiracy.

  Conches … yes, that is what I said … one of the castles confiscated from Robert of Artois and that Monseigneur of Navarre was given in the Treaty of Valognes. But some old servants remain there who are still attached to the memory of the Artois.

  This is how John of Artois was able to whisper in the king’s ear … a whisper that could be heard at the other end of the bailiwick … that the King of Navarre had met up in Conches with his brother Philip, both the Harcourts, the Bishop Le Coq, Friquet of Fricamps, several Norman sires of old acquaintance, as well as Guillaume Marcel, or Jean … well, one of the Marcel nephews … and a lord arriving from Pamplona, Miguel of Espelette … and all of them were since plotting to attack King John, by ambush, and slaughter him, on the first occasion that brought him to Normandy. Was it true, was it false? I would be inclined to believe that there was some truth to it, and that without having gone so far as to set up the conspiracy, they had considered doing the deed. Because it is very much in the manner of Charles the Bad, having failed to pull off the operation with grandeur by obtaining the support of the Emperor of Germany, to go about accomplishing it with villainy, doubtless without a qualm, repeating the ambush of the Spinning Sow. We will have to wait to appear before the judgement seat of God to find out the whole truth.

  What is certain, however, is that there was much discusion in Conches as to whether they would make their way to Rouen, one week later, the Tuesday before the feast of the Third Thursday of Lent, to which the dauphin, Duke of Normandy, had invited all the most important Norman knights to attempt to reach an agreement with them. Philip of Navarre advised that they refuse; Charles, on the other hand, was inclined to accept. Old Godfrey of Harcourt, the one with a limp, was against, and loudly said so. Moreover, he who had fallen out with the late King Philip VI over a marriage where his love had been thwarted, considered himself no longer tied to the crown by any bond of vassalage whatsoever. ‘My king is the Englishman’ he would say.

  His nephew, the obese Count John, whom the scent of a banquet would have dragged to the other end of the kingdom, was inclined to go. In the end, Charles of Navarre said that everyone should do as they pleased, that he would himself be going, alongside whosoever wished to join him, but at the same time he approved the decision of others who did not wish to appear before the dauphin, and pointed out that there was wisdom in their retreat, as one should never put all one’s hounds down the same rabbit hole.

  One more thing was reported to the king that could have substantiated the suspicion of a plot. Charles of Navarre may have said that were King John to die, then he would immediately make his treaty passed with the King of England public, by which he recognized him as the King of France, and that he would behave in every way as his lieutenant in the kingdom.

  King John asked for no proof. And yet the first concern of a prince must be to always establish the truth of the denunciation, from the most plausible to the most incredible. But our king isn’t nearly so careful.
He swallows like fresh eggs anything that feeds his grudges. A more composed mind would have listened, and then sought out and gathered together information and evidence regarding this secret treaty that had just been revealed to him. And if, from this presumption, he had been able to expose the truth, he would have found himself in a much stronger position vis-à-vis his son-in-law.

  But he immediately took the matter as certified truth; and he entered the church for the baptizing of Count John’s firstborn ablaze with rage. He displayed, so I was told, the strangest of behaviours, not hearing the prayers at all, pronouncing his responses all the wrong way, looking at everyone furiously and sending the embers of a censer he had collided with flying onto the surplice of a deacon. I really don’t know how the Artois child was baptized; but with such a godfather, I think that they will soon have to renew the vows of that little Christian, if we want God to have mercy on his soul.

  And as soon as the ceremony was over, all hell broke loose. Never had the monks of Beaupré heard such terrible cursing, as if the Devil had lodged himself in the king’s throat. It was raining, but John II paid no attention. For over an hour and although dinner had already been called, he got himself soaked pacing up and down the monks’ garden, splashing in puddles with his poulaines … those ridiculous shoes that handsome Monsieur of Spain brought into fashion for him … and forcing all of his suite, Messire Nicolas Braque, his butler, and Messire of Lorris, and the other chamberlains, and the Marshal of Audrehem and the huge John of Artois, dumbfounded and contrite, to get wet with him. Thereupon he was to waste thousands of pounds in velvet, embroidery and furs.

  ‘There is no other ruler in France but me,’ screamed the king. ‘I will kill him, this bad seed, this vermin, this rotten badger who plots my end with all my enemies. I will go and slay him with my own hands. I will tear out his heart, and cut his stinking body up into so many pieces, do you hear me, there will be enough to hang one on the door of each of the castles I bestowed upon him in my weakness. And may no one ever come again to intercede on his behalf, and may none of you dare to advocate coming to any more arrangements. Moreover, Blanche and Joan can cry themselves dry of their tears, there will be no more pleading this traitor’s cause, and they will learn that there is no other ruler in France but me,’ as if he needed to persuade himself that he was indeed king.

  He calmed down enough to ask when the banquet would take place that his ass of a son was to give so courteously to his snake of a son-in-law. He was told the fifth of April, Saint Irene’s day, and he repeated this as if he had trouble putting such a simple thing into his mind. He stayed a moment shaking his head like a horse, scattering drops from his rain-soaked yellow hair. ‘On that day, I will go hunting in Gisors,’ he said.

  His entourage was used to his sudden changes of mood; everyone thought that the king’s anger had worn itself out in words and that the matter would go no further. And then came the banquet of Rouen, and what happened there … Yes, but you don’t know it in detail. I will tell you that tale, but it must wait until tomorrow; as for today, time is getting on, we should almost be there.

  You see, the route seems shorter when we chat this way. This evening, all we have to do is to dine and to sleep. Tomorrow we will arrive in Auxerre, where I will receive news from Avignon and Paris. Ah! One more thing, Archambaud. Be cautious around Monseigneur of Bourges, who is travelling with us, should he ever try to tackle you. I dislike him immensely, and I really don’t know why, I suspect the man of having a secret understanding with Capocci. Toss him the name, without appearing to dwell on it, and you will tell me your opinion.

  3

  To Rouen

  KING JOHN INDEED went to Gisors, but he only stayed there long enough to collect one hundred pikemen from the garrison. Then he left ostentatiously by the road to Chaumont and Pontoise so that all could believe he was returning to Paris. He took with him his second son, the Duke of Anjou, and his brother, the Duke of Orléans, who looks more like one of his sons, as Monseigneur of Orléans, who is twenty years old counts seventeen years difference with the king, and only two with the dauphin.

  The king had been escorted by the Marshal of Audrehem, by his second chamberlains, Jean of Andrisel and Guy de la Roche, as he had sent Lorris and Nicolas Braque to Rouen several days earlier under the pretext that he was lending them to the dauphin to supervise his banquet preparations.

  Who else was behind the king? Oh! He had put together quite an army. He was taking with him the Artois brothers, Charles and the other one … ‘my cousin John’ … who never left his side and who rose head and shoulders above the rest of the expedition, and also Louis of Harcourt who had fallen out with his brother and his uncle Godfrey, and had taken sides with the king as a result. I will spare you the equerries and huntsmen, the Corquillerays, Huet des Ventes and other Maudétours. Indeed! The king was going hunting and wanted it to appear that way; he mounted his hunting horse, a fast, brave and well-foddered Napoletano that he was particularly fond of. Nobody could be surprised to see him followed by the sergeant of his personal guard, which was commanded by Enguerrand Lalemant and Perrinet le Buffle,25 two fellows famous for the size of their muscles; those two can flip a man over by just taking his hand … It is a good thing for a king to always have bodyguards around him. The Holy Father has his own. I too have my close protection, men who ride either side of my palanquin, as you must have seen. I am so used to them now that I often don’t notice them at all; but I am never out of their sight.

  What may have surprised some, but you needed to have your eyes wide open to see it, was that the king’s menservants, most probably Tassin and Poupart le Barbier, wore hanging from their saddles the helmet, the cervellière,26 the great sword, all the battle attire of the king. And also amongst them the presence of the King of the Ribald, a fellow named … Guillaume … Guillaume something or other … who not only watches over the brothel police in the towns where the king resides, but also takes charge of all legal matters that directly concern the king. There is significantly more work to do in this role since John II came to the throne.

  With the equerries of dukes, knights’ pages, all the lords’ domestics and the pikemen collected in Gisors, that made at least two hundred men on horseback, of which many bristled with lances, too big an equipage to go beating the bushes for game.

  The king had taken the direction of Chaumont-en-Vexin but nobody ever saw him pass through the town. His army disappeared en route as if by magic. He had headed off due north across country, for Gournay-en-Bray where he made a brief stop, just long enough to pick up the Count of Tancarville, one of the few great Norman lords who had remained a loyal supporter, because of his hatred for the Harcourts. At Gournay-en-Bray, an astounded Tancarville, surrounded by twenty knights of his banner, met him; he had been expecting the Marshal of Audrehem, but absolutely not the king himself.

  ‘Hasn’t my son the dauphin invited you to Rouen tomorrow, messire the count?’

  ‘Yes, sire; but I received a mandate from messire the marshal, when he was here to inspect the county’s fortresses, exempting me from any obligation to appear in company where a great many faces would have met with my disapproval.’

  ‘Well now! You will nevertheless go to Rouen, Tancarville, and I will inform you of what we shall be doing there.’

  Whereupon, the entire expedition turned sharply south, a short ride since night was falling, only three or four leagues, but which were on top of the eighteen travelled that day already, to go and sleep in an out-of-the-way castle on the edge of the Forest of Lyons.

  If there were spies in the locality working for the King of Navarre, they would have found it difficult to tell their master where the King of France was heading on this roundabout route, and what he planned to do there … The king was seen leaving for the hunt … The king is inspecting fortresses …

  The king was up before dawn, hasty, feverish, urging his people on, and already saddled up and ready to charge, this time straight as an arrow, through t
he Forest of Lyons. Those who wanted to eat a crust of bread and a slice of bacon had to do it maintaining a steady trot and with just one hand, while holding the reins in the crook of their arm and a lance in their other hand.

  The Forest of Lyons is dense and long; it measures more than seven leagues and yet one can almost get across it in two hours. The Marshal of Audrehem thought that riding at such a pace, they would certainly arrive too soon … It was the marshal himself who told me. ‘We could well stop a moment, if only to let the horses piss,’ he said. Not to mention, for his own part, ‘An urge, may Your Eminence forgive me, that splits my sides.’ Now, a marshal of the king’s army cannot just relieve himself from high up on his mount, as simple archers would do whenever they feel the need, and too bad if they spray the saddle’s leather. He said to the king: ‘Sire, there is no point in rushing so; that doesn’t make the sun go any faster … Furthermore, the horses need to take on water.’ And the king replied: ‘Here is the letter I will write to the pope, to explain my justice and forestall the false accounts that he could be given … “Most Holy Father, for far too long now, the indulgences I have granted that wicked relation and the compromises that through Christian charity I have agreed have only encouraged his treachery, and because of him calamity and misfortune have come to the kingdom. An even greater crime was in preparation, whereby he would deprive me of my life; and it is to prevent him accomplishing this foul assassination …”’

  And straight ahead at full tilt, without noticing a thing, he left the Forest of Lyons and broke cover in the plains, before entering another forest. Audrehem told me he had never seen such an expression on the king’s face, mad-eyed; he could see his heavy chin trembling under his thin beard.

  Abruptly, Tancarville pushed his mount on to draw level with the king and asked him politely if he wished to head for Pont-de-l’Arche.