All of this was of course reported back to the king who barked: ‘See the perfidy! See the traitor!’ as if it weren’t the way with all prisoners to bribe their jailers or seek to make them feel sorry for them. Perhaps even the sergeants insisted a little on the King of Navarre’s proposals, all the better to sell themselves. King John threw them purses of gold in recognition of their loyalty. ‘This evening you will pretend that I have ordered you to warm his jail cell, and you will light some straw and damp wood, and block up the chimney, to smoke him out.’
Yes, a trapped fox cub, the little King of Navarre. But the King of France was like a huge, raging hound circling the cage, a sly, bearded watchdog, his fur bristling, growling, howling, bearing his teeth, scratching at the dust, unable to reach his prey through the bars.
And that remained so until around the twentieth of April, when appeared two Norman knights, fittingly escorted, whose pennon bore the coat of arms of Navarre and Évreux. They brought King John a letter from Philip of Navarre, dated in Conches. Rather abrupt was the letter. Philip said how incensed he was at the great wrongs and abuse caused to his lord and elder brother … ‘Whom you took unlawfully, unjustly and without reason. But you should know that you have no occasion to think of his legacy, nor mine, in killing him through your cruelty, as you will never get your hands on a single inch of it. From this day on we will defy you, you and all your authority, and we will wage merciless war against you, as greatly as is in our power.’ If these are not the exact words, they at least convey the same message. The words were stamped with just such severity; and the defiant intention was very much present. And what made the letter all the more brutal, was that it was addressed: ‘To John of Valois, who calls himself King of France …’
The two knights that brought it saluted and, without further delay, turned their horses around and went away as they had come.
Naturally, the king didn’t reply to the letter. It was inadmissible, by its address alone. But war had been declared, and one of the greatest vassals no longer recognized King John as rightful sovereign. Which meant that he would not be long in recognizing the Englishman.
One would expect such a great insult would send King John into a blinding rage. However, he surprised his people by a fit of laughter. Somewhat forced laughter. His father had also laughed, and rather more heartily, twenty years earlier, when the Bishop Burghersh, Chancellor of England, had brought him the challenge of the young Edward III …
King John ordered that the long-cogitated letter to the pope be immediately dispatched, yes, as it was; having been amended so many times, it didn’t make much sense and proved nothing whatsoever. At the same time he ordered his son-in-law to be released from the fortress. ‘I will shut him up in the Louvre.’ And, letting the dauphin sail back up the Seine on his great, golden barge, he himself chose to take to the road at a gallop and regain Paris on horseback. Where he did nothing much of any importance, while the Navarrese clan got down to work.
Ah! I hadn’t realized that you had come back, Dom Calvo … So, you have found … In the gospel … Jesus replied … what then? Go and tell John what you have heard and what you have seen. Speak louder, Dom Calvo. With the noise of the cavalcade … The blind see, the lame walk … Yes, yes, I follow. Saint Matthew. Coeci vident, claudi ambulant, surdi audiunt, mortui resurgent, et coetera … The blind see. It is not much, but it will do. It is a matter of being able to build my homily around it. You know how I work.
2
The Nation of England
I WAS TELLING YOU earlier, Archambaud, that the Navarrese party were proving themselves to be most active. From the day after the banquet of Rouen, messengers had gone off in all directions. First of all to the aunt and the sister. Mesdames Joan and Blanche; the Castle of the Widowed Queens began to hum like a weaver’s workshop. And then to the brother-in-law Phoebus … I will have to tell you about him; he is a strange prince indeed, but by no means insignificant. And as Périgord is after all closer to Béarn than it is to Paris, it wouldn’t be a bad thing that one day … We will talk again about this. Philip of Évreux was successfully standing in for his brother and taking matters in hand; he sent an order to Navarre to raise troops and to transport them over the sea as soon as they could. Meanwhile, Godfrey of Harcourt got together people from his clan in Normandy. And most significant of all, Philip sent to England Sires Morbecque and Brévand, who had taken part in former negotiations, to request aid.
King Edward offered them a cool reception. ‘When it comes to agreements, I appreciate loyalty, and deeds that match words. Without trust between allied kings, no undertaking can successfully be seen through. Last year I opened my doors to Monseigneur of Navarre’s vassals; I equipped troops, under the command of the Duke of Lancaster, which backed up his own. A treaty between us was in a late stage of preparation, but yet to be signed: we were to make a perpetual alliance, and our commitment would be never to agree to peace, truce, nor to any other accord, without the other also agreeing. And no sooner had Monseigneur of Navarre landed in the Cotentin than he took the opportunity to deal with King John, pledging him his true love and paying him homage. If he now finds himself, through an act of treachery, in jail, ensnared by this same father-in-law, the fault shall not be mine. And before rushing to his aid, I should like to know if my relatives in Évreux only come to me in distress, and as soon as I have pulled them clear they turn to others.’
Nevertheless, he made arrangements, summoned the Duke of Lancaster and with him began to prepare a new expedition, while he addressed instructions to the Prince of Wales in Bordeaux. And as he had learned from the Navarrese envoys that John II implicated him in the accusations brought against Monseigneur of Navarre, he sent letters to the Holy Father, to the emperor, and to various Christian princes, in which he denied any connivance whatsoever with Charles of Navarre, but rather, on the other hand, he strongly blamed John II for his absence of faith and for his scheming; this, ‘for the honour of chivalry’, he would have preferred never to see in a king.
His letter to the pope had taken rather less time than King John’s, and it was considerably better phrased, believe me.
We do not like each other at all, King Edward and I; he always considers me too biased towards the interests of France and I judge him to have shown too little respect for the primacy of the Church. Each time we’ve met, we have clashed. He would like to have an English pope, or preferably no pope at all. But I have to recognize that he is, for his nation, an excellent prince, skilful, prudent when need be, bold when he can be. England is much in his debt. And even though he is only forty-four years old, he commands the respect that surrounds an old king, when he has been a good king. A sovereign’s age is not determined by their date of birth, but by the length of their reign.
In this respect, King Edward is looked upon as an elder amongst all the western princes. The Pope Innocent has only been supreme pontiff for four years; the Emperor Charles, elected ten years ago, has only been crowned for the last two. John of Valois has only just celebrated … in captivity, a sad celebration … the sixth anniversary of his crowning. Edward III has occupied his throne for twenty-nine years, soon it will be thirty.
He is a man of fine stature and great presence, if somewhat corpulent. He has long blond hair, a silky, well-kept beard, rather large blue eyes; a true Capetian. He looks very much like Philip the Fair, his grandfather, more than one of whose qualities he has inherited. Shame that the blood of our kings gave such a fine product in England and such a wretched one in France! As he has got older he seems more and more prone to silence, like his grandfather. What do you expect! He has been observing men bowing before him for thirty years now. He knows by their stride, by the look in their eye, their tone of voice, what they hope to get from him, what they will ask for, what ambitions are driving them and what they are worth to the State. His orders are brief. As he says: ‘The fewer the words one speaks, the fewer there are to be repeated, and they are less open to distortion.’
> He knows himself to be invested, in the eyes of Europe, with great renown. The Battle of Sluys, the Siege of Calais, the victory at Crécy … He is the first for more than a century to have defeated France, or rather his French rival, since he undertook this war, he says, only to assert his right to the crown of Saint Louis. But also to lay his hands on prosperous provinces.
Scarcely a year passes that he doesn’t land his troops on the continent, now in Boulonnais, now in Brittany, or that he orders, as he has done these two last summers, a chevauchée starting out from his duchy of Guyenne.
In the past he headed up his armies himself, and he acquired a fine reputation as a warrior. Now, he no longer accompanies his troops. He has them commanded by good captains who have acquired their skills on the job campaign after campaign; but I think that he owes his successes above all to his maintaining a permanent army made up for the most part of foot soldiers, always ready and always available, who, in the end, don’t cost any more than dubious mercenaries called up at great expense, that are disbanded, that are called up again, become slack, never regroup in time, that are ill-assorted, often ill-equipped, and whose parts don’t know how to come together to manoeuvre in battle.
It is a fine thing to say: ‘Our country is in peril. The king is calling us up. Everyone must rush to his assistance!’ But with what? With sticks? The time will come when all kings will model themselves upon the English example, and wage war with professional soldiers, well paid, who go where they are sent without dawdling or arguing.
You see, Archambaud, it is not necessary for a kingdom to be either vast or populous to become powerful. You need only a people capable of pride and effort, led for long enough by a wise ruler who knows how to present them with great ambitions.
From a country of scarcely six million souls, Wales included, before the Great Plague, and just four million after the scourge, Edward III has built a prosperous and feared nation, which speaks as an equal with France and with the empire. The wool trade, maritime transport, the possession of Ireland, an effective exploitation of the abundant Aquitaine, royal powers exercised, and obeyed, everywhere, an ever-ready army forever at work; this is how England has become so strong and rich.
The king himself possesses enormous wealth; it is said he can’t even count his fortune, but I know that he counts it, otherwise he wouldn’t have it. He started the habit of counting thirty years ago upon inheriting an empty Treasury and debts throughout Europe. Today, it is he that one consults to borrow money. He rebuilt Windsor; he embellished Westminster … yes, Westmoutiers, if you like; I’ve been there so often that I’ve ended up pronouncing it à l’anglaise, as, strangely enough, the more they go about conquering France, the more the English, even at court, speak their Saxon language and less and less French … In each of his residences, King Edward has piled up wonders. He buys many things from the Lombard merchants and from Cypriot navigators, not only spices from the Orient, but also finely worked objects of every type that then serve as models for his manufactures.
Regarding spices, I will have to tell you about pepper, my nephew. It is a fine investment. Pepper does not go off; its commercial value has grown continuously these last years and everything suggests the trend will not only last but increase. I have ten thousand florins’ worth stored in a warehouse in Montpellier; I took this pepper as reimbursement of half of the debt of a local merchant, Pierre de Rambert, who was unable to pay his suppliers in Cyprus. Since I am Canon of Nicosia … without ever having been there … alas, as that island has a great reputation for beauty … I was able to settle his business affair … But let us get back to our Sire Edward.
A table fit for a king is no empty promise in his household, and he who takes a seat there for the first time can but hold his breath before the profusion of gold spread out in front of him. A golden stag, almost as big as a real one, forms the centrepiece. Hanaps,36 ewers, dishes, spoons, knives, salt cellars, everything made of gold. Then the kitchen ushers bring food to the table on golden platters, enough to mint coinage for an entire county. ‘If ever by any chance we are in need, we will always be able to sell all this,’ he says. But financial difficulties … which Treasury has never known any? Edward is always certain to find credit, because everyone knows of the treasures he possesses. He himself only appears before his subjects superbly attired, draped in precious furs and embroidered garments, sparkling with jewels, golden spurs at his heels.
In this display of magnificence, God is not forgotten. The chapel of Westminster alone is served by fourteen vicars, to which we should add the clerks, choirboys and all the servants of the sacristy. And to play tricks on the pope, whom he says is under French control, he has repeatedly increased Church employment and only wishes to see the jobs given to the English, without sharing the benefices with the Holy See, on which subject we have always clashed.
His duty to God thus served, next comes his obligation to secure the line of the royal family. Edward III has ten living children. The eldest, Prince of Wales and Duke of Aquitaine, is as you know him; he is twenty-six years old. The youngest, the Earl of Buckingham, has barely left his wet nurse’s breast.
King Edward has built imposing residences for each of his sons; for his daughters he has sought out noble establishments that may serve his designs.
I wager that he would be most bored with life, King Edward, had Providence not assigned him the part he was most suited to perform: to govern. Yes, the contemplative life would have had very little interest for him, getting venerable, watching death creep up; what he lived for was to arbitrate over others’ passions, and set them goals that help them forget themselves. Because men only find honour and value in living if they dedicate their acts and their thoughts to some great undertaking in which they can lose themselves, with which they can become one.
That is what inspired him when he created in Calais his Order of the Garter, a flourishing Order, of which John II, with his Star, produced but a poor copy, initially pretentious and later pathetic.
And once more Edward is answering to this will for grandeur when he pursues his project, unavowed but observable, of an English Europe. Not that he is thinking of placing the West directly under his command, nor that he wishes to conquer all the kingdoms and reduce them to serfdom. No, rather he has in mind a free association of kings or governments in which he would have precedence and which he would dominate, and within this arrangement he would not only make peace prevail, but would also have nothing more to fear from the empire, even if he weren’t to encompass it. Nor would he owe anything more to the Holy See; I suspect him of secretly harbouring that particular intent. He has already achieved as much with Flanders, which he cut loose from France; he intervenes in the affairs of Spain; he has put out feelers in the Mediterranean. Ah! If he had France, you can imagine, what wouldn’t he do, what wouldn’t he be capable of doing from there! His idea, by the way, is nothing new. King Philip the Fair, his grandfather, already had a project for perpetual peace to reunite Europe.
Edward takes pleasure in speaking French with the French and English with the English. He can address the Flemish in their tongue, which flatters them, and earns him much of his success over there. With others he speaks Latin.
So, you may say, with such a talented, capable king, whom fortune so clearly favours, why not join him and encourage his claims to France? Why go to such pains to keep on the throne the arrogant fool, born under unfavourable stars, that Providence has given us … has most probably sent to us to put this unfortunate kingdom to the test?
Ha! My nephew, it is this: indeed, we desire a beneficial understanding to be formed between the kingdoms of the West, but we want it to be French, I mean of French government and pre-eminence. If England were too powerful, we are convinced, it would quickly distance itself from the laws of the Church. It is France that is the designated kingdom of God. And King John will not last forever.
The King Without a Kingdom Page 17